Damian

“Anything new on that trafficking case?” I ask Luna when she walks in.

It’s been a week since I’d last heard from Ella. The meeting was just to put us on alert, but without more intel, there is very little for us to do. Not complaining though, as we’re having a hard enough time keeping up with other cases. Interpol is working the information garnered from the Texas collector, trying to get a bead on this Troy Sinclair. James Aiken is following up on the U.S.-based auction house. For now, we have nothing concrete to work with, except for that intercepted message.

“Actually,” she answers. “I do.” Sitting down across from my desk, she hands me a printout. “That’s a list of local individuals and businesses known to deal or collect rare books. I cross-referenced with the list James sent us and marked those.”

I look at the two-page printout and right away my eyes zoom in on a name I’ve tried, and failed, to forget this past week. Kerry’s Korner. Well, fuck. A bright red mark sits beside the name. When I scan down, there are two more red marks. One is White Rabbit Books, a store around the corner from Main Street in the center of town. The other is an individual—Bruce Willoughs—a name I am familiar with. An exorbitantly wealthy retired oilman from Texas, who built a massive mansion in the mountains outside Durango. I know him because, over the years, he has been involved in just about every charitable function in the region. I can’t say I particularly like the guy, having run into him a handful of times, but that doesn’t mean I can see him involved in anything like this. Still, the fact he’s possibly had dealings with the same auction house is enough reason to go have a talk with the man. As for Kerry’s business, it would be a perfect front to fence stolen rare manuscripts and books. From what I can recall, she has a locked, glass shelving unit against the far wall that appeared to hold some older print works. I probably should have a closer look.

“Two stores and Mr. Willoughs. You want to take a run up the mountain?” I ask Luna. Since Bruce and I are far from friendly, I figure she’ll likely do better with him. He has a penchant for younger women, which is one of the reasons he rubs me the wrong way.

“You sure you don’t want to take him on?” Luna says with a smirk. She knows. The last run-in I had with him was very public, when my youngest sister, Bella, was visiting from Farmington. The bastard had followed her to the bathrooms, when I’d taken her out for dinner at Seasons, and accosted her in the hallway outside. Bella had come back to the table with a face like thunder. After I finally got out of her that he’d put his hands on her uninvited, I headed over to his table and set him straight, loud enough for the other diners to hear. All he gave me was an arrogantly dismissive wave of his hand, and if not for Bella’s intervention when she grabbed me from behind, I would have had him by the throat. Despite his name as a local philanthropist, Bruce Willoughs is a self-righteous bastard.

“Har-har,” I tell Luna. “You head up. I’d be surprised if he were stupid enough to try and put his hands on you. After all, you carry a mean weapon. That damn gun is almost bigger ’n you are.”

Luna snickers and pats her hip holster. “That’s what she said,” she says with a wink in an uncharacteristic display of humor, before turning serious. “I’ll head up there after lunch. Want me to pick you something up?”

“No, thanks. I’ll grab something in town. I’ll go check out the bookstores.”

-

I START AT WHITE RABBIT Books, telling myself it makes more sense to start at the one furthest from the office. I’m told the owner isn’t around, but the elderly woman manning the store is able to tell me, after consulting the computer in the small office in the back, that the only time they’d received a shipment from this online auction house had been about a year ago. No other orders are pending from what she can see, but she assures me she will check with the owner and have him contact me. I leave her my card with my cell phone number written on the back.

I stand outside by my Expedition, taking in the warm June sun and looking around for a place to grab some lunch before I head to Kerry’s Korner. I’m delaying and I know it. Nothing really strikes my fancy since I suddenly seem to have worked up an appetite for sweets. Giving in, I climb behind the wheel and turn the car in the direction of the small strip mall just west of town.

It only takes me about five minutes to pull into the parking lot in front of the store, and through the window I can see Kerry moving between two rows of shelves, a stack of books in her hands. Just like last week, her messy hair hangs free and loose, a flowing top hides curves I’d like to explore. Goddammit. I’d just managed to scrape off Cora—although she might not have received the message since I’ve ignored several texts and at least five calls this past week—and for damn sure don’t want to start anything else. Especially not since this particular woman, at the very least, appears to be a potential person of interest in this new case. I don’t color outside the lines. Not ever. Rules are there for a reason.

My resolve firmly in place, I push open the door and head in. The little bell alerts Kerry as she comes out from between the shelves and stops in her tracks when she spots me. The hint of alarm on her face, as her eyes meet mine, is quickly replaced with irritation. One hand comes to rest on her cocked hip and her pose screams attitude. Instantly my resolve melts because, as it turns out, I like attitude—a fuck of a lot. “Double shot?” she asks, caving first when I don’t say a word and simply stare back at her. Those pale gray eyes turn away first, and her body starts moving toward the counter.

“Please,” I say politely, although the thoughts going through my head are anything but polite. Coffee is a good way to break the ice, and I’m glad to see she’s fully stocked on pastries. “And a cinnamon roll, if you have one.” I receive a curt nod in reply before she reaches for a paper cup. “For here,” I add and watch her hand freeze midair.

“Here?” The high-pitched squeak is almost comical and telling of how much I rattle her. Good. She rattles me, too. “Here?” she repeats, this time at a more natural tone. I just smile and nod, pointing at the couch in front of the window. A few local newspapers are strewn across the coffee table, and I pick one up. The Dove Creek Press, a small newspaper from a town by the same name. The guy who writes the articles has a quirky, direct style I enjoy. I do my best to focus on a piece about their upcoming Pick ’n Hoe festival but am too distracted by Kerry’s movements behind the counter. The soft tinkle of the copious bracelets around her wrists makes her impossible to ignore. A gypsy—that’s what she looks like, despite her blonde hair. She carries the appearance of being footloose and carefree, but something about her seems tightly wrapped up. It’s hard to believe this woman would have anything to do with an international trafficking ring, but you never know.

I watch as she walks over, almost stumbling over her own feet when she sees me looking. Immediately, a dark blush spreads over her face and her teeth bite down on her lower lip. Christ—even that is sexy. I put the newspaper down on my lap to hide my insistent physical response.

“Sit with me a minute,” I quickly say, as she puts down my coffee and a plate with the biggest cinnamon roll I’ve ever laid eyes on and threatens to walk away.

“I have something—” she starts but I interrupt.

“Just a minute. Please?” Her eyes soften a little at my plea, and she sits down in one of the club chairs, perched right on the edge, with her back ramrod straight. She looks decidedly uncomfortable, and I’m about to make it worse. “How long have you had this store?” I ask, to try and get her talking without showing my hand right off the bat.

“This one? Not that long. A couple of years. Why?” she wants to know.

“Just curious. I know Kim is managing your place in Cortez. I’m simply wondering how the expansion is working out for you.” She lightly shrugs her shoulders, relaxing back a little in her chair.

“I’m doing okay,” she says, trying unsuccessfully to hide a little, smug smile. “Having Kim on board really opened up a lot of possibilities I wouldn’t have been able to explore without her. Opening this place and starting the online bookstore—it’s all fallen into place.” I can see by the way her face glows she’s proud of what she’s accomplished. Good. That’s good. I just hope to God she did not get herself involved with this band of thieves.

“Your online business, is that the same as the stores’? New or secondhand books?” I ask, easing into the area I want to question her about.

“Online is mostly pre-owned. People who are looking for certain books that are no longer in print or sometimes they want something special, like a first edition of their favorites. I have a decent network of dealers and sellers who specialize in special prints or rare editions.” Kerry is completely animated talking about her business, using her whole body to speak. If what she was saying wasn’t so important to my case, I’d be happy to watch her talk about anything. But this is the information I’m after, so I go in for the kill.

“Have you ever had any dealings with The Gilded Feather Auction House?” My question is followed by dead silence, as Kerry’s hands still and her mouth falls open.

KERRY

The bastard!

It’s my own damn fault for getting carried away, thinking I may have misjudged this man when he starts asking me how my business is doing. Enjoying the fact that a man is actually interested in what I do—appreciates what I’ve built. Should’ve known better.

The asshole is looking into me. That’s the only reason he’s been in here in the first place. Not for me. Don’t I feel like an idiot.

“You’re not an idiot,” he says, making it clear that I said that out loud.

I push up from the chair and walk to the counter where I mindlessly start wiping down the coffee machine—just to give my hands something to do. Otherwise I might actually throw something, I’m so pissed.

“Kerry—look at me.” He’s walked up right behind me, and the sound of his voice so close startles me.

“Agent Gomez, why don’t you just spit it out? Tell me what the hell you really want to know, since it’s clear you’ve come with an agenda and not for my pastries,” I snap, swinging around to face him. He’s standing a little closer than I’d anticipated, and I have to tilt my head back to look him in the eyes. Deep, dark pools of chocolate, rimmed with ridiculously long lashes for a man, that trace my face with curiosity. I fight to hang onto my anger, seeing as the intensity in his eyes makes me a little weak in the knees. Damn him.

“Very well,” he says slowly, after a very pregnant and slightly uncomfortable pause. “I believe you might be able to help out with a case I’m working on.” He stops to gauge my reaction, and I’m determined not to give him one.

“Go on,” I urge him, none too kindly.

“The Gilded Feather Auction House,” he repeats the name of the online company I’ve dealt with a couple of times now. “I understand you’ve had some dealings with them?”

I’ve done nothing wrong so I don’t hesitate telling him. “I have. I’ve bid on some unique books and won my bid twice. Why?”

He ignores my question and asks one of his own. “What did you buy from them?” 

“Like I said, some unique books. First editions, out of prints, and a few author signed copies,” I tell him honestly.

“Is there a market here for those things?” he wants to know.

“Not huge here in Durango but for my online store there is. I mentioned I get requests for specific editions, and when I see them come up on the auction block, I take a chance and put in a bid. Sometimes there are more books in the lot and I end up with extra stock, but I often find takers for those as well.” I watch Damian nod pensively.

“So let me get this: the lot you buy gets shipped here and you send the requested edition to the customer and hang on to the rest?”

“That’s usually how it works,” I tell him with a shrug, turning to the door when the bell rings in a customer. “Give me a second.” I hold up my finger and greet Jeannie Brooks, a frequent customer since I opened the store. “Hey, Jeannie. Anything specific today or are you just browsing?” I like the middle-aged woman. She lives in the mountains just north of town. Despite her rough appearance—she generally looks like a lumberjack, always wearing plaid flannel and a ball cap—Jeannie is highly intelligent and quite sweet-natured. Almost shy. I’m not surprised she gives Damian a thorough once-over before answering softly.

“Anything new?” she asks.

“Yep. Go check the mystery and suspense section. I received a load of new releases I’ve added to the shelves.” I point her in that direction. “Want a coffee while you browse?” On her nod, I turn to brew her a fresh one, finding Damian leaning with a hip against the counter, staring at me.

“What?” I snap.

“I see you’re busy, so I’ll cut it short,” he says, tilting his head in Jeannie’s direction. “Two things: First I’d love to have a look at any paperwork you might have on those bids you placed and would appreciate a detailed list of the shipments. I’ll come back for it later.” I can sense him take a step closer, feeling the heat of him in my back. “Secondly,” he whispers, his breath brushing my ear. “I may have come with an ulterior motive, but make no mistake, Gypsy—I volunteered for the job for a reason.”

Without waiting for my response, he moves away. My hands are gripping the edge of the counter so hard, my knuckles turn white. Only when I hear the bell on the door announce his departure do I move.

“Phew,” I hear Jeannie say. “I could feel the heat over here.”

I turn to see her standing by the window, watching Damian stalk to his car, before she turns to me. “Don’t know about you,” she says, a smile tugging at her mouth. “But that man gives brooding alpha a whole new meaning.”

Yes. Yes, he does.

-

THAT AFTERNOON, AFTER Jeannie leaves with three new paperbacks in her bag and Marya arrives for her shift, I dive into my office. Booting up my computer, it doesn’t take me long to print out the information Damian requested. Two invoices and a list of books I received in the first shipment. I don’t know exactly what is in the second shipment, since it had only been identified as a collection of first edition prints. I grab the phone to give Kim a call.

“It’s Kerry,” I say, when she answers. “I have a quick question. Do you have that box close by? I need to know what’s inside.”

“Crap. I brought it home already, right after we last spoke, so it would be there when you come over. Didn’t want to run the risk of forgetting,” Kim explains. “I can open it tonight when I get home.”

“No worries. Whenever you have a chance,” I assure her. I don’t tell her what I need it for and she doesn’t ask.

“I’ll give you a call tomorrow,” she says. “And by the way, I’m emailing an order. Running low on some of the newer releases.”

The rest of the conversation revolves around normal day-to-day business, and by the time I hang up, it’s already closing in on five o’clock. I have to hurry if I want to get my errands done today.

I rush out the door with a final wave to Marya, who is closing tonight. I’ve got to hurry if I want to get to the DMV office before they shut the doors.

-

BY THE TIME I FINALLY roll into bed, I’ve managed to get my license renewed in the nick of time and hauled a week’s worth of groceries up the mountain. I’d grabbed dinner on the fly in town so I could skip cooking. That’s one of the things I still can’t quite get used to; cooking for one. Don’t get me wrong, I love puttering in the kitchen, and baking for the store is one of my favorite things to do in my spare time. Cooking a meal, though? It’s only fun when there’s someone to enjoy it with. Still, a lot of the time I force myself and end up cooking for an orphanage, giving me individual portions to freeze for a few days.

It’s just after nine when I snuggle in bed with my Kindle. I love the smell and feel of books, but when it comes to reading, I really like the convenience of my e-reader. It fits in my purse and I lug it everywhere. My eyes are gritty, and I can’t seem to keep my focus on what I’m reading.  Instead my mind insists on replaying the conversation with Damian. I probably should worry about his line of questioning, but every time I think of his voice, the feel of his proximity, the barely-there touch of his breath on my skin, I break out in goosebumps.

I finally give up, put my Kindle down, and turn off the bedside lamp.

The persistent ringing of my phone wakes me up a few hours later, and I reach over to my nightstand.

“Hello?” I answer it, my eyes still closed, without checking the caller first.

“Ms. Emerson? This is Superior Security. The alarm just went off at Kerry’s Korner,” the woman’s voice on the other end of the line calmly states.

“What?” I shoot up straight in bed and flick on the bedside lamp to look at my clock. Three-twenty, it’s the middle of the damn night.

“I guess it’s not you then,” the woman concludes. “Our security is already en route, but I am putting a call into police right now. Please stay on the line.”

With my phone tucked between my ear and my shoulder, I try to get dressed as best I can. In sweatpants, my sleep shirt, and my purse, I’m already on my way out the door when the woman comes back on.

“Police are on the way. Please don’t approach or enter the premises without police escort,” she cautions. As if I would.

“Thank you. I won’t,” I answer anyway, ending the call and jumping in my car.

I’m surprised to see a dark SUV pull into the parking lot at the same time I do. There is already a Superior Alarm Services car and two patrol cars parked out front. My surprise is even bigger when I see Damian step out of the SUV and stalk over to my car, his eyes piercing through the windshield.