London heard distant laughter and a child’s high pitched squeak. She groused to herself and snuggled into the pillow. And what was that smell? A rich aroma…
Coffee. Her vice of choice.
Forcing her eyes open, she uttered a sleepy moan. A blue and white cotton pillow case filled her view.
Heath’s room.
A quick check of the clock on his nightstand read 8 a.m.
She blinked. Had she really slept in that late?
Glancing down, she saw the maroon and white Manly SeaEagles t-shirt Heath had loaned her. But she wore no panties. Apparently for Heath, her wearing underwear is his bed was a bridge too far.
She huffed a laugh, remembering the way he’d stood there, arms crossed over his broad chest and denied her access to her duffel bag on the floor behind him.
Such a bossy man. And the fact he’d chosen a t-shirt showcasing his Manly team? No way was that a coincidence. Maybe she could prank him in return. She glanced around her, not seeing anything out of place in the tidy room. Maybe hide his toothbrush? Nah, that was too easy. There had to be something…Then her gaze landed on his tall dresser.
She sprang out of bed.
A man who loves structure and order as much as Heath would have all his clothes organized into tidy sections.
The first drawer she pulled out revealed folded piles of underwear—all briefs. Next drawer down held pairs of rolled socks, a few handkerchiefs, and ties curled into circles so they resembled colored, silky swirls, and the two drawers under them housed t-shirts and sweatpants.
She rubbed her hands together and grinned. Operation Chaos Kicks Order’s Ass begins.
First up she widened a gap in the center of each rolled tie and used the handkerchiefs to make roses. Then she unrolled a few pairs of socks and planted them in between each layer of t-shirts. Lastly, she swapped half of his briefs with some of his sweatpants.
After closing the last drawer, she mentally high-fived herself for her awesome havoc-making skills.
Two photo frames on the top of the dresser caught her attention. Huh, she hadn’t noticed them before. One photo looked recent, taken at a party from the looks of the streamers and balloons in the background. Heath, Seth, and Adam appeared the same. The fourth man, with the same height and strong build as Heath and Seth—only Adam was taller—had long brown hair caught in a ponytail and his face partly hidden with a short, neatly trimmed beard. His short-sleeved black t-shirt only partially hid tattoos that started from his forearms and continued upward. The men were standing together, bottles of beer in their hands and looked relaxed in each other’s company.
The second photo was from long ago. Five teenagers crowded around a petite blonde-haired woman sitting in a wing backed chair. All were smiling. It wasn’t hard to guess four of the boys’ identities. The makings of their strong builds and handsome features were evident even as teens, with Adam and Zach, and to lesser degree Heath and Seth filled out. Another boy, smaller in build and height, and possessing the same coloring as the woman, sat on one arm of the chair, his hand resting on her thigh.
He had to be Dillon.
The brother who’d turned against them.
All because he refused to share his mom.
But the photo mattered. Heath kept it on his dresser. Maybe because it included Aurora, a woman she knew, from what he’d shared, he admired and loved. And lost.
London studied Aurora. With her hair swept up into a stylish bun, her silky cream top and trousers, and her understated gold jewelry, the overall image stated ‘class’. Joy lit up her face, her smile wide and her eyes bright. She was happy in this moment, with her sons. Her boys.
Sadness leaked into London’s heart like a lengthening shadow. How tragic for a woman with such a generous nature to be stolen by cancer.
She lifted a hand to pick up the photo.
“Hi, Miss London,” a child’s voice said from behind her.
London whirled around. A little girl, maybe four…no, five, held the bedroom door open enough for her small body to fit in the gap. Hazel eyes bright with interest scrutinized London.
“Uh, hi.” London managed to get out, thankful beyond belief Heath’s t-shirt reached mid-thigh on her. Soon, her shock gave way to a smile as she spied the kiddo’s yellow t-shirt with Girl Power on the front and matching yellow shorts. A ponytail held up her dark brown hair and was decorated with a ribbon the same light green as her sock-covered feet. “I like your t-shirt.”
Dimples appeared in the little girl’s cheeks. “Thanks. Auntie Harper gave it to me.” She advanced into the room, clearly not at all daunted conversing with strangers. “She’s Uncle Seth’s girlfriend.”
London turned to keep sight of the child as the little one climbed up on the bed.
“I’m Milly,” she shared. “Uncle Heath said you were sleeping. But I went to the bathroom and I heard a sound. Sleeping people don’t make sounds.” Her gaze flicked to London’s clothing. “That’s Uncle Heath’s footy shirt. He got that from Austrayleah.”
London smiled at the distinct Aussie way of pronouncing her Uncle’s homeland, although that was the only time she’d heard Milly stray into an Australian accent.
“My dad’s Zach. Me and him are having a sleepover at Uncle Seth’s new place. I’m going to play with Malcolm. He’s Auntie Harper’s kitty.” She glanced at the bed and back to London. “Uncle Heath said you had a sleepover last night.”
“Ahhh, yes. Yes, I did.” London knew from her four short years as a kindergarten teacher kids could pick up a lie from an adult in under a second. And they could also gain control of a situation just as fast.
She needed to reclaim the upper hand just like she had when teaching. Admittedly, she had been wearing underwear all those times and not standing in a man’s bedroom, but, hey, a girl has to work with what she’s given.
“I need to brush my teeth and get ready. You need to scamper, and when I join everyone, you can tell me about Malcolm.”
“That guy has all the females wrapped around his paw.” Heath lounged in the doorway of the bedroom looking sexy in black pants and a shirt the color of rich red wine, his black boots freshly polished. With his face clean-shaven, he looked about to head out to work.
And if she remembered rightly, hadn’t the guys scheduled some kind of meeting?
“Morning, Red.” He stepped close and tucked her to his side and dropped a kiss on her forehead, before turning his gaze on Milly. “Hey, squirt, Uncle Seth’s arrived, and he was carrying one of those pink boxes from Seven Dishes. My guess is muffins. But a warning…” His face turned somber. “Your dad and Uncle Adam were opening the box as I left the kitchen.”
“Yikes.” Milly slid off the bed. She made a dash for the doorway but pulled up next to London and gazed up at her. “I’ll try to save you some. If there isn’t enough, we can share.”
A burst of warmth filled London’s chest. How many adults, let alone a child, would think to share with a stranger? What an awesome kid. Normally, she’d refuse; not wanting to deny anyone a treat, but something told her Milly would be just as happy either way.
“Thank you, sweetie.”
With a grin, Milly ran off to seek out the spoils from Seven Dishes.
“Heath, she’s a fabulous kid.” She turned in his arms, smiling at the glow of pride in Heath’s face. “But, the guys will leave something for her, won’t they?”
He chuckled. “Her dad and Adam will tease her, but you can bet Milly will have her fair share of treats.” His arms circled her waist, pulling her close against him. “Zach’s worked hard to raise Milly right, especially as a single dad trying to cover all the bases. It would be easy for the rest of us to spoil her rotten, but that won’t help her in life.”
So Milly was adored but not overindulged. A perfect balance.
She wound her arms around his neck. “I didn’t get a chance to say this earlier, but”—with a finger, she traced the line of his jaw, catching the fresh, sporty scent of his aftershave—“good morning.”
“Let’s make the greeting official.” He dipped his head and took her mouth in a long, wet kiss that woke up her body in more ways than one. She felt warm and alive and open to his sensual caress as she pressed herself against him.
With a groan, he broke free. “Woman, keep that up and we won’t make it out of the room.”
True. And they did have Heath’s family in his kitchen. “I slept in. It’s now”—she glanced once more at the clock on the nightstand—“eight fifteen. You should have woken me.”
“Not a chance. You obviously needed to sleep, and I spent some time on the treadmill and then met with the guys.”
“You’ve had the meeting already?” Damn, she wanted to listen in.
“At seven. Derek’s on his way to Headquarters. Aidan and I will soon follow. Adam and Seth have a couple of things to cover here, then they’ll shoot off.”
“Will you get into trouble for being late?” So many people had already put themselves out for her. She hated the idea of Heath getting heat from his sergeant.
“No. I rang Avery last night, warned him I’d be a couple of hours later. After that bullshit with the news crew, he understood.” Heath brushed a wave of hair from her shoulder and slid his hand behind her neck, his thumb stroking the skin below her ear.
She stretched her neck a tad, loving the heightened sensations of his work-roughened thumb on her sensitive skin.
Heath kept talking. “The house has four bedrooms. I use one. There are two spare bedrooms for family to crash in, and one’s converted to a gym / office space. Plus the living room. Set up wherever you want to write.” He lowered his hand and moved to the doorway. “I’ll give you the grand tour later. For now, get dressed and be prepared for a crowd.”
“Wait.” She stepped forward. “What crowd.”
“Zach and Milly are here for the morning. Your mum and Estelle are sure to turn up.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Last night, shit happened, luv. Your family and friends want to make sure you’re okay.”
People cared. Well, hey, she knew she was loved, but when a girl’s already feeling a little tender in the coping skills department, hearing that she mattered was like a fresh bouquet of kindness being delivered to her soul.
She blinked away a sudden moisture in her eyes. Ignoring the way the lines around Heath’s mouth deepened with his grin, she waved her hand in a dismissive motion. “Right. Go. Let me get ready.”
He shut the door behind him, but she heard the sound of his soft laughter from down the hallway.
London’s gaze landed on her tote, which held her phone. Pastries, coffee and visiting with family sounded fabulous, but first she needed to check her messages.
A few minutes later, she’d listened to voicemails from Harper, Jinx, Cleo, and her Gran, the last one containing various scenarios on how Estelle Shaw and her fellow seniors’ darts team members could protest at the local TV station for their ‘home invasion’.
London made a mental note to keep her Gran away from Adam, lest she get any ideas.
After clearing her messages, she purposely avoided checking her social media accounts until after coffee.
Because, hey, everyone knows coffee makes even the most complicated of situations a little better.
She didn’t waste time fussing over what to wear. A flowing peasant skirt in differing shades of blue and a white V-necked t-shirt worked fine. Small gold hoop earrings and some lip gloss, eyeliner, mascara, and a spritz of her perfume and she was presentable. Slipping her feet into a pair of tan leather flip flops, she headed down the hallway and into Heath’s kitchen.
Seth was on one of the stools at the kitchen counter typing on a laptop. Next to him, Milly played on a tablet. Aidan, Heath, and Adam were outside on the back deck deep in discussion.
And the fridge door was open. She glimpsed the top of a man’s dark head moving in a line as if he was trying to get a view of something. “Where did Heath say he kept those juice boxes? I can’t see them anywhere,” a gruff male voice asked from behind the door.
Seth glanced up, catching sight of London. The corners of his mouth turned up before he answered. “Look behind the bowl of cut up fruit at the back.”
“You’d think he’d have them in the chiller compartment. He’s so bloody logical about everything else,” the hidden man groused.
“Uh, that’s my fault.” London put up her hand. “I moved the juice from the chiller last night to make way for some beer and bottles of mineral water.”
The fridge door snapped shut, and London came face to face with Zach Justice.
He was, to put it bluntly, the epitome of every sexy bad boy hero she’d ever read in her friends’ biker romances.
And just like with his brothers, the photo in Heath’s room did not fully showcase the potency of Zach’s masculine form.
Nor the watchful intelligence in his hazel gaze.
“Hi.” She attempted a breezy tone. “I’m London.”
“I guessed.” A flash of white teeth in his beard highlighted his smile. “I’m Zach. I hear you’ve met Milly.” He glanced over his shoulder to the little girl who grinned back at her. Two small plates, one with a croissant and another with a strudel, sat in front of her. “Your champion secured breakfast and she’s been waiting to eat with you.” He inserted a straw in a juice box and placed it in front of Milly, earning him a distracted thanks as the child played on the tablet. “Coffee?”
“I’d love some, please. Milk. No sugar.”
Zach retrieved a mug from a group that hung on hooks underneath the row of pine wall cabinets.
“Dad and Uncle Adam had two muffins each.” Milly shared, her eyes wide. “But Uncle Seth told them they couldn’t have any more or they’d get big guts.” She slapped a hand over her mouth and giggled.
Not that London was an expert on physical health, but a surreptitious glance at Zach’s physique—outlined to perfection in a muscle hugging long sleeved black Henley and faded pair of jeans—revealed he had no need to be concerned with his weight. The same could be said of all the men at the house this morning.
“Hypocrite.” Zach eyed his brother as he poured milk into London’s coffee. “How many did you eat on your way over? I saw the crumbs on your shirt.”
Seth casually brushed a hand over the line of buttons on his olive shirt and kept his gaze on Zach. “No idea what you’re talking about, mate.”
London giggled and collected her coffee, thanking Zach. She walked over to sit on the stool next to Milly. “So, which is yours, honey?” she asked Milly, nodding toward the two plates.
Milly’s gaze turned hopeful. “I like strudel.”
“Then you’ll have it.” London lifted Milly’s choice closer to her before claiming the croissant.
Seth reached to his left near the sink, grabbed a roll of paper towels and pulled off a few squares. “Here, kid. Sticky finger marks are no fun on a tablet.” He slid one down to London.
“Thanks,” she muttered before biting into the crispy, feather light pasty. “Oh, yum.”
From behind, the sound of heavy footsteps on the deck drew closer.
Aidan dropped a kiss on her forehead. Concern darkened his gaze. “You okay, sis?”
She hugged her brother. They often teased each other, but Aidan usually ran interference for her when Derek got all big-brother-growly over her occasionally zany, sometimes risky exploits in what she called ‘research’.
Liam usually sided with Derek and Cooper. Her youngest brother was the tall, silent type who broke the mold for the male members of her family, living in California and mastering the world of economics.
“Yeah, hon. I’m soaking up my coffee and chilling with Milly.” She glanced down at the little girl, who now had smudges of apricot around her mouth.
Aidan gave her a squeeze before stepping back. “Good to hear.”
“Can you help me down, mister? I gotta go clean up.” Milly asked Aidan, her hands up and displaying the sticky residue of her strudel wasn’t confined to her mouth.
“You bet.” Aidan lifted her down and received a yelled thank you as the little girl hurried from the kitchen to a guest bathroom located off the hallway.
Heath moved to the end of the counter. “Red, Aidan and I are heading in.” He leaned in and kissed her. “Zach will be here with you and Milly all morning.”
Babysitting her. Heath didn’t say that exactly, but she guessed. And while she had a heap of writing to do that, for her, normally required solitude, she was grateful of the company.
“Sounds good. After my coffee and a chat with Milly, I’ll go find a corner to write.”
“So much for that firewall, mate,” Seth shook his head as his fingers flew over the keys on his laptop.
“You get in?” Adam moved behind Seth, looking over his brother’s shoulder at the laptop’s screen.
“Too bloody easy.”
London sent Heath a questioning look.
“Seth’s hacked the server for the building’s security at Henry Banks’s apartment tower.”
Hacked? “But, isn’t that illegal?”
“Yeah.” Heath shoved his phone into his pocket and picked up his keys from the counter.
Apparently, that was all to be said on the subject.
London wasn’t so sure. “You’re a cop. My brothers are cops. You’re all risking your careers here, not to mention Seth and Adam getting into trouble, too, for me. I’m a more than a little uncomfortable with that scenario. Plus, you’re a go-by-the-rules kind of guy. Hacking compromises your morals and—”
Heath cupped a hand behind her head and pulled her close, so she was leaning across the counter on an angle. “London, someone killed your friend, and whether by accident or design, you were implicated. I’m going to do whatever it takes to get answers. You got me?”
London could only nod, silenced by the unyielding determination in his voice and gaze.
“Good.” Heath waited a beat before continuing. “Seth’s going to get a feed of the building’s surveillance cameras and see if there’s a record for early Thursday morning. We’re being smart in how we go forward. Seth’s knows what he’s doing.” He slid his hand from her hair, and she straightened. “You’re right in the respect that Derek, Aidan, and I have to tread carefully at work. We can’t go up to Reed and Snyder and ask them for a copy of any tapes or anything else to do with the case. But Adam and Seth have more freedom to get the job done. This way, they can erase their tracks as they go. Hell, I’m not above calling in the Bishops to get some answers.”
Adam and Seth both chuckled as they continued to view the laptop.
Bishops? Surely, he couldn’t mean—“You want to involve the Church?”
Adam turned and grinned at Heath. “Fucking brilliant.”
Heath gave his brother an annoyed glance before answering London. “No, I’m talking about Declan Bishop, business mogul. Also, I suspect, a major player in Seattle’s criminal underworld despite claims he’s legitimized the family’s operations. He’s a contact of Adam’s.”
“You’re not a fan, huh?”
“Not in the least. I’ll call later.” He dropped a hard kiss on her lips before nodding to the men and walking through the kitchen and laundry to the garage.
Aidan squeezed her shoulder and walked down the hallway. Seconds later, she heard the front door opening and closing.
Heath’s plan made perfect sense, and it wasn’t as if the men were untrained in their fields of expertise. However, that didn’t mean she would stop worrying about the risks they were taking on her behalf.
She sipped her coffee, all the time aware of the three remaining men in the kitchen who’d overheard the conversation. “Guys, I know I may seem ungrateful here—and that’s not my intention—but I don’t want Heath jeopardizing his career over me. Maybe you could talk to him? Ask him to back off a little?”
“London.”
Zach, his deep voice still new to her ears, spoke first.
He leaned forward; arms stretched in front and braced himself with his hands on the counter. “Heath is not a risk taker. Not when it can be avoided. But you’ve got to understand, five weeks ago, he stood beside Seth as Dillon held a gun to Harper’s head.” London jerked back as Zach’s words, delivered with a tortured roughness that entered his voice, and landed like a physical blow. “We saw first-hand what happens when you take shit for granted. Nobody’s doing that this time around.”
“I-” She cleared her throat. “I understand.”
From her side, she felt Adam’s gaze on her, and she turned.
Dressed in a dark gray Henley, black jeans, and combat boots, he was, as ever, a commanding sight. “Last night I suggested you take a few hours to relax and that tomorrow would come soon enough.”
“You did.” And she had.
“Today’s here. We’re focused and taking action.” Adam’s direct manner mellowed a couple of degrees to something bordering on gentle. “Now’s the time for you to focus on what you need to accomplish. You’re a writer. Go write.”
Sometimes a girl just needed to hear advice from a group of big, gruff Aussies who had the diplomatic skills of an exploding grenade.
She slipped off her stool and sent each man a smile. “I’ll be around.”
Grabbing her work bag and phone from Heath’s bedroom, she debated searching for his home office, but decided to head to the living room.
Muted chatter between adults and a child wafted down the hallway as she set herself up on one of the two brown leather couches. The padding was firm-ish, not one of those couches a person sank into and needed a hoist to get up from. Thank God.
The coffee table made an awesome mini desk. She slid the TV remote to the side and set down her phone. Next came her notebook—with its fabulous cover in hot pink with tiny gold polka dots—filled with snippets and ideas from her current project, and her Erin Condren yearly planner in the supreme-looking dark grey with pink and apricot flowers.
Keeping up the bad habit of a lifetime, she chewed on the end of a ballpoint pen as she reviewed some of the scribbled ideas in her notebook.
Ten minutes later, she dropped the notebook in her lap and sighed. She’d been re-reading the same notes repeatedly, but the words weren’t sinking in.
Her concentration level was zilch.
Was that due to being away from her desk where she preferred to write? Possibly. Louder male conversation filtered out from the kitchen. Hmm. More like her trying hard not to overhear whatever the guys were discussing.
Maybe some ambient background noise would enhance her mood? She spotted the remote on the coffee table.
With a few clicks the TV came to life, the volume set to the right level.
Sliding her feet from her flip flops, she gathered a couple of the cushions behind her back and stretched out on the couch. Laptop balanced on her legs, she began putting a serious dent in her daily word count goal.
At some point, Seth and Adam came to the doorway and said goodbye, which she returned. Zach and Milly stayed in the kitchen, leaving her to her writing.
She made good use of the time, nailing a scene that had troubled her for days.
The sound of her name broke her concentration.
‘…London Shaw went into hiding. Too add further insight, international bestselling author Angelique Dupree joins us live from her lakeside home in Seattle.’
London swung her gaze toward the TV. What the hell?
‘Ms. Dupree, you were at London Shaw’s book signing on Wednesday night, the same night Henry Banks was murdered.’
Angelique, her dark hair combed out to its fullest, heavy makeup in place and wearing a blood red dress, lifted her chin for the camera. ‘I was, Phyllis. And can I first say that I’m appalled at the tragic loss of my friend, Henry.’ She clutched at her chunky gold and pearl necklace.
What a liar. She couldn’t stand Henry. Would make catty remarks about his appearance and quirks to her snobby writer friends.
The presenter’s voice came over the screen. ‘Now Ms. Dupree, last night we aired film of the book signing, including London Shaw and Henry Banks having what some people have speculated on social media looked like a tense conversation. Did you hear what was said?’
‘No, I can only think that it was related to Ms. Shaw’s new project.’
London froze.
No. She wouldn’t. Please, no.
Mindlessly, London shoved her laptop aside and swung her legs to the floor, perching on the edge of the couch.
The presenter didn’t miss a beat. ‘What project’s that, Ms. Dupree?’
Angelique looked down for a second, making a show at looking uncomfortable sharing her news. ‘It appears London’s abandoning readers of her teen romances and attempting to write a murder mystery.’
London’s gut clenched. Heat washed over her, the feeling cloying on her skin.
‘Some authors don’t appreciate constructive criticism.’ Angelique sighed.
London sprang to her feet. “That bitch!”
She snatched up her phone and paced toward the living room’s front window, feeling boxed between the coffee table and the couch.
“London.”
She ignored whoever spoke.
Who could she call? Fuck. She dragged a hand viciously through her hair. Think. She needed a contingency plan.
Gloria. Her belly tightened. Hadn’t she rung her agent yesterday and left three messages—still to be returned.
“London.”
A big male body moved in front of her. Strong hands grasped her upper arms and firmed their grip when she went to move away.
She looked up, seeing Zach’s face, his brows drawn in concern.
“Girl, what’s happened?”
“That throwback to ’80s TV hung me out to dry.”
His frown only grew deeper. “Explain.”
“An author revealed on TV that I was moving into a new genre.”
“How’s that— ”
“She revealed that it will be a different genre from the one my readers know me for.” Abandoning readers of her teen romances… “And implying I’m betraying them.”
Her plan was to have a break for a year, then come back fresh to writing more YA.
“Post a statement clarifying your position,” Zach suggested.
“Yes, of course,” London gripped her phone tighter in her hand. “Except it’s now two days in a row they’ve been blindsided, and many readers don’t like change, especially when the news doesn’t first come from the author. And Angelique worded her delivery to create as much carnage as possible.”
But her despair went deeper.
“I’m not forgetting that the bigger picture here is my friend’s murder and right now, everyone should be concentrating on him and remembering what a great author he was.” Her voice sounded husky as a baseball sized lump of grief lodged in her throat. “Now isn’t about opportunities for publicity and self promotion.”
Zach let go of her arms and stepped back. “Then say that.”
She went still. It seemed so simple, and yet… “You’re right.”
“No, girl, you said it first. I just provided some clarity” He waved to her laptop. “Get on there and do your thing.”
Once seated and with the laptop set up on the coffee table, she looked over to Zach. “There’ll still be fallout. I mean, sure, Angelique was only on a Seattle based chat show, but she’ll share a copy of the interview on her social media. And like yesterday’s fiasco, it will be shared. People will be upset they didn’t hear the news from me.”
“Life can be a bitch sometimes.” Zach headed back toward the kitchen. “How you deal with that shows what you’re made of.”
And after throwing down the gauntlet, he walked out of view.
London gathered herself, conviction in her actions having her sit just that little bit straighter. She clicked on her Facebook page. “Challenge accepted.”
Ten minutes later, a statement covering the heartbreaking loss of her friend was posted on her website, Facebook and a link shared on Twitter. A tiny portion of the statement dealt with the unfortunate timing of a previous critique partner disclosing confidential information of a new project London was working on, and that she’d be releasing more details in a few days, but for now, she was remembering Henry.
Twenty minutes after that, her mom and grandma arrived with a freshly made carrot cake, soon followed by Cleo who had the afternoon off from the bookstore.
Five minutes after that, Milly had bonded with Estelle Shaw, declaring the seventy-eight- year-old’s purple batwing eyeglasses ‘the coolest ever’ and requesting a pair for her next birthday present.
And this was all wonderful, but London couldn’t shake the fact she was in a constant state of defense. Her pen as the murder weapon, a sneak attack by a news crew at her house, and now Angelique revealing her secret project. Defending. Running. Justifying.
The last time she’d felt this helpless was age ten when two bullies at school stole her new backpack and trashed all her homework. Her teacher hadn’t believed her and gave her detention.
And here she was now, an adult, feeling just as vulnerable. This was her life. Dammit, she needed to do something.
After checking that Zach and Milly were still occupied making a tray of sandwiches for lunch, she faced her mom, grandma and Cleo. “I need a plan of attack. So far, every move I’ve made is on the defensive, and I’m sick of feeling at someone else’s mercy.”
Cleo nodded from her seat on the other couch under the front window. “I’ve been thinking the same.”
Gran sipped her iced tea as she settled back on the couch, the soles of her shiny red patent leather pumps just reaching the rug-covered floor. “What did you girls have in mind?”
“Mom,” Joanna cautioned softly.
“What?” Estelle regarded her daughter-in-law with raised brows. “Are we all supposed to sit back and knit booties while the menfolk take care of things?”
“Not in the least,” London’s mom shot back, “But we shouldn’t go trampling on anything Heath and the boys have organized either.”
Fair point. Besides, she wasn’t sure how keen Heath would be of her newly devised plans. She was going to call and check in with him soon. Maybe test the waters then and see what happened?
“We need to hold a strategy session. Us four, Harper, Jinx and Mercy.” She nodded toward the kitchen. “For the moment, secrecy is paramount. Heath is…protective of women and while I’m not planning to do anything stupid, I don’t want to poke the beast.”
She imagined him locking her away in a tower if he thought she would get in trouble.
Cleo reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. “I’ll call the girls. We can meet at the café. I’m thinking tomorrow afternoon since Harper has Zach and Milly staying tonight.” She walked to Heath’s front door and headed outside to make sure she wasn’t overhead by Zach.
London felt the pull of her mom’s gaze. “Don’t worry, I know sometimes I’m too impulsive. But I promise I’m not planning on being like one of those heroines from a horror movie who walks down to the dark cellar.”
Her mom gave a relieved chuckle. She rose from the couch to stand in front of London. “I’ll admit I’m glad you’re letting others help you and provide guidance.” Gripping her daughter’s hands, she gave them a squeeze. “But more importantly, I’m thrilled, my darling girl, you asked me to be on your team.”
London’s gaze blurred. She blinked furiously and pulled her mom into a hug.
Joanna Shaw, in her mom clothes of cute, feminine tops and comfy jeans, could be easily pigeonholed as a woman who baked, managed her home and loved her family. All good qualities. But there was so much more to the woman who’d raised five headstrong kids, plus dealt with an alpha hero of her own. Years of working as a volunteer with survivors of domestic violence and poverty at a woman’s shelter gave her mom a clear-eyed view of life and strong opinions to go with it.
As London looked over her mom’s shoulder, her gaze found that of her grandma, who nodded slowly.
The older woman lifted her glass of iced tea in a salute. “Here’s to teamwork.”
****
Later that Friday night, Heath walked into the living room with a fresh glass of wine for London. Once he sat beside her on the couch, he was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek as she tucked herself against him.
“This was a great idea, having tonight at home.” She sipped her wine as the music from Ed Sheeran’s latest CD played in the background. “And you grill a great steak.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, loving the way her softness warmed his side. “My dad loved firing up the barbie. Come the summer, if Mum worked an evening shift, Dad always cooked outside.” Give us a hand, son, and I’ll teach you my secrets. “He made each time fun for us kids. My sister would sit at the outdoor table and tell Dad about her day, and I’d be in charge of grilling the meat under his guidance.” Good job, Heath. The way his dad had ruffled his hair had made Heath feel ten feet tall. We’ll make a master griller of you yet.
“You obviously paid attention.” She placed her glass on the coffee table, then settled back. “But I am holding you to taking me out on that official first date. Otherwise,” she shrugged, “I’ll get a reputation for being easy. You’ve already hit a couple of home runs and I’ve got no fancy meal to prove I was worth the wooing.”
“I’m not getting out of this bloody date, am I?” Heath chuckled at her narrow-eyed stare.
She gave up her fit of pique in the face of his continued laughter and laid her head against his chest.
“I was going to take you out for dinner. Being turned down so a woman can work is almost as bad as being turned down so she can wash her hair.”
“And I still have that hanging over my head.” She groaned. “Sometimes you just have to sit in front of the laptop and push words out until you get a sentence that flows. Then, hopefully, another follows.”
“So do that. It’s only,” he glanced at his wristwatch. “Eight. You’ve got a couple of good hours ahead of you to crush that scene.” At her surprised glance, he tapped the end of her nose with his finger. “Red, I understand your work’s important. I can keep busy. Adam and Seth have sent me tapes to view. Plus, there’s other intel to go over.”
London straightened and shifted on the couch so she sat facing him. “I’m curious. What else are you guys looking into besides the tapes?”
“Looking into Banks’s background, how he lived his life, who were his friends, his enemies.”
Her brow creased. “I don’t think Henry had many friends. He was a loner. As for enemies,” she sighed. “Henry wasn’t confrontational. He just preferred his own company.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “You know, I could help. The girls would as well. Cleo especially.” London leaned forward, her voice filled with conviction. “She has connections both in the local writing community as well as publishing circles in general.”
“No.” Anger at the idea of her getting into harm’s way added a hard edge to his voice. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with yet. Banks’s murder could be a burglary gone wrong or a stalker who’s been obsessed with Henry for years.”
London slowly eased back and whispered, “I hadn’t thought of a stalker.”
The idea of some crazed fucker’s attention falling on London sent a chill down Heath’s spine. “If we need Cleo to ask some questions, Adam or I will brief her first. But London…” He grasped the back of her neck in a firm grip. The pupils in her green eyes dilated, and he was once again reminded of how wonderfully responsive his Red could be to his touch. He hoped she’d heed his warning as easily. “Leave this work to me and the guys. I’m not asking you to stay away from our investigation, I’m telling you.”
The telltale pressing of her lips together didn’t bode well for her obeying him. Foolish girl. He increased the pressure of his grip on her neck—not to hurt, but to remind her of what was at stake. “Promise me.”
London took her sweet time before, finally, she answered. “I promise I won’t interfere with your investigation.” She kept his gaze, not avoiding his stare. He had to take her answer on face value.
“Good.” He pulled her closer and claimed her mouth with a hot, searing kiss. Her lips parted, and his tongue darted in with a searching sweep. She tasted of fruity wine and her own special sweetness. When he lifted his head, her gaze had softened. “You want to write here?” he asked.
She glanced at her laptop and notebooks on the coffee table. “Yes, if that’s okay.”
“No worries, I’ll be in my home office.” He left her to her words and grabbed a beer from the fridge before heading into the third largest bedroom. The room’s furnishings were sparse. In the far corner was a weight machine. Against the wall to the side was his desk and chair with a filing cabinet.
He logged into his laptop and clicked on the email from Adam, then downloaded the security tape for the early hours of Thursday morning.
Seth had spliced together the scenes of interest. First, Henry approached the main entrance to his apartment building. He looked over each shoulder as he keyed in the access code to gain entry at 4:03 a.m. Two minutes later, a man now identified as the doctor who witnessed Henry enter his apartment also gained access.
The next frame showed a tall man of solid build wearing a dark hoodie and jeans approach the building’s main entrance—all the while keeping his head bent downward. He also keyed in the code. The time stamp on the tape said 4:37 a.m. And Seth could not find any trace of him leaving the building afterward. The next people to gain entry to the building were janitorial staff an hour later. Adam’s notes stated that one of the four fire exits did not have CCTV.
Heath leaned back in his chair as he read through Adam’s email once more. Seth was tracing Henry Banks’s financials. Adam couldn’t find anything in the man’s history or with any of his associates that would ring alarms bells. On the matter of Fox, Adam was meeting with Tollison tomorrow to discuss the investigation’s progress. The IRS was working with the Agent on another possible pawn in this Ivy League syndicate that had controlled Fox. If they could pressure the man to share his troubles, it may lead to a breakthrough.
He spent the next hour studying the tape Seth had sent, plus two other tapes of different camera angles. Seth was right; there was no trace of the guy leaving the building. With a sigh, he worked on some notes covering Fox and Banks before calling it quits for the night.
As he entered the living room, he found London on the couch with her head back and eyes closed. Her even breathing and relaxed features signified she was fast asleep. Her laptop was closed and her notebooks, pens, and sundry other stationery items were scattered over the coffee table. The little writer was leaving her stamp wherever she went.
Color. Creativity. Happiness.
Maybe a little mess was a good thing amongst all his order?
Heath scooped London up in his arms, smiling that she didn’t stir, and walked to his bedroom.
Once she was on the bed, he gently undressed her, trying not to laugh aloud at her grumbles at her disturbed sleep.
He stood back and rubbed his chin, wondering if he should keep her naked or get one of his t-shirts. The scratchy sound of his finger brushing his stubble reminded him of London’s pleasured-filled moans as he gently rubbed his jaw over the delicate skin of her inner thigh.
Hmm, maybe sometime in the night, he’d explore ways of getting Red to make more of those sounds.
Deciding on the t-shirt, he went to his dresser and opened the drawer.
He blinked. “What the fuck?”
Two pairs of unrolled socks sat on top of his AC/DC t-shirt. He lifted up the corner of the garment and saw another pair of socks underneath covering the next t-shirt.
Slowly, he pushed the drawer closed and opened another. Where there should have been two neat rows of folded pairs of sweatpants was only one row and a messy lump of his briefs.
Another drawer revealed something looking like flowers from his handkerchiefs. And where was his Manly t-shirt? Not on his chair.
He glanced over to the bed. A slow smile spread across his face as he studied London, looking so bloody innocent in her sleep.
Grabbing his AC/DC t-shirt, he dressed her and settled her under the covers, then went about claiming his revenge. All the while, London slept on, unaware of what was in store.
Five minutes later, Heath climbed into bed and took her in his arms. A few hours later, he woke Red and tore from her those pleasured-filled moans he loved to hear. Once they were both spent and exhausted, he nipped the lobe of her ear. “Love what you did with my ties, Red. I’ll have to think of something worthy in return.”
And the way her eyes grew round at his words?
As his brother would say—fucking brilliant.