by Unknown
“Yes, Christie was a part of the CoS.” Natasha nodded. “All seven of them had been friends since elementary school and were so tight. It was horrible how Christie’s ex bastard of a husband started killing them off.” Her eyes narrowed. “Christie was devastated.”
Natasha screwed up her face at the mention of Salvatore Reyes, before her features relaxed again. “At least that bastard has been taken care of.”
Brooks nodded.
“Anyway, Christie graduated high school and her parents moved back to Indiana after she married Salvatore.” Natasha’s voice was hard as she said his name. “I think it was almost five years ago that her father died of a heart attack, and about three years since her mother passed from a brain aneurism.”
“Damn, that’s tough.” Brooks shook his head. And after what she’d gone through at he hands of her ex… “You were both only children, no brothers or sisters?”
“Nope, no siblings. But she and I were like sisters.” Natasha looked away, as if deep in thought. “Almost like twins. When we were together, we could sense the other’s mood and finish each other’s sentences. We could often sense when something was wrong, even from a distance.”
Brooks saw that Natasha was coming down more quickly than he’d assumed she would. She hadn’t finished her drink, so there was a good chance the dose she’d consumed hadn’t been as high as he’d thought.
He glanced at the clock and saw they’d been in her room over an hour. It had been maybe five hours at most since she’d been drugged, but it was more than enough time for her to be coming down.
“You mentioned you worked a couple of years as a dispatcher for your local PD.” He leaned back in his chair. Natasha wouldn’t know Sofia had already informed him. “What did you do next?”
“When my uncle was shot in the line of duty, I inherited all he had, including his life insurance.” The words seemed to catch in her throat. “My grandparents apparently encouraged him to do that. He’d always said I should be running a boutique or something to do with crafts, instead of working as a dispatcher, so I took the inheritance and bought a small crafts store. I ran the place until I sold it and moved out here to be close to Christie and for Jessica’s birth.” She smiled. “I love being that little girl’s auntie.”
Natasha’s features grew a little paler. She rolled onto her back, rested her head on the pillow, and put her hand to her forehead. “I feel strange.”
“You need rest.” Brooks got up from the chair and sat on the bed beside her. It was clear she had lost interest in sex and was coming down hard. Damn, this was not going to be easy on her.
He brushed hair from her forehead and felt the sweat beading on her forehead, one of the symptoms for some people coming off Ecstasy. It varied from person to person.
“Don’t.” She shoved his hand away, an irritable edge to her voice. “I don’t want you to touch me.” Irritability. Another symptom.
He stood and looked down at her to see her features now pinched. “Close your eyes and rest.”
“I don’t need to—” She rubbed her arms with her palms. “I don’t feel so good.”
Anger at that little shit who’d drugged Natasha made him want to slam his fist into the wall. He grabbed a folded cover at the foot of the bed and pulled it over her. “Close your eyes, honey.”
She grabbed the cover, gripping it in her fists and lowered her eyelids. He could see movement beneath her lids as she struggled to calm her mind.
It took a long while, a very long while, but finally her body went limp as she relaxed into sleep.
Brooks bent to pick up the contents of her purse that had spilled onto the floor when he’d knocked the purse off the bed. An envelope stuck out of the purse, the only thing that hadn’t fallen out with everything else.
He looked away from it and scooped up a brush, lip balm, and a wallet that had a butterfly on it. He also picked up a butterfly pin, like one of his mother’s old-fashioned broaches she’d gotten from his great-grandmother.
He’d put the keys into her purse earlier and had noticed a butterfly keychain as well. He smiled. From what he had seen of Natasha, the butterfly was the perfect symbol for her.
He grabbed her phone then tossed it into the purse, on top of the other items. He paused and peeked at he envelope that hadn’t fallen out of the purse with everything else. It was addressed to Natasha in block letters written in ink. One end of the envelope was torn off. A piece of paper was inside and he started to pull at it. He brought it halfway out and thought he could see a message written in ink on the opposite side.
Handwritten notes were rare in this day and age of electronic mail and documents. For a long moment he stared at the paper, tempted to pull it all the way out and read it anyway, as if he had to read it.
No. He blew out his breath and slid it all the way into the envelope and pushed it all the way into her purse. If the letter had something to do with the case, it wouldn’t be admissible in court if he removed and opened it.
After he placed the purse on the nightstand, Brooks settled in the armchair, feeling exhausted, and praying that Natasha would be fine.
CHAPTER 7
A thudding, pounding pain in her head woke Natasha. It hurt so badly that for a moment she laid still, her eyes closed. She rarely had headaches and didn’t remember ever having one so awful in her life.
Red and blue lights flashed in her mind. Emergency vehicle lights. It was like they were in the room with her, and she could almost hear the faint sounds of sirens. Had she dreamt of an accident?
She breathed in deep and slow, trying to relax the tension in her head and body. Light came in from somewhere and it was red through her eyelids. She slowly blinked her eyes open and saw she was on her side facing a window with sun shining through a large gap in the black out shades.
For a moment she was disoriented. Where was she? She frowned in concentration, which only made the pain in her head worse. Gradually everything came back to her. She was in a hotel in Denver for a tradeshow.
Her brow furrowed. And last night she’d gone to a party that Gary had invited her to. A vise clamped around her head. She remembered Gary taking her out to a solarium and then Brooks was there.
The moment she thought of Brooks, her cheeks flushed with heat. Had she been all over him? Had she felt such a strong attraction that she had thrown herself at him?
Her face grew warmer. Her eyes widened. How had she gotten in bed? She looked down and saw a blanket around her waist and she was wearing the same top she’d been wearing last night. She was still wearing her skirt and could feel it tangled around her legs.
Carefully, she rolled over, trying not to disturb her pounding head, which didn’t do a whole lot of good. She looked at the nightstand and squinted as the digital clock came into view. Her eyes flew open.
“Oh, my God.” Headache forgotten, she threw aside her covers. “I’m going to be late.” She couldn’t afford the fine.
She scrambled out of bed and stumbled into a chair pulled up to the bed—with a man sitting in it.
A scream almost tore from her before she realized it was Brooks. Her whole body flamed at the sight of the man who looked at her with hooded eyes. His jaws were stubbled, his hat off and his hair mussed. He was wearing a shirt and jeans, the same ones she remembered seeing him in last night. He looked incredibly rumpled and sexy, and altogether an alpha male on watch.
She didn’t have time to think about her mortification. She had to get out of here.
“Are you all right?” His voice was deep and rumbly, in a way that shot sensations straight from her breasts to right between her thighs.
“I’ve got to go.” She stepped over his long legs that were stretched out in front of him. “I’m going to be late. God, I can’t be late.”
“Does it matter that much if you arrive a few minutes after the doors open?” he asked as she darted for the bathroom.
“They fine a thousand if you’re not in your showroom on time.” She t
urned on the shower water. She felt grimy, could smell the marijuana smoke on her from the party, and likely it was in her hair, too.
She only took enough time in the shower to wash her hair quickly and rub her body with quick swipes of a soapy washcloth.
After the shower, she didn’t bother to blow dry her hair and just swiped it with a brush before she pulled it back in a damp ponytail.
When she rushed out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her, she was surprised to see one of her skirts and a blouse spread out on the bed, along with panties, a bra, and clean socks. Her boots were on the floor.
“I hope this is okay.” Brooks stepped out of her way.
“Perfect.” She reached the bed and let her towel fall to the floor. She didn’t have time for modesty. “Thank you.”
The moment the towel hit the floor, a pained expression crossed his face. From the corner of her eye, she saw his hands clench at his sides as if he had to hold himself back from touching her. If she wasn’t mistaken, a bulge pressed against the front of his jeans.
She dressed faster than she ever had. Only fifteen minutes had passed from the moment she saw the time on the alarm clock, to having her boots on, to letting Brooks help her jam her arms into her coat and then rush for the door.
“My purse.” She whirled to look for it and found Brooks behind her, his armed stretched as he held out the fringed yellow bag to her. “Thanks.” She grabbed the purse, bolted for the door, and opened it.
He followed her out the door. “I’m driving you.” His legs were long enough that he kept up with her even as she hurried to the elevator.
She poked the down button over and over, as she waited for the damned elevator doors to open—as if that would make it move any faster. “I can get there myself.”
“With your penchant for accidents?” He stepped into the elevator with her as the doors slid open. “I’ll get you there in time. I guarantee it.”
She punched the lobby button. “I’ll be fine.”
Her heart beat hard, matching the pounding in her head. She hit the door close button repeatedly even though she’d heard they didn’t really work. Door close buttons were supposedly put in elevators just to make people feel better. She didn’t know if that was true or not, but she felt entirely frustrated, her muscles tense, as the doors seemed to take forever to close.
When they finally did, she looked up at Brooks. She tried not to feel any embarrassment as she met his gaze. “I’m sorry if I did anything I shouldn’t have last night.” She avoided his gaze and looked at the floor numbers as they flashed by. “I don’t know what happened—I can barely remember anything. But I think I came on to you.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” His expression went hard. “You were drugged.”
She whipped her gaze to his. “I was drugged?”
He nodded. “Gary gave you Ecstasy in your drink.”
Her eyes widened. “Gary would never do that. Ever.”
Brooks just shook his head. “It has a lot to do with how rough you’re probably feeling.”
“I don’t believe that he did it for a moment.” The elevator car came to a rest on the lobby floor and the doors slid open. She rushed out through the opening. “Someone else must have done it.”
Brooks kept up with her. “He was the one who was with you when you were drugged.”
“No way.” She shook her head. “Like I said, it had to have been someone else.” She glanced at Brooks as she walked. “Gary is a close friend.”
Brooks’s eyebrows knitted together. “Are you certain?”
“Absolutely.” She strode across the lobby to the front doors and flipped the hood of her jacket up and over her head with both hands. She said, “Thank you,” automatically to the doorman as he held the door open for them. She continued out into the cold with Brooks at her side as she turned her attention back to him. “Whoever did this is so dead.”
“Gary is in jail.” Brooks words caused her to falter in her steps. “He was arrested at the party. He’s suspected of drugging you.”
She came to a complete stop, her stomach clenching. “He doesn’t belong in jail. We have to get him out.”
“You’d be late for the tradeshow,” Brooks said. “You’d have to pay that steep fine.”
“He’s my friend.” A blast of cold air made her feel like her slightly damp hair was turning into ice on her scalp despite the hood. The cold didn’t matter—her friend had been unjustly accused. “I can’t leave him there.”
“I’ll take care of getting him out.” Brooks spoke with more understanding than he had to begin with. She could tell he believed her now.
“Thank you.” She frowned. “He’s going to be fined.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Brooks said. “I’ll talk with whoever is in charge.”
She let out her breath. “I appreciate that.”
They reached the parking lot and she looked around for her car. “I didn’t drive to the hotel, did I?” The thought filled her with dismay, but then she knew that wouldn’t have happened with Brooks there.
“I brought you to the hotel in my truck.” He touched her elbow and she let him guide her to a big black truck. “Another agent drove your car.”
“Where is it?” She looked around as she stood by his vehicle.
Brooks opened the door. “Jump in. You can worry about your car after the show.”
She scrambled past Brooks, and he helped her into the frigid truck. She didn’t have time to search for her car or argue with him. “We need to go. I’ve got fifteen minutes to get there and in my showroom.”
He shut the door behind her and jogged around to the driver’s side. She tossed her purse beside her on the seat. She shivered and put on her seatbelt as she waited for him to climb in, start the vehicle, and get the heater going.
At first the heater blasted out cold air as they left the parking lot, but in no time it was warm and getting warmer.
Traffic looked bad and panic rose inside her, burning her throat. “I’m going to be late. I simply cannot afford the fine.”
He flipped a switch and a siren cut the air. “I’ve turned on the grill lights. “We’ll make it.”
“Are you allowed to do that?” She stared at cars pulling aside.
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m making an exception for you.”
“As long as we don’t get arrested,” she muttered, and he shook his head, clearly holding back a laugh.
They made it to the tradeshow with five minutes to spare, which would be enough time to get through the doors and to her display before the show started. The moment he parked in front of the entrance, she scrambled out.
“Thanks.” She was so single-minded that she threw the word over her shoulder without looking at him, and hurried to the doors.
She managed a grimace-smile at the K9 officer before she darted through the entrance and ran to her display. She felt like a baseball player stealing second base, sliding in just before the second baseman could touch her with the ball and the ref call her out.
One of the show’s clipboard-carrying monitors rounded the corner at the same time Natasha threw her jacket and purse under one of the tables. She smiled at him as she tried to catch her breath. The monitor nodded at her before continuing his rounds.
As the man moved on, Natasha glanced at Gary’s display area and saw the monitor frown at the unattended showroom. The man whipped up the clipboard, wrote on a paper with a pen then continued on his round.
She felt a pang in her chest. Hopefully Brooks would be able to get Gary out of jail and all charges dropped. The police had no proof it had been Gary who had drugged her and she knew it wasn’t.
But then who?
Not only had someone drugged her, but had caused her to make a fool of herself with Brooks. How freaking embarrassing.
She mentally shook her head. Brooks would understand—after all, he knew she’d been under the influence of what he called Molly. However, she may have said someth
ing that was true before she fell asleep. As a matter of fact, she was sure she had said some mortifying things. She just didn’t want to think about them.
It took a few minutes, but she managed to shake off what had happened, for now. She’d worry about it later.
She forgot to check the texts on her phone, and remembered there was at least one from Mark. She pulled up the messages and found two. One was from Christie, asking how the show was going. Natasha sent a quick text back that it was going well. She didn’t mention being drugged—it would only make Christie worry.
The other text was the one she had noticed earlier from Mark. In his message, he asked her to let him know around noon how the morning went. She shook her head. He was always so damned anxious for news.
A mere ten minutes had passed before her first customer came in. Natasha smiled and greeted the exotic-looking brunette whose hair was pulled back in a sleek chignon. She was dressed in a tailored red suit and black heels, and looked as if she was on her way to a board meeting for a Fortune 500 company.
Natasha’s simple, yet colorful skirts whirled around her ankles as she approached the customer. Natasha wasn’t one to feel self-conscious as she greeted people in general, and that included potential clients. “Welcome to Precious Treasures.” She smiled and extended her hand. “I’m Natasha Simpson.”
The woman barely spared Natasha a glance, and she lowered her hand. Not the friendly sort, she thought as the potential customer looked over her framed art.
With a look of concentration, the woman withdrew a phone from her Louie Vuitton handbag and scrolled through a series of photographs. She appeared to be comparing the images to the art while she looked up from her phone to the numbered prints, then back to her phone.
Natasha left the woman to examine the art, and turned to another customer who walked in. She recognized the woman immediately as Judy Pearson. At first glance, Judy had the appearance of a mousy, shy, and quiet individual, but that couldn’t be less true. Within moments, people realized she was buoyant, energetic, a truly delightful person who was fun to talk with. Like she had at previous shows, Judy bought cases of Natasha’s decadent chocolate saddles, which Natasha was able to carry since it was winter and the chocolate wouldn’t melt while being transported in Arizona. Summer was another story entirely, which Natasha learned the hard way.
