“Scar! Let us out!”
“Roxy?!”
After a few thuds, the trap door swung open.
The light stung her eyes as she looked up from the bottom of the hole.
Weston climbed down the staircase. “Head on up first. I’ll come up after you.”
To catch her if she fell, she assumed.
“Roxy! What the hell... what is this? Why are you... are you okay?”
Ignoring the flood of questions being hurled down at her, she made her way up the staircase, shockingly self-conscious of her ass hovering above the man’s face she’d snuggled with the night before.
Fresh-faced with braids in her long, silky black hair, and wearing her signature flared jeans, flip flops, and trendy peace-sign T-shirt that showed off her new lotus blossom tattoo, Scar looked as though she’d gotten twelve hours of sleep. But Roxy knew better. When the ladies of Black Rose took a licking, they kept on ticking—always on their A-game, always put together, always ready to take on the next challenge.
Scar reached down, pulled her through the hole and in a calm, but urgent voice, said, “Have you been down there all night?” True to form, Scar's calm, steady voice had an instant soothing effect on Roxy. The same effect it had on criminals when Scar was brought in to question suspects, more often than not, pulling a confession that the investigators had tried days to obtain. Maybe it was the combination of her stunning beauty, her calm demeanor, or her uncanny ability to twist a conversation to her benefit, but Scar was untouchable when it came to sweating out a suspect.
The sour scent of burned rubble welcomed her as she stepped off the last step. Her stomach sank as she looked around the charred remains of their kitchen, which looked even worse in the morning light. She glanced out a window where the plastic had come loose sometime during the night. Ominous grey clouds blanketed the rising sun, making for a particularly bleak morning.
“What time is it?”
“Seven.” Scar’s gaze shifted to the massive man climbing up the steps behind Roxy. “Uh…”
Weston pulled himself through the hole, looking shockingly alert. “Morning.” He smiled as if he hadn’t just spent the evening underground.
Wide-eyed, Scar looked back and forth between Roxy and Weston and grinned. Roxy elbowed her in the ribs as she stepped away from the trap door.
“Seriously, someone please tell me what the hell is going on here…”
“That’s going to need a pot of coffee, Scar.”
“The electricity’s still off.” Scar looked at Weston, who hadn’t officially deemed the house safe.
Weston closed the trap door and said, “Keep the kitchen breaker off, and you should be okay to turn on the electricity. I inspected the house last night. All of the damage was contained in the kitchen.”
Roxy exhaled, relieved to be discussing the steps she could take to begin to dig her way out of this mess. She turned to her sister. “Okay, so let’s call the utility companies ASAP and get them out here. Is everyone okay?”
“Yes. Sore; cuts and bruises, but fine. Eager to get back to work. I sent a group text around this morning. Heard from everyone but you. They should be here soon to look around.”
“I don’t want anyone going down there, okay?” She nodded toward the tunnel.
Scar put her hands on her hips. “Roxy, I need to know what's going on.”
A phone lit up on the counter. “That’s mine.” Weston walked over, picked up it and scrolled through his text messages. “I’ve got to head out.” He looked at Roxy, stared at her for a moment.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach.
“Rest, Roxy. Ice your back and take some medicine. Take a day to relax. I’ll be in touch.” With his eyes locked on hers, the corner of his lip curled up, and with that small—super sexy—smile, he turned and walked out the door.
***
Roxy rested her hands on the marble vanity and looked at herself in the mirror.
Shit—she looked like total shit.
The small cut on her cheek had grossly scabbed over sometime during the night. Her mascara had smudged under her eyes, emphasizing the blue-black circles—a nasty little side effect from stress and exhaustion. And to top it off, she was covered head-to-toe in dirt.
She sighed and shook her head. After giving Scar the run-down on the previous evening’s events, and then listening to her go on and on about how attractive Chief Cage was, Scar suggested—forced—Roxy to take a few hours to go home, shower, eat and relax. And as much as she hated to admit it, Scar was right. She needed a break.
Shower, she would definitely do. Eat and relax… probably not.
Now, it was just after nine o’clock in the morning, and she already felt like she’d had a full day.
She reached into the medicine cabinet, downed a few ibuprofen, kicked off her boots and slid out of her clothes.
Her back felt twisted like a pretzel, squeezed too tight.
She reached into the two-person shower, turned the knob and waited for it to steam up.
Two-person shower. As long as she’d lived in her house, she’d never had the opportunity to indulge in the two-person feature of her shower. Not that she hadn’t had the opportunity, it was just that when that time of evening came, she was more focused on ending whatever boring date she was on so she could get a solid night’s sleep and be alert and ready for work the next day.
Every day, seven days a week.
She stepped into the shower and inhaled deeply, allowing the warm steam to fill her lungs, and the hot water to pound on her back. She closed her eyes.
Weston.
Weston Cage.
He’d kissed her. Well, he’d kissed the top of her head.
She thought about the instant comfort he’d given her when he’d wrapped his big, muscular arm around her—the butterflies when she laid her head on his chest.
The rush of excitement when he’d kissed the top of her head.
And then, to her total shock, she’d fallen asleep in his arms and slept like a rock. For whatever reason, she’d slept soundly on the dirt floor of a secret tunnel, ten feet from two corpses.
Why?
Her stomach sank, and she dipped her head under the shower head. She knew why.
Something about Weston Cage was able to comfort her, make her feel safe and protected.
Like no one else before.
And she’d let it happen.
She’d let her guard down, if only for a bit.
Two hours later, Roxy turned onto the driveway that led to Black Rose Investigations. She glanced up at the sky as she drove under the tall trees. The nasty-looking clouds from the morning remained, setting the stage for another creepy, dramatic day filled with confusion, questions, and chaos.
She drove around to the back of the house. Multiple utility vans and trucks she didn’t recognize scattered the back lawn. Scar must’ve pulled some strings, or offered double-pay for prompt service.
Probably the latter.
She smiled, relieved that progress was being made, if even a little bit. And there was more to come. After her shower, she’d called the insurance company, a local restoration company, and the sanitation department to bring over a dumpster.
The Black Rose team had a shit-load of work ahead of them.
Luckily, the medicine she’d taken for her back had kicked in, and she was happy to notice that the more she moved around, the less sore it became. Weston was right. It was just a pulled muscle.
She parked her car, grabbed her bag and got out. A cool breeze blew through her hair.
She took a deep breath. The house was a buzz of activity. Here we go.
“Yo, Rox!”
Ace walked down the hill, arms full of debris from the explosion.
“Hey, Ace. How you doing? Okay?”
A devilish grin crossed his handsome face. “No Roxy, the question is, how you doing?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What’s going on? What’re you talking about?”
He nonchalant
ly raised his eyebrows and looked her up and down. “Let’s see… cheeks flushed, a twinkle in your eye, a little pep in your step… okay, more like a limp but whatever.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Ace?”
“Oh you know, a little birdie told me you spent the night with a certain muscled-up fireman.”
She clicked her tongue, rolled her eyes and walked past him.
“Hey, it’s a good thing, Roxy.” He turned and followed her. “You need a little heat in your life. Get it? A little flame, fire, spark. Get it?”
“Yes, Ace. I get it. He’s a fireman. Yes, you’re funny. Ha. Ha.” She reached the back door and held it open for a utility worker making his way outside. Ace pushed passed her, still grinning. “Thanks.”
She sighed. “He is hot, isn’t he?”
“According to every woman in Devil’s Den, he’s the second hottest guy in town. The second.”
“Right, no one can hold a candle to you, my friend.”
“Damn straight.”
She walked into the kitchen where her sisters were already hard at work tackling the mountainous task of cleaning up. She set her bag on the counter and watched them work for a minute, her heart swelling with pride. Not even twenty-four hours after getting blown up, there they were—working their asses off, not bitching, taking care of business. Doing what needed to be done.
She loved them so damn much.
On her hands and knees, Fiona looked up. “Roxy!” She jumped to her feet. “How you doing? Scar told us everything.” She leaned forward and whispered, “We pulled the stove in front of the trap door so no one would see it. And Scar told us you didn’t want us to go down yet, but we’re dying to, Rox. I mean, two full skeletons? Really?”
Dixie walked up, wiping a smudge of soot off her face with her Lynyrd Skynyrd T-shirt. And in her straight-to-the-point way, she looked Roxy up and down and said, “You okay? Cause if not I’m hog-tying you and taking you to bed, where I’ll strap you down until your back’s better.”
Ignoring the threat, Roxy frowned, leaned closer to her. “Hell of a black eye, Dix.”
“Not my first. Besides, Liam put some ointment or something on it. The swelling’s already going down.”
“If anyone knows how to deal with injuries, it’s a former Marine.”
“That's right. Okay, when can we go down in that damn hole?”
“Right after Max gets here. I called him to come excavate the bodies. Should be here any second.”
As if on cue, the former forensic medical examiner turned director of Graves Laboratory—a world-renowned, full-service forensics lab—walked through the door. Looking as impeccably dressed as always, Max Blackwood wore a dark grey designer suit and gold tie that matched the specks in his eyes. As always, he looked like he’d just stepped out of GQ magazine.
Being one of the first investors in the private forensics lab, Roxy’s father had set the stage for a solid relationship between the Knight sisters and Graves’s staff. They were on a first-name basis and the sisters used Graves exclusively for all of their cases. It was a relationship that the sisters coveted, as did Max, especially when he sent them their invoices.
Following closely behind Max was a tall, older man—Roxy guessed mid-seventies—in khakis and a blue button-up that fit snuggly around his broad shoulders.
“Roxy, dear.” Max rushed across the kitchen. “Are you all okay?”
“Hi, Max. Thank you so much for coming over. And yeah, we’re fine.”
He looked around the kitchen. “This is just awful. I’m so sorry. I’d ask if you need anything, but of course, the answer is yes, so just let me know how I can help.”
“Thanks, Max. As always.”
“Of course. This is Benedict Prescott, one of our best forensic anthropologists.”
Roxy extended her hand. “Roxy Knight. Pleasure to meet you. Thanks for coming on such short notice.”
They shook hands. “My pleasure. I happened to be in town, so it worked out perfectly.”
Max nodded. “Benedict works out of our Northeast office.”
“I hope you don’t have plans to leave soon.” She stepped over to the trap door and pulled it open. Her eyes darkened, and she said, “Because we’ve got two murder victims down here.”
CHAPTER 9
Roxy pulled herself through the trap door and answered the phone.
“Roxy Knight.”
“Rox, it’s Zander.”
“Oh good, thanks for calling me back.” She stepped into the kitchen.
“Of course. So what’s this I hear about skeletons in your closet?”
“Wow, everyone’s a real comedian today. Believe me, I wish it were a closet.”
He laughed. “It never stops with you guys, and yeah, Dix called me earlier about something unrelated and told me about it. Pretty damn creepy.”
“That’s the understatement of the century. But that’s why I called. I’m hoping you might possibly know something about it? The bodies? Or could ask around?”
“Already done. Chief Moretti’s been working law enforcement here in Devil’s Den for thirty-plus years, and I gotta tell ya, he about came out of his chair when I brought it up.”
She began pacing. “Please tell me he knows something.”
“Oh yeah. A husband and wife owned the house before your folks purchased it…”
“Thirty-three years ago…”
“Right. So the couple pretty much dropped off the face of the earth five years before that.”
“What do you mean dropped off the face of the earth?”
“I mean disappeared. Vanished. No one reported them missing or anything. They just quit paying their bills and eventually the bank took back the house after many failed attempts to find them.”
“What? Why weren't they reported missing?”
“No kids. Both parents deceased.”
“Still. Wouldn’t someone have noticed they were gone and got worried?”
“Apparently not. There’s an estranged brother, who recently died of a heart attack. They never spoke.”
“What about co-workers?”
“They were both retired.”
Dixie frowned, gazed out the windows. “No one knows what happened to them?”
“Nope.”
“So it’s a cold case?”
“No, Rox, you don’t understand. A case was never even opened. A rumor went around that they just picked up and moved away. They didn’t want to be found. Which isn’t illegal. And then your parents came along and bought the house and the whispers about them just kind of faded away, according to Moretti.”
“Do you have names?”
“Leland and Cecilia Richmond. Leland was a doctor. The wife stayed at home.”
Her eyebrows tipped up. “Did you say doctor?”
“Yep. Pharmacology scientist.”
Her eyes rounded as her hand slid to the glass vial in her pocket. “Someone who invents drugs?”
“Right.”
A tingle of excitement shot up her spine. “Anything else?”
“Nope, that’s all I could dig up. What you got so far?”
“Oh, I’ve definitely got something. Max and a forensic anthropologist are down there right now, and the general consensus is that Leland and Cecilia were murdered.”
“Murdered?”
“Yep, based on several different bone fractures that are visible.”
“Beaten to death, ouch.”
“Exactly. Max is going to excavate the bones to Graves, and hopefully, the anthropologist will be able to reconstruct what happened at the time of death and build a biological profile. Hopefully, we’ll learn a lot more about the murder.”
“Damn Roxy. Sounds like a hell of a case.”
A case. Yep, she’d just officially added another case to her already over-flowing caseload.
“Any idea why this doctor would have a secret tunnel under his house?”
“Dude, parts of that castle of yours was built a t
housand years ago, Roxy. Underground tunnels weren’t that uncommon back then. Does it look old? Or newly constructed?”
She thought of the rotted, stained beams that ran along the sides. “Definitely old.”
“There you go, then.”
She nodded. “Hey, I know you’ve got some loudmouths over at the police station, so keep this thing quiet, okay? Just you and Moretti, alright?”
“Of course.” He paused. “How you doing?”
She glanced around the demolished, soot-covered kitchen. “Been better, I guess.”
Pause. “I’m doing everything I can to find her, you know.”
“I know.” Pause. “So you believe now? In Krestel?”
A long pause. “Yeah, Rox. I do.”
“Good.”
“Leave it to us, okay?”
“Zander, I’m not even going to insult you by saying okay. The bitch tried to kill my sisters. My family. You, even—everything that’s important to me.”
“I assumed that would be your stance. We’ll work it from both ends, then. Keep me updated, and vice-versa. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Alright, I’ve gotta go; just got a call from dispatch that Brandy’s Boots and More was broken into.”
Roxy laughed. “Oh to be a small-town police lieutenant.”
“Roxy, be safe, okay?”
“You, too.”
Click.
She shoved her phone into her pocket just as Fiona popped up from the tunnel.
“Holy shit. I’m going to have nightmares for months.”
Roxy helped her up.
“Can you believe they’ve been down there the whole time we’ve been here? I mean, we’ve just been walking all over their bodies, so to speak.”
She shook her head. “No, I can’t believe it. Is everyone on their way up?”
“Yes.”
Just then, the team filed out, one by one. Roxy shook Dr. Prescott's hand.
“Thank you, again, for coming.”
“Not a problem. Looks like an interesting find, for sure.”
“Agreed. When should you have something for us? Anything?”
“These things take time, but thanks to Max’s state-of-the-art facility, I’d say within forty-eight hours.”
She nodded. “Please call me immediately.”
Tomb's Tale Page 5
