What time was it now?
He focused on the thin slit in the curtains. It was daytime, he knew that, but cloudy outside. Ah yes, storms were supposed to come today.
“Wesley. Freaking. Cross.” His little sister stomped to the foot of his bed, slammed her hands onto her hips and glowered down at him. “Why the hell didn’t you call me?”
Shit. She knew.
He released another groan and sat up, the hammer feeling like a wrecking ball now. Boom, boom, boom, with each thump of his heart.
“What time is it?” He smacked his lips. Did he have sand in his mouth? Jesus Christ how much whiskey did he drink? Did he open another bottle?
Bobbi walked over to the curtains and yanked them open revealing, yep, a depressingly overcast day. “It’s almost noon, Wesley.” She turned, the anger on her face fading to anxious worry. “Wes, why didn’t you call me?”
He rubbed his eyes. “I did call you and hung up.”
“That was you?!”
“Yeah, just wanted to make sure you were home for the night.” And that you were safe, he thought.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It was after midnight when it happened, B.”
Her voice pitched as she threw her hands up in the air. “So, what? You didn’t want to wake me? What the hell, Wes? Someone was murdered in your basement, and you didn’t want to wake me?” She clenched her jaw and plopped down on the edge of the bed. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a messy bun, and even without a stitch of makeup, she was a beautiful woman. Wesley often wondered if she resembled their mother. The lack of mascara and lipstick made her look even younger than she really was, which she would never admit was twenty-nine. She was dressed in her work uniform—yoga clothes.
She shifted toward him and narrowed her eyes. “I want to know every detail. Now.”
Despite the knife in his brain, the corner of Wesley’s lip curled up. Although Bobbi was seven years younger than him, she’d always acted like the older sibling. Hell, she acted like she was his mother. Bobbi was extremely possessive of him and had been for as long as he remembered. He loved her unconditionally and was fiercely protective of her, too. Not that she needed protection. Like him, Bobbi was a fitness buff with her own yoga studio, which he always thought was ironic because she had a temper hotter than a rattlesnake. He’d told her that, so she’d opened a shooting range right next door. Yoga and guns. That summed up his sister to a tee.
He glanced at the clock. “How the hell did you hear about it already?”
“Tammy McDowell. Walked into my sunrise yoga class asking how you were doin’. I said, what the hell, and she told me she heard they found a body in your basement. My brother’s basement!”
He squeezed his face at the decibel of her voice. “How did Tammy hear about it?”
“She used to work at the station, you know that. Probably some loose-lipped son of a bitch let it slip.”
Shocker. Gossip was traded like gold in Berry Springs.
Bobbi continued, “Didn’t know who it was, though. Wesley, who was it?” Her eyes rounded with panic.
He paused, then in almost a whisper, said, “Leena.”
Her jaw hit the floor. She screeched, “Leena?!”
He closed his eyes, raised a hand and shook his head. “You need to bring it down a notch, B.”
She sat silent, utterly shocked, for a good five seconds. “You’ve got to tell me everything, Wes.”
“Just give me a second,” he snapped. “Jesus.”
She looked him over. “How much whiskey did you drink last night?”
His stomach flipped, and she must’ve noticed because she frowned with concern. In a softer voice, she said, “Okay. Let me get the coffee going. Take your time coming downstairs.” She laid her hand on his arm. “Hey.” She leaned in. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but we’ll figure this out, okay? We always do. We’re Crosses. We’ll fix this.”
He nodded and she smiled, stood, stared at him with pity for a moment, then turned and walked downstairs.
Christ.
He pressed his palms to his eyes. The image of Leena’s body popped into his head. His stomach churned again. After taking a few deep breaths, he ripped off the covers muttering every curse word he could muster up and dragged himself out of bed. The cold, hardwood floor felt good against his clammy, hot feet, and that’s when he realized he was soaked in sweat. His boxers, the only thing he had on, were drenched.
Shower. He needed a quick, ice-cold shower to bring him back to life.
He padded into the bathroom. The marble felt like ice beneath his feet. He caught his reflection in the mirror, fully turned to it, and braced himself against the copper sink. As he stared back at himself a knot caught in his throat. He shook his head in disbelief of the reality he’d woken up to.
It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a nightmare. It was real.
What the hell?
Wesley knew nightmares could be a reality. He’d seen evil up close and personal. While running special ops for the Marines, he’d seen plenty of dead bodies, hundreds, even. Everything from burned, to mutilated, to utterly unrecognizable as a human body. It always unnerved him a bit, but over the years, he’d gotten used to it. Hardened to it, really. But this was different. He had never dated the bodies he’d seen. He’d never had sex with one of them. And he sure as hell had never found one in his home.
This kill was personal.
Against him.
He narrowed his eyes and felt his blood began to boil.
No one fucks with Wesley Cross.
Fifteen minutes and one freezing-cold shower later, Wesley grabbed the first clean pair of jeans he saw, yanked a T-shirt over his slick skin and walked downstairs. His senses perked at the scent of fresh coffee brewing. He stepped into the kitchen where his sister was putting the finishing touches—spicy pickled okra—across the top of a glass filled with thick, red liquid.
“Bobbi’s Bloody,” he said.
She grinned. “Best Bloody Mary on the planet, and the best cure for a hangover.”
She picked up the Bloody Mary in one hand and a mug filled with coffee that said Boob Man in the other. The mug had been a cheeky little “I’m sorry” gift she’d given him after one of their more intense arguments where she’d childishly accused him of not calling her friend back because her boobs must’ve not been big enough, which led into an hour-long scolding about his commitment issues. She raised both and cocked an eyebrow.
“Both,” he said.
She nodded, handed him the drinks, then poured herself a cup of coffee. She leaned against the counter and sipped. “Okay, start from the beginning.” Her voice was low and soothing, now.
He sipped the coffee—heaven—and took a second to gather his thoughts as he glanced out the windows. Scattered beams of sunlight shot out from the thick cloud cover, like spotlights illuminating the bright fall colors that painted the mountains just beyond the field.
It was beautiful. Picturesque. Fall was always his favorite season… but not this year.
He took a deep breath and then dove into the horrific details of the last twelve hours of his life. Somewhere during the course of the story, Bobbi had set down her coffee and gripped the countertop with a steely look in her eyes that would have most men stammering. He knew she was doing everything in her power not to grab every gun in his house and track down the son of a bitch who’d set her brother up for murder.
“There’s your story, Bobbi.”
She released the death-grip on the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “Does dad know?”
“No. He’s still on his fishing trip in the Keys. Caught a hell of a marlin yesterday.” He paused. “I don’t want to tell him, B, I don’t want him to worry, and I don’t want to ruin his trip.”
“Wes, you have to…”
“I will, once I have more information.”
She nodded. A former military man, their father lacked the grace of patience, or emo
tions for that matter. He would no doubt be on the next flight out, brow-beating everyone at the station to solve Leena’s murder and get the attention off his son.
Bobbi began pacing. “Who the hell… Who would do this? Do you have any idea?”
“No.”
“Do the police have any leads?”
“Not as of three in the morning.”
“God, Wes,” she whispered, then asked, “Do you have any enemies? At all?”
“Enough to kill Leena in my house?”
She shrugged.
“If I did, I didn’t know about it.”
“Not just men. Women.”
“Women?” He snorted. “No… I don’t… No.”
“Wes, no offense, but you’re notorious around town for lovin’ and leavin’.”
“Are you suggesting a woman…”
“Hey, you’re the first person to call women crazy.”
Well, she had him there.
She continued, “What about one of your lovers’ husbands—
“Hey.” He snapped. “I might be a lot of things, Bobbi, but I’m not a fucking homewrecker.” He pushed off the counter, exerting the most energy he’d had all morning. Anger flashed in his puffy eyes. “I’ve never been with a married woman in my life. Never intend to, so don’t ever insinuate that again.”
She cocked an eyebrow, stared at him a beat. “It’s your turn to take it down a notch, Wes.”
He inhaled and muttered, “Sorry.”
The cuckoo clock on the wall cackled, drawing Bobbi’s attention. “Shit. I’ve got a twelve-thirty class across town.”
“Old folks’ home?”
She grabbed her keys. “You’d be surprised how many older women come to my class, Wes. Yoga keeps you young, and calm. You should try it sometime.” She started walking to the back door.
“I know, I know, you’ve told me—
She stopped in her tracks and froze. Her eyes rounded as if she’d seen a ghost.
Wesley instinctively straightened. “What? What is it, Bobbi?”
She turned to him. “I just remembered…” her voice trailed off.
“What?” He crossed the room. “What?”
“Well, you know Leena is, was, a regular at my Wednesday night class. Well, holy shit… when she came in the other day, I noticed immediately that she seemed off. Disheveled, kind of. So much so that I asked her what was wrong. She seemed nervous, kept glancing out the window at her car and said that she’d just had a weird couple of days.”
“Weird?”
“Yeah, she used that word exactly. I asked her what she meant, and she just stared out the window and said, verbatim, ‘do you ever get that feeling’ and then someone interrupted us. She spent the entire rest of the class glancing out the windows.”
“Do you ever get the feeling…” He repeated.
“Yeah.”
A chill skirted up his spine. “… that someone’s watching you.”
Her eyes widened. “You’re right. That’s what she was going to say.” She grabbed his arm. “Wes, someone had been stalking her. This wasn’t random, at all.”
“No, Bobbi, it wasn’t. It was very carefully thought out.” He looked out the window, his mind reeling.
“Leena wasn’t seeing anyone was she?”
He shook his head, still looking outside. “No. She was trying to get back with me.”
Bobbi took another glance at the clock, then quickly asked, “Have you heard from Detective Walker this morning?”
“That’s number one on my to-do list today.”
CHAPTER 3
Ding.
Kaylee picked up her phone from the bathroom counter.
Be there in five.
Butterflies tickled her stomach as she clicked out of the text message. Usually, she would have preferred to have a few drinks before taking a roll in the sheets, but unfortunately, today wasn’t going to work out that way. For a split-second, she considered running to the kitchen for a quick shot of tequila but decided against it. He’d probably smell it on her breath. Not that he’d care. Not that he cared about anything about her, really, other than sex.
They’d met a few weeks earlier, at Donny’s Diner of all places. She’d just finished a bottle of wine and weekly movie night with her friends when she’d popped in to get take-out. He was sitting alone in a booth and instantly caught her eye. Although older, by a decade, at least—based on the graying at his temples—he had a handsome face with sharp lines, eyes that seemed to stare into her soul, and long, dark hair that gave him a cool, mysterious vibe. When she noticed the muscles bulging under his T-shirt, she tugged down her low-cut neckline and made her move. She’d slid into the booth across from him, introduced herself and within seconds she learned that he’d just moved to town and was looking for someone to show him around, to which she offered.
One thing led to another, and she began making good on her promise by showing him around right after their dinner—right into her house. He’d left her barely able to walk at 5:07 the next morning. The man might not know a lot about Berry Springs, but he sure as hell knew his way around a woman’s body. Over the next few weeks he’d come by after work, usually very late, rocked her into oblivion, and sneak out the next morning.
He intrigued her. Not just because of the thing he did with his tongue that made her toes curl, but because there was something dark about him… like a brooding musician, or something. He was even-tempered, almost emotionless.
She heard the rumble of an engine, and quickly ran a comb through her blonde hair and dabbed on some peppermint flavored gloss that was supposed to plump her lips. She popped her lips and leaned closer to the mirror—nope, still no pouty, supermodel mouth. She should sue for false advertising. She stepped back from the mirror and smoothed the skin-tight cotton lounge dress she’d chosen—appropriate for a lunchtime romp. With a wink and jiggle of her breasts, she grinned and met him at the front door.
He walked inside and she frowned. Her usually stoic bed partner seemed distracted, rushed even.
“You okay?” She asked as she closed the door.
“Yes.” He glanced out the window, then drew the curtains closed. “I’ve got… a lot to do today. Sorry.”
“Look, if you’ve got to go…”
He turned toward her, his gaze dropping to her breasts, and passion flared in his eyes.
She flashed a flirty smile.
He gripped her waist, spun her around and heaved her body against the front door. The breath knocked out of her lungs. Holy hell, she was in for one hell of a ride. She felt the heat rise between her legs, loosening her up for what was to come.
He kissed her, forcing his tongue into her mouth as he ground against her. Aggressively. With one hand bracing herself on the doorknob, she wrapped the other around him, grabbing the back of his hair, yanking. Two could play this game. He was hard already, which was unusual. Usually, she had to work for it… for a while, even. With a grunt, he pulled her away from the door, swung her around and tossed her onto the couch.
She noticed him take a quick glance out the kitchen window before turning back to her. Weird.
With an intensity she hadn’t seen before, he gripped the edges of the coffee table and tossed it to the side. Her Vogue magazines tumbled, and she bit her lip. She carefully stacked the coveted magazines every day after she looked through them while sipping her morning coffee. She had every magazine from the last two years in pristine condition.
“Floor.” He demanded as he unbuckled his jeans.
She cocked an eyebrow and slid off the couch. He was naked from the waist down and on her by the time her body hit the carpet. His mouth devoured hers as he shoved up her dress, not bothering to take it off. Again, this was unusual. Thank God she’d opted against panties for this rendezvous.
Her breath caught as he shoved two fingers into her, then three, pounding her so hard her body slid upward. No preamble, no foreplay, and she felt the raw burn of dryness. She squirmed as he lea
ned into her neck, nipped her ear.
“Ready to get fucked?”
She gave a throaty moan, but then wondered if she really was.
“I’m not going to take it easy on you this time.” His voice was low, like a growl. “Get ready.”
He yanked his fingers out, grabbed her breast and squeezed, hard, then plunged into her. She squeezed her face at the twinge of pain. What the hell was with him today? This was the most emotion, passion, anger, she’d seen in him since… ever.
Was he drunk? On drugs?
He pounded her, over and over, his body slapping against hers, the friction building against her clit. Her thoughts began to fade as she melted into the carpet and let herself go. She felt a rush of wetness, opening her up to him.
Yes. There it was.
She widened her legs, tipped her head back as the heat began to turn into a spreading tingle.
“Open wider.”
She did as he demanded and arched her back, letting him deeper and deeper inside her.
“That’s it. You’re so wet. Fuck yeah, that’s it.” His breathing became heavier. He released her breast and slid his hand up to her neck. But instead of gently caressing the sensitive spot behind her ear like he usually did, he lightly wrapped his fingers around her throat. Instinctively, her eyes drifted open, met his. An icy gaze pinned her, his head bobbing as he thrust into her harder, faster and faster.
She was on the edge of an orgasm, her body tightening from head to toe.
“That’s it, come for me.” The words came out in short gasps. He was close, too.
The pressure increased around her neck. Her thoughts clouded as her body became completely overwhelmed with sensation.
“That’s it. I’m close…” she slurred out. Then her body exploded with the most intense orgasm she’d ever felt in her life, a paralyzing wave, over and over. She didn’t even notice him pouring into her at the same time.
The waves stopped, and she went completely limp. Dazed, confused. An entire marching band could have walked through her house, and she wouldn’t have even noticed.
The Fog Page 3