Jesus, the view was like a snapshot of the American Dream.
In his SUV, Detective Heath Justice ignored the crackle of the police radio and gazed past his partner at the blue and white trimmed Dutch colonial house with its wide front porch and white picket-fenced garden. The sun’s early rays highlighted the colorful flowers and shrubs, which filled the front yard of this picturesque slice of Seattle.
There was even a hoop above the garage door with what looked like an apartment above.
People lived here. Took care of their yard. Shot hoops.
A family.
Something Heath was working toward. No, scratch that. His four-bedroom Craftsman in Green Lake was nearly renovated. As for the family, he was in no rush.
And yet… The sight of this house had him wondering.
He shook his head. Jesus, he was getting sentimental. Must be sleep deprived.
He switched his gaze to his new partner of three weeks. “Are you sure we’re not too early? We can grab something at a drive-thru.” Exhaustion roughened his voice. What he’d give for a hot shower and a good eight hours of sleep.
Detective Derek Shaw scrubbed a hand over his stubble-covered face. “A drive-thru? Bad enough we got stuck on an all-night stakeout—let alone one that gave us bubkis. Now you want inedible food? Inside this house, you’ll find the best pancakes in all of Seattle. Plus, my mom wakes at six every morning without fail.”
Drawing a blank on the stakeout had pissed Heath off. However, their freshly promoted Lieutenant of two weeks wanted to show cooperation with the FDA who had requested the raid, and the intel had looked good.
Still, Heath wasn’t about to miss a chance to give Derek some shit.
He slowly shook his head. “Good thing you left Portland PD and came back home. Talk about going soft. Homicide will make a man of you.” He laughed as Derek gave him the bird.
Far from a lazy bastard, the linebacker-sized detective had so far proven himself intelligent and tough, a cop who never assumed anything. All qualities Heath liked in a partner who could be the difference between life and death.
“If you mean suffering through another night of debating whether your Aussie Rules Football beats NFL, I’m already sufficiently blooded, thanks, mate.” Derek rolled his eyes.
The front door opened, denying Heath his right of reply.
A short woman with the same blonde hair as Derek’s stared out at them. Her neat and tidy hairstyle and outfit of jeans and a pink t-shirt with some flowery design on the front screamed “mum”. Heath would bet a steak dinner there were homemade cookies in a jar somewhere in her kitchen.
No wonder Derek had been crashing with his family since moving back to Seattle.
“Too late to back out now; we’re on radar.” Derek opened his passenger-side door. “Bring your charm, Justice, and come meet the family.”
Heath swung out of his truck, beeped the locks, and joined Derek at the front gate. Their boots sounded heavy in the stillness of the morning as they walked up the flagstone path to the front porch.
“Morning, Mom.” Derek bent down and kissed his mom’s cheek. “Can you spare us each a pancake or five?”
“Honey, what a surprise.” She patted her son’s arm and smiled at Heath, the soft pink in her cheeks complementing her face.
Derek put an arm around his mum’s shoulders. Despite the difference in size between son and mother, Heath caught the resemblance in their matching hair color and blue eyes. “Mom, this is my new partner I’ve told you about. Heath Justice.”
“Heath, so lovely to meet you.” She reached out and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.
“Mrs. Shaw.” Heath returned her smile. “I hope we’re not imposing.”
“Call me Joanna. And oh my, your accent.” Her smile stretched wider. “Derek told me you’re Australian, but you’ve lived here for some years. Is that right?” she asked as she headed into the wide foyer.
“Came over when I was seventeen.” Heath stood next to a hall table topped with a vase filled with the same kind of orange and yellow flowers in the garden.
“What an adventure for you,” Joanna said as Derek closed the front door.
A good description. Terrifying. Challenging. Those were other words Heath could use. But his tale of four former street kids from Sydney being adopted by a wealthy American wasn’t a topic to be discussed in the hallway of Derek’s mum’s house.
Joanna Shaw glanced at both men’s hands. A slight frown crinkled her forehead. “Didn’t you take your dad’s old thermos when you left?” she asked Derek.
“It’s still in my truck. I’ll run out.” Heath turned and opened the front door.
“Thanks,” Derek said. “I’m gonna wash up. Guest bath is over there.” He indicated a door on his right. “Kitchen’s straight down the hallway. We’ll be back there.”
Heath had grabbed the flask from the SUV’s back seat when he glimpsed a figure through the rear window. A woman, wearing a blue hoodie and black sweatpants walked to the edge of Derek’s driveway and gazed at the house’s front door. A few seconds later, she began walking swiftly down the driveway, constantly checking the front door.
Was she worried about being seen? A possible intruder?
Since he’d parked closer to the house further on from Derek’s parents’ property, the woman hadn’t spotted him. Heath replaced the flask on the backseat and gently pushed the back passenger door nearly closed. He waited until she had disappeared behind the side of the house before following.
Careful not to make noise, he followed the woman down the driveway and watched as she stopped in front of a side door to the garage, which was separate from the house. With her back to Heath, she pulled something from her pocket and tried to jimmy the door’s lock.
The woman glanced toward the back of the house, likely checking to see if she’d been spotted, then continued her efforts with the lock. A soft hiss and a “dammit” indicated her efforts were unsuccessful.
Heath also couldn’t miss the curvy shape of her figure outlined so well by the soft black material hugging her gorgeous arse. One shown off to perfection as she bent to look closer at the lock.
A tiny squeak of joy, followed by her opening the door, signaled the possible intruder had crossed a line. It seemed such a shame to stop his fun. Nevertheless, duty called…
Heath pulled out his 9mm from his shoulder holster and held it out in front of him as he moved forward. “Police! Put your hands on your head and step away from the door.”
The woman let out a high squeak, dropped the lock pick, and spun around, eyes wide. Her mouth formed an “O” at the sight of his weapon. “Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness.” She covered her mouth with both hands before waving them in front of her, palms facing Heath. “It’s not what you think. Honestly.” Her gaze snapped to her left in the direction of the back of the house as if she expected someone to come out any moment.
“I said, hands on your head.” Heath commanded, satisfied when the woman immediately obeyed. “Come forward, turn around, and face the garage door.” He saw her close her eyes in defeat before she obeyed. Heath grabbed his cuffs and shoved his weapon back in the holster. With efficient moves, he had her wrists secured behind her.
“Officer, I can explain.” She sighed. “I mean, I know everyone says that, but really, nothing illegal’s happening here.”
“Good to know.” He pulled her jacket’s hood from her head. Red hair. No, the description didn’t do the color justice, but he only knew guyspeak, which would have to suffice to explain the bursts of deeper red in amongst the lighter strands, all held in a ponytail.
Heath patted down his suspect. No weapons. And he’d have to be dead not to notice the way his hands fit over her hips, the roundness of her arse. He wasn’t a sleaze, not by any means, but he appreciated a woman’s body like any man.
Taking her arm in a firm grip, he turned his suspect around.
Green eyes framed with long, thick lashes blinked up at him. “When I say nothing illegal, I mean it depends on your point of view.”
“My point of view is as a cop, which doesn’t leave a lot of leeway on a range of subjects.”
She frowned at him, as if he was being unreasonable. “That’s a rather rigid stance. Not everything is black and white.”
Heath wasn’t prepared to debate the point. “Your disappointment is noted. Now—”
“Hey, I’m sure you’re a busy guy. And, uh,”—she licked her lips—“you need to go protect the community. That’s an important role. Absolutely. So, you know—” She broke off. “Shoo. Anyway, we can put a line under this and start the day over.”
Despite her opinion of his so-called inflexible outlook on life, he couldn’t help answering. “We can, huh?”
“Totally.” She nodded, sending her ponytail bobbing.
Keeping hold of her arm, Heath looked down at her black canvas tennis shoes to hide his mouth twitching.
It was a safe bet the young woman wasn’t a hardened criminal. But whatever the hell she was up to, he aimed to find out. First he needed to phone Derek.
“Do you know the owners of this house?”
Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes grew huge in her face. “You don’t have to get them,” she rushed out.
“Oh, but I do.” He went to pull out his phone from his back pocket, and the woman jerked against his grip. She would have toppled over if not for him keeping his hold.
Oh, no, sweetheart.
He tightened his grip, reinforcing her captivity and moved closer, towering over her. “Lady, you could have hurt yourself.” The safety of suspects was important, and the thought of the little redhead causing herself harm propelled his alpha instincts center stage. “Resist once more, and I’ll use my belt to hogtie you.”
She drew in a sharp breath. What he didn’t see was fear. Not in her eyes or the way a blush stained the cool-toned white skin of her face. And swear to God, he felt her body soften against him.
An image of her hogtied flashed through his mind. Only she wouldn’t be in this driveway, but in his bed. Lying on his sheets. Her glorious long red hair spread over his pillow.
“What the hell’s going on?”
Heath looked over his shoulder. Derek stood at the side of the house, his hands jammed on his hips.
“Dammit,” came from his suspect.
A look best described as misery—from the closed eyes and turned down mouth—covered her face.
“I caught a suspect attempting to break into your parents’ garage.”
Derek gave a dry laugh. “I’ve no doubt she’s up to something, but that’s no suspect.” He strode up the driveway, his frown reserved for the woman at Heath’s side. “Meet London, my baby sister.”
Heath swung his gaze to…Derek’s sister?
Those eyes, so wide and shocked before, were now narrowed with the promise of rebellion, even as she stood there—in his cuffs.
Ah. So bravado was her chosen defense.
Heath remembered the sweet color of her blush at his earlier threat of hogtying her.
Lightning might strike him down any second, but the woman intrigued him, even knowing she was Derek’s sister. The knowledge he didn’t have to call for a cruiser to take her to booking added a new dimension to the proceedings. Anticipation flowed through Heath. He was going to enjoy this visit, and for way more than pancakes.
Time for his prisoner to confess all.
****
Seconds passed. London Shaw held her breath, refusing to be intimidated by the big cop in front of her. And he was big, around the same height as Derek, maybe six three, but not as bulky. More lean, like a competitive swimmer with all the muscled strength.
The kind of strength shown off to perfection by the way his jeans hugged his long legs, and the navy shirt stretched over his wide shoulders, the open collar revealing the tanned skin of his upper chest and throat. Her gaze traveled up, seeing the masculine line of his jaw, a firm mouth and then higher…
She blinked. Blue eyes stared back at her. Shameless in their unhurried study. Assessing. Confident. Like he could read her thoughts.
And wanted to linger, to know more.
A long, delicious shiver fired through her body all the way to her toes.
His hand on her arm flexed, reminding her he was in control. In command. Her release would be when he chose.
His thumb rubbed against the cotton of her hoodie on her arm. The touch felt almost…protective. As if asserting his authority and reassuring her he was…what? One of the good guys?
Not with that stare.
“It’s time to share your secrets, London.”
Her pulse skipped a beat. His accent, kind of rough, raw—Australian—should be registered as a dangerous weapon, especially when combined with his deep voice.
His words were a challenge. No problem. As a kid, her parents had encouraged her to find her voice, a necessity with four brothers, three of them older, and all of whom teased her.
“Secrets are strictly the property of the owner, to be shared at their choosing.” She lifted her chin a notch. Cuffed, not cowed. “I choose not to.”
The stranger threw back his head and laughed, full and deep, giving London a view of the column of his tanned throat.
London risked a glance at her brother, who grinned, enjoying every second of her embarrassing fall from grace.
If she could reach him with a well-placed kick—
“Turn around, Red.”
She complied. Strong fingers slid over her wrists, circled them, sending tingles up her arms. Her breathing hitched. His fingers stopped moving. Heck, had he heard her? She tried for a distraction and flicked her head to rid imaginary hair out of her eyes. A few seconds passed. Nothing. Then she felt a slight tug, heard a series of clicks, and she was free.
London turned back, the remembered sensation of his fingers on her wrists stronger than that of his cuffs. She mentally shook herself. Nitwit. Her immediate goal should be making her escape with as much dignity as possible, not thinking about the kind of things that could only lead her into trouble.
“Thank you.” Was it good manners to thank a detective for removing his handcuffs? Next time she embarked on a harebrained project, she would check first with the criminal underworld to confirm specifics.
Pity she didn’t have any criminal contacts.
Another item on her ‘To Do’ list. Make friends with the kind of people her brothers arrested.
“London.” Derek’s impatient tone cut through her internal chatter.
“Derek.” She sighed. “Look, this is a simple misunderstanding.”
Her oldest brother nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay, then explain to me what you were doing.”
“I was conducting research.”
“Research?” Heath gave her a look of disbelief.
“Yes,” she snapped, flicking her gaze to the cop. “I’m a writer.” She allowed herself a zing of satisfaction as his surprised expression. “I needed to know how easily I could jimmy a lock on a door.”
Turned out it wasn’t easy at all. At least not at first.
Derek shook his head. “Honey, why didn’t you just ask one of us to show you?”
“Because it would defeat the point. I needed to sneak in without being caught.”
“And how did that work out for you?” Heath murmured.
“Hey, an author suffers for her craft.” She aimed for flippant in her tone, but the implications of her encounter weren’t lost on her.
In fact, if it wasn’t for Derek vouching for her, she’d likely be down at the station getting booked right about now.
But that’s what research was all about—getting a real feel for the situation. She took her writing seriously. Now, faced with deciding whether to gamble her career on a possible huge change in her writing, even more rode on her professionalism.
“Hiya kids, don’t you love these mornings?”
Everyone turned to face the front of the driveway. London’s grandma, her short red hair teased to within a screaming inch of its life, powerwalked toward them. The purple shade of her hoodie and sweatpants matched her batwing eyeglasses, which sparkled courtesy of three rows of pink sequins on each wing. And her neon pink trainers?
They freaking rocked.
“Hey, Gran, looking good.” London moved past Heath and kissed the older woman’s cheek.
“Feeling good, sweetie.” Gran winked.
London chuckled and made way for Derek who wrapped one arm around the older woman and bent low to kiss her cheek.
Greetings from her grandchildren completed, Estelle’s sharp gaze fixed on the stranger. “Hey there.” Her mouth stretched into a bright smile. “I’m Estelle Shaw.” She tilted her head to the side and held out her hand.
London pressed her lips together to hide her smile. Gran was known for her harmless flirting. How would the cop react?
Heath stepped forward, amusement shining in his gaze as he held her hand. “Morning, Mrs. Shaw.” The older woman’s smile widened at the sound of his accent. “I’m Heath Justice, Derek’s partner.”
Detective Justice. What a great name for the cop.
“Hot diggity Dundee. Call me Estelle, honey.” She turned to her grandson. “You boys staying for breakfast?”
“Yes.” Derek started to steer Gran toward the back of the house. “Let’s head inside before Mom sends Dad out to search for us.”
“Go ahead.” Heath nodded toward the road. “I’ll meet you inside. I left the thermos in the car before I began my hot pursuit.”
His gaze swept over London, and her mind immediately pictured Heath stalking her down the driveway like she was some tasty prey. She bit her lip and forced herself not to look away.
Estelle nodded to Heath. “London, go with him so he knows the way.”
London blinked at her gran, catching the woman’s not-so-innocent smile before she left with Derek. God help her. Refusing would be rude, not to mention she didn’t want to appear as if Heath intimated her. She pasted on her best hostess smile and walked beside Heath down the driveway, then waited at the front gate as Heath went to the driver’s side of his Black SUV.
Seconds later, he returned, thermos in hand. She smiled her thanks as Heath opened the gate for her. As they neared the front door, she asked, “Have you visited here before?”
Heath reached forward and opened the door, but didn’t make a move to urge her inside. “I got as far as your parents’ foyer this morning before I went back for the thermos.” His eyes locked with hers. “Then I saw you.”
And caught her. Cuffed her. Patted her down. And held her so, so firmly.
“Right.” She cursed the strangled sound of her voice and cleared her throat. Walking inside the house, her glance fell on the various family portraits decorating the hallway. “Here’s the family.”
Heath scanned the photos in various black frames, smiling at one of them, which had been taken on a Christmas morning. The five kids, lined up in their pj’s, were standing in front of the decorated tree, each holding a treasured present. “You guys had a happy childhood.”
Her gaze flicked from the photo up to his face. His voice sounded…wistful.
“We did. It was amazing.” She turned her gaze back to the photo. “Grandpa Shaw passed shortly after I was born, but I had years with Mom’s parents, and Grandma Shaw lives here now. Plus, having four brothers wasn’t always bad, but don’t tell them I said that. I miss Cooper and Liam. They live out of state.” She faced Heath. “Do you have any brothers?”
A shadow fell over his features. London swore she glimpsed pain in his gaze before he answered softly, “Yeah. Three.” He stepped back, his manner stiff. No, not stiff. More...guarded. Whatever thoughts had run through his mind at her question were off limits to outsiders.
“Oh.” Lost for anything else to say, she turned and led Heath toward the kitchen, thankful for the distraction that greeted them as her family chatted while her mom placed a platter filled with pancakes in the middle of the kitchen table.
“Hey, you guys made it.” Her mom came forward, placing a kiss on London’s cheek, and waved to the two seats left vacant on one side of the breakfast nook.
Her dad rose from his seat at the far end. “Hi, sweetheart. Didn’t anyone tell you you’re supposed to sneak out of the house when you’re sixteen, not try to break in at twenty-eight?”
So Derek blabbed. She guessed her getting caught was too good a morsel not to share.
London rolled her eyes at her family’s good-natured laughter and hugged her dad. At fifty-seven, Kieran Shaw was fire chief for the local station and looked as healthy as men twenty years his junior.
While Derek, Cooper, and Liam took after their mom in coloring, she and Aiden, the brother one year older than her, had their dad’s auburn hair and green eyes.
She made quick introductions for Heath and her dad.
“Sit, sit. The food’s getting cold.” Her mom shooed them to the chairs and sat at the end opposite her husband.
Coffee was poured, pancakes served, and soon, the sounds of people enjoying their breakfast joined the easy conversation over the table.
All the while, London was aware of the man sitting next to her. The occasional brush of his arm against hers, the faint note of spice in his aftershave, and the sound of his voice teased her senses. Try as she might to keep her concentration on those at the table, her gaze kept drifting to his hands. Big, strong hands, complete with a couple of scars on his knuckles. Had he been in a few fights, or was he a guy who liked DIY?
“Heath, you’re from Sydney?” her dad asked in between bites of pancake.
“Yeah.” Heath lifted up his mug and sipped.
“I have a brother who was in the Navy. Visited Sydney in ’92. Always wanted to go back. Reckon he and his wife, and Joanna and me will make it in a few years. Retirement present.”
“You’ll love it, I’m sure.” Heath set down his mug and picked up his fork. “And ignore all the horror stories of everything that can kill you. If it was so dangerous, no Aussies would have survived.”
London chuckled, well aware of the various memes on Facebook showing pictures of the Aussie bush and statements warning of the thousands of unseen, lethal predators.
“Do you have family back over there, Heath?” her mom asked.
Heath flicked his gaze to Derek.
Her brother shrugged. “All I’ve said was you were an Aussie.”
Turning to see her mom’s confused expression, Heath’s smile was fleeting, his words devastating. “My family died in a car accident when I was thirteen.”
London stilled in her chair. Her family stared at Heath, no doubt as shocked as she.
He kept talking. “I stayed with my uncle for a few months, then he died of a heart attack, and I became a ward of the state.” He lifted one shoulder. “I met a couple of guys around my age. Adam and Zach. We looked out for each other. Then the youngest, Seth, joined us. About a year on, we saved a kid, an American tourist, from drowning on a beach in Sydney. His mother, Aurora Justice, got to know us, arranged our adoption, and we moved to America.”
London blinked. Heath had spoken in such a matter-of-fact tone, yet each sentence fell like mini bombshells dropped on the table.
Thirteen? Losing your family, and then your uncle? Was there nobody else left? And what did he mean, ‘we looked out for each other’? Did they run away? Live in a foster home together?
London looked down at her plate, acutely aware of sitting there with her family, who loved her, protected her, and were a safety net she’d always taken for granted as being there whenever she needed them.
A family maybe like the one Heath had lost, and then regained—just a different kind.
“I’m guessing the experience made for strong bonds between brothers.” Grandma Shaw’s gaze was direct and her tone gentle as she addressed Heath.
He studied her grandmother before one corner of his mouth lifted up. “It does, Estelle.”
Her dad leaned his elbows on the table, earning him a censuring stare, which he ignored, from his wife. “So you all came here, made new lives for yourselves.”
“We did. Our mum passed away seven years ago.” Heath sucked in a breath. “And her son, Dillon, died this past month. It’s just the four of us now.”
Oh, no! A month ago? He would have been close to Heath’s age. An illness? “I’m sorry for your loss.” The words came out before she knew it, but she wanted him to know…to know she felt for him. “Both of them.”
Heath looked down at his plate. Emotion thickened the deep rumble of his voice. “Thank you.”
Her family exchanged glances, Derek shook his head. A warning to leave the subject alone? Her mom took her cue from her brother. “So America’s your home now, Heath.”
“Yeah. I plan to go back to Oz for a visit someday. I’ve got a house in Green Lake. Home is Seattle.”
“Did you hear that, London?” Her gran smiled at her, likely trying to lighten the mood. “You two are practically neighbors.”
She glanced at Heath. “In Green Lake?”
“Four bedroom Craftsman I’m renovating with my brothers. Nearly finished.”
DIY.
“That’s so cool.”
“London lives in my old house,” Gran shared as she forked some pancake. “I didn’t want to sell after my fall. London’s lease was about to end, so it was a good match.”
Rent-free with only the cost of utilities, taxes and her own expenses, the three bedroom yellow and white house with its chocolate box detailing was a gem.
Heath turned his head to look directly at her. “You write full-time?”
“Yes. My last series did well, which allowed me to take a break from teaching.” All five books in her YA romance series had made the bestseller lists.
Which made her decision on her next series even more risky. One she hadn’t yet shared with her family.
“Why did you have to research jimmying a lock?” Her dad sipped his coffee. “Your high-school football heroes aren’t normally burglars on the side.”
Her stomach tensed. Oh boy.
“My new series isn’t about high-school football heroes.” She flicked a glance around the table. “At least, not for now. I’m trying something new. Mystery and suspense.”
Her mom blinked. “That’s quite a change.”
“I know.” She forced herself not to rush out an explanation. This was her decision. She needed to have faith in herself. “It’s actually been a long time in coming. By the time I finished the latest series, I felt like taking a break from YA.”
“But it’s what you’re known for.” Her dad lowered his mug to the table. “What is it, eight books now?”
Hearing aloud the risk she was taking didn’t help the swarm of nerves twisting and turning in her stomach. “In total, yeah. And you’re right. It’s a gamble, and I don’t know if my readers will follow, but I’ll find new ones.” Hopefully.
“YA?” Heath asked.
“Young adult,” London explained. “My stories feature teenagers in a romance. Think Romeo and Juliet with a happy ending.”
“What did your agent say?” Her mom held her knife and fork. She’d stopped eating, her attention fixed on London.
“Gloria thinks I should write a new YA series.” She could still hear her agent’s voice over the phone line. ‘You have a track record as a YA author. Don’t throw that away on a whim.’ And she liked getting her commission. London could be cynical, but fifteen percent of a possible bestseller was more appealing than fifteen percent of a career-risking new series. “She wants me to rethink my decision and let her know before the book signing next Wednesday.” Rory’s Girl had been released a month ago. It spent three weeks on bestseller lists and was a massive hit.
Derek frowned. “Why the deadline?”
“My publisher wants me to sign an offer on a series I’d planned over a year ago.” Back when she still felt the fire to write YA romance. “I was of two minds when I discussed the series with Gloria. She had talks with my editor regarding another author and happened to mention my idea. They want the series.” And had been pressuring Gloria for the last month. Since her agent was based in New York, London had avoided a meeting, but their phone conversations had become tense in the last couple of weeks.
“But that’s not what you want,” said a deep voice on her right.
London turned her head toward Heath. “No, I don’t think it is.” Another YA series, four or five books, taking over two years of her life?
Heath’s intense gaze held hers. She saw no judgment. He took her words at face value. “Never let others make your big decisions for you. Not when your happiness is at stake. Only you should be in control of those choices.”
She was the one accountable. Heath was right. His words centered her, grounded her. Yes, the decision was hers, and sure, she hadn’t made up her mind completely, but she would.
London took a breath, and for now, the tightness in her stomach lessened.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking.” She gave him a small smile, one filled with gratitude as much as relief.
Heath lifted his chin before he faced front and sipped his coffee.
“Mystery and suspense. I think that’s fabulous.” Gran’s smile lit up her face. “Go for it, sweetie. What would life be without embracing new challenges?”
“Thanks, Gran.” She’d make sure to give this fabulous woman a hug when she left the table.
Her dad grabbed his mug of coffee. “Your ma and I are gonna worry. We’re parents. Concern for your kids is part of the contract, but…” His somewhat resigned smile matched his words. “…we’re behind you whatever choice you make, kiddo.”
“Amen.” Her mom smiled at London as she forked some eggs.
“You’ve got to be happy, sis.” Derek spread butter on a slice of toast. “Tell us about this new book you’re researching.”
And that was that. Her family had heard her out, relayed their concerns, and in the end, they supported her. She blinked back a rush of emotion and answered her brother’s question.
“It centers on a female lead.” She sat back in her chair, warming to the subject. “A divorced mom in her forties. Her neighbor’s been murdered, and since the cops won’t listen to her about what she saw, she starts investigating.”
“Can you reveal what happens at the end, or is it a secret?” Heath teased.
The end? She blinked. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
The big Aussie stared at her a second before a slight frown crossed his forehead. “You don’t know?”
“Nope.” She shrugged. “I plot a few chapters and then let my characters take over.”
Surprise flickered in his gaze. “How can you write without knowing the ending? Doesn’t that lead to confusion?”
The tone of disbelief in his voice needled her good mood. “Confusion leads to creative thinking and questioning what’s assumed over what can be.”
“You prefer chaos?” He lifted a brow as if daring her to say yes. “Order, method, and control get results without drama.”
Drama? She straightened in her chair. “Some people settle for boring predictability; I want to live a little.”
Yes, she was challenging him.
A gleam entered Heath’s gaze, sending tingles over her skin. “I could show you how control wins over drama. But then I’d be proving you wrong.”
Those tingles gathered, went lower. Her pulse quickened. No way would she give in now. “An ambitious statement for a man who hardly knows me.”
The corner of his mouth kicked up.
So, not turned off by a woman who threw some sass.
The sharp ring of Heath’s phone sliced into their banter. With a muttered excuse, he took the call. Within moments, his expression turned serious. He stood, directed a look at Derek, and gave clipped answers into the phone. Her brother rose from his chair as Heath ended his call.
The subject sounded grim with words like ‘coroner’ and ‘crime scene’ part of the conversation.
“Joanna, Kieran, thanks for breakfast, but we have to go.” Heath glanced down at London, holding her gaze a second before speaking. “I’m not ambitious, London; I’m determined. And I look forward to getting to know you better.” He traced his finger along the back of her shoulder, the gesture hidden from view of everyone. “Later, mystery girl.”
Then he was gone, leaving London catching her breath and re-evaluating her definition of predictable.
****
Heath’s gaze roamed over the abandoned parking lot near the Port of Seattle’s cargo terminal. A sagging chain-link fence, weeds and cracked asphalt stood as sad testimony to neglect. Lonely. Desolate. The lingering taste of Derek’s mom’s pancakes reminded Heath he’d rather be somewhere else.
He and Derek walked toward the group of figures surrounding a covered body on the ground. Heath nodded to a uniform cop he recognized. “Davis, what can you tell us?”
“No ID on the victim. Security guard from the building next door found the body this morning.” The sergeant waved a thumb toward a man dressed in a guard’s uniform, standing a few feet away. “Called it in. CSI says the victim was shot once in the chest, but killed elsewhere and dumped here. They’ve finished processing the body.”
“Can you show us?” Heath asked one of the CSI officers, who nodded and lifted the sheet from the body, revealing an adult male lying face down.
Heath and Derek put on nitrile gloves and crouched on either side of the victim.
“Tailored pants.” Derek leaned closer to the man’s feet. “There’s an orange colored grit in the tread of his leather shoes that doesn’t match the ground surface.” He pointed to the man’s wrist. “Rolex Oyster.”
“Yeah, he’s a long way from home.” Heath glanced up at the CSI officer. “Let’s see his face.” He leaned out of the officer’s way as the tech began turning the body over. “A car-jacking maybe, or—”
Heath stared down at the unnaturally pale face of the man below. His body froze even as his mind raced.
“Jesus fuck,” he whispered.
“What?” Derek jerked his gaze up to Heath’s face.
“I recognize him.” The mussed hair and ashen complexion were a far cry from the smarmy image he had seen on TV. “That’s Stanton Fox.” Billionaire businessman. Arrogant son of a bitch.
Father to Harper Fox—his brother’s woman.
His brother. He needed to call Seth and give him a heads up.
Derek leaned over to get a better view of the victim’s face. “Christ, that’s him all right.”
A red bloom of dried blood stained the crinkled white of Fox’s dress shirt. No jacket. No wallet.
Alone. Discarded.
What an inglorious end for such a narcissistic bastard.
Who dumped you here, Fox?
Heath felt none of the usual detached sympathy he would for an adult victim. Harper and Seth had shared enough about Fox for Heath to know the man deserved no hearts and flowers. His family, on the other hand…
Harper. A cold hollowness entered Heath’s chest at the thought of delivering the devastating news to the sweet café owner and her family.
If he’d be allowed to do so.
God, what a mess.
He nodded his thanks to the CSI officer, who lowered the body face down again.
“You need to call the Lieutenant,” Heath told Derek. “He’s going to pull us—well, me—from the case. Conflict of interest because of Seth and Harper.”
Derek grimaced and pulled out his phone. “I’ll make the call.” He stood. “Heath, you need to call Seth now. This will get out on the internet within minutes once his name’s documented.”
Fuck. He looked up at his partner, catching the look of sympathy in Derek’s eyes. Heath sighed. “I know.”
As Derek stepped away, he snapped a few quick pictures with his phone. He might not officially be on the case, but he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to learn what he could.
After taking the pictures, he tapped Seth’s name on his contact list.
“Bro, what’s up?”
“Seth, where are you?” The least he could do was try to make sure his brother had privacy before he delivered the news.
“Still at the apartment.” The apartment being Harper’s place above her café he’d moved into a month ago. “Why?”
He ignored his brother’s question and issued one of his own. “Harper there?”
“In the shower.” Seth’s voice firmed with concern. “Mate, what’s going on?”
“There’s no easy way to say this. I got a call-out this morning. Body found abandoned in a parking lot near the Seattle docks.” He let out a long breath. “It’s Fox.”
A few seconds of silence ended with Seth’s, “Fuck.”
“Shot. In the chest.” Heath’s gaze dropped to the body-shaped lump under the white plastic sheet. “Seth, you need to prepare Harper, get her to her mum. I’m off the case because of our connection, but I’ll be there when our guys officially notify Mrs. Fox.” Absofuckenlutely he would be.
“Yeah.” Seth sounded distracted. “Right, sure.” His brother let out a long sigh. “We’ll be there. I’ll ring Sienna too. Lance is in San Fran with his parents, helping them move. He’ll fly back.”
Harper’s sister and her husband. Christ, he’d forgotten about her. “Good. Tell her to get to her mum’s ASAP.”
“Okay.” He heard noise in the background. “Harper’s out of the shower. I gotta go.”
“Understood.” He ended the call and asked the security guard a couple of questions before Derek rejoined him.
“Lieutenant assigned anyone yet?”
“Kennedy and Faulkner.” Derek named two colleagues Heath respected. Good. At least he could tell Harper the case was in competent hands. “We’ll wait for them here and hand over. Lieutenant’s given permission for us to accompany them when they tell Mrs. Fox.”
Fifteen minutes later, he watched a black SUV drive up. Not SPD. Then he caught sight of a suited man exiting the vehicle. “Hell.”
“Friend of yours?” Derek’s gaze narrowed on the approaching man.
Heath sighed. “No, but that won’t stop him from sticking close to us today.”
With his dark hair cut short, the newcomer strode up in his suit. Heath gritted his teeth. As the man drew level, he held out his hand and addressed Heath. “Detective Justice.”
“Agent Tollison.” Heath accepted his handshake then motioned to his partner. “Detective Derek Shaw, this is Agent Dane Tollison from Department of Homeland Security.”
The men shook hands and sized each other up before Tollison nodded toward Fox’s body. “We had an alert on Fox’s name. Once he was identified, alarms were ringing all over the city. Your Lieutenant is receiving a phone call right now, requesting DHS be allowed to work alongside his team.”
Heath hid his wry smile. Why wasn’t he surprised? “I should have guessed this would happen.” He caught Derek’s curious glance. He looked to Tollison and, after receiving a nod, filled his partner in. “Agent Tollison is heading an investigation in which Fox was a person of interest.”
Tollison eyed Derek, then shared further. “I’m investigating an Ivy League secret society with networks across the country. They use their contacts and power to their advantage via means legal or otherwise, usually the latter.”
Derek returned Tollison’s even stare. “Fox was involved?”
“Our best guess, he was possibly forced to do their bidding, which made him a weak link and an easy target for my team to focus on. We had hoped to draw others out, but had come up empty so far.”
Derek looked down at the body, then back to Tollison. “Fox wasn’t some penniless crook. We’re talking about a major CEO of a Fortune 500 company. One with wealth and contacts.” He rested his hands on his belt. “Whatever hold these guys had over Fox had to be substantial.” Derek swung his gaze to Heath. “How did you first become aware of DHS interest?”
“I found out when Seth was under fire in those online attacks.” Heath swallowed, the tightness in his throat cutting off more words.
Understanding flashed through Derek’s gaze. The man might not have been Heath’s partner at the time, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t heard about the dramatic fallout since.
Two months ago, Seth was in the midst of selling his digital app design business to Brooke-Porter, the company at which Fox was CEO.
With precise timing, an imposter assumed Seth’s identity and began an online campaign to undermine the sale. Those attacks escalated to include Heath, Dillon, and Adam, Seth and Heath’s two oldest brothers, and the girl Seth had recently met at one of Fox’s schmooze events and fallen for, Harper Fox. The only one to escape direct attack was their middle brother Zach.
“When Adam was targeted, that caught my attention.” Agent Tollison offered. “We’d worked together during his time in black ops. The posts regarding Adam contained sensitive details of missions he’d taken part in. My agency was notified. When I saw Adam’s brother Seth had both a personal and business connection with Fox, I organized a meet-up through Adam.”
“At the time, we thought Fox might have been responsible for Seth’s troubles,” Heath added.
And when the imposter behind the attacks had finally been unmasked…
Heath sucked in a breath, his lungs tightening, resisting expansion as the memory of bitter treachery and loss cut deep. Too soon. Even now, a month later.
And here was Fox, shot in the heart, dead.
Derek addressed Tollison. “Not the ending for Fox you were hoping for.”
The agent’s mouth turned down. “No, and his death only adds more questions.”
“Here’s Kennedy and Faulkner.” Derek nodded in the direction over Heath’s shoulder. Two older detectives, both in their late forties, joined the group. Heath introduced Agent Tollison to his colleagues, who confirmed with the agent they were aware SPD would work alongside DHS.
While the detectives and Agent Tollison received an update from the CSI team, Heath stepped aside, took out his phone again and tapped a familiar name in his contact list.
“Justice,” A deep voice answered.
“Adam, it’s Heath. I need you at Stanton Fox’s house. He’s been murdered, his body dumped at the Seattle dockyards. We’re about to head out and inform his wife. Tollison’s working with SPD. And my gut’s telling me this situation’s going to get complicated.” He paused as his voice lowered. “I’ve called Seth.”
There was a second of silence before, “On my way.”
Heath let out a sigh. Complicated? That was an understatement. The same survival instinct, which had kept him and his adopted brothers alive as teenage runaways in Sydney’s seedy underbelly, warned him he’d need to keep sharp. Officially, Heath had to keep his distance from the investigation, but he wasn’t going to be a spectator when Seth and Harper’s happiness—hell, even their safety—was at stake.