Caballo Security Box Set

by Camilla Blake

  I headed upstairs, hoping Cheryl had found more than I did.

  It certainly was easier to fight the bad guys in some third-world country than it was here. At least their motives I understood—as clear as the writing in a book.

  Chapter 16

  Luna

  Brock looked tired when he greeted me back at the suite.

  “What’s happened?” I asked, gazing at his scarred face with more affection than I thought I’d ever feel for anyone again.

  “I need to talk to Angela for a moment. Then I’ll explain everything.”

  I shook my head. “I want to know what’s going on. What kept you from attending to your duties all day?”

  A hurt look crossed his expression at my choice of words. But I didn’t know how else to express myself. He was here as my employee and he hadn’t been at my side all day. I’d missed his presence.

  “Give me a minute, and I’ll tell you everything.”

  He moved past me, gesturing for Angela to go out into the hall with him.

  “Use the sitting room,” I said. “I need to go freshen up for dinner, anyway.”

  Brock hesitated, his eyes flashing to the open doorway of the bedroom, probably having the same thought I’d had: that I could just as easily listen at the door as anyone else could. But he chose to stay, gesturing for Angela to take a seat on the couch. He glanced at me, the impatience on his face reminiscent of the look he’d given me this morning when I’d tried to tease him, keeping my kisses from him. I bit my bottom lip and his expression softened a little.

  I went into the bedroom and closed the door, listening to see if he would verify that I’d closed it all the way. When he didn’t, I took my hand off the knob and let it fall open just a little. Funny thing about these double doors: if you didn’t secure them with the bolts that slid into the ceiling, they would fall open with just the slightest pressure.

  I unbuttoned the top of my blouse as I stood near the door, straining to hear what he wanted to ask my assistant.

  “Are you married, Angela?”

  I frowned, wondering why he would ask such a thing. Angela wasn’t married. She didn’t have time for a social life, not with the way I kept her jumping.

  “Where do you get off asking me something like that?”

  “Because I met your husband in your room earlier.”

  “What were you doing in my room?”

  “Looking for Tony Greene. I was told he was staying in your room, but he seems to be nowhere to be found, just like the other artist, Jenny Samuels.”

  I pressed a hand to my mouth, wondering what the hell this was about. Jenny had been staying in a room on the eighth floor, just down the hall from Tony. I’d seen them both just a few days ago… at least… maybe I didn’t see them, but I knew they were there. I was paying for those rooms.

  “Jenny went home a couple of days ago. She said her sister was sick.”

  “Her sister?”

  There was doubt in Brock’s voice. It made me wonder what he knew that I didn’t.

  “That’s what she said. And Tony was staying with me, but then my boyfriend—he’s only my boyfriend, but he likes to tell everyone we’re married because of the common-law marriage laws; he thinks it’s funny—showed up and Tony moved into Jenny’s room.”

  “But Jenny checked out.”

  “He’s still in her room. I arranged it with the clerk.”

  “I asked the clerk. He told me she’d left.”

  Angela made a low sound. “I don’t know what you’re accusing me of, but the only thing I’m guilty of is cheating on my boyfriend. He’s an ass and I really didn’t think he’d show up here. I was more surprised than Tony when we opened the door and he was there!”

  There was silence for a moment, and then Brock asked Angela, “Do you know who this is?”

  There was a long silence. Then a hesitant, “No?”

  “You don’t sound sure.”

  “I’m sure. I don’t know who that is.”

  I wished I could see whatever it was he was showing her. I wanted to go in there and find out what was happening, wanted to demand answers of Angela. You had to bully a woman like her because that was what she was used to. Brock was being too nice.

  I turned away from the door and began to undress in earnest, tugging the blouse from my shoulders and shaking loose the bra that was digging into my flesh. I rubbed the raw spots as I went to the closet to get my dressing gown. When I opened the door, I screamed.

  Blood. Everywhere!

  Brock came running into the room, his arms around me as he pulled me back from the closet. I buried my face against his chest, tears coming in big sobs. Another scream made me jump. Angela had come into the room, just as shocked by the sight in the closet as I was.

  Someone had ripped up my dressing gown and doused it in blood.

  ***

  “We apologize for the inconvenience, Ms. Walsh,” the manager said again, her petite hands touching mine as she moved to stand. “We have never had anything like this happen in our hotel before. We certainly will not allow it to happen again.”

  It seemed like they’d stayed for hours, the security personnel, checking out the mess in the closet, going through my clothing, touching my private things. Then the manager had arrived, moving us up to a better suite, one that had just become available three floors above us. My things were brought up in my luggage, but it didn’t seem like mine anymore. I didn’t want to touch any of it.

  I was wearing Brock’s shirt because most of my blouses were covered in blood, some only splattered in a few places, but it was bad enough that the idea of ever wearing them again made me sick to my stomach. The smell of the blood—that coppery, animal stink—was so thick in my nostrils that I couldn’t smell anything else. I just wanted out of here; I wanted to scrub my skin for hours and hours, to get out of this place and go home.

  I’d done what I came here to do. I just wanted to go.

  There had been so many people; the absence of them all was almost as chaotic, almost as disturbing. Brock sat beside me on the low couch and wrapped his arms around me. I didn’t want his touch at first, afraid to take comfort from him. But then… comfort was such a lovely thing. No wonder it had the odd power of becoming addictive.

  He ran his hand up and down my back the way a parent might do to soothe a crying child. I closed my eyes and allowed my body to slowly relax, the tension leaving my muscles with reluctance.

  “I don’t understand. How did they do that?”

  “It must have happened during the break-in.”

  “But you didn’t notice?”

  “I was concentrating on the goat’s head in the safe.”

  That was another thing. There’d been a package with a frozen fish in it and he hadn’t told me about it. Now there was a goat’s head and he was asking Angela questions rather than telling me what had happened to my jewels? That wasn’t acceptable.

  “You should have told me right away. You should have come to get me, should have kept me safe from whoever broke into my room!”

  “You were safe. You were with two certified security agents who were watching you quite closely. You were probably safer there than you were in the suite.”

  “But there was all that blood and—”

  “I was investigating it. That’s what you hired me for.”

  “Is it? I’m beginning to lose track of these things. I thought… hell, I thought the pig’s head was a onetime thing and now you tell me this is the third occurrence! I should know these things!”

  “I know. I thought I was protecting you. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too.”

  I pulled away from him and climbed to my feet, needing a little clarity. I’d let myself fall into the romantic notion of dating my bodyguard. I never should have done that, never should have let myself be vulnerable to him. Someone was harassing me again, just like in high school, and I wasn’t safe. No one around me was safe.

  “Who did this?”


  “We have security footage of a woman, but she was wearing indistinct clothing and a scarf around her head. It’s impossible to know for sure who it is.”

  “Can I see?”

  Brock got up and retrieved a manila envelope from which he extracted three pictures. He handed them to me and I carefully looked through them. There was something familiar about the scarf, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was. Maybe I’d seen it on someone? Or maybe it was part of a show I’d been to this week? I wasn’t sure.

  When I lifted the picture of the hand pressed against the top of the woman’s head, I immediately recognized the ring on her pinky finger.

  “This is one of my designs from two years ago.”

  Brock came up behind me to look at the photograph. “The ring? Do you know who might have bought it?”

  I scoffed. “That particular ring was purchased by a major retailer with stores all over Europe and the United States. It was mass-produced using cheaper materials. There’s no way to know for sure who bought this particular one.”

  “Were they all mass-produced? Could you tell somehow if this one was unique?”

  I frowned, studying the picture a moment longer. “The original was handmade and had a pearl in the center of it. It was beautiful, made of the best silver the world has to offer. But only a handful were made with those elements. Then the retailer bought it and changed the materials, using cheap sterling silver and fake pearls.”

  Brock moved away, running his fingers through his hair, lifting it away from his face. I caught sight of him in the mirror and couldn’t help but smile at his handsome profile. He was a beautiful man.

  “We’ll find out who did this,” he repeated. “We just need a break.”

  “Well, I hope you get your break, but I’m going back to the States. I’m exhausted and I’d rather be in my own house where the security is a little better than it is in this damn hotel!”

  “You can’t give up, Luna. You came here for a reason. You should see it through.”

  “I’ve gotten what I came here for; I have more contracts for my designs than any other jewelry designer here. And an offer from Michael Fabre.”

  “What is that offer, by the way? Is it possible that has something to do with all this?”

  I shook my head. “He’s retiring and wants to hire a designer. But I don’t think he ever seriously thought I’d take the offer, not with how well I’m doing here this year.”

  “When do you see him again?”

  “In the morning.”

  Brock nodded. “All right. If you really want to go home, I’ll arrange for the plane to be waiting tomorrow afternoon.”

  “And then what?”

  “We continue our investigation from San Antonio.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” I put the photographs down and crossed to him, resting my hands on his chest. “What about you? Will you stick with the case, or do you go to some Middle Eastern country with… your team?”

  He brushed my hair away from my face. “You’re stuck with me until we solve this thing.”

  “Am I?” I smiled. “That’s not such a bad thing.”

  He lifted my chin and kissed me full on the lips, the kiss reminiscent of all the kisses I’d longed for in high school and never experienced. I moved into him, slipping my arms around his neck, pulling him close. His hands rested on my waist and we just stood there for a time, kissing like we were kids and this was all our hormones were interested in.

  It was nice—and so much more.

  And then he picked me up and carried me into the bedroom. This bedroom was bigger than the last, the bed a king-size with all the amenities, including a million pillows that caused me to disappear momentarily when he tossed me into the middle of it. I was laughing—actually laughing—when he dove into the pillows to find me.

  “I haven’t laughed in forever,” I said as he pulled me into his arms.

  “It’s been a long time for me, too.”

  “She’s a fucking fool.” I touched the damaged side of his face, running my fingertips over scar tissue that held no sensation for him. “Such a fool.”

  “Who?”

  “The woman who let you go.”

  He sighed, moving into me, his expression warm and full of desire. It made me feel a different sort of comfort to know that his desire was for me. The idea of being the desire of a man like this, a man who could have anyone he wanted, was overwhelming in some ways because, deep down, I was still that little girl who’d been blackballed by an entire town.

  Chapter 17

  Brock

  Two days in a row I woke in Luna’s bed.

  I found myself staring at her, almost unable to believe that she’d chosen me over everyone else. I saw the way men looked at her every time we left the room; I saw the way men desired her body, her mind, her creativity. Hell, even the women were in love with her beauty—and that was saying a lot considering where we were.

  And she chose me.

  I slid my fingertips over her jaw, down along her throat, over her breasts and down the center of her belly, nibbling on my bottom lip as I came close to the perfect triangle between her legs. She grabbed my wrist just as I reached the apex of that triangle, pulling my hand back without bothering to open her eyes. She cradled my arm against her chest, right between her full breasts, and sighed.

  “You are insatiable.”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  She rolled toward me and laid her head on my chest, her breathing quickly stilling and growing steady. I held her for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about nothing but the feel of this woman in my arms. I’d convinced myself after the fire that I would never hold another woman, that I’d never love another woman. Eva was it for me. I still believed that when I saw her walk off that plane a month ago, still believed that she would forever be the great love of my life, lost. But now… maybe it was just acceptance talking, just the joy of meeting someone who could look past the scars, but I was beginning to think that Eva was right—that we would have outgrown each other had we stayed together.

  Music began to play from somewhere on the side table. I ignored it for a moment, but then it began again, and I realized it was the ringtone on Luna’s phone. I reached for it, sliding my thumb to ignore the call, but the face staring at me from the screen hit a chord somewhere deep inside.

  It was Angela, but the picture was old, several years old, like a high school yearbook picture.

  Why would Luna put that on her phone? And why didn’t Angela know it was there? Angela had practically sworn that Luna didn’t know they had gone to high school together, but obviously she did.

  Someone was lying to me. But which of them was it?

  “It’s just Angela making sure I’m awake,” Luna mumbled against my chest. “Ignore it.”

  I set the phone back on the side table and gently lifted her away from my chest. “I have to go check on the plane.”

  “Now?”

  “When I’m dressed. I’ll be back in a bit to take you to that meeting.”

  She glanced up at me, a pout pushing out her bottom lip. “I’d join you in the shower, but I’m exhausted. You kept me up kind of late last night.”

  “I thought creative types were used to staying up half the night?”

  “Not this one. I like to get to bed at a decent hour.” She pulled a pillow over her head and sighed. “Another ten minutes and then I’ll get up.”

  I took her at her word, showering alone. I kissed her goodbye as she climbed into the shower herself, part of me wishing I wasn’t so logic-minded, that I could let the real world stay out for a while longer. But I needed to check on this thing… I needed to know.

  Angela was on her way in as I was on my way out.

  “What room was Jenny’s?” I asked casually as I passed her at the door.

  “Eight-forty-three, I think.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Brock, she checked out. There won’t be an
ything there to see.”

  I ignored her, burying my hands in my jeans pockets as I rounded the corner, headed to the elevator. I found myself thinking about that ring in the security tapes. If that was one of Luna’s, wouldn’t the culprit have suspected Luna would see a picture of it and would identify it? Or was that what the person wanted?

  It felt like there was a game being played around me and I was learning the rules as it went along. Like the person harassing Luna was leaving certain clues and expected someone to figure them out—Luna, most definitely—but maybe it wasn’t just Luna they were playing with. Maybe they knew what she would do when she found that first head; maybe they had an idea that Caballo would become involved. Was that possible? Skylar had said that Luna’s father was playing a part in a lawsuit against Ox. Was it possible this was a setup and Luna wasn’t the only victim?

  My thoughts were going to all kinds of crazy places this morning, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was jerking my chain. I needed to find out who the hell was doing it.

  I got off on the eighth floor. There were small sitting areas on all the floors, with windows on one side and guest rooms on the other. I sat facing the windows, the camera on my phone allowing me to position it perfectly to watch the door right behind my back, room eight-forty-three.

  Someone was going to come out of that room in the next fifteen minutes. And when they did, I’d catch them on camera. If I was right, it would be a petite woman in a scarf intent on following Luna downstairs for her meeting.

  I waited as people walked by, families giggling together about the sights they would see this day, fashionistas discussing the big shows that would be happening today and over the last days of Fashion Week. But nothing from that room.

  I stood after twenty minutes and walked to the window. The view was a beautiful one of the street below. Cars were coming and going, dipping under the canopy in front of the building to take guests wherever they desired to go. I recognized the car Luna had been using all week by the football the driver had stuck onto the thick, black radio antenna. I’d made note of it because it was an unusual thing to do in this day when the antennas were no longer long wires, but short pieces of plastic. It was time for her to go to the meeting, which meant it was time for me to go escort her down.