Prey (Copper Mesa Eagles Book 2)

by Roxie Noir

  Testifying against Pete, Carol, Chuck, and the rest of MutiGen was going to be a lot less fun, but she still had a while before that had to happen. Court cases moved at a snail’s pace.

  “This is where you grew up?” Katrina asked, as she and Zach walked over the gravel driveway toward the big white farmhouse.

  “Sure is,” he said, taking her hand in his. “That’s the roof where I smoked way too much when I was twenty, and around back is the bedroom I used to sneak out of.”

  Zach paused, glancing at the door.

  “Seth sort of doesn’t know about that whole... drug part of my life,” he said, his voice low. “I probably should have mentioned that earlier.”

  Katrina opened her mouth, but instead the screen door swung open and a slightly older, darker version of Zach stepped out.

  “You must be Katrina,” he said, holding open the door with a grin.

  “You must be Seth,” she said, coming up the porch steps.

  “Zach talks about you nonstop,” Seth said.

  “Stop it,” Zach muttered.

  “Good things?” Katrina asked, grinning at Zach.

  “Mostly,” Seth said, laughing.

  He had Zach’s eyes, and the same sparkle in them when he was teasing.

  Katrina squeezed Zach’s hand.

  “I’m looking forward to the embarrassing stories,” she said.

  Zach groaned.

  “Is Jules here?” he asked. “Can I at least talk to an adult?”

  “Kitchen!” a woman’s voice called out.

  “Oh, I thought I’d had a psychotic break,” Jules said. She and Katrina stood on the back steps of the farmhouse, watching two huge eagles circle and spar in the sky above. “I was totally convinced that I’d finally lost my mind, and I was really in a psych ward somewhere.”

  “Thank God,” Katrina said. “I thought my crazy boss had given me psychedelics, and I was a part of some experiment, or something.”

  “I’m just glad Zach was there when Seth first shifted,” Jules said. “At least he saw it too, you know?”

  Katrina nodded.

  “Apparently my ex-boss saw a video of Seth shifting,” she said. “So they all believed it was possible. I thought they were loony, though.”

  They watched Seth and Zach circle and spar for a little while longer, and then Jules spoke up.

  “Of course, the first thing they do is roughhouse,” she said. “Boys.”

  When Seth and Zach finally got tired of play-fighting, they landed as Jules and Katrina turned away, letting them put their clothes back on.

  “You want a drink?” Jules asked.

  “I’d love one,” Katrina said, and they went inside, followed by Seth and Zach.

  “Is this from Garrett?” Zach asked. Katrina looked over her shoulder and watched him pick up a postcard from the kitchen table.

  Seth looked over.

  “I think so,” he said.

  Zach flipped it over and read it, silently. Katrina could see the front: just a picture of two horses in a pasture, blue mountains behind them.

  The Bluegrass State, it read.

  “Huh,” Zach said.

  “What’s it say?” Katrina asked. She’d always been curious about the third brother, the one Zach and Seth hadn’t seen for all those years.

  “It says, ‘Great whiskey and fast horses!’” Zach said.

  Katrina blinked, then looked at Jules.

  “Beer?” Jules said, her head in the fridge.

  “Thanks,” Katrina said, then turned back to Zach. “That’s it?”

  “What it really says is, ‘I’m still alive,’” Seth said. Jules got three beers out of the fridge, popped their tops off, and handed them to Katrina, Zach, and Seth. Then she got herself a glass of water.

  “I guess that’s nice,” Katrina said.

  She didn’t want to badmouth the third brother the first time she met Seth, but a postcard? About whiskey?

  “We’ve gotten two of those in a month,” Jules said.

  “Two?” Zach asked, his eyebrows lifting. “Something must be going on.”

  “Who can tell with Garrett,” Seth said, shrugging. “Do you remember how you used to come downstairs in the morning and sometimes he’d just be sitting here, in the dark, staring at nothing?”

  “Weirdo,” Zach said, then looked at Katrina. “He always had trouble sleeping, and it got worse when our parents died.”

  “So he’d sit quietly down here until one of us got up,” Seth said. “He was what, fifteen, though? We all did some weird shit.”

  He put on arm around Jules, then kissed the top of her head in a way that seemed oddly protective.

  Katrina narrowed her eyes, taking a sip of her own beer.

  Maybe this is how they are all the time, she thought. And maybe Jules is drinking water because she just doesn’t like beer.

  She looked at Zach, but it was a moment too late.

  “No beer, Jules?” he was already saying.

  “I’m not in the mood,” she said, shrugging like it was no big deal.

  A very faint blush crept up her cheeks.

  “Want some of mine?” Zach asked. “It’s really good, you should try it.”

  “I’m okay,” she said.

  “Not even a sip?”

  “Dude, come on,” said Seth, frowning.

  Zach grinned.

  “Bullshit,” he said. “How far along are you?”

  Jules and Seth looked at each other. Katrina stood against the counter and took another sip of beer. She had no idea where she fit into this particular family drama.

  “Nine weeks,” Jules finally said. “We didn’t tell you yet because—”

  Whatever she was going to say got lost in Zach’s shout as he lunged across the kitchen and then hugged her, very gently, as Jules finally laughed.

  That night, after Seth and Jules had gone to bed, Zach and Katrina sat on the back steps and had one more beer, Zach’s arm around Katrina.

  “I can’t believe Seth’s just jumping back into raising kids,” he said. “I feel like he just got done raising us.”

  “I think this is different,” she said. “I mean, I hope this baby doesn’t smoke on the roof and cook meth.”

  “Me too,” Zach said.

  There was a long silence, and they watched the moon rise over the mesa.

  “What do you think of Obsidian so far?” he asked.

  “I like it,” Katrina said. “It’s gorgeous here. Peaceful. You can see all the stars. We should come here more often. Especially once you’ve got a niece or nephew.”

  “God, that’s gonna be weird,” he said. “Good weird, but weird.”

  Katrina laughed.

  “Don’t think about it too much,” she said. “It’ll happen no matter what you think.”

  Zach laughed.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I like it here. And I like Seth and Jules.”

  Zach only had one more semester of school, and he was moving into her apartment in two weeks. He’d commute to Meadows, Utah for one more semester, and after that, he’d look for a job in Salt Lake. She didn’t know what, exactly, was going to happen, but she hoped that it was like this.

  “Good,” Zach said. His fingers traced circles on her shoulder. “I like that you like it.”

  Katrina leaned her head against him, and together they watched the stars over Obsidian.

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  Garrett Monson’s parents died in a car crash fifteen years ago, and he’s been looking for answers ever since.

  He’s about to find some.

  Protector

  Copper Mesa Eagles #3

  Coming March 2016

  (Or turn the page for a sneak peek at Chapter 1!)

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  Protector

  Copper Mesa Eagles #3

&n
bsp; Chapter One

  Garrett

  Garrett wished he’d written the address down. He could have sworn it was 1714 West Main Street, but apparently not, because the numbers on the stores skipped from 1712 to 1716.

  Just in case, he went all the way to the intersection of Main and 6th, then glared across the street at the 1800 block.

  This is because you left your phone at home, he thought.

  You’re just being paranoid. No one’s watching you, and they’re sure as hell not tracking you with your phone.

  He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and decided to retrace his steps one more time before he gave up and went back to his apartment. He walked quickly, watching the numbers count down. 1728, 1726.

  But what if they really are watching? he thought.

  Logically, he knew it was crazy. He knew he was just looking into a car crash that had happened years before and driving himself nuts with the what-if questions.

  But lately, he hadn’t been able to shake that feeling, that prickle that someone was watching him. He’d be sitting alone in his apartment and suddenly feel eyes on the back of his neck. His computer screen would blink for a split second.

  He’d to go the grocery store and see someone he could swear he’d seen before, but he didn’t know where.

  If someone’s watching me, I don’t want them knowing what I’m doing right now, he thought. At least I haven’t gone completely over the edge and started wearing tinfoil hats.

  He watched the numbers on the shops.

  1718. 1716.

  I haven’t started wearing them yet, anyway, he thought.

  1712.

  Garrett stopped and glared, then looked around very, very carefully. 1716 was a candy shop that claimed, in big letters painted on its glass windows, to have the best fudge in Grand Junction, Colorado.

  1716 was a small women’s clothing boutique that looked like it specialized in flowy, tie-dyed garments.

  Neither of them were the private investigator’s office he was looking for.

  Garrett stood and glared, folding his arms over his chest.

  Maybe his website was a fake, he thought. Just to get me to give up some of my information so they can find out where I am.

  Then, he finally spotted a small notecard propped up underneath a mannequin.

  Looking for 1714?

  Around the corner

  <———

  Garrett followed the small, handwritten arrow to a narrow alley that ran between two buildings. In the alley, at last, was the frosted glass door he’d been searching for.

  Elliott Velasquez

  Private Investigator

  1714 W. Main

  Shouldn’t this be 1716 and the boutique should be 1714? Garrett thought, but he pushed the door open and mounted the creaky wooden stairs, trying not to stomp too much.

  At the top was another frosted glass door with the same thing written on it.

  You could turn back, Garrett thought. You’ve got one last chance not to involve someone else and just let this die here.

  Inside, he could hear a woman’s voice laughing, a bubbly, melodious voice. Something about it gripped him, calling to him even through the thick glass.

  She sounds pretty, Garrett thought.

  He opened the door, and blinked.

  He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting from a private investigator’s office — dark, cramped, and smoky, maybe? — but it wasn’t this, a sun-drenched room with plants in the window and sleek, modern office furniture.

  Not to mention the girl standing behind the desk, her back to Garrett, talking on the phone.

  She had one hand on her hip, staring at a large, blank whiteboard, and Garrett paused for a moment, just staring at her silhouette.

  It was killer, almost like she’d stepped out of a noir movie: small waist and lush hips, a long neck leading up to a low bun.

  Then she turned to look at him, and his mouth went dry.

  She was even prettier than she sounded.

  Elliott’s secretary is super hot, he thought.

  She had long black hair pulled into a bun, skin the color of dulce de leche, and deep brown eyes that gave him a long, searching look, taking Garrett in from head to toe.

  He wished he’d worn a pair of jeans without holes in the knees.

  She, on the other hand, wore no-nonsense black pants and a button down white shirt that fit the curves of her body perfectly, nipping in at her narrow waist and following the line of her perfect ass.

  Turn around again, Garrett thought. Come on, just one more look.

  As if to compromise, she turned and faced the wall, giving Garrett the side view, still listening to the phone.

  He forced himself not to tilt his head as he followed the perfect curve of her ass with his eyes, practically able to feel it underneath his hands.

  Maybe Elliott is running late, he thought, looking at the wide, clean desk. I wonder if she’s ever gotten up to any fun on that desk, you know, between clients—

  “Yes, Mrs. Smith. I’ll let you know of any developments with your case as soon as possible.”

  She paused for a moment, making eye contact with Garrett. He stepped inside and let the door close, finally.

  “Thank you very much, Mrs. Smith. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  The person on the other end was still talking as the girl put the phone down and turned her full attention to Garrett.

  “Sorry about that,” she said, walking around the huge desk.

  Garrett was nearly mesmerized by the swing of her hips, the way they moved beneath the black fabric, like her body was begging him to touch it.

  “Not a problem,” he said, still ogling. “Is Elliott Velasquez in?”

  She stopped in front of him and held out one hand authoritatively. Garrett guessed that he was nearly a foot taller than her, but she locked eyes with him as he took her hand, her gaze bold and unafraid.

  “I’m Elliott Velasquez,” she said. “You can call me Ellie.”

  Garrett raised one eyebrow and took her hand in his, squeezing it.

  “You don’t look like a private investigator,” he said.

  “You don’t look like a femme fatale, but here you are, bringing trouble to my door,” she said, and then smiled politely.

  She squeezed his hand back. The handshake was surprisingly strong, and something deep inside Garrett growled in response.

  “What makes you think I brought trouble?” he asked.

  He didn’t let her hand go. Not yet.

  “Why, are you here to tell me I’ve won a million dollars?” she asked. “I don’t see the giant check anywhere.”

  Garrett watched her lips as she spoke. They were full and plump and a dusky rose color, and he fought not to bend down and kiss them.

  “It might be a regular sized check,” he said. He could feel a smile forming on his lips, despite himself. “Today could be your lucky day.”

  Finally he let her hand go, but Ellie didn’t move back.

  “You ever heard the phrase, ‘One man’s luck is another man’s misfortune’?” she asked.

  “You’re not a man,” Garrett said. “Even if you’re named like one.”

  “Feel free to prove me wrong by handing me a check any moment now,” Ellie said. She crossed her arms again, but her eyes were sparkling.

  Forget the car crash, he thought. How do I get her on that desk?

  “Okay, you win,” Garrett said. “I brought trouble.”

  “Good,” Ellie said. “Trouble is my business.”

  “Now you sound like a private investigator,” Garrett said.

  “I ought to start smoking, drinking whiskey, and chasing skirts all day,” she said, walking back around the desk. Garrett watched her ass as it moved from side to side.

  “Maybe then I’d seem more like a PI,” Ellie said.

  She waved a hand at a tasteful leather chair in front of her desk, and Garrett dropped into it.

  Quit staring at her and
tell her your problem, he thought. You’re terrible at flirting.

  “You’re Garrett with no last name whose IP address was routed through Bangkok, right?” she asked, looking at the computer screen.

  Good, he thought. She traced my IP.

  He just nodded, folding his hands in his lap.

  “Well, Garrett No Last Name,” she said, leaning forward, elbows on the desk. “What brings you all the way from Thailand?”

  Garrett rubbed his hands together, then leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

  He took a deep breath. What he was about to tell Elliott he’d never told anyone before. Not out loud, anyway.

  “I think my parents were murdered,” he said.

  Elliott stared at him for a moment, tapping one finger on the desk.

  “That’s a matter for the police,” she finally said, and shook her head. “I don’t do murder cases.”

  “It’s not really a murder case,” Garrett said.

  “You just think they were murdered?”

  “Yeah,” he said, and looked at his hands.

  This sounds crazy when you say it out loud, he thought. Don’t just barrel in with an opener like that, you have to explain things first—

  “Have you filed a missing persons report?” she asked, her voice gentler this time.

  Garrett ran one hand through his shaggy, chin-length hair, then shook his head.

  “I started at the wrong place,” he said.

  “Mind re-starting at the right one?” Ellie said.

  “My parents died sixteen years ago,” he said. “They drove off a cliff in a rain storm coming home when I was fifteen. It got ruled an accident, for obvious reasons.”

  “I’m sorry,” Elliott said, her face softening.

  Garrett waved it away with a shrug. I’m sorry had to be the most useless phrase in the English language, or at least it was up there.