He laughed. “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with blowing off steam after a long day’s work. Not that you would know too much about that.” He glanced at her, grinning.
Her eyebrows shot up, along with a rush of defensiveness. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” She knew exactly what he’d meant because it was an assumption made by everyone in town, that she and her sisters had been fighting since they’d inherited their family’s enormous wealth. And it burned her up. “Listen, my parents worked their asses off their whole lives. My mom was an actress, and my dad was a highly-respected agent in the CIA. After he retired, he started Black Rose Investigations and worked day and night to make it a success.” She narrowed her eyes. “Just because my sisters and I inherited money and a company, you think we just sleep all day, only to take cases when we want, working whenever we want, while drinking thousand-dollar bottles of wine and wiping our butts with hundred-dollar bills? Just to pass the time when we aren’t out gallivanting around the globe on our yachts?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Hundred-dollar bills, huh? Can I get that on video?”
She slapped his arm. “Seriously, Luke.” She took a deep breath. It bothered her that he thought that about her. Usually, she wouldn’t care, but for some reason, with him, she did.
He watched her for a moment. “I don’t think that.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Okay, maybe I did, but having met you now… I don’t think it’s hundred-dollar bills, maybe fifty.” Smirking he reached over and flicked one of her braids. “I'm just joking.”
It was a flirty move. Subtle, but flirty.
She flashed another eye roll, but this time, couldn't hide a little smile. This guy could piss her off one minute, then have her giddy like a child the next. It was a roller coaster that was throwing her for one hell of a loop.
They walked a few steps before he said, “Tell me about your tattoos.”
She glanced down at her arms, uncomfortable for a moment. She’d gotten her first tattoo when she was twenty-two, and over the years, developed a love for the art. Each of the tattoos were deeply personal to her, and when she’d gotten them, she hadn’t realized how many times people would ask what they meant. It was part of it though, and she’d come to realize that.
“Tell me about the flower on your forearm.”
“She’s my newest. It’s a lotus flower.”
“Rebirth and enlightenment.”
Her eyes rounded in surprise. “You’re exactly right.”
“Hey, my intelligence extends beyond guns and—
“Tire changing.”
He laughed.
“Anyway, yes, you’re right. I visited Thailand years ago.” She slid him the side-eye, “Yes, on my 24-karat gold yacht.” She grinned and continued, “I studied yoga, meditation, and Buddhism.”
“Buddhism, huh?”
“Yes. I like learning about different religions. I think it’s important to understand where people are coming from, especially with something that drives so much passion. Buddhism is an extremely beautiful, peaceful religion, that teaches you, among many other things, to be mindfully aware. Which believe it or not, is more difficult than it sounds. It was a monumental few weeks of my life.” She looked down at the tattoo. “Anyway, it’s a daily reminder for me to be in the moment, and to meditate each morning when I wake. Rebirth, for the day, you could say.”
“You meditate every morning?”
“I do, and sometimes in the middle of the day.”
“I think they call that a nap.”
She laughed. “You should try it sometime. Might ease some of that raging testosterone coursing through your body.”
“Not used to being with a man with a sufficient dose of testosterone?”
She cocked an eyebrow.
With a cocky smirk and twinkle in his eye, he said, “You should try it sometime.”
She smirked and looked down—another subtle flirt… with sexual innuendo written all over it.
“What about the cross on your wrist?”
“That was my first tattoo, actually. It’s a replication of a cross necklace my mom gave me when I left for college.”
“You still have the necklace?”
“Locked in a vault.”
He looked at her, his gaze serious. “I’m sorry about your folks. I’ve heard through the grapevine—a plane crash. Tragic.”
“Thanks.”
“I can’t imagine losing both at the same time…”
“You’re close with yours?”
“Very. Well, was. My father passed away when I was young.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks. But my mama is still around and is my main lady.” He winked.
She smiled—he was a mama’s boy. Another surprise. “Main lady, huh?”
“The only one.”
Only one. Was Luke single?
“You keep in touch with her?”
“Of course. I visit often, too. Need to interview the hundred men who try to woo her daily…” He looked at her and smirked. “I’m sure you know all about that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, come on. Surely you know what everyone says about you girls.”
“Enlighten me.”
He laughed at her choice of words. “You and your sisters are the Naked Ladies.”
“What?”
“Sticking with the theme of the conversation—It’s another name for the amaryllis flower.”
She frowned.
“It’s an extremely beautiful but poisonous flower. Draws you in and then kills you, so to speak.”
A second slid by. She asked, “Is that what you think, Luke?”
There was a momentarily break in his stride. Keeping his eyes straight ahead, he said, “Which part? Beautiful or poisonous?”
Pause. “Both.”
He looked at her, his eyes locking on hers. “I’m still trying to figure that out, Miss Knight.”
Just then—pop, pop, pop!
Before she could process what was happening, he threw his body over hers. The breath whooshed out of her lungs as they tumbled to the ground, her head cradled safely in one of his hands, his gun firm in the other.
When the hell did he pull that out?
Panic ripped through her.
What. The. Fuck?!
“Don’t move,” he whispered.
She blinked and looked at him, his fierce gaze focused on a single spot on the ground as he listened to every sound and movement around them. His breath was still, his body motionless, as he laid on top of her. She followed suit, holding her breath.
The wind rustled the leaves above.
Silence.
Finally, in a steely voice, “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “What the—
“Gunshots.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Stay down.”
No problem.
“And be quiet.” He lifted off her and squatted in a crouched position. Motionless, gun in hand, he listened. After a few seconds, he extended his arm. “Okay.”
She clasped his hand, and he pulled her off the ground. “Where were the shots coming from? How close?”
“Close. About thirty yards north.”
“At us? Was someone shooting at us?” Her already racing heart began to pump faster at that thought.
“No. I don’t think so.”
Wide-eyed, she looked at the pitch-black woods ahead of them. “The houses?”
He nodded. “Let’s go. Stay quiet.”
He grabbed her hand—firmly—and with his gun in the other, he led her through the woods. They walked silently, with him squeezing her hand every time there was an obstacle to step over. He was fearless, strong and confident as he scanned the woods every few seconds, looking for any threats. Through the dim light of the moon, she stared at the outline of his face—his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed in icy-focus.
She should have been scared, but she felt safe—completely safe with him.
She gripped his hand tighter as they neared the edge of the woods.
Two, small, old cabins sat side by side, in a small clearing, just thirty feet ahead of them. A rusted red pickup truck sat in front of the first house.
No cars outside of the second house. The windows and doors were boarded up, dead leaves covered the front stoop, and vines grew like a virus spreading over the outside. Definitely no one living there. Or hiding out, for that matter.
He stopped and released her hand. She stepped at his side and looked around—no other cars, no lights on, no one standing outside with a gun. No one they could see, at least.
“We need to check the house… make sure whoever’s there is okay.”
“Yes, we do.” He turned, towering over her, and squared his shoulders. “I’m not leaving you here—I want you close to me. But, that’s it. Do you understand? You stay exactly where I put you while I look around. Got it?”
Pause. “Yes.”
“Good.” He looked back toward the house. “On my count, we’re going to sprint to the truck. Stay low and fast.”
Her heart thrummed in her chest.
He glanced up at the sky and a few seconds passed.
“What are you waiting for?”
“That cloud to cover the moon.”
She raised her eyebrows. Smart.
“Okay. One… two…”
“Wait.” She grabbed his arm. “Wait.”
He turned to her and, laced with impatience, he said, “What?”
She pulled her Glock from her bag.
He cocked an eyebrow. “What the hell are you doing with that?” He frowned, peering down at it. “Is that pink?”
She smirked. “Company-issued. And don’t insult me by asking if I know how to handle it.”
He grinned. “Tattoos, peace-signs, meditation, and guns.” He shook his head. “You’re a tough one to figure out.”
“Don’t try.”
“As long as you don’t combine the last two, I won’t.”
She laughed.
“Okay, you ready?”
She gripped her gun. “Yes.”
“One… two… three.”
CHAPTER 10
Luke grabbed her hand, and together they sprinted across the clearing.
She was faster than he’d expected, which was good because he really wasn’t in the mood to engage in a firefight tonight.
Not with Scar Knight at his side, anyway.
He let go of her hand as she crouched against the truck, chest heaving. He looked at her with a quick nod—a nonverbal “you okay?"
She nodded.
Good.
He motioned her to stay down and slowly stood, peering into the truck. A few candy wrappers, a pack of gum, and tube of lipstick. A woman’s truck.
He lowered. “Stay here. Right here. I’ll be right back. Don't move.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
“If you question it—shoot.”
She slowly nodded.
His feet felt like lead weights as he turned from her. He didn’t like leaving her, didn’t want to. Dammit—she was throwing him off. He didn’t want her anywhere within a hundred miles of gunshots. Normally, this little adventure would be a snoozefest compared to what he’d been through overseas. If it were him and his team, he’d be focused only on the job at hand. Laser focused. Not worrying about a sexy little private investigator that was making his damn head spin.
He shook the thought from his head, and, gun raised, he edged around the back of the truck, keeping his head on a swivel.
A gust of wind blew past him and the hair on the back of his neck prickled.
Blood.
Fresh blood.
The air was rank with it.
He slid his finger over the trigger and stepped around to the side of the truck, his gut telling him that whatever was bleeding out was within a few feet of him.
He froze—he was right.
Face down in the dirt was a woman, lying in a growing puddle of blood. Blonde, curly hair spun out from a baseball cap, which had been knocked off when she'd hit the ground.
Three bullet wounds speckled her back.
Shit.
He scanned the area as he quickly made his way to the woman, then squatted down and pressed two fingers to her throat.
No pulse. And she was still warm.
Fuck.
He looked her over—focusing on the bullet wounds. Based on the puddle of blood around her, at least one had gone through.
He stood and jogged around the truck. “Change of plans.” He pulled Scar to her feet. “Stay with me, right by my side. Oh, and uh, you might want to close your eyes.”
“What is it?”
“A body.”
Her eyes rounded as he led her around the truck, and a small gasp sounded behind him.
He gripped her hand tighter, stepped over the woman’s body and kicked open the front door of the house.
Scar raised her gun, quickly scanning the house, and whispered, “What the hell are you doing? They could be in here!”
“No. The shooter is in the woods, to our east. Or, was.”
She lowered her gun. “How do you know?”
“The location of the shots and angle of her body on the ground. She was walking out the front door and was immediately shot.”
“Holy shit.” She looked at him. “It’s not Athena, Luke.”
“You’re sure?”
“One-hundred percent. Athena has long, black hair. Like her mom. That girl’s hair is blonde.”
Luke pulled out his cell phone, dialed, and handed it to her. “Call dispatch, tell them to send all available units out here. I’m going to check the house.”
She nodded as the call connected.
Her calm, steady voice faded as he walked down the hall.
The place was a fucking dump and smelled like burned cheese and cheap potpourri. Gun raised, he stepped into the first room on the right, the den, which appeared to be a makeshift bedroom with a sleeping bag next to the fireplace. A stained loveseat and old box television were the only other pieces of furniture in the room.
He stepped across the hall, into the bedroom—a twin-sized bed, dresser, and multiple posters of the same pop band, that he didn’t recognize.
Was he really that old?
He stepped into the kitchen and stopped. “I told you to stay by the door.”
Wearing latex gloves, Scar hovered over the trash and didn’t bother to look up. “You wouldn’t have left me if you thought someone was here.”
Very true.
He slid his gun into the holster. “You talk to dispatch?”
“Yes. Someone’s on their way.”
“Good.” He walked over, wrinkled his nose. “Damn, that hasn’t been taken out in a while.”
She glanced up at him with excitement in her eyes. “I know.”
“Stinky trash do it for ya?”
“No. The trace evidence in stinky trash does it for me.” She carefully lifted a crumpled empty beer can that was on top. “This is fresh, possibly from tonight.” She held it in front of the flashlight, frowned, and peered closer. “There's two different shades of lipstick on here. Bright red and light pink.”
Luke leaned forward. “You’re right. Good eye.”
“Someone else was here tonight.”
“Maybe whoever’s sleeping bag is in the den.”
She nodded and slid the can into an evidence bag.
He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, her neck snapped toward him. “Don’t even start about me taking evidence, Luke. I’ll take it to Graves Laboratory and will have it analyzed in a third of the time it would take you guys to get results back from the state crime lab. Besides, you’re here, aren’t you? It’s not like I’m doing it behind the PD’s back.”
He closed his mouth. Damn, she was good at getting her way. He’d sure hate to get in an argument with her
. He doubted she lost many.
“Alright, well, I’m going to check out the other house. You stay here, okay?”
“Oh, don’t worry. There’s plenty for me to sift through.”
He nodded. “Where’s your gun?”
“I put it back in my bag.”
“Get it out. Keep it close.”
She glanced up at him, a slight look of fear in her big, blue eyes. “Do you think the shooter’s still around?”
“No, I don’t. She was shot from a distance—three quick shots to make sure the job was done and left to bleed out on the front step. I think whoever did this, didn't want to get close and is long gone. This wasn’t a highly emotional crime, revenge, or whatever. Whoever did this simply wanted that woman dead; that’s it.”
Her gaze shifted to the window. “We didn’t see, or hear, any vehicles, right?”
He shook his head. “No, we didn’t pass a single person on the way to the Cove, either. Keep your gun handy, okay? I'll be back in less than three minutes.”
**
She watched Luke jog down the short hallway and out the front door, their brief conversation hanging in the air.
Left to bleed out on the doorstep.
Bleed out.
She slid the evidence baggie into her bag, slung it over her shoulder, grabbed her gun and walked out the front door.
Clouds covered both ends of the moon, leaving a thin beam of light shining on the dead woman lying on the soggy ground.
She shone the flashlight around the body, spotting only two sets of footprints—hers and Luke’s. Would’ve been nice if the shooter had been closer—the ground was ideal for casting footprints.
She had to fight from covering her nose as she kneeled down next to the body. The strong metallic scent of blood was thick. The dark red puddle had doubled in the five minutes they’d been in the house. A sick feeling washed over her. They had only been yards away when she was shot—they’d heard the noise that was responsible for taking this woman’s life. She was very possibly still alive as they’d walked up to the clearing.
Scar shook the thought from her head and looked down at the side of the woman’s face, awkwardly twisted toward her, her expression frozen in a grimace. She wasn’t pale like most of the bodies Scar had seen. No, she was still pink—almost flushed. With bright red lips—the same color on the beer can.
Evil Eye Page 6
