Fatal Secrets: Brotherhood Protectors World

by Desiree Holt

  As he headed to the bathroom to dispose of the condom, she wondered to herself if it was possible to kill yourself with sex.

  Chapter 2

  Zoe opened her eyes slowly and looked around, not sure exactly where she was. Okay, a dark room, in a cheap motel, covered by a scratchy sheet and worn blanket. Thin slivers of light sliced in through the cheap blinds. Wonderful. The lap of luxury. But where? Why? How? She scrunched up her forehead, trying to think, but her brain was still operating on Slow. She shifted and felt a hard male body lying next to hers. Oh shit. Her next question was, and with whom?

  In a blinding flash it all came back to her. The exhausting three days chasing a cold case with intense personal meaning to her. Three days made drearier by the constant rain. The unexpected stop at Red’s Bar to chase some of the frustration. The drinks. Dancing with Sean Whoever-he-was. Oh yeah. That was definitely some dancing, even with that tiny hitch in his gait.

  She wondered what that was about. Was he injured in some way? Did he have scars he hadn’t wanted her to see? Was that why he hadn’t wanted the lights on in the room? What kind of an injury? And why couldn’t she just shut off her damn reporter’s brain, which was already over its allotment of questions?

  She slid her glance toward him again. His eyes were closed so maybe he was still asleep. Last night had been undeniably incredible, nearly finishing her off. It was way more than she’d been prepared for, as if something invisible ignited between them. She almost never had no-holds-barred sex with someone she knew well, never mind a stranger. It shocked her that it happened last night.

  Sean either had a lot of experience or a great imagination. The sex was hot and intense, exploring some of the darker fantasies she’d kept hidden for so long. Was he as affected by it as she was? She could still hardly believe all the things they’d done. No wonder he looked exhausted. She was sure she looked the same.

  She slid a glance at him, lying with one arm thrown back over his head. He’d apparently had a battle with the sheet, because it was only partially draped over his body. As her eyes adjusted to the gray light of the fading darkness, she saw an angry red scar that went from the top of his left thigh at an angle to the side of his knee. Another one that looked as if he had acquired it about the same time angled from beneath his left nipple almost to his pelvic bone.

  Damn!

  What the hell did this guy do for a living, anyway, to acquire scars like that?

  Oh, wait! There. On his hip. She made out the tattoo of a trident, and something clicked in her brain. He was a SEAL. Or, more likely, a former one. And those were combat scars. But what was he doing marking time at Red’s? He obviously wasn’t from around here. Didn’t he have a home? The thought that he might not made a wave of sadness wash through her.

  She was stunned at the invisible connection they’d made. It was more than the sex. Whatever it was had wound its way deep inside her and didn’t want to let go. How was that even possible, after only a few hours? But what did she do now?

  Leave. Get the hell out of here.

  Good idea. Her entire focus had to be on the book. She couldn’t afford to have it diluted by both an emotional and physical attraction to the first man she’d felt like that with in forever. Besides, from what she’d observed last night, he was a rolling stone gathering no moss on his aimless journey to wherever.

  When she looked back up at him, he was staring at her, his face a hard mask. Great. Good thing she was taking her own advice because he looked like he couldn’t wait to get rid of her. He grabbed the edge of the sheet and pulled it up to his neck then closed his eyes again.

  Well, okay, then. She could almost hear his thoughts.

  Nice knowing you. Don’t let the door hit you on the ass on the way out.

  She slid out of bed, grabbed her clothes from the floor, and headed for the miniscule bathroom in the grade C motel room. Her body ached in delicious places. She’d done unbelievable erotic things with this total stranger. But maybe that was why she did them, because they’d never see each other again.

  Forgoing makeup and with her hair pulled back in a hasty ponytail, she gathered her purse and slowly unlocked and opened the door to the room. Glancing at the bed, she saw Sean was in practically the same position as before, sheet and all. What did one do in this situation? Say thank you? Slide quickly out the door?

  When Sean never uttered a sound, she opted for choice number two and quietly exited the room. Right now she wanted to go home, take a hot shower, fix a mug of coffee, and curl up on the couch, wondering what the hell she thought she’d been doing last night. That wasn’t her, not even a little bit. Maybe after she got the chill out of her bones, she’d dive into a quart of her favorite ice cream, always a cure for misery.

  What had she been thinking of, to go to a motel with a man she’d just met whose last name she didn’t even know? Vetted by the owner of a bar she’d never been in before? Smart, Zoe. Real smart. She could be lying in a ditch instead of driving her car.

  But she hadn’t gotten that kind of vibe from him. Not even a little. And she couldn’t remember when she’d had better sex.

  Or maybe the last time I had sex at all.

  She was definitely not in the habit of spending the night in cheap motels with strange men. Chalk it up to frustration and depression at her lack of progress

  Okay, time to hit the road.

  The steady rainfall had disappeared, leaving behind a bone-chilling mist that crept beneath the skin. She should have pulled her car over in front of Sean’s room last night, but her mind had been on other things. Besides, it was only a few steps away. She blinked as she spotted something on the side of the vehicle. At first she thought it was dirt thrown up from the muddy, unpaved parking lot as people pulled out into the wet night. As she got close to it, however, she saw someone had written in crude letters in black, Stop looking.

  For a moment, she froze. Who could have done this? It had to be someone whose safety net she’d pricked during the past few days. Whatever had been used to write the words was dripping down the door like blood. When she ran her fingers over it, she discovered it was some kind of soluble paint. Unlocking her door, she reached in, grabbed a handful of the paper towels she’d stuck in the console yesterday, and cleaned her fingers as best she could. Then she leaned back against the seat, forcing herself to breathe slowly and evenly. She’d have to clean the car when she got home. Maybe the rain would wash a lot of it away. She hoped.

  She had a wild thought of hurrying back to the motel room she’d left and waking Sean, but she discarded that idea before it was even fully formed. She didn’t need him in her business, and she’d bet the house he’d want nothing to do with it. People had tried to run her away from stories before. This could be nothing more than someone blowing smoke and have nothing to do with the subject of her book, although she doubted it. In a way, though, it made her feel good. She had to be on the right track for this to happen.

  Then another thought struck her. How did whoever this was know where her car was? Had they followed her out here? Waited for the right opportunity when everyone else was gone? The night with Sean was totally unexpected, the stop at the bar very last minute. So, had someone been following her?

  Had they been in the bar last night?

  A chill slithered down her spine.

  She’d rattled someone’s cage all right. Could be anyone. There were all the people who’d been involved in the beginning, everyone from the county prosecutor’s office to the high-profile criminals they were charging to someone who might not even be on the horizon. At least she knew she was heading in the right direction. So, she needed to be careful. No problem. She’d been down this road before. Usually it was someone flexing muscle and figuring they’d scare her off. It hadn’t worked when Justine was killed, and it wasn’t going to work now.

  She took a moment to steady her sudden attack of nerves then started her car and backed up. In seconds, with the windshield wipers slapping, she pulled out
onto the highway and headed for the interstate. The highway was filled with early morning traffic, and the slickness on the road and the mist in the air didn’t help her driving. She wanted to get home, take a shower, forget what a stupid idiot she’d been the night before, and look at her three days’ worth of meager notes.

  But two things kept bugging her. Ten years had passed without any activity about the case she was digging into. She’d had few if any results, so why was someone trying to chase her off?

  What did you think? It’s been a long time, and no one’s even looked into it so no one would pay attention?

  They hardly touched it, to her way of thinking, even when it happened, although plenty of people had tried to convince her otherwise. She’d never forget that day, no matter how much time went by.

  Ten years ago

  “Another drink, miss?”

  Zoe looked up at the waitress standing beside her table. Did she want a refill? She hated drinking alone, and Justine should be here any minute.

  “I think I’ll pass for the moment, but I could use some more chips and dip.”

  Instead of getting drunk she’d sit here and get fat.

  “Okay. Coming right up.”

  She checked her watch for maybe the tenth time. Justine was already twenty minutes late, which was not like her at all. According to her friends in Helena, the woman never missed taco night unless she was sick or dying, which was why they had arranged to meet here. Zoe had driven up from Bozeman, and the plan was to spend the weekend with Justine so they could have some girl time together. They only lived three hours apart, but they were both so busy—Zoe with her reporting and Justine in the prosecutor’s office—they hardly got to see each other anymore.

  The waitress brought a fresh basket of warm chips and dishes of guacamole and salsa and refilled Zoe’s water glass.

  “Thanks.” She smiled at the woman and took a sip of the icy liquid.

  Glancing at her wrist again she wondered how many more times she’d allow herself to check the time. Justine was more than half an hour late, and that was not only unusual but unheard of. The woman was a nut about punctuality. After double checking her messages yet again, she punched the button for Justine’s cell. Again.

  “Hi. You’ve reached Justine DeLuca. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you.”

  That was it. Nothing more than her usual voice mail message.

  “Justine, it’s Zoe. Again. Where the hell are you? Did you ditch me for a date?” She disconnected and tapped the message icon. “Justine. Call me before I smack your ass. Now!”

  By the time another hour had passed, she was halfway between angry and worried. This was not like Justine DeLuca. Se’d been as excited as Zoe about the two of them getting to spend some time together. A glance at her phone told her it was already after eight thirty, more than ninety minutes past the time to meet. Why hadn’t Justine called?

  She scrolled through her contacts, looking for her friend’s work number. As a paralegal in the county prosecutor’s office, her friend might sometimes pull late hours, but she surely would have called. She punched in the number and listened to it ring, startled when someone actually answered.

  “Prosecutor’s office.” The male voice sounded both tired and preoccupied.

  “Oh! Uh, I’m looking for Justine DeLuca.”

  “Sorry. Not here. I think she’s gone for the day. You want to leave a message?”

  “No. No, that’s okay. Do you have any idea when she left?”

  “I think it was a couple of hours ago. Sure you don’t want to leave a message?” He sounded abrupt, as if he wanted to end the call. If he was working this late, he probably was in the middle of something critical.

  “I’m sure. Uh, who am I speaking to?”

  “Warren Craig. Who’s this?”

  Oh. The county prosecutor himself. And if he sounded this harried, it was for damn sure he was in the middle of some kind of crisis.

  “This is Zoe Young. I’m a friend of Justine’s. She was supposed to meet me at seven tonight for taco night, and—”

  “And she’s not there?”

  Now his voice was sharp, not the least harried.

  “No. She’s—”

  “Usually not late,” he interrupted. “I know. At least not like this, and not without calling. Do you know where this office is, Miss Young?”

  “I can find it. I have a good GPS locator.”

  “Good. Get yourself down here. I’ll call the lobby and tell them to let you up. Meanwhile, I’ll do some checking on this end.”

  She blew out a breath. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  “Just get here ASAP.”

  Zoe was so immersed in the memory of that night she nearly missed her exit from the interstate. Even as she hit the ramp and pulled out onto the road, snippets from that night still unraveled in her mind. Warren Craig had been all efficient business, calling in everyone from his admin to half the people on his staff to his brother, a cop on the Helena police force to the sheriff. But there was no sign of Justine until two days later. Her body was discovered on the outskirts of Helena by some kids looking for a place to get drunk or smoke weed. She was lying on the ground in a weed-infested patch of gravel between two deserted warehouses, right at the edge of town. According to the autopsy report, she had been strangled.

  The police asked around Helena, but no one remembered seeing her after she left work. There were so many loose threads. Had she had a conflict with someone at work? Stepped into something in one of the high-profile criminal cases they were trying? Discovered someone’s volatile secret? Warren Craig and the police went through her calendar and the cases she’d been working on, but anything that popped died for lack of evidence. Someone floated the idea she was meeting with a person who had information on a case she was researching, but doing that wasn’t part of her job.

  It royally pissed Zoe off that no one in a position of power was pushing this. Something definitely smelled wrong, and one of these days she’d find out what it was. She would not let Justine’s murder lie forever in the cold case files.

  A lot of people besides Warren had tried to keep the story going for a while. Drake Temple, reporter for the Helena paper. Cal Woodrow, who ran the local public defender’s office. John Garcia, a young attorney also on Warren Craig’s staff. Even Craig’s admin. But whoever had done this had made themselves completely invisible. And, she was sure, with some well-placed help.

  Zoe could still feel the pain after all these years, the angst of those days while the search was going on and then the despair and aguish when the body was found. Craig had called her then sent someone to bring her to the medical examiner’s office. He had told her he could do the identification, but she insisted on seeing the body for herself. It was the only way she could be convinced Justine was indeed dead. And all of his sympathy and respect for her friend didn’t ease the pain at all.

  Her anger that the case was closed so fast had spilled over in every direction. No matter how people assured her every effort was made to find the killer, she never believed anyone. Justine was a good person, maybe a little brash but not someone to awaken that kind of rage in anyone. She haunted Warren Craig’s office and the police department, until Craig finally took her aside and told her in the nicest way possible, but firmly, that while the case would remain open, it was now officially a cold case until and unless something turned up to change that. In ten years, nothing had although at least once a year she visited the Helena police department to rattle some cages.

  The continued lack of results plus her experience as a crime reporter had given her the incentive to write her first book on an unsolved case. When that was a mild success, her publisher had asked for another one. And now she finally had the courage to dig into Justine’s case. This time, no one was going to stop her.

  Maybe.

  Because when she got to her apartment and unlocked the door, the first thing she saw was a sheet lying on her living room floor with
big splotches of red. In the center of the sheet was a female, with its throat cut and red staining the front. The sight froze her in place. She’d seen dead bodies, of course, as part of some stories she’d covered, but she realized as soon as she swallowed her panic that this wasn’t a human body. And the red wasn’t blood. It was a dummy of some kind, and the red came from paint. As she made herself walk closer, she realized the color was off. It was paint. That didn’t, however, lessen the impact of the words someone had written with a brush.

  Shut it down or this could be you.

  She backed up to the entryway and set her things down on the floor, trying not to shake. First her car, now this. She needed to call Warren Craig. Maybe this would make him or someone take another look, after all this time, at Justine’s disappearance. After all, it had to be connected, right? Nothing else she was working on would raise this kind of response.

  But it was aimed directly at her, a fact that made her start to shake. She was trying to figure out what to do when a sharp knock on her door made her jump. She swallowed and called out.

  “Who—Who’s there?”

  “It’s me, Zoe. Hank.”

  She let out her breath, recognizing the familiar voice of Hank Patterson.

  “Hold on.” She unlocked the door and flung it open. “Hank! W-what are you doing here?”

  Not that she wasn’t glad to see him but he’d ask a lot of questions she didn’t necessarily want to answer. She could not let him in. He’d blow a stack and want to lock her away to keep her safe, so she stood in the doorway, blocking him.

  “Are you kidding? You don’t answer texts or phone calls. My wife is going nuts, and when Sadie goes nuts, I have to do something about it. She sent me on a scouting mission. You know how my wife gets, especially where you’re concerned. And what the hell is that on the side of your car? Stop looking? What are you into now?”

  Zoe felt the beginning of a headache building. Bad enough Hank showed up unannounced. And that he saw the remains of what was written on her car. But now he’d tell his wife, and they’d want to lock her away in a closet. And Sadie McClean, his wife and her very good friend, would support him.