Joe laughed. “She’s lying. We’d have to lock her in a room with no coffee or chocolate and sweat it out of her.” He moved from the other side of her desk to pace around her living room.
Seth lowered his face closer to hers. “Don’t think we wouldn’t do that if you were in trouble.”
She didn’t think that for a second. “Don’t you guys have a job or something?”
Joe came back, carrying a shirt. “Thought you said you weren’t dating anyone.”
She looked up to see Wes’s shirt, which she had left on the couch. With a deadpan expression, she said, “I’m not. I just have sex with a different man every night and steal their shirts. But I don’t date them.”
Joe blinked like someone had suddenly turned a strobe light on him.
Seth choked on his coffee.
Holly said, “Any other questions? Or do you think I can go to work now? I need to drop that shirt off to the man I borrowed it from and then do some surveillance.”
Joe tossed the shirt at her. “Surveillance for your new case? What’s the case about?”
Holly caught the shirt and set it on the desk. “A cheater. I’m getting evidence so the man can invoke a clause in his prenuptial that will seriously reduce the wife’s payout in the divorce.”
“Domestics can get ugly,” Seth reminded her as he walked back from getting a third donut.
“This one is pretty basic. Except the husband had the wrong man. But I found the right one last night.” Holly caught them up on the book club. She explained about Tanya and Cullen. “I staked out her car last night.” Glancing at her notes, she read, “Cullen dropped Tanya off at her car in the public parking lot behind the bookstore at ten-thirty P.M. The two of them played tongue hockey for fifteen minutes, then Tanya got in her car and drove away at ten-forty-five. I followed her home and watched her go inside the house. I stayed another twenty minutes, but she appeared in for the night. I’ll have all the photos and reports I need on this one inside of a week or so. They aren’t even hiding the affair.”
Seth said, “Standard boring stakeout stuff. Let’s talk about the dinner with this bookstore owner. You ended up with his shirt how?”
Holly just shook her head at her brothers. What had she expected? They were men. “I held my gun on the bookstore owner and made him take his shirt off. It’s my hobby. And if you two don’t leave, I’m going to get my gun and start shooting.”
Joe picked up his coffee cup and looked at Seth. “I think we should leave before she gets in a bad mood.”
Seth laughed. “Ever seen her in a good mood?”
Joe studied her. “Now that would be scary.” Grinning, he lifted his cup. “I’m taking my coffee with me.”
Holly waved him away. “Whatever. You both still owe me a hundred bucks. Don’t think I’ve forgotten!”
Joe looked back at her. “We said six years.”
Holly narrowed her gaze. “You said five! You said I wouldn’t last five years as a cop. I lasted five and a half years!” Her brothers had predicted that Holly was too much of a rule-breaker—as she remembered them saying, “a kick-ass rule-breaker”—to deal with the rules and regulations that govern a police officer’s actions.
Joe shook his head. “Six. But math never was your strongest subject, now was it, Holly?” He turned and strode out the door, with Seth following behind.
She waited until the door closed before she smiled. They’d had this same argument for years, ever since Holly quit the sheriff’s department and started her PI agency. But her brothers knew how much her PI agency meant to her. They knew she had nothing else—and she never would. Any dreams she might have once had about a husband and family…
Holly shut down that train of thought. The O’Man’s blog was still up on her computer screen. She looked it over and got the gist of it—a knuckle-dragger bragging that he could seduce any woman based on her “type.” A couple types he listed were Anti-Princess, Invisible Woman, Wonder Woman, Barbie Babe, Cat Woman. Holly stopped reading. She wasn’t interested in the women he supposedly seduced, but in the man’s real identity. She couldn’t help it—it was her nature to want to solve mysteries. What made a guy want to hide behind a ridiculous nickname on a Web site and try to convince the world he could seduce any woman? Holly sighed and closed down the Web site. She had her own work to do.
She turned her attention back to her case. She planned to follow Tanya today, starting with Tanya’s yoga class at eleven. Holly didn’t expect to find Cullen at the yoga class, but she wanted to cover all her bases. Still, that left her an hour and a half before the class started. She could go into her office and catch up on a few things.
Her gaze caught on Wes’s shirt sitting on the desk next to her mouse.
Or she could run by the bookstore and return Wes’s shirt to him. Last night, she’d been caught off guard by the sexual attraction between them. She’d meant to use him for information and had been shocked at the strength of her reaction to Wes’s sex appeal.
This morning, she wondered what the big deal was. She hadn’t had sex in a while. She liked sex. She liked men. She just didn’t want a relationship. What was the harm in a couple of dates, maybe a couple of passionate nights, as long as she kept her priorities in place? Wes didn’t seem like he was looking for anything more than a few laughs and a sex partner.
She stood up and grabbed the T-shirt. What harm could it do to drop by the bookstore and return the shirt? See where things went from there?
A half hour later, Holly was balancing two cups of hot takeout coffee, with Wes’s shirt hanging over her arm, as she walked toward the bookstore. She caught Wes just as he was unlocking the door to Books on the Beach. He looked suave and sexy in a pair of well-cut slacks and a black button-down shirt. His hair had a touch of shower dampness darkening the sun streaks. A thread of desire tightened her stomach at the sight of him. “Hey, book boy.”
After sliding the key out of the lock, he turned and the morning sun sparkled in his green eyes. “Ah, my favorite stalker.” He held the door open for her.
Holly walked past him, very aware of him watching her. Since her plan was to put Tanya under surveillance, she’d dressed in a pair of jeans, tennis shoes, a black T-shirt, and twisted her hair up into a clip. She had a moment of self-consciousness, then shoved it aside. She wasn’t here for his fashion opinion.
He walked toward her, took the coffees from her, and set them down. Taking hold of her bare arms, he leaned down and slowly kissed her. Then he lifted his head and crinkled his eyes with a sexy smile. “Good morning. Tell me you’re stalking me for a second date.”
That molasses kiss moved languidly through her veins until it hit her heart and kicked out a rush of adrenaline-laced desire. Holly took a deep breath and reminded herself she was going to take control. She knew what she wanted. “I came to return your shirt.” She pulled it off her arm and handed it to Wes.
He took the shirt and tossed it on the counter without looking. He kept his green gaze on her. “And?”
Damn, he wasn’t buying her excuse and unaffected demeanor. “And to see if the puppy is okay.”
He grinned at her. “If you want to know, you’ll have to come over tonight to see for yourself.” He rubbed his right hand over her bare arm. “I’ll take you to dinner wherever you want to go. Then we’ll go back to my house, take the puppy for a long walk on the beach, put him to bed, and then I’ll have you all to myself.”
Holly was surprised to see he’d been thinking about her as much as she’d been thinking about him. Only tonight she planned to do this on her terms. “No.”
“No?” His hand froze on her arm.
She shook her head, taking a step back to lean against the counter. She slid her purse off her arm and set it down. “We’ll do pizza and a movie at my house.” He wouldn’t have her so off-balance and overwhelmed if they were at her house. And the silly little puppy wouldn’t tug at something she didn’t want to feel.
He surprised her by lau
ghing. Sliding his hand up over the curve of her shoulder, he said, “Are you asking me on a date, Hillbay?”
The feel of his hand on her skin was warm, sensual, and way too sexy. But if she shrugged his hand off, he’d know he was getting to her. As if she hadn’t felt his good morning kiss arrow right through her center and make her want more. So much more. Instead she kept her breathing even. “You don’t get out much, do you, Brockman? If you want to call pizza and a DVD at my house a date, knock yourself out.”
He dropped his hand and reached past her over the counter to grab a pad of paper and a pen. Handing them to her, he said, “Write down your address.” He picked up one of the coffees and took a drink.
She wrote down her address and handed it back to him. To show him her indifference, she said, “Seven o’clock or I’ll eat all the pizza myself.”
Wes took the pad but his gaze stayed fastened on her. “It’s a date, Holly. I’ll be there and I’ll bring the wine.”
His words were low, full of promise, and they tightened her gut with anticipation. How the hell did he do that? She turned around and watched as he walked around the counter, tore off the paper where she’d written the address, and stuck it in his shirt pocket. She was trying to think of a reply when she realized that Wes’s gaze had caught on something behind her. A faint frown line burrowed between his eyebrows. Her cop instincts automatically kicked in. “What’s wrong?”
His gaze swung to her, but the sexual promise had vanished. “The door to the meeting room is closed. It was open when I left last night.” His shoulders tensed and faint worry lines shadowed his mouth.
She turned and looked behind her. The door was closed. Seeing him start to move around the counter, she walked over to block him. “Wes, are you positive you left the door open?”
He stopped and looked down at her. “Yes.” He set his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t get in the way. Stay here.”
She was aware of his strength, and the worry tensing his hands. “Listen, let me—” She was talking to herself. He was fast, damn fast. He stepped to the side, walked around her, and headed toward the door.
Holly reached inside her purse on the counter and got her gun out. By the time she unlocked the safety, she reached Wes’s side. As he pushed open the door, she stepped in front of him and raised her gun.
But the man on the floor had already been shot. From what she could see, he had a head and a chest wound. Professional, she thought. Instinct and training took over and she started assessing the danger.
“Holy Christ, that’s Cullen,” Wes said, so close his words tickled her neck.
Quickly, Holly looked around the room. She didn’t see anyone else. From memory, she knew there was a small bathroom off to the right and another door next to that. It had been closed last night so she didn’t know what was in there. To Wes, she ordered, “Stay here.”
Carefully, she walked into the room and went straight to the bathroom. It was clear. She went to the second door and eased it open. It was a combination office and storage room. No one was in there, and the back door that led to the alley behind the store was still locked from the inside.
Then she went to the victim. The entry wounds in his head and chest didn’t look too bad, but she knew the exit wounds in his back would be a lot worse when the coroner turned him. Blood had seeped and stained the carpet beneath him where he lay between the meeting table and the storage room/office door. From the way he was positioned, she thought he must have been shot while standing and facing where Wes stood. She knew he was dead, but she crouched down and put two fingers against his throat anyway. Then she stood up, engaged the safety on her gun, and moved to Wes. “He’s dead.”
Wes ran his hand around the back of his neck, then dropped it and locked his gaze onto her. “No shit. I can see that for myself. The question is, who the hell are you?”
“Don’t freak.” She knew it was a fair question since she had just pulled a gun out of her purse. But his attitude was cold and accusing, probably because he hadn’t thought he was dating a woman with a gun. He’d thought she was a nice, tame real estate agent. “I’m an ex-cop, now a private investigator. That’s why I was at your book club last night. I didn’t realize it until then, but Cullen is connected to the case I’m working on.”
Suspicion coated his voice. “Does this case you’re working on have anything to do with me?”
Jeez, there was a murdered body ten feet away and he was making it about himself. “No. At first I thought you were the man my client’s wife was sleeping with, but I soon realized it’s him.” She tilted her head toward the body.
Wes turned to look at Cullen, then back to her. A beat of time passed. He stepped toward her, putting both hands on her arms to stare at her with his steely green gaze. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
Uneasiness sliced her professional calm, but she didn’t let him see it. “Since I have the gun, I guess you’re just going to have to trust me.”
An aching silence hung between them. Finally, he let her go and said, “Looks that way, doesn’t it? I’ll call nine-one-one.”
Chapter 4
“You’re shitting me. Dude, take off,” George said. Wes was on his cell phone outside the bookstore, and looked through the window at Holly, who was talking to a detective from the Santa Barbara Sheriff’s Criminal Investigation Division. “No. I’m sticking.”
George made a rude sound. “You think this is a fucking coincidence? You said the stiff was shot in the head and chest—a hit. In your bookstore. What? You want them to write you a message in black marker on your walls? It was a warning or a screw-up. Don’t wait around to find out which!”
“I’m done running. I ran three years ago for a reason.” His sister. God, he missed her. He knew he’d done the right thing then by disappearing. The thugs had used Michelle as a punching bag to try and convince Wes not to testify. Even now, rage roared through him at the memory. Michelle had been furious, too, and had told him he’d become the very thing their father had fought against—corrupt. Wes couldn’t let her get hurt, or worse. He’d gotten her safely out of the way, done what he had to do, then he’d gone surfing one morning and disappeared, leaving his surfboard to wash up on the shore. His only regret was any grief Michelle suffered, but he stayed the hell away from her to keep her safe. His sister deserved her life. She deserved happiness. Once the people after him had realized he’d either died or bolted, they left his sister alone.
“Look, Wes, don’t go noble on me. I hate noble.”
He laughed. “Yeah, sure.” George was not quite the badass he wanted Wes to believe he was. “I’m sticking. Cullen was a slug, but I doubt he deserved to die. I might be the reason he’s dead. I’m staying.”
George wasn’t stupid; he knew Wes’s weaknesses. “Yeah? What about your two clerks, Jodi and Kelly? What about your friends? The other members of the book club? What if they get killed?”
“And what if I leave and they get killed? We don’t know what’s going on. I’m going to find out.” He watched through the window as Holly appeared to describe something to the detective. “And I know just who is going to help me.”
“Are you out of your—”
Wes hung up the cell. Then he turned it off. George could scream at his voice mail. Sticking the cell in his pants pocket, he studied Holly. An ex-cop. Damn. And yeah, he believed her now that he’d seen her with the cops that had screamed up with lights and sirens blaring from his nine-one-one call. Wes knew cops.
His dad had been a well-known journalist with a nationally syndicated column, Cop Scan, dedicated to exposing police corruption and brutality. He’d grown up seeing the dark side of the thin blue line. His family had not been a favorite of the cops. Oh yeah, Wes knew cops. As a rule, he didn’t like them, but he needed Holly. He headed back into the bookstore.
The detective saw him first and strode toward him. Lois Rodgers was a small woman with dark hair cut short to frame big brown eyes living in a serious face.
But it was her vibrant energy that commanded attention. Stopping in front of him, she said, “Mr. Brockman, how do you think the victim got into your bookstore? Did you meet him here last night?”
Wes wondered what Holly had told her. “No. Cullen left right after the book club meeting was over. I didn’t see him after that. I have no idea how Cullen got into the bookstore. The front door was locked when”—he glanced at Holly leaning against a bookshelf—“we came in this morning.”
“Do you have an alarm system?”
“Yes. With a code. My employees and I know it, and both of them have keys.”
She made notes on a five-by-seven yellow pad. “I’ll need you to write down the names, addresses, and phone numbers of all your employees and anyone else who has the keys and alarm code.”
“My two part-time clerks, Kelly and Jodi, both went to San Diego for a few days’ vacation and to catch a concert. I’ll give you their cell phone numbers, but they weren’t even here. What else?”
Lois Rodgers looked up. “We’ll need your fingerprints. For elimination purposes.”
“There are thousands of fingerprints in the store. How will that help?” He wasn’t sure how far his identity would hold. But he didn’t think his fingerprints were in the police files anywhere under his real or fake name, so it really didn’t matter.
She arched her brows with an accusatory gleam in her brown gaze. “You don’t want to cooperate?”
He smiled. “Of course I do, Detective. I didn’t realize pointing out obvious facts was uncooperative.”
She narrowed her gaze, then said, “Do you have a gun, Mr. Brockman?”
“No.” He didn’t own a gun, but George had taught him to shoot. In the first months after he’d disappeared, he’d kept one of George’s guns in the beach house, but over time, he’d gotten out of the habit.
The Sex On Beach Book Club Page 4