“You don’t sound like a fan.”
“I wasn’t a fan of the many boys she’d bring around here either, and I made no secret about that.”
“Sounds like a typical single girl to me. Did she have a boy over last night?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“No one came to visit?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Did you see her, at all?”
Balik hesitated. “I saw her leave.”
“Was she alone?”
“Yes.”
“Did you two speak?”
“No.”
“Where were you?”
“Inside.”
“What time was this?”
“After sundown.”
“I need a time.”
“After dinner.”
They stared at each other for a minute.
Balik continued, “I’ve got to go back in now. Cats need feeding.” She turned, and Dixie noticed something fall out of her pocket. Something pink—hot pink.
“Ms. Balik?”
“Yes?” She stopped, but kept her back turned.
Dixie quickly swooped down, picked up the object, and then said, “It’s interesting that you saw Lizzie leave, considering your front windows are boarded up.”
Balik’s shoulders tensed and a moment of silence slid by. Finally, she turned her head, the steep bump in her nose highlighted by the dim background light. In a low, menacing voice, she said, “You’re going to need that fight you’ve got in you, Miss Knight. Every bit of it.” And with that, she stepped into her cottage and shut the door behind her.
Dixie slipped behind the wheel of her truck and clicked on her cell phone.
“Ace here.”
“Ace, it’s Dixie.” She started the engine and cranked the heater.
“Dixie dear, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“What do you know about Marden Balik?”
“Marden Balik? You mean ol’ Black Magic Balik?”
“Yep.”
“I know enough to stay the hell away from her. I heard she’s part of Krestel’s coven, deep in the mountains—heard she does voodoo and shit.”
“I don’t care about the rumors and shit, what are the facts about her?”
“Rumors aren’t necessarily untrue, you know, Dix. Anyway, Balik’s a widow. Her husband died forty years ago after contracting a rare disease, and passing away within twelve hours.”
“A rare disease?”
“Yep, and it was right after he’d told Marden that he was leaving her, for her twin sister, Agnes.”
“Bullshit.”
“No shit… and…” Dixie heard him do a drumroll with his fingers. “For the cherry on top—Agnes went missing a week later, never to be seen, or heard of again… or so the story goes.”
Dixie shoved the truck into reverse. “You’re joking.”
“Nope.”
“So Balik’s sister, Agnes, who was Balik’s husband’s mistress, is a missing person?”
“Yep.”
“Pretty damn interesting.”
“Yeah, it’s a forty-year-old cold case, and a pretty creepy story if you ask me.”
“Well, I ran into Balik tonight while checking out Lizzie Meyer’s apartment.”
“Maybe the witch has got Lizzie locked down in her basement… or in a simmering pot of stew with rabbits and puppies. Cute ones. Cute little puppies.”
“You’re sick.”
“Thanks. Did you find anything?”
“A pink hair tie, that fell out of Balik’s robe.”
“Uh, not exactly a smoking gun. You’re thinking it’s Lizzie’s?”
She paused. Did she think it was Lizzie’s? “Ms. Balik isn’t exactly a pink kind of gal. Doesn’t fit.”
“You shouldn’t be poking around that witch’s house. I’m serious, Dix.”
“Give me a break.”
“Alright but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Anyway, we need to find out if John Blevins drives a black truck.”
“A black truck? What’s the make, model?”
“A newer model, that’s all I know.”
“No problem, will do. You going to the Black Crow?”
“On my way now.”
“See ya there.”
Click.
As she pulled onto the road, a chill skirted up her spine and she glanced in the rearview mirror.
Through the pitch-black night, she saw Balik’s silhouette standing in front of the dark woods. A small flame illuminated her wrinkled face, and beady, dark eyes as she lit a cigarette and watched Dixie drive away.
CHAPTER 6
Dixie wiped the fog from her windshield as she pulled into the gravel parking lot. The heavy snow had turned into an official snowstorm, with just enough visibility to make the drive home interesting.
She glanced at the clock—eight-thirty.
An hour late.
Dammit.
The parking lot was surprisingly crowded for a wintry Tuesday night. She pulled into a spot between two jacked-up duallys with American Flags mounted to the beds, and slid on a patch of ice, barely tapping the Black Crow Tavern sign with her bumper.
“Shit.”
It was a bad day to be a sign.
She backed up a few inches, got out, and peered at the old, wooden sign—no marks.
Phew.
The low moan of a Willie Nelson song danced through the air as she pushed through the front door and inhaled the sweet scent of beer, leather, and cedar.
She loved this place.
The Black Crow Tavern was a small, country bar located on the peak of Shadow Mountain. Once a log cabin hunting lodge, the bar had been purchased and renovated by none other than Zander Stone’s grandfather, Chuck, a Devil’s Den police veteran. The bar was frequented mainly by locals, and was a regular cop hangout, thanks to the owner. It was the type of bar where everyone knew everyone, and their business.
Old road signs and flickering lanterns hung from the log walls. Brown leather booths lined the walls, and custom-made wood tables and chairs speckled the main floor. In the back were a few pool tables, dart boards, and a small stage ready to showcase local bands, or brave drunks on karaoke night. Behind the wooden bar was a stone wall, holding hundreds of liquor bottles. But without question, Dixie’s favorite amenity was the massive stone fireplace.
“Hey Dixie, nice of you to slide in.”
She winced and turned toward the bar. “Sorry Chuck, if there’s any marks, I’ll pay for it.”
The police veteran chuckled, accentuating the deep laugh lines around his bright blue eyes. “Do you know how many times that sign’s been hit? If I got money every time someone slid into it, I wouldn’t be working here. Jack and Coke?”
“Make it a double.”
“You got it, dear.” He nodded toward the back of the room. “Your girls are in the back. I’ll bring your drink to the table.”
“Thanks, Chuck.”
Dixie maneuvered through the tables, nodding at people she knew, and careful to avoid those she didn’t care to make small talk with.
“Hey, Dix!”
Seated in the corner next to the fireplace, were Raven and Harley, and a half-drunk pitcher of beer centered around a few empty shot glasses. No one could argue that the ladies of Black Rose knew how to handle their liquor. Men, on the other hand, was a completely different story.
“What are we celebrating ladies?”
“Tuesday.”
“I’m in.”
Chuck walked up and slid her drink across the table. “Here you go, Dixie girl.”
Dixie smiled. “Thanks, Chuck.”
With a wink, he walked away.
“Slick as shit out there, huh?” Raven sipped her beer, which was neatly wrapped in a napkin to keep the condensation off her hands, of course.
Harley shook her head, her curly, chestnut brown hair bouncing on her shoulders. “Only gonna get worse. Stan the weatherman said we’
re in for a few more feet before the week’s over.”
The newest member of the Black Rose team, Harley was born and raised in Devil’s Den, and was a no-bullshit, tough-talking Southern gal. Prior to joining Black Rose, Harley was the go-to forensics photographer at Graves Laboratory—a local, private, full-service forensics laboratory—and was hired by local and federal agencies to photograph crime scenes in the tristate area. Harley was known for her quick wit and keen attention to detail at a crime scene. Dixie’s younger sister, Scar, hired Harley as her assistant after working with her on a case involving a local kidnapper.
Dixie took a deep sip of her drink, savoring the tingle of the liquor as it slid down her throat. “How’s the case going?”
Harley rolled her eyes. “You mean Crowley’s innocent, little house fire?”
“Yeah, that one.”
“Innocent my ass.” Harley took a gulp of beer. “That old bastard had just spent the last penny of his wife’s inheritance at the casino. He blew up the damn house for the insurance money… now we’ve just got to prove it.”
“Killing his brother-in-law in the process.”
“Yep.”
“Did you speak with Chief Cage? Any signs of arson?”
“I’ve got a call scheduled with him first thing in the morning. Scar and I are going to do surveillance in an hour.”
“Be careful, Crowley’s got a gun arsenal the size of Texas.”
Harley cocked an eyebrow and grinned. “So do I.”
Dixie laughed and turned to the sound of chairs scooting across the hardwood floor behind her.
“Howdy ladies.”
Ace pulled two chairs up to the table, one for him, and one for Roxy who was jabbing away on her cell phone, as usual.
“Hey, Ace. Who’s she talking to?”
“Potential client. New York.”
“Five bucks she takes it.” Roxy was known to take jobs that were in close proximity to luxury clothing stores.
“Make it twenty.”
“Have you found John Blevins’s receipt for a burner phone yet? Or, figure out if he drives a black truck?”
“Can’t a guy have a quick drink? I’m working on it, sheesh.”
Roxy clicked off her phone and slid into the chair. “Dammit it’s cold out there.” She plucked off her red designer gloves and gave her drink order to Chuck.
Ace slid into the chair next to Raven and pulled off his baseball cap. Always the flirt, he turned to her with a wink. “Hey, sweetheart.”
Raven slid him the side-eye. “You’re flinging snow all over the table.”
He leaned in. “Oh, come on, live dangerously once in a while, Rave.”
“And by live dangerously do you mean dating every warm-blooded female in town and then breaking their hearts? I’m telling you Ace, one day you’re gonna break the wrong heart.”
Dixie leaned forward. “She’s right, Ace… there still might be time to salvage your last date with… what the hell was her name?”
Ace squinted as he looked toward the front of the bar. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Pepper. Her name was Pepper, and speak of the freakin’ devil.”
Dixie glanced over her shoulder as the front door opened.
A gust of wind swirled snow around his massive body as he stepped over the threshold.
Her heart sank to her feet. Her attraction to him was immediate. Visceral. Every sensor in her body reacted to him.
Looking uninterested, at best, he casually scanned the room.
His eyes locked on hers.
For a moment, they stared at each other, somehow forming an immediate connection through the loud, crowded bar.
Before Dixie could catch her breath, a young blonde—presumably Pepper—grabbed his hand and dragged him to the bar.
“Holy shiiiiiiiiit.”
Dixie turned as Raven jokingly wiped the drool from Harley’s mouth.
Roxy shook her head. “That is one sexy, sexy, man.”
Ace rolled his eyes. “Get a grip ladies. This isn’t about you, and your raging hormones right now, this is about me, and the fact that the chick I blew off, just a few hours ago, just walked through the front door.”
Dixie picked up her ice-cold drink in an attempt to cool the heat running through her body. “Who’s the guy?”
“Her cousin, Liam. The Marine I told you about earlier, from Louisiana. He’s here on his two-week leave.”
Harley frowned, in disappointment.
Roxy snapped her fingers. “Dammit. Only two weeks. Thought we had a new man in town.”
Dixie glanced back toward the bar.
A Marine… yes, he definitely looked like a soldier. A warrior. His chestnut brown hair was cut short, emphasizing his strong features and thick neck. He wore a thin, grey T-shirt under a worn leather jacket—which, if she had to guess, concealed a firearm of some sort—faded jeans, and scuffed combat boots.
She watched Chuck slide him a beer and, as if sensing her, he glanced over his shoulder.
And, again, they locked eyes before Pepper pulled him away, again.
She turned back toward the table where the sexy man in town was no longer the hot topic. Instead, the conversation had switched to crime, murder, and chaos, as it always seemed to with this group.
Feeling out-of-sorts, Dixie drained her drink and pushed out of her chair. “I’m going to get another drink.”
She turned and walked face first into a thin, grey T-shirt and rock-hard chest.
CHAPTER 7
“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry.” She looked up, into the whiskey brown eyes that had hypnotized her from across the room just seconds before.
He smiled, his eyes twinkling.
Pepper stepped forward. “You’re Dixie Knight, right?”
Dazed, Dixie took a step back, peeled her eyes away from the Marine’s smoldering gaze, and turned toward Pepper. “Yes. I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve—
“Pepper.” They shook hands. “Nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about Black Rose and all the crazy stories. It must be so cool to be a private investigator.”
She smiled. “It can be.”
“I was just at your office Saturday night, uh, I’m a… friend of Ace’s.”
Dixie glanced at Ace, who was shrinking in his seat. “I won’t hold that against you.”
Pepper laughed. “Thanks. Oh! I’m sorry, this is my cousin, Liam.”
Her eyes met his as she slid her fingers over his large, calloused hand—his handshake was firm, commanding.
“Nice to meet your chest.”
He grinned, and with a hint of a Southern drawl, said, “I’d think a private investigator would be more aware of her surroundings.”
She smirked and cocked an eyebrow. “And I’d think a Marine would do a better job of maneuvering out of the way.”
His grin widened, and he took a swig of his beer, watching her over the rim. “Going to the bar?”
“Yep.”
“I’ll join you.”
She could feel the stares from the group as she walked away from the table, side-by-side with the sexy stranger—she was definitely going to catch shit from the girls later.
They stepped up to the bar and Dixie set down her empty glass as Liam casually leaned against the bar. He looked down at her with a penetrating gaze, a confidence, a swagger that made her feel like the only woman in the room. Her pulse picked up, and tiny warning bells sounded in her head telling her to be careful—this guy had charisma, and she had no doubt she wasn’t the only woman to notice.
“So... a private investigator?”
She nodded. “Black Rose Investigations, at your service.”
“I didn’t think most PI’s carried guns.” He glanced down at the barely visible bulge in her coat.
She raised her eyebrows. “Nice eye.”
“It’s the job.”
Chuck walked up, wiping his hands on his apron. “Another Jack and Coke, Dix?”
“Yes, sir.”
“An
other beer for you?”
“I’m good for now, thanks.”
Liam looked at her as Chuck walked away. “I’ve heard stories about your dad.”
“You have?”
“Yeah, hell of an agent. Legendary.”
“Thanks, and yeah, he was.”
“You ever think about joining the CIA?”
“No.”
He cocked his head. “No?”
“No. I caught the PI bug pretty young. There was never a question of what I wanted to be.” She looked up at him. “How about you? Always wanted to be a Marine?”
“Yes, ma’am. Like you, there was never a question.”
“You’re from a military family, aren’t you?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Aside from the fact you just called me ma’am, it says a lot about you that you’re using your leave to visit relatives, instead of getting drunk on some beach somewhere. Most military families are extremely close-knit and loyal.” She glanced at his arm. “I also caught a glimpse of that tattoo you’ve got on your forearm—family crest?”
With a gleam in his eye, he nodded, obviously enjoying her assessment of him.
“And, I’d guess you’ve followed in your father’s footsteps, who was also a Marine.”
Impressed, he raised his eyebrows. “You’re correct on all counts, Miss Knight—it’s in my blood. And you’re pretty damn observant.”
“It’s the job.”
He grinned, sipped his beer. “What’s a day in the life of a PI?”
She blew out a breath. “What isn’t? Honestly, a little of everything.”
“But Black Rose is no run-of-the-mill investigation agency. You’re more than background checks, and finding Mrs. Bertha’s lost cat.”
“That’s right… how do you know so much about us?”
“You’re not the only one who pays attention.”
She stared at him for a moment, her eyes trailing down to his lush lips, and her heart skipped a beat. She turned away and picked up her drink—which was empty, dammit. She twisted the cold glass around in her hands and attempted to sound aloof, despite the emotions that this guy had running through her body.
“Yes, we’re more than finding Mrs. Bertha’s lost cat. We specialize in criminal activity, mostly. But we’ll take random cases here and there. Cat’s and all.”
“Missing persons?”
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