“No,” Grif said. “The body was found inside the house by his cleaning lady. Two shots to the head.”
Reid let out a whistle. A double-tap to the head meant the target not getting up. Total manstopper. “Someone wanted to make sure the job got done.”
“I guess. The mayor says he's not a local. Moved here about a year ago. Kept to himself mostly.”
Jonah stacked his hands on top of his head. “Two shootings. Unbelievable.”
“I know,” Grif said. “Our name goes on the town and people start dying.”
“Yada, yada,” Reid said. “We'll worry about that later. Guessing Mags is on this?”
“Yeah. She called in the State Police to assist.”
“She's a smart girl. With two shootings, she doesn't want any screwups with the crime scene.”
“Yeah. If you talk to her before I do, tell her whatever she needs, we'll get her. Hold up.” Grif spoke to someone on the other end, then came back to them. “I gotta go. Just wanted to update you.”
“We're out,” Reid said. “Keep us informed.”
He punched off, tucked his phone in the back pocket of his jeans, and let out a huff.
Jonah scrubbed his hands over his face, then blew out a long breath, and the tension rolled off him like a rogue wave.
“Listen, don't get crazy over this. We'll figure it out.”
“I know. We just don't need any bad press when we're trying to revitalize the place.”
“We'll be fine.”
Reid wasn't sure he totally believed it himself, but the normally laid-back Jonah's stress level had been rising since he'd thrown a bazillion bucks into saving their hometown.
“Yeah. Let's go into town. Grab that lunch. Maybe stop and see Mags.” He gave Reid a backhanded slap on the shoulder. “Oh, hey, what did you need?”
“What?”
“What did you come in here for?”
Oh. Right. “Yeah. Wanted to see if you'd had a chance to look up any of that stuff we talked about this morning. Nelson. And Brynne.”
Jonah moved to the desk in the corner. Handed Reid a folder. “I'm not done, but I got the basic history.”
Reid flipped open the file, scanned the first document. Looked like something Jonah had cut and pasted together from different files. “No criminal record?”
“Nope. Squeaky-clean all around. Small mortgage on the house. He bought it off his parents. They must have given him a what-a-deal because he paid half the market value. He's got a car payment and some student loans and that's it. Zero credit-card debt.”
“Huh.”
How many twenty-five-year-olds had no credit-card debt? At least something. Even he, a guy who freaked over having any sort of debt, had a five-hundred-dollar balance on a credit card after buying clothes and a new pair of boots.
Reid flipped the folder on Nelson shut. “What about Brynne?”
“Now, she's kinda interesting.” Jonah handed over another file. “I figured she banked in town, so I hacked into the bank's server.”
Reid looked at him. “Holy shit. It's that easy? I gotta move my money.”
“Nah. I've been working on it when I'm bored. I think your $3,187.59 is safe.”
“You looked at my account?”
Jonah laughed. “Sure. Why not? And it's nice to see you're moving your extra money into a retirement fund.”
“You shithead. Quit snooping in my stuff.”
Mildly irritated, Reid tapped the transaction report Jonah had printed. The columns were a little screwy. Another cut and paste job.
“Look here. Six months ago. Big transactions. Well, big for her. Three of them for eight thousand dollars.”
Reid let out a low whistle. “When did she open the store?”
“Around that same time. So, yeah, it was probably to pay for her inventory, but where'd she get that money?”
“Loans?”
Jonah shook his head. “Nada. I pulled her credit report. No paper trail.”
Well, shit.
He slapped the folder closed, headed for the door. “Let's go.”
“Where?”
“We're killing two birds with one stone. We're going into town for lunch so I can get my baby brother the hell outside, and while we're there, I'm stopping to see Brynne. See if I can weasel out of her where she got close to twenty-five grand and why there's no paperwork on it.”
* * *
Brynne returned to the shop, flipped the Closed sign to Open, and hoped she hadn't missed a mad rush in the hour she'd been gone. Not likely so early in the day, but the weekend crowd would start trickling in soon, so if the sheriff needed her again, she'd have to wait.
A girl had to make a living.
She set the envelope with Nelson's things on the counter, ripped it open, and dumped the contents. Later, she'd put it all in another envelope and return it to his parents. Or Maggie if she requested it.
Later.
Now she was snooping. And if she found anything unusual she'd march this phone right to Maggie.
Not feeling confident the phone had any battery life left, she felt around the side for the power button. Like a lot of things they'd done together, they'd bought the same phone. Nelson had upgraded his to the newer version a few months back.
No juice. Dead battery.
She reached under the overhang of the desk where she kept her phone cord out of sight. If the phone company hadn't done one of their slick moves and changed the cord, she'd be in business.
And…no such luck.
“Bastards.”
Nelson's car keys, along with his wallet, sat on the counter where she'd dumped the envelope. If she knew him at all, he had an emergency cord in his car. As with his laptop, he couldn't go five feet without his phone.
She dumped the phone, scooped up his keys, and headed for the door. While she was out there, she'd check the trunk for his laptop before Maggie's deputies got to it.
Outside, Mrs. Tilton flagged her down and Brynne stifled a sigh over the interruption. She had things to do and a store to run, and buying a raffle ticket wasn't on the task list. But, she did the obligatory hi-how-are-you-yes-I’d-love-to-buy-a-ticket. Mrs. Tilton was always selling something on behalf of her grandkids, and Brynne had grown to dread running into the woman. How many grandkids in sports could the woman have?
She held the ticket up and backed her way down the sidewalk in an attempt to not be rude, but…well…time was a precious thing. “Thank you, Mrs. Tilton. Glad to help.”
“Tootle-loo. I hope you're a winner.”
In seconds, Brynne had Nelson's car unlocked and rummaged through the center console. Nothing unusual in there. An old GPS unit Nelson never used since he had the newfangled phone, a box of mints, random receipts, a couple of old deposit slips and—huzzah—a phone cord.
Next up, the trunk. She hit the button on the key fob and—ker-klunk—the trunk lock disengaged. Exiting the car, she hit the lock button again, double-checked the door to ensure it had locked and moved to the trunk.
Aside from his roadside emergency kit and an empty box, the trunk was empty.
As in nothing. At all.
Was that weird? Even she had an umbrella in her trunk. Along with various samples and a few reusable shopping bags. Nelson's trunk? Nothing.
Why that struck her as odd, she couldn't know. He wasn't one for clutter, for sure, but didn't everyone have at least something in the trunk? Unless, of course, someone had beaten her to it.
“Hi.”
Whoa. She spun back, found Reid behind her.
Her heart did a rapid buhm-buhm-buhm but at this point, it was hard to tell if that resulted from Reid surprising her or just Reid.
The way he looked? This one could do a girl in.
“Hi,” she said. “Wow, you startled me.”
He eyed the open trunk. “I see that. Looking for something?”
“Yes. His laptop. It's not here.”
Wait. Slowly, as if her body hadn't quite caught up wi
th her brain, she scanned the empty trunk again thinking maybe, perhaps, the laptop had shifted under the empty box.
She shoved the box aside. Nothing.
If the laptop wasn't in his trunk and it wasn't at the house, where the heck was it?
“This is so strange,” she said.
“Why?”
“He never goes anywhere without his computer. Well…actually, that's not true. He'll run a quick errand without it, but then he just leaves it home.”
“His office?”
“Maybe. But it's not typical. He usually brings it home.”
Then again, what, in the last day had been typical? She lowered the trunk lid, gave it a good push, and checked it. All locked up.
“I'll have to let his parents know it wasn't in there.”
“Or, maybe his folks gave Mags a spare set of keys and she grabbed it already.”
“Right.”
Maggie.
Reid pointed to the cord in her hand. “Phone?”
She didn't need to give him any more information. No, sir. He wasn't the police. He was just some hunk of a guy who flirted with her.
And helped her.
Sat with her while she waited at the hospital so she didn't have to be alone. Protected her while dealing with thieves inside her store.
Dammit.
“It's Nelson's. The hospital gave me his phone, but the battery is dead. Figured I'd charge it.”
Reid's bottom lip jutted out. “So you could look at the activity?”
All these distractions were becoming a hassle. First Mrs. Tilton and now Reid. This little trip to the car was turning into quite an event. She pointed to the store. “Um…I need to get inside.”
He stepped back, waved her through. “Sure. I'll walk you in.”
Of course he would.
“Reid?”
“Yes?”
“Why are you here?”
He opened the shop door for her, setting his hand on her back as she breezed by him.
Call her silly, but having a man open doors for her would never get old. Her ex rarely did that. Unless, of course, they were around his coworkers. Then he was poised Mr. Attentive.
That should have been the first clue the marriage wouldn't work. What she needed was a real man. One who didn't need to pretend. One comfortable in his own skin.
She glanced back at Reid's very fine skin.
Oh, honey. Not him. Too wild.
She marched to the desk, plugged the phone in, and the green battery light blinked. Success. Now all she had to do was get rid of Reid.
He wandered through the shop, casually taking it all in, his big hands gently moving over a silk blouse she'd just started selling, and Brynne's mind went all kinds of crazy imagining those big, gentle hands other places.
She cleared her throat, brought her mind back to the fact that Reid wasn't talking. At all. In her limited experience with him, Reid Steele's mouth was either going warp speed or it wasn't. And something told her to be wary when it wasn't.
She set the phone down, gave Reid her full attention. “Why do I think this isn't a social call?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because when you flirted with me yesterday, I couldn't shut you up. Today you're quiet. If there's something you want to know, ask. I'm tired and I have work to do. So spit it out.”
For months she'd been so closed off from the sting of her husband's rejection that her spine had completely disintegrated. Constantly being reminded to do better could do that. Tear a person down, make their self-esteem something that once existed, but no more.
Yet here she was, mouthing off to probably the most intimidating man in town.
She rubbed the heel of her hand over her forehead. “I'm sorry. That was rude.”
He shrugged. “You think that was rude? Come to Sunday dinner and listen to how my brothers talk to me. You'll hear all kinds of rude.”
Then he snorted.
Such a strange man. One she kinda, sorta liked.
And wanted to see with his shirt off.
Brynne, Brynne, Brynne, what happened to swearing off men?
He approached her, his huge body moving with that shoulders-back confidence that came with buff guys.
“I'm curious,” he said.
“About?”
“This shop.” He jerked his thumb behind him. “The shirt that's five hundred bucks.”
She smiled. “Evie likes that blouse.”
“I'm sure she does. But what I'm curious about is how a twenty-four-year-old woman affords a shop like this.”
What the—? Half-stunned, she dipped her chin forward. “And that's your business how?”
“Aside from the fact that I brought you home last night and could have gotten my ass shot off by a couple of douchebags nosing around in here?”
“I didn't ask you to help me.”
“No. You didn't. I was being neighborly. But if you’ve got something going on—”
Oh, now she had something to hide? “Like what?”
He cocked his head and her mind tripped back to last night. To Nelson's weird behavior, the shooting, and his house being trashed.
She should be insulted. Absolutely. Because she knew exactly what Reid Steele meant. Mr. Hunky Green Beret thought she and Nelson were involved in something that got him shot.
A wicked burn singed the inside of her stomach, just ate right through her, but she stepped forward, her spine securely in place.
After what she'd been through in the past year, she didn't deserve suspicion.
“Are you serious right now? You think, because my friend was shot right in front of me and I own a store with high-end items, that I'm doing something illegal?”
8
Brynne stepped closer, those dark, heavy-lined eyes of hers sharp and accusing and—sheeee-it—that was hot.
I'm a twisted fucker.
He held his hands up and didn't bother to douse his grin. “You're not gonna hit me, are you? Because, gotta tell ya, I'd have a helluva good time pinning you to the ground.”
Damn, this woman wound him up.
In all sorts of ways.
She gritted her teeth. “Oh my God. You're crazy. Get out of my shop.”
She marched to the door, that curvy ass swinging, and all he could do was stand there. Like some love-struck dumbass.
His fingers twitched. He needed his hands on her ass. Pronto.
Given her current chilly mood, that probably wasn't going to happen.
“Hold up,” he said, still not moving as she swung open the door. “Look at it from my perspective. My family's name is on this town, and one of your friends got caught in a mysterious drive-by shooting on his way from seeing you. Your shop was broken into, his house was tossed, and now we have a missing laptop and you trying to snoop in his phone. Tell me, Brynne, what's a guy supposed to think?”
She stood for a second, her eyes on him, slightly narrowed, and her eyebrows pinned together. She raised her fists and shook them. “How about that I'm a girl trying to figure out why one of my closest friends was shot! Could you have at least given me the benefit of the doubt?”
Crap. She had him there. All this having Jonah check up on her and basically invading her privacy when maybe he should have just freaking asked her what was up.
“You're right,” he said. “I'm an idiot. I'm sorry.”
Slowly, her face softened, her features returning to a relaxed state. Reasonable Brynne was back.
She closed the door. “I'm sorry, too.”
“For what?”
“For calling you names.”
“Again, come to my mother's. People call me names all day long.” He stepped closer, got right into her space, itching to touch her, but no, he'd wait. Make sure they were square before he got handsy. “Look, there's a certain…chemistry…between us. I think I've made it obvious what I want, but I have questions. I want to help you, but nothing about the last day makes any sense. And it starts with you having larg
e cash transactions right before this store opened.”
“You checked my financials?”
“I did. And believe me, so will Maggie. You're in the middle of a shitstorm and if you want my help, start talking. What's with the money?”
For a few seconds she pinched her mouth closed and basically impaled him with a back-the-fuck-off look.
Wouldn't be the first time someone had done that to him. This time, though, he wouldn't make a comment. He'd wait. Why that was, he didn't know because generally, he'd hop all over making a smart-ass comment simply to rattle her. Knock her off balance. Something about Brynne Whitfield made him not want to knock her off balance.
Finally, she shook her head, stared down at her feet, and twisted her fingers together. “It was my settlement money. From my divorce.”
Her divorce. Shit. No wonder she didn't want to tell him. The woman had a right to keep her failed marriage private.
She lifted her head, looked him in the eye. “I didn't want anything. At first. I was so angry. I walked out of there with my car and that was it. I wanted no reminders.”
“Wow. He really worked you over, huh?”
“Oh, he sure did. I gave him everything I had. I tried so hard to be the perfect Wall Street wife. I lost weight, I kept up my appearance.” She pointed to her face. “All the makeup and fancy hair? He loved it. Told me it made me beautiful. I gave up wearing my hair in a long braid. I loved that braid. He told me I looked silly. After that, for every damned function, I spent hours getting this look. Even when I was dead tired. And those people from his office? So mean. The small-town North Carolina girl just didn't fit.”
“First of all, you're beautiful, I'm sure, even without all that crap on your face. What kind of idiot can't see that?”
“The kind that falls for his intern.”
“No way.”
“I heard about it over lunch with the wives. They were all talking about affairs their husbands had and the cheating that went on. Like it was no big deal. They'd gotten used to it. All they cared about was keeping their marriage intact. And the money and status. I didn't say anything, but inside? I was sick. And then that witch Marilyn, she was the boss's wife, turned to me and said, ‘you know how it is.’”
Shit.
“That's how you found out he was cheating? Damn, that's harsh.”
Living Fast: Steele Ridge Series Page 10
