“Glendale Shores?”
She nodded. “Yes. It’s one of the most beautiful of the Sea Islands off the South Carolina coast and has been in my family for generations.”
“Your family owns an island?”
“Yes. Over the years developers have tried their best to buy it, to make it into another Hilton Head, but we refuse to sell. All of us were deeded a piece of the island from our great-grandparents. I built a small cottage on my property. I’d love to return the favor and invite you there one day.”
She couldn’t see his eyes for the sunglasses, but she didn’t miss his smile, the same one that was stirring desire in her. “That sounds like a plan.”
Whether he knew it or not, he was helping to relieve some of her anxiety and tension from last night. A part of her was so glad she was here. She had a feeling this place was special to him, and she appreciated that he was sharing it with her. “What were your favorite places when you lived in LA?” she asked him.
He didn’t say anything, as if he was remembering. “I always liked visiting my godmother here. I was glad she gave me this house when she was alive. She loved it so much.”
“Why did she leave it?”
“It had always been her dream to live in Paris again, and she decided to move back there.”
“She lived there before?”
“Yes, she studied art there for a while. Most of the pieces hanging on the walls at the beach house are hers.”
Randi recalled the ones she had admired hanging on the wall in her bedroom. “She did excellent work. It’s obvious that she was very talented.”
“Yes, she was.”
“Is she still alive?”
He hesitated a minute before answering, and a part of her already knew what his response would be. “No. She passed away while I was locked up, but she visited me often. Two to three times a year, coming all the way from Paris each time.”
He paused again and then added, “The year she died, she came four times. She knew her life was almost at an end and wanted to see me before dying of colon cancer. She died a month after her last visit with me.”
A lump formed in Randi’s throat. “I’m sorry, Quasar. Did you know she was dying?”
“Not until that last visit. That’s when she told me.”
Quasar didn’t say anything for a minute as he recalled that visit when his aunt had told him her days were numbered. She’d also said that in addition to a trust fund she’d set up for him, he would inherit all her possessions, including her bungalow in Paris. She never had any kids, nor had she ever married, although he’d known her to have a number of lovers over the years. His godmother had always been there for him after his mother’s death, and for that he would be eternally grateful.
The one thing he remembered more than anything about that last visit was asking for her total honesty about whether or not there was a chance he really wasn’t Louis’s biological son. She had assured him he was, but that she couldn’t...or wouldn’t...tell him why his father preferred Doyle over him. She had suggested he ask his father the reason. He hadn’t done that. Instead he’d made the decision to cut the ties and move to Charlottesville without letting his family know where he was. Even after the private investigator found him and he and his father began communicating, Quasar hadn’t asked. Maybe he should have, but a part of him didn’t want to know what his father’s answer might be. Now he wanted answers, no matter what they were.
Randi didn’t ask him any more questions, and he welcomed the silence. He wondered if she’d caught on to the fact that he would occasionally brush his thigh against hers. Earlier he’d stopped short of taking her hand. The last woman he’d gone for a walk with on the beach while holding hands had been Lilly. Thank God it hadn’t been this particular beach.
He glanced at his watch. “Time to go back. I want to give you a tour of the place before we eat breakfast.”
“Okay.”
“Do you still intend to push the issue with Agent Riviera regarding meeting with those gang leaders?”
“Yes. For some reason, the ambiences I’m getting on this case are stronger than they’ve ever been for me.”
“Why?” he asked her, taking in the moment of sizzling awareness each time their shoulders touched.
“It’s complicated, and I’m sure you don’t really want to hear about it.”
Quasar wondered if others had brushed her off when she’d tried discussing her work with them. He would admit she was the only person he knew who was involved in the paranormal, but he couldn’t help but be fascinated by it. Nor could he help being fascinated by her. “It’s your work, and I do want to hear about it. So tell me why the ambiences are so strong.”
They kept walking a few steps before she said, “Both gang leaders had mothers who were extremely close to their sons. It’s the mothers who’re sending me messages.”
He raised a brow. “The mothers?”
“Yes. The most recent victim, Esther Emiliano, as well as the other gang leader’s mother, Donna Naples. Donna died years ago in a car accident. Her son didn’t join a gang until after her death.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute. Then he asked, “How do you handle all that? Your mind being infiltrated by messages from dead people?”
She looked up at him. She wasn’t annoyed by his question. A smile teased across her lips. “It’s not like my life is anything close to that kid’s from the movie, The Sixth Sense. I live a normal life until I’m called on. If it’s law enforcement calling, I refuse to let them tell me anything about the case.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want anyone’s opinion or thoughts influencing me. I’m able to tell them how things went down, describe the crime scene to a tee over the phone, mention details about the crime scene they haven’t released to the public yet. Sometimes I can give them vital info they might have overlooked. I did that with Esther Emiliano.”
“In that case, why did you come? Why do you need to go to the crime scene at all?”
“Because of the murder weapon. It can’t be found.”
“And you think it’s still at the crime scene?” he asked, trying to follow her.
“No. But I believe it’s somewhere nearby in a body of water. According to Agent Riviera, there are a number of lakes and ponds in the area. Revisiting the crime scene will help me pinpoint which one.”
As they headed toward the beach house, he had a better understanding of the case from her perspective. “Come on, I’ll race you back to the house.”
She laughed. “You’re on.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE FIRST THING they did upon reaching the beach house was use the outside shower to wash the sand off their feet. Then they grabbed towels from a nearby rack to dry off. Quasar won the race, but Randi was convinced it was because hunger pangs had slowed her down.
Placing his hand in the center of her back he guided her inside and proceeded to show her around. She oohed and aahed at every room they came to. She hadn’t realized how large his beach house was. There were three bedrooms and each had its own private bath. There were two other bathrooms, a spacious kitchen and a dining room. Instead of a living room, there was a massive great room completely surrounded by windows, providing a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean.
Quasar told her that the year before his godmother died, to make the beach house more attractive to long-term renters, she’d hired a decorator to give both the interior and exterior a face-lift that included painting and new furnishings throughout the house. This was the first time he was seeing the makeover and agreed with Randi that the decorator had done an awesome job.
“So that’s the last room,” he said at the end of their tour.
“Everything is simply beautiful, Quasar.”
“Thanks.”
“What can I do to help with breakfast?”
“Nothing. I’ve got everything covered. How do blueberry pancakes sound?” he asked as they began walking down the stairs toward the kitchen.
“Delicious. Yum-yum.”
He threw his head back and laughed. She couldn’t help admiring how doing so made his ruggedly handsome features even more pronounced.
“Is that what you’re feeding me?” she asked. “Blueberry pancakes?”
“Yes. And how do you like your eggs?”
“Scrambled.” She was already licking her lips. When they walked into the kitchen, she said, “I was just thinking that I haven’t heard from Agent Riviera. Did he mention anything when you talked to him earlier this morning?”
“No. But then, I doubt that he would have told me anything. It was obvious last night he didn’t like me stepping in as your bodyguard. He much preferred that his men keep an eye on you.”
Randi had picked up on that, as well. Deciding to change the subject, she asked, “Is there anything I can help set up?”
“You can set the table and pour the juice if you like.”
“Okay.”
She moved over to the cabinets, opening the doors and retrieving dishes and glasses. She turned around and found him staring at her. He quickly switched his gaze away to open the refrigerator. Too late. Randi had actually felt the heat of his gaze on her backside. “Do you want me to make coffee, as well?” she asked him.
He turned back to her. “Can you make coffee? I mean, good coffee?”
She held out her hands in front of her. “See these hands, Quasar Patterson? They are capable of doing a lot of things.”
“Are they?”
She heard the deep huskiness in his voice, and the tenor sent quivers all through her belly. She could just imagine what thoughts were running through his mind. Namely, what other things her hands could do. “Yes.”
“I intend to find out if that’s true one day, Randi.”
“I’m counting on it, Quasar.” She quickly turned back to the cabinets or else he would see the heated desire in her eyes.
“Do we need to talk about it, Randi?”
Randi knew what it he was referring to. The sexual chemistry between them that just wouldn’t go away. It was expanding by leaps and bounds. He’d given her a sample of the passion she could share with him. Unfortunately, sexual chemistry or passion was the last thing either of them needed right now. She had a job to do. And there was also the issue that someone wanted her dead. But when everything was over with the gangs and the danger in her life had passed, she had no problem with them confronting all that passion and sexual chemistry head-on. They needed to make sure none of it went to waste.
She turned around to face him, leaning back against the counter. “No, we don’t need to talk about it. Let’s just make our plans now, via mutual agreement. When this situation with the gangs is over and before we return to our homes, let’s seize the moment. What do you say to that?”
A seductive smile touched his lips. “I say, hell yeah. Let’s do it.”
His words smoothed over her like a heated promise, filled with all the hot and urgent pleasure she could anticipate. She walked over to the table and began setting it, knowing his eyes were on her.
She looked up and met his gaze. “I think I need to warn you about something, Quasar,” she said softly.
“What?”
“I haven’t slept with a man in over four years. I might be a little rusty.”
Randi didn’t miss the look of surprise on his face before he slowly crossed the room to her. “No worries. If you’re rusty, I’ll slick you down with pleasure oil.”
She smiled. “Pleasure oil? I like the sound of that.” Knowing what could happen if he stood in front of her much longer, she asked, “You about ready to start on those pancakes?” Randi skirted around him to go start coffee.
Over breakfast he told her about places in LA he’d enjoyed while living here. He told her about the Walk of Fame and some of the celebrities who’d gotten stars.
Breakfast was wonderful, and she thought he was a great cook and told him he could prepare breakfast for her anytime. They had stood to remove their plates from the table when her phone rang. She looked at the caller ID. “Yes, Agent Riviera? I hope you have good news for me.”
Listening to his response, she quickly said, “We’re on our way.”
“Randi? What is it?”
Her expression must have given her away. “Two members of the Warlords were brutally murdered. Execution-style. The Warlords think it’s the work of the Revengers, and all hell is about to break loose.”
* * *
ON THE DRIVE to LA from Malibu, Randi alternated her gaze between the scenery outside the window and the man sitting behind the steering wheel. What was there about Quasar—in addition to his sinfully handsome looks and hot body—that made her ache? She figured any other woman would think those two things were enough. Problem was, she wasn’t just any other woman.
She was a woman who had decided a few years ago, no matter what that vision from her great-grandmother had foreshadowed, that loving Larry had taken a lot out of her, had made her see things with a different pair of eyes. She still believed in happily-ever-after; there was no way she couldn’t with so many happily married couples in her family. But still, she’d thought that sort of relationship was out of her reach. And she’d accepted that.
Until now.
That night she’d seen Quasar at the crime scene in Charlottesville, it had been pure feminine interest that had made her check him out. And then it had been all the sexual chemistry and physical attraction that had kept her looking.
A decision was made that before she returned to Richmond, they would make love. Just knowing it would eventually happen sent a restless throb of desire through her veins whenever he looked at her. Was she wrong for looking forward to it with such longing and wild anticipation?
He had changed into a pair of khakis and a shirt. The gun strapped in a holster on his shoulder didn’t detract from his sex appeal. In fact, it made him look like a kick-ass kind of guy. His hair was still in the ponytail, and she thought for now it suited him, but she couldn’t wait for the day she could run her fingers through those strands.
“I hope you enjoyed breakfast.”
She pushed her hair from her face. “I did. Who taught you how to cook?”
“I learned while serving time. More often than not, I got assigned kitchen duties.”
That piqued her interest. “They weren’t leery with you being around knives or anything you could use as a weapon?”
He chuckled. “No. I was in the slammer for what is considered a white collar crime. Typically I would not have been imprisoned with violent offenders, but Glenworth had an overcrowding problem. As a result, some of the lower-level offenders like myself had to be housed in the higher-security section of the prison. I mostly stayed to myself, until that time I got into trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“A couple of guys planned a jail break and figured I could help them by stealing some of the items from the kitchen they would need. I refused, and one day they jumped me...with the intent of killing me. They wanted to show other inmates what would happen if anyone ever thought of refusing them anything. My death would be a message.”
Randi’s felt her skin crawl as the blood rushed to her temples. “Oh, my God,” she said, twisting around in her seat to stare at him. “They tried to kill you?”
“Yes, and would have if Striker and Stonewall hadn’t saved me. The bastards tried drowning me in the pool.”
She lifted a brow. “Your prison had a pool?”
He nodded. “Yes, an Olympic-size pool. We even had a swim team. Those two guys caught me unawares while swimming in the pool an
d kept me submerged underwater. I would have been dead if Striker and Stonewall hadn’t seen what they were doing and come to my rescue.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute and then added, “Striker had to perform CPR. But the worst thing is that I developed a water phobia. I freak out if I get in water above my waist. It was a long time before I was able to take tub baths again instead of showers. That’s a lot for someone who was the captain of his swim team in both high school and college to admit.”
Her mind reeled with what he’d just confided in her. He had mentioned last week that the three of them—he, Striker and Stonewall—had served time together in prison and what a close relationship they had. Now she knew why. “Those men...the ones who tried to kill you...what happened to them?”
“They got more time added to their sentences, but it really didn’t matter, in a way. They were both serving sixty-year terms already and were in their forties. They wouldn’t have gotten out anyway unless they lived past a hundred.”
“What about you? You said that incident got you in trouble. How?”
She could see the way his hand tightened on the steering wheel. “I had to be hospitalized a couple of weeks because I had a collapsed lung. The incident raised a few brows with the prison commission, which made the warden look bad. He blamed me and I became his target. He was determined to make my life a living hell and was doing a pretty damn good job of it until Shep stepped in.”
“Shep?”
“Yes, Sheppard Granger. If it hadn’t been for him, I would have gotten into worse trouble that could have made me serve more time. The warden hadn’t known Shep was friends with the new governor. The next thing we all knew, the old warden was out of a job. Thanks to Shep’s intervention.”
She recalled reading an article in the newspaper about Sheppard Granger. He had been falsely accused of killing his wife and had served fifteen years of a thirty-year sentence. He was eventually found innocent when the real killers had been captured.
Seized by Seduction--A Compelling Tale of Romance, Love and Intrigue Page 17
