Heaven is Weeping (A Croft & Croft Romance Adventure Book 5)

by Morgan Kelley

  If not, someone was going to get hurt.

  * * *

  Tuesday Morning

  Sky Villa

  After waking up, they all had coffee at the kitchen counter. Steele was leaning against Dante, almost the same way Emma was cuddled up against her husband.

  They were laughing and teasing each other--until he walked in.

  When Greyson saw him, he knew.

  Curtis was having a rough moment.

  “What happened?” he asked, as his wife vacated her seat for the man. Immediately, Greyson noticed she went into mothering mode.

  “Brynn and I had a fight,” he admitted. “I got mad because she took off her wedding ring.”

  Then, he held up his hand. On his pinkie sat her ring, right beside his.

  “Oh boy,” Dante said, patting him on the back.

  Emma placed coffee in front of him, and then hugged him. “What can we do to help?”

  She wanted them to work out despite her doubts. Emma really believed that her partner was too caught up in the job to ever put Curtis’s heart first.

  She hoped that she was wrong, but her gut wasn’t buying it.

  “I feel so emotionally battered and broken. How do I make her realize that I see her? That I know her better than she thinks I do?”

  “You woo the girl,” Croft simply stated.

  “I agree,” Dante added. “You need to make her feel special.”

  Curtis looked over. “Don’t take this personally, but taking dating advice from a gay man might not work here.”

  Steele laughed. “Uh, it’s the same thing, but he woos the boy,” he pointed out.

  “A relationship is a relationship,” Emma stated.

  Greyson concurred. “Whether it be two women, a man and woman, or two men, people want to feel special. You have to look at the dynamics. Emma is the girl, so I buy her sparkly things. In reward, she squeals, giggles, and rewards me with kisses.”

  She dropped one to his cheek.

  “The babes like to feel special, Curtis,” Croft stated.

  Emma agreed. “Maybe you’ve been going at this wrong. When’s the last time you brought her flowers?”

  He stared at Emma, thinking back. “When she was shot.”

  Dante made a tsking sound. “I just brought Steele a present last week.”

  “Flowers?” Greyson asked, lifting a brow.

  “No, tickets to the game,” Dante replied. “Seriously, dude. We’re gay, not GAY.”

  Greyson started laughing. “My bad.” Then he focused on Curtis. “You need to woo your wife. Since you didn't do it before you married Brynn, now’s the time. What kind of flowers does she like?”

  He didn't have a clue.

  “Really, son? You don’t know?” he asked. “If you’re dipping your stick in the girl, you best know what she likes for when you screw it up. This is a good example.”

  Curtis blamed this on his past. “My mom left me as a baby. Granny didn't get many suitors,” he stated sarcastically. “I’m learning on the fly. I just thought you bought Emma things to get lucky.”

  Yeah, well he did, but that wasn’t the only reason.

  “I know what kind of flowers she likes,” Emma offered, watching the four men. This was one heck of a day. She was entertained as hell.

  “You do?”

  She nodded. “When Greyson bought me sunflowers, she commented on how she loved them, but tulips were her favorite.”

  “There you go, son,” Greyson stated. “Now, what’s her favorite color?”

  He looked befuddled.

  “Pink,” added Emma.

  Steele spoke up, “Get her a huge arrangement. That’ll keep her off balance. Make sure you add a romantic note.”

  Okay, he could do this. “Anyone know a good florist?”

  Greyson laughed, pulled out his phone, and made a call. Once someone answered, he began. “I need five dozen pink tulips to be delivered. In the center, place one single red one.”

  Curtis stared at him. He was a God.

  Covering the phone, he lowered his voice. “You think my gray hair lured my sexy wife in?” he asked, jerking his head toward Emma.

  She winked at him. Little did he know, it actually had, along with his smile, body, and possessiveness.

  Croft insisted that the tulips needed to be delivered that morning, right after Curtis scribbled down what he needed the card to say. “Are you sure that’s all that you want to put on it?” he asked his partner.

  “Yes. She’ll understand.”

  Steele stood. “I have to head in, babe,” he said, leaning down to kiss Dante on the lips. “I have a victim in the cooler, and the detective running the case will be all over my ass.”

  Emma grinned at him. “Yes, she will. You have a two-hour head start. We’re heading to the café to interview Aaron Patterson first, and then I’ll be all over you if you’re not done.”

  Steele headed out, Dante following like a lost puppy.

  “We better get dressed too,” Greyson said, standing. He held out his hand to Emma, and when she took it, he yanked hard, causing her to stumble. Effortlessly, he dumped her over his shoulder.

  “Greyson!”

  He slapped her on the ass, despite her protest.

  Curtis watched them go.

  God, he wished he could figure out this relationship thing. If he could, he suspected he’d be a very happy man.

  Maybe…

  * * *

  ‘Chance in Counter’ Café

  Tuesday Morning

  As they pulled up, the air was filled with the scent of fresh baked goodies. He could almost taste them.

  Then it occurred to Greyson, he didn't get breakfast that morning. Emma didn't bake him anything.

  “Why didn't you cook for me?” he asked, glancing over.

  She leaned forward to give him a kiss. “Last night was so spectacular, Greyson, I decided to give you a treat.”

  He relived the previous night and how she’d worked off her sadness with his body. Yeah, he should be the one giving her a gift.

  “Was it? What do I get?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

  She pointed at the café. “You can eat baked goods.”

  It was like the heavens opened and a light from God shone down onto the storefront. This never happened.

  The last ‘real’ muffin he’d had was when someone nearly killed him. “Really?”

  “Yep. I figured we could interview the owner, have breakfast alone, and you could get all giddy with the sugar.”

  Pulling her forward, Greyson claimed her mouth with his. He hungrily devoured her--to the point that she ran her hands through his hair, holding him to her mouth.

  Slowly, they broke away.

  “Yeah, that was better than any muffin,” he stated.

  Emma laughed. “Come on, Mr. Croft. I look forward to spending some morning time with you and bakery lard.”

  “If you think that’ll turn me off, it won’t. I’m easy, Emma, my sweet, you know that.”

  She snorted.

  He followed her from the Navigator, beating her to the bakery door to hold it open for her. Once inside, they grabbed a seat.

  She could tell he was in his glory. The man was addicted to blueberry muffins. Out of every treat in the world, he’d eat them nonstop if Emma let him.

  When the waitress came over, he ordered one. The grin on his face was childlike.

  “Make that two,” Emma stated. “Oh, and is the owner in?” she asked, pulling out her badge.

  The woman’s eyes went big. “Yes, I’ll get him.”

  Immediately, she rushed away.

  When she returned with the two coffees and muffins, there was a man behind her. He was large, bald, and didn't look anything like the muffin man on the sign’s picture. In fact, he looked like a football player.

  “Yes?” he asked, crossing his arms defensively over his body.

  They made the introductions. Then Greyson asked him to sit down. “It’ll make les
s of a scene if you don’t glare at us like we’re here to take you in.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  Emma was confused. “No. We’re here to ask you a few questions about your business.”

  The man seemed to relax.

  “Okay. Ask, but make it fast. I’m busy.”

  Neither Emma nor Greyson believed that this man was the killer. Gut instinct told them that. Why would a killer go to such extensive lengths to create new profiles with each person, hide their identity, but then slip up and use the same café? This was going to be a bust.

  They’d done this enough to know a set up when they saw one. Now, their only hope was that this man had seen someone who looked suspicious.

  Pulling out the pictures of the three men from ‘Perfect Indiscretions’, the mailman’s photo, and lastly Scott Greenfield’s, they hoped he would recognize someone.

  “Have you seen anyone of these men in here?”

  He scrolled through the pictures.

  “This one,” he stated, pointing at the mailman.

  Of course, he was going to identify the only person they couldn’t find. It was as if fate was laughing at them.

  “When?”

  “He used to come in a lot. This was his table, as a matter of fact.”

  “But have you seen him lately?” Emma asked.

  “Yeah, about three days ago,” Arron Patterson stated. “Is he in trouble?”

  “Possibly,” Croft stated. “What was he doing?”

  The man had to think about it. “He was doing something on his phone, maybe texting or possibly something more.”

  That would fit.

  “You offer free Wi-Fi,” Emma stated.

  “Yeah, there are a lot of college kids who like to come in before class to work before school. They get a coffee and something sweet to eat.”

  “If you see Lawrence Owens, can you give me a call?” Croft asked. “We don’t want you to let on that we’re coming, so try not to let him know. Stall him if you can. We really need to talk to him. He could be a witness to something important.” He didn't go into details for a reason.

  People around them were listening.

  Media was outside snapping pictures.

  This could get ugly.

  “Yeah, if you want me to,” he stated as he stood.

  Emma stopped him. “Why did you look so worried when we came in?” she asked, curiously.

  He hesitated. “I may have beat the hell out of my competitor for stealing my cookie recipe. I thought you were going to arrest me.”

  When he walked away, Greyson started laughing.

  “I told you Vegas is weird,” he stated.

  There was no doubt in her mind.

  ~ Chapter Eighteen ~

  After having breakfast, Emma and Greyson headed into autopsy. While eating, and then viewing the dead right afterward wasn’t their favorite thing to do, they still needed to find out more about Reanne Morris’s death.

  Once arriving, they found Doctor Steele Bentley elbow deep in the woman’s bowels.

  “Hey, Doc, long time no see,” Emma stated, taking her customary spot.

  “Yeah, I was just wondering when you two would be gracing me with your presence.”

  “What do you have?” Croft asked.

  He shook his head. “Your guy is crackers. His victim was indeed badly beaten. From the type of bruising, I can tell you that he did it postmortem.”

  “Why would he beat a body after killing her?” Croft asked.

  “That’s something to ask your profiler,” Steele stated, pulling out her liver. “I can also tell you that we did a swab, and while she had been having vigorous sex, he didn't leave a deposit.”

  That was new.

  “He bagged up?” Croft inquired.

  “No, we found trace of premature ejaculation, but no sperm. Your guy didn't get off inside her.”

  Well, hell. This was getting weirder and weirder.

  “What else?” Emma asked, making notes.

  Steele pulled his gloves off and made a note on his tablet. “It appears that she was indeed strangled. He squeezed so tight, there are impressions of his hands on her throat.

  “This guy is coming unhinged.”

  Steele nodded. “Tox and trace went to your lab, so when it comes back, I’ll ship it to you.”

  “Let’s discuss the obvious,” Emma stated, pointing at the woman’s head.

  “He went nuts,” stated the ME. “Part of her hair was cut off, some was yanked, and he dug into the scalp.”

  “Same weapon?”

  “Yep. It’s the same knife. The cut marks are the same, only it’s getting dull. That may be why he lost it.”

  That was good to know. They had a wackjob, on the verge of losing it, who also had a dull knife.

  Nothing about that sounded good.

  “If you find anything else, will you call me?” Emma asked. “We’re going to be upstairs in the conference room working. We have to find some way to get these facts to connect,” Emma stated.

  Steele pulled on a fresh pair of gloves and picked up the cranium saw. “Sure thing.”

  Together, they escaped.

  Out in the hall, they took a minute to think it through. Emma had an idea, but it was going to be controversial.

  “I have a plan, but someone’s not going to like it.”

  He lifted a brow. “Is this someone going to be me?” Croft asked, already wary.

  “No.”

  “Then spill it,” he said.

  Emma went into detail, telling him what she thought they should do next. She noticed he was watching her carefully. The look on his face said it all.

  “You’re right. He’s going to hate it,” Croft admitted.

  Emma didn't see any choice. “We’re out of options, and he needs to accept that.”

  Telling him was one thing.

  Informing Curtis that they were going to use his new wife as bait was an entirely different thing.

  This wasn’t going to go over well.

  At all…

  * * *

  It had been a tense morning. Brynn had to get away from everyone in the conference room, so she made an excuse to sit at her desk. While beside Curtis, she found herself wanting to break down and cry.

  That she couldn’t do at work. It wasn’t going to happen.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  At least out at her desk, her heart was safe.

  Each time she glanced down at his hand, she found her ring on his pinkie.

  As if waiting to be claimed.

  It made her edgy and sad, all at the same time.

  So, like the big chicken she was, Brynn escaped. She made some lame ass excuse to hide at her desk. Once her partner arrived, she would head back into the conference room to do some work.

  When she heard a commotion, she glanced up. Coming toward her was a man, and he was carrying a huge flower arrangement covered in pretty pink paper.

  Goodie.

  Greyson Croft struck again.

  She hated being so jealous, but she was. Brynn was consumed by the green-eyed monster.

  When the man stopped at her desk, she recognized him. It was the same man who was forced to lug arrangement after arrangement here for Emma.

  Great.

  “She’s not here. I’ll sign for Emma Croft.”

  He shook his head. “They ain’t for her. Are you Brynn Briggs?” he asked.

  Immediately, she shushed him at the use of Curtis’s last name. At the same time, she wanted to ask if she’d heard him right. “Yes, why?”

  “Then these are for you.”

  He placed them on the desk, had her sign the paper, and he was gone.

  Brynn stared at the monstrosity, confused as to who could be sending her flowers. It wasn’t her birthday, no one died, and she didn't think it was a National holiday.

  Carefully, she pulled the pink tissue paper off to reveal the flowers beneath.

  She couldn't believe it.
>
  There was a whistle from behind her. “Holy shit! That’s a garden,” stated Detective Heath Spencer.

  Mace Bristol agreed. “Are you sure those aren’t for Emma? That looks about right. It’s the first of the month, and her husband usually strikes about now.”

  Brynn shook her head.

  The card had her name on it.

  Ignoring the men behind her, she pulled it free. Before opening it, she admired the pink tulips, and then the single red one.

  “Who’s it from?” Spencer asked, giving them a sniff.

  Brynn pulled the flap of the card open before pulling it out. Slowly, she read the card.

  ‘Since I didn't get to give you flowers on our wedding day, I wanted you to know I was thinking about you. You’re the one red tulip. You stand out in my life.

  I love you.

  Your husband.’

  Her eyes filled with tears.

  “Well, who are they from?” Mace asked, as the men moved closer.

  “My husband,” Brynn said, leaving the card behind to go find the man. No one in all her life had ever done anything so romantic.

  While it wasn’t the sign she hoped for, Brynn would give him a chance to prove this marriage could work.

  He earned it. After all, maybe her gut was wrong. Brynn was tired of being a chicken. This time, she wanted to take a risk. Over the last few weeks, he’d lost the bossiness and controlling behavior. As long as he didn't pull a ‘Croft’, they could do this.

  The men watched her walk away.

  “Did she just say husband?” asked Heath Spencer.

  They picked up the card and read it. Detective Brynn Westmore certainly had.

  Well, this was news to them.

  He sat there miserable as sin. She wouldn’t even sit in the same room as him. They’d been wrong. There was no salvaging this.

  Brynn had already made up her mind.

  As Paris and Tessa sat near him, their whispers and occasional peck on the cheek was killing him.