The Rogue Reviewer (Primrose, Minnesota Book 3)

by Mia Dymond

  “Was he there the day of the murder?”

  “No.”

  Mace ran a hand across his forehead. “This is crazy. Someone should’ve seen something. Our suspect not only lured the victim to the condo, he murdered her inside.”

  “Back up.” Ryder braided his fingers. “He lured her to the crime scene?”

  “We’re assuming there was a valid reason for her to be there – unless she planned foul play as well.”

  “No reason for a social call?”

  “Most likely not. If I were Evelyn Wallace, I would’ve kept my distance from any of the authors she reviewed.”

  Ryker sighed hard. “Did anyone have a positive relationship with this broad?”

  “Believe it or not, she had a few admirers in the industry. A few, mind you, and all only interested in sales figures.”

  “Married? Children?”

  “Divorced, no children, no significant others as far as we can tell.”

  The other man frowned. “Who paid for the funeral?”

  “The victim had a pre-paid policy.”

  “Past relationships?”

  Jackson shook his head. “Nothing significant on record.”

  “Nothing that we can find anyway,” Mace grumbled.

  Ryker cocked his head to one side. “You really believe Dara has additional information?”

  “Hell, I don’t know.”

  “If she does, why won’t she share?”

  “She wants to help investigate.”

  The conversation stilled while Ryker gave him a stare he interpreted as skeptical.

  “No way,” the other man said finally.

  “Yes, way. And honestly, keeping her out of it is really starting to chafe my ass.”

  “You’ve got to get her to talk, Turner. She realizes what withholding will get her, doesn’t she?”

  “No doubt in my mind, but believe me when I say she’ll find a way around it.”

  Ryker whistled a long tone. “You need back-up?”

  Despite his desperation, Mace smirked. “No thanks. I have it all under control.”

  ***

  He stood in the early evening shadows and balanced his package on his hip while he glanced at her empty parking space, concerned that she hadn’t yet returned home. He only hoped that she was detained by something other than the nosey detectives. He moved his gaze around the area to assure he was still alone and then quickly walked to her front porch. He lifted the massive bouquet to his nose and inhaled the sweet smell. Ahhh. Intoxicating, just like her scent.

  He fingered the delicate petals as his thoughts turned once again to how he would convince her of his love. Although his earlier attempts had been unsuccessful, he refused to give up. No, he intended to remain tenacious in his chase; she had no choice other than to acknowledge him.

  He gently tucked the bell-shaped leaves into the tissue. This gift was perfect and she would not mistake this gesture as anyone’s but his. He carefully placed the flowers back into the box, taking care to surround them with the pillow of tissue paper, and replaced the lid. No one cared for her as much as he; this would comfort her until the detectives turned their attention to other suspects. He took the card out of his pocket, positioned it just under the bow where she would be sure to find it, and then squatted to lean the box against the door.

  He stood to pull at the cuffs of his gloves while he once again surveyed the area. Satisfied he still remained alone, he left the area as quietly as he had arrived.

  Soon, Dara.

  ***

  Dara drove into her allotted space under the canopy and parked while she stared at her front door as if it would morph into a black hole and suck her inside. The longer she sat and stared, the harder it was to force herself to leave the safety of her car.

  This is ridiculous. She sighed loud and hard as she pulled the door handle and exited the car. What were the odds of finding another body blocking the door? Maybe she really did need Bri’s professional help. She squared her shoulders, focused on the front door and quickly walked toward it. She stopped only at the sight of a long, white box braced against the door. Still determined to overcome the insanely loud ringing in her ears, she bent to retrieve the box then jammed and turned the key in the lock, extremely relieved when the smooth action opened the door and the beeping noise of her new alarm system filled the silence.

  Dara punched in her code, put down her purse and bag on the table, then sunk into the sofa cushions with the box across her lap and opened the card.

  Welcome Home.

  Typewritten, short and sweet with no signature – facts that led her to believe a certain detective may have sent them. She opened the box, even more surprised by the contents. Lilies. She inhaled the clean, sweet smell of her favorite flowers and wondered how he knew. The man was a mystery – one she had every intention of solving.

  She welcomed the warm fuzzies that wrapped her body as she took the box to the kitchen, laid it on the bar and then found a tall crystal vase under the sink. After she filled it halfway with water, she added the flowers, impressed that Mace had put so much thought into the gift. Just as she stepped back to admire her handiwork, the doorbell rang. She immediately glanced at the door while a chill ran the length of her spine. She’d been so distracted by the flowers that she hadn’t reset the alarm or even locked the door.

  She purposely deepened her voice as she reached for the knob. “Who is it?”

  “Uh … Griffin Owens, the super. Dara? Is that you?”

  Relieved, she threw open the door. “Hi, Griffin.”

  He frowned. “What’s wrong with your voice?”

  “Just a frog in my throat. Thanks for asking.”

  “I thought I’d come by and see how you like the carpet.” He shifted from one foot to the other.

  She gave her forehead a mental thump. She’d forgotten all about that. “Oh yes, I do.” She looked down at the pale blue carpet, minus one humongous blood stain, and took off her shoes to run her bare feet across the soft fibers. “Feels great!”

  Griffin gave her a lopsided grin. “I’m glad you’re happy. I have to go now but I’ll come back later to measure the kitchen and the bathroom.”

  “Sure. I’ll be here.” Dara shut the door and locked it this time. Maybe she was paranoid, but the locked door didn’t do much to soothe her – especially since a locked door hadn’t stopped a murderer. Without hesitation, she punched her code into the keypad. Thank you Detective Turner. She glanced back at the flowers. She should probably call the detective and invite him over for a personal thank-you – it was the least she could do in return for the beautiful gift.

  She only had time to palm her cell phone before the doorbell rang again. This time, she peered out the peephole. As if he’d read her mind, Mace stood on the other side.

  “Just a sec,” she told him through the door, “let me unlock.”

  Mace waited on the other side of the door until he heard the familiar four beeps of the alarm system and then the click of the deadbolt. The door opened and Dara greeted him with her sweet smile.

  “Come on in.” She waved him inside with one hand. “I was just about to call you.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Of course. I just wanted to thank you for the flowers.”

  “Flowers?”

  She nodded and pointed at the vase. “The lilies. How did you know they’re my favorite?”

  “I didn’t.” He moved to the bar and palmed the card. “Dara, I didn’t send these to you.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “I’m sorry, no. Did you see who delivered them?

  “No. They were on the front doorstep when I got home.”

  “Have you had any visitors today?”

  “I’ve been out most of the day. Griffin stopped by a few minutes ago.”

  “Owens? Why?”

  “He came to make sure I liked the carpet.”

  “How did he get in here to lay it?”

  “I asked Mrs. B
ridgewater to let him in.”

  “What about the alarm? Did you give her your code?”

  “No, Detective. I followed your explicit instructions and programmed a temporary code for her to use.”

  “Did you confirm she opened the door?”

  “No.”

  “See that you do. Did she mention the flowers?”

  “No.”

  “What about Owens?”

  “He didn’t say anything either.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “It’s really no big deal. I occasionally receive gifts from my readers.”

  “How often?”

  “Maybe weekly. You know, they could have been sent by the Homeowner’s Association.”

  “Maybe.” His temper bristled at the thought of someone other than him sending her flowers, even if it was a corporate gesture.

  She sat on the sofa and patted the cushion next to her. “Do you have news about the case?”

  “Unfortunately, no.” He took her offered seat. “We’ve interviewed a few more witnesses but haven’t come up with anything substantial.”

  “So, where do we go from here?”

  Mace raised an eyebrow. “We?”

  “Yes,” she insisted, “we.”

  “You’re going to stay focused on those sexy stories of yours. Detective Stewart and I are going to investigate this crime until we find out who is responsible.”

  He fully expected another argument – one that would most likely end in his surrender. Instead, her response caught him completely off guard.

  “How do you know my novels are sexy?”

  “You told me.”

  “Yes, but do you have evidence?”

  For a split second, he considered lying. Why in the hell would he even think about revealing his evidence? Because if their roles were reversed, he’d lock her up if she didn’t.

  “You read my book,” she prodded.

  It took every ounce of his willpower not to deny her accusation. Damn his noble intentions. “I skimmed it.”

  “Which one?”

  “Arresting Hearts.”

  “Good choice. So you enjoyed the plot?”

  Plot? What plot? He’d been truthful when he answered; he skipped over the plot and read everything else. Word. For. Word.

  “Sure.”

  “You’re not being honest, Detective. I’ll bet you a night of hot, sweaty sex that you can’t even summarize the plot.”

  Mace stood morbidly still and utterly quiet while he tried to muddle through the decision of how to respond to her challenge. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind he could probably steer her away from this conversation and save his ass but honestly, hot, sweaty sex sounded pretty damn good.

  He leaned close, his lips inches from hers. “I can’t summarize the plot.”

  He didn’t give her a chance to gloat before he captured her lips between his and tasted the sweetness he’d craved since their first kiss.

  A small, breathy moan escaped from between them as he grasped the sides of her face and deepened the contact, urging her mouth open with his own. His tongue tangled with hers, the motion heated and exciting.

  His skin tingled with anticipation as she unbuttoned each button of his dress shirt. And when she rubbed the back of her knuckles across his abdomen, tiny sparks danced on his nerve endings. This woman’s touch made him absolutely crazy.

  Only the knock on the door stopped him from going positively insane with lust – and that severely pissed him off.

  “Who the hell is that?”

  “Well, I don’t have x-ray vision, Detective.” She walked her fingers up his bare torso, across his chest, then along his jaw until she smoothed his bottom lip with her index finger. “But, it’s probably Griffin.”

  “Again?”

  She shrugged as she stood and headed for the door. “He mentioned he’d stop by to measure for tile in the bathroom.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with the bathroom tile?”

  “Relax, Mace. That tile needed to be replaced before the incident so the association authorized all the renovations at one time.”

  He stood and fully untucked his shirt, not bothering to button it. Maybe the guy would take the hint. Besides, he sported a hard-on the size of Mt. Olympus. Surely even Owens could appreciate his dilemma and leave them the hell alone.

  He braced himself on one hip against the back of the sofa. “Make sure it’s him before you open the door.”

  She turned to face the door and although he couldn’t see her face, he was sure she rolled those beautiful, piercing eyes. “Who is it?”

  “Hey, Dara. It’s Griffin again. I’ve come to measure the bathroom.”

  She tossed him a smug grin over one shoulder and then turned to open the door. “Come on in, Griffin.”

  The other man stepped inside and then stopped abruptly, obviously surprised by his presence.

  Mace gave him a curt nod. “Owens.”

  “Hello, Detective Turner.” The super pushed his glasses up on his nose and fidgeted from side to side.

  Dara closed the door and gestured at the hallway leading to the bathroom. “Thanks for coming, Griffin. Help yourself.”

  He watched through narrowed eyes as Griffin quickly left them and headed to complete his task.

  “Stop making him nervous,” Dara hissed through her teeth.

  “I haven’t done anything.”

  “You’re eyeing him like you’d like to use him for target practice.” She pointed back at the sofa. “Sit. It won’t take him long.”

  With a sideways grin, he followed instructions only because if he didn’t, he might just throw the party crasher out.

  Minutes ticked by, the snap of Owens’ measuring tape the only audible sound in the silence. Mace took a deep, cleansing breath and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

  “The room is relatively small,” he mumbled under his breath.

  “Patience, Detective.”

  Her soft touch to his tense shoulder muscles did little to relax him. He glanced between his legs. No, relaxed he was not.

  “All done.” Mace raised his head when Owens re-entered the room quiet as an alley cat and gave Dara another goofy grin. “I’ll swing by the warehouse in the morning and then start tiling.”

  Dara stood and inched toward the door, a subtle gesture for the other man to get the hell out. He smirked. What a woman.

  “That sounds great, Griffin. I’ll have Mrs. Bridgewater open for you again.”

  The super nodded and then pointed at the vase. “What lovely flowers.”

  Mace’s senses went on full alert.

  “Thank you.” Dara smiled and reached for the doorknob. “It seems I have a secret admirer.”

  Owens ducked his head as she opened the door. “I’m not surprised,” he said as he exited. “Enjoy your evening.”

  “You too,” she told him as she closed the door.

  Mace waited for her to sit next to him to speak. “Nice of him to notice the flowers.”

  She frowned. “Yes, but I was disappointed in his observation.”

  “You mean the part where he didn’t admit to leaving them?”

  “Was I that obvious?”

  “No. In fact, I was impressed.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “I figured that syrupy smile he wears around you might spur a confession.”

  “I guess that means the Homeowners’ Association left them.”

  “Would Owens be responsible for delivery?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “And you don’t think Mrs. Bridgewater would’ve signed the card?”

  “I have absolutely no idea.” She sighed. “I just figure it was someone who frequently sends flowers since the card is typed.”

  “Or someone who doesn’t want to be discovered.”

  She twisted her lips. “You’re a real killjoy.”

  He shrugged. “Just trying to analyze the facts.”

  “Well, here’s another piece to the mys
tery. Alex, Marnie and I went to lunch at Hannigan’s this afternoon. Someone paid our bill.”

  “Hannigan?”

  “No.”

  “Who?”

  “We didn’t ever find out. One of the waitresses told Chad whoever paid it, left the money with a note on a napkin.”

  “Did she keep the napkin?”

  “Alex asked the same question. No, she threw it out.”

  “Did you see anyone familiar?”

  She shook her head. “The place was packed. Alex assumed the resident Neanderthal was responsible.”

  “Huh?”

  “There was a group of men leaving when we arrived. One of them attempted to hold the table ransom in exchange for Alex’s phone number.”

  He raised both eyebrows. “Did he limp out of the place?”

  “He left with a bruised ego.”

  Her lips split into a smile and he practiced great restraint to keep from leaning forward to slide his tongue between them. Just a taste, a short sweep of his tongue against hers as his lips closed around her pillowed flesh. He swallowed a groan. Who was he kidding? No such thing as a taste.

  “Mace?”

  He lifted his gaze from her lips back into her emerald pools and lost himself all over again, the magnetic pull between them too forceful to escape.

  “Yeah?” His gaze refused to leave hers.

  “Do you suppose the lunch is linked to the flowers?”

  Her question snapped him right out of another lustful appreciation of her mouth and back to the daunting task of solving a crime.

  “Don’t know. Since your tab was paid first, it’s hard to say if the gesture was directed specifically at you. For all we know, Neanderthal Guy may have attempted to make amends with Alex.”

  “I’ll ask around about the flowers in the morning.”

  Suddenly he realized just how easily she distracted him. Nice, Dara.

  “Dara, we’ve had this discussion – several times now. Leave the interrogation to me.”

  “Besides the fact that the gift may have something to do with the corpse in my living room, I’d really like to know who sent them.”

  “I understand your position, I really do, but this guy works in the shadows. Poking him won’t make him come out, it will only piss him off.”