Dixie Knight, PI, who drove a truck, and carried a gun on her hip.
Jesus Christ.
He didn’t know what the hell had come over him when he’d kissed her. Maybe it was the few beers he’d had earlier, or the fact that he hadn’t been laid in a month… or maybe it was just her.
Her.
He envisioned her staring up at him under the pine trees—the snow clinging like crystals to her dark, silky hair. Her green eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, reflecting a strength, but also a softness hidden somewhere inside. She was quick-witted, smart, brave—considering her choice of occupation—and independent… and sexy as shit. There was just something about her that was absolutely, completely, irresistible to him.
She’d tasted like vanilla. Her lips were as soft as silk. Her kiss… the kiss… was the most amazing kiss he’d ever had in his life.
He took a deep breath to ease the raging erection she’d given him.
Dammit, Liam, calm down.
He shook his head again. He couldn’t remember a woman working him up like this since… never.
As a special operations Marine, women were as much a part of Liam’s life as eating and breathing. They threw themselves at him—not just because he was a Marine, or because of his six-foot-two muscular body and rugged handsomeness, but because Liam carried an air of strength and confidence around him, that brought women to their knees. A subliminal message that said I’ll give you the hottest night of your life, and keep you safe and protected at the same time.
Not many women could resist Liam Cash. And luckily for them, Liam didn’t put up too much of a fight. He’d love them, and leave them, and never give them a second thought.
But then there was Dixie. She hadn’t thrown herself at him like most women did—quite the contrary, in fact. But he knew she was interested, or, at the very least, intrigued. There had been an undeniable and immediate connection between them the moment they met eyes across the crowded, country bar.
She was beautiful. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his damn life. And that said a lot. A lot.
He’d tried to talk himself out of following her to the Towering Pines Inn. Sure, he wanted to see her again, but that could have waited. There were two things that pulled him to follow her—his gut instinct that ten years in the Marines taught him never to ignore, and the horrific memories of Terra Voss and Maria Nolen.
He plucked his cell phone from the passenger seat.
“Parker here.”
“It’s Liam, you busy?”
“Just wasting, I mean working my life away.”
“But still better than boot camp, right?”
“Fuck yeah better than boot camp, man.”
Rick Parker, a former Marine and bunkmate of Liam’s, had recently accepted a position with the FBI. Eight months ago, Rick was assigned to work a case in Liam’s hometown, which Liam had assisted with—off the books, of course.
“I need a favor.”
“Anything.”
“Can you send me the official files on Terra Voss and Maria Nolen?”
“Terra and Maria? What’s going on?” Liam heard the click, click, click of a keyboard as Rick began pulling the files.
“They were both young blondes, in their twenties, right?”
“Right.”
“Declared missing and then found naked, murdered—beaten to death—in a hotel room, with no signs of struggle, right?”
“Right. It appeared our killer would seduce the women, talk them onto their knees, and then hit them over the head after he got his rocks off. Never found any DNA, or hell, anything, of the suspect. The guy’s smart, which is why we assumed he never penetrated the victims. Case went cold.” Pause. “What the hell’s going on? You’re in Devil’s Den, on leave, right?”
“Right.”
“What’s going on, Cash?”
“Just get me those files and I’ll be in touch.”
Pause. “Alright, buddy. Keep me in the loop, okay?”
“Will do.”
Click.
***
The thick clouds masked the early morning sun as Dixie jumped in her truck. There was a break in the snow—thank God—but it was just the calm before the storm. Six more inches were expected to fall over the next twelve hours.
She glanced at the clock—seven-forty-five—and picked up her cell phone.
“Stone here.”
“Zander, it’s Dixie.”
“Hey.”
“You sound terrible.”
“A dead body will do that. Was up all night.”
“Did you meet with John Blevins and his wife?”
“Yep.” He exhaled and Dixie knew that the sit-down didn’t go well.
He continued, “To say Blevins got defensive is an understatement. He’s adamant that he and Lizzie were not having an affair, and that he only saw her at the office—never outside of work.”
“What about Monday night?”
“Says he saw her during the day, they chatted for a minute, and that was it. Says he went straight home from work, and didn’t leave again until the next morning. Offered the security footage from his office.”
“No shit?”
“No shit, and we’ve already reviewed it. He arrived at the office around eight-thirty Monday morning, and we’ve got him on camera leaving around seven.”
“But how do we know he went straight home?”
“Wife says they had dinner, although she couldn’t remember the exact time.”
“So there’s still a window of time unaccounted for. From the time he left the office to the time he arrived home—we don’t know that he didn’t drive to the Towering Pines to murder Lizzie, before going home for a nice home-cooked meal.”
“Right.”
“What about pulling his home security footage?”
“There’s a little thing called a warrant needed for that, you know that. He’s not officially a suspect, so it’s delicate.”
“As always.”
“As always. Anyway, the meeting ended with Suzie screaming in his face, calling him a liar, and storming out of the room. It was awesome.”
“Sounds pretty awesome.” Dixie chewed on her bottom lip. “Where’s Lizzie’s body?”
Pause. “I’m working on that.”
“Send it to Graves, Zand.”
“Working on it.” She heard muffled voices in the background. “I gotta go.”
“Talk soon.”
“Yep.”
Click.
Dixie pulled into a narrow parking spot underneath an ice-covered tree. She said a little prayer that a limb wouldn’t break and fall on her—or her truck—as she loaded her arms with a tray of coffee, her briefcase, her purse and folders, and finally, started across the parking lot.
The massive, mirrored office building sprawled across the hill ahead of her, sparkling in the streaks of sunlight that burst through the clouds.
Located on the outskirts of Devil’s Den, Graves Laboratory was one of the top forensics labs in the country. Privately funded, Dixie’s father was the first big investor in the company, which had proven to be invaluable to Black Rose’s business. The Knight sisters exclusively used the lab for all of their cases, and were on a first name basis with the staff.
While most evidence from cases handled by the police department went to the state crime lab, the local PD used Graves’s services for anything they needed done immediately, for complicated crimes, or high-profile cases that would be under intense scrutiny.
Dixie pushed through the shiny front doors. “Morning, Tom.”
The security guard tipped his hat. “Miss Knight.”
Carefully balancing her load, Dixie walked across the lobby to April, the busty, red-headed receptionist, who was typing a mile-a-minute across her keyboard. Mesmerized by her speed, Dixie imagined smoke swirling up from the keys. She set the coffee on the counter and flexed her fingers, which were frozen stiff.
April looked up. “Morning, Dixie! What can I do for y
ou?”
“You can teach me how to type that fast.”
April wiggled her fingers and winked. “These fingers are legendary in Devil’s Den.”
“I’ll bet they are.” She winked.
April chuckled, and Dixie continued, “I need to see Max.”
“Let me see…” Her fingers danced across the keyboard. “He’s in meetings all morning.”
“Tell him it’s me, and I’ve got a Caramel Macchiato.”
April grinned, knowing her boss’s weakness for high-dollar coffee. “Okay, hang on.” After a few back and forth messages on the computer, she buzzed the door open. “Go on up, Miss Knight.”
As the elevator lifted, Dixie glanced at her reflection in the shiny, silver doors. Her cashmere trench-coat had a smear of… something down the arm. Her long, dark hair stuck haphazardly out from the scarf that was wrapped around her neck. Her brown boots were speckled with mud. She was a mess. But it had been a hell of a night of sneaking around Lizzie’s murder scene, scoping out John Blevins’s home and office, and trying to get a certain sexy Marine out of her head. And now, it was just after eight o’clock in the morning and she was running on coffee, and the strawberry jelly-doughnut she’d added to her order at the last minute.
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open.
She was greeted by another young, curvy receptionist—this one, she didn’t know.
“Good morning Miss Knight, may I take your coat?” She pushed out of her chair. “Or, your folders, or your coffee…”
“No thanks. I’m here to see Max.”
“Yes, right this way.”
She followed the tall brunette down a long hallway decorated with expensive paintings. The receptionist knocked on the door at the end of the hall, and cracked it open. “Mr. Blackwood, Miss Knight is here to see you.”
Dixie fought an eye-roll as she waited patiently in the hall until Max gave the approval for her to proceed into his luxurious office.
Sheesh.
The brunette turned and smiled. “Go ahead.”
“Thanks.” She stepped inside as the receptionist closed the door behind her.
“Dixie, how the hell are ya?” Max hung up the phone and pushed out of his chair.
“Who’s the new eye-candy?”
He grinned. “Sasha. She’s from Russia.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
She rolled her eyes. “Geez, could you be more cliché?”
Max Blackwood, former Pathologist turned Forensic Medical Examiner had accepted the role of Director at Graves Laboratories five years ago, and he and Dixie hit it off immediately. In his mid-forties, Max was handsome, straight-shooting, assertive, and one of the smartest men Dixie had ever met. But his intellect only served dead bodies and crime scenes, not women. An eternal bachelor—as he’d been called—Max was as unlucky in love as most of the bodies that lay downstairs in the freezer. Wining and dining he could do all day, but emotions and commitment? Forget about it.
Max eyed the coffee in Dixie’s hand as he walked around to the front of his desk.
Dixie smiled and lifted the cup. “One Caramel Macchiato, with extra chocolate drizzle… but only if you help me out.”
His hand shot forward. “Done.”
She gave him a minute to make love to his coffee as she pulled two evidence bags from her purse, and laid them on the desk.
“Mmm, so good.” He licked his lips and looked at the bags. “Okay, what you got?”
“A pink hair tie—need a DNA scan.”
“Seriously? I could do that in my sleep.”
“Please don’t. And, something else too.”
He sipped, barely paying her any attention.
She lifted the second evidence bag. “This is a black substance, more like particles, really. I need to know what it is, or whatever information you can pull from it.”
“Sounds ominous.”
“I found it on the lock of a hotel door.”
“The hotel door that held Lizzie Meyers dead body?”
“Bad news travels fast.”
“It always does in Devil’s Den.”
“Do you have the body?”
He shook his head. “No. I assumed they’d send her to the state crime lab, but I’ve got a call from the chief that I need to return. He called early this morning.”
Dixie hid her smile—Zander came through for her, like he always did. But her offer to cover the cost probably didn’t hurt either. “You’ll get her soon, it was pretty horrific.”
“You on the case?”
“You could say that. I’m checking into a cheating husband who was rumored to have Lizzie as his mistress… and then she turned up dead.”
“John Blevins.”
“You’ve heard the rumor?”
“I know everything in this town. He’s a son of a bitch. Wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Wouldn’t surprise you if he killed her?”
He paused, shrugged. “That might be a stretch to imagine, but he’s an arrogant dick.”
“Nice.”
“Thanks. What about the wife, Suzie?”
“Not sure with that one…”
“No, I don’t see her killing anyone. Too weak.” He sipped. “Where’d you get the hair tie? I’m assuming you think it’s Lizzie’s?”
She wrinkled her nose and scratched her head. “Do you know ol’ Black Magic Balik?”
He shivered. “Yeah…”
“Well, this fell out of her robe. Literally.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Now her, I could see her killing our little Lizzie.”
“It doesn’t fit… Lizzie was found buck naked, beaten to death in a motel room, twenty miles from her cottage.”
“Witches do crazy stuff, Dix. Maybe she put Lizzie under a spell.”
“So that she could get her naked and beat her to death?”
He shrugged. “Hey, you never know with a witch. Either way, why would she have one of Lizzie’s hair ties?”
“I need you to confirm it’s hers first.”
He took another long sip, gazing at the evidence bags. “Will do.”
“And one more thing, when you get Lizzie’s body, take a close look at the hair.”
“The hair?”
“Yeah, I swear I saw sparkles, shimmers… or something in her hair.”
CHAPTER 10
Dixie pulled into the parking lot and braked next to the Den Care Clinic sign. She surveyed the area—one car out front, more in the back. Two cameras at the entrance, none on the sides, as far as she could tell.
She slowly drove around to the back of the building—four cars and one shiny, new Porsche in the far corner of the lot. Bingo.
She glanced at the back door. One camera, pointed straight ahead. Perfect.
After taking a quick look around, she pulled next to the sports car, grabbed a small GPS tracker, and slid out of the passenger side door.
A crow called out from a snow-covered pine tree—announcing the suspicious activity—as she kneeled down and stuck the tracker on the chassis of the car.
She jumped into her truck just as the back door of the clinic opened.
Phew, that was close.
She pulled around to the front of the building and parked in Patient Parking.
After sliding her recorder—an innocent looking pen—into her coat pocket, she walked up the sidewalk and pushed through the front doors.
The receptionist looked up. “Good morning, how can I help you?”
Dixie glanced at her name tag. “Tanya, is it?”
“Yes ma’am.” The receptionist cleared her throat and straightened her name tag.
“Tanya, my name is Dixie Knight. Is Dr. Blevins available?”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Not technically.”
Tanya paused, and then suddenly, her eyes widened for a split second, before she forced a smile—Dixie noticed. “No. I’m sorry, he’s booked solid today.”
“I only need a few minutes with h
im. Surely there’s a break somewhere.”
The receptionist shifted in her seat—something about Dixie made her very, very uncomfortable. “No, I’m sorry.”
“What about his lunch?”
“Booked.”
“I see.”
Considering that the gossip was quickly spreading, Dixie wasn’t surprised that Dr. Blevins had instructed his staff to deny anyone who wasn’t a patient. That was okay though because Tanya, and her nervous tick, had piqued Dixie’s interest.
Dixie leaned against the counter. “Do you have a minute to chat?”
“Um, uh,” her eyes darted around the empty waiting room, and with no apparent excuse, she nodded. “Sure, a minute I guess.” She turned to one of the staff. “Deb, will you watch the front, please?”
Deb frowned, glanced at Dixie, and then nodded. Everyone in the office was on edge.
The door buzzed open and Tanya met her on the other side. “We can go into the conference room.”
“Great.” Dixie followed her down the hall, searching for Dr. Blevins.
“Would you like some coffee, or water?” Tanya asked as she led Dixie into the conference room.
“No, thanks. Nice office.”
Tanya took a seat at the long, shiny table. “Thanks, yeah it is.”
Dixie slid into a seat across from her and took a moment to allow the silence to drag out, while assessing the receptionist. Tanya was nervous as hell, and Dixie needed to figure out why.
With long curly, blonde hair and bright blue eyes, Tanya looked like an animated character—an innocent, naïve, animated character. Dixie guessed she was in her mid-twenties, and based on her bare ring finger, was also single.
“Are you from here?”
“No, moved here for this job, a few years ago.”
“How do you like it so far?”
“The job, or the town?”
“Both.”
“Good. The hours here are good, so that’s good.”
“Good.”
Tanya dropped her hands to her lap, then lifted them back onto the table, and then down to her lap again. “So, um, are you a detective?”
“Private Investigator.”
“I thought so. Then, this is about Lizzie?”
Dixie wasn’t sure how much information Tanya knew, so she treaded lightly. “Lizzie came by here frequently, correct? As a pharmaceutical rep?”
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