Ash Rising (DEAd Series)

by Melissa Fox

  The next file she opened held information on the other casualties of the bombing—Constable Daniel Johnson, deceased, and Constable Andy Fraser, whose injuries included amputation of the left leg at the knee. A long, depressing list held the names of civilians who had been in the building at the time of the blast, but the one that caught her attention was Elizabeth Ladd. The woman had been mentioned in a different file, connected to Inspector Beaulieu. He’d been seeing her before the explosion, during the op. Emma made notes and went back to the photos of Beaulieu.

  He really was a spectacular-looking man—or at least, he had been. She recalled his lean face as it had appeared earlier that day, the rigid set of his shoulders, painful gait, and intense blue eyes. He was still gorgeous, but he’d lost the carefree demeanor that seemed so much a part of him before the bombing. She found a surveillance video filmed a week prior to the explosion and watched the tape closely a number of times, studying his mannerisms and attitude, the way he attracted the attention of everyone around him without even being aware of his effect. A few seconds before the tape ended, a small woman approached, the camera filming her from behind. He threw his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close for a kiss. Emma caught her breath at his brilliant, delighted smile. The woman had to be Elizabeth Ladd. She paused the video, captivated by the expression lighting his face. He looked young, happy, and in love.

  Part of the op or personal? Even Inspector Asher Beaulieu couldn’t be that good an actor. Elizabeth Ladd looked very personal. He’d obviously cared a great deal for the girl. He blamed Salvatore for her death, as well as those of his parents’. That fact would normally put him at the top of their suspect list, but she flipped through reports that proved his alibi for Rico’s estimated time of death. He might have wanted to, but he hadn’t cut Salvatore’s throat and dumped his body in a remote field miles from the RMCP’s Toronto offices. Her job was to help find out who did and, as a result, put an abrupt end to her team’s hard work over the past nine months.

  She fell asleep with his graduation photo on her screen and dreamed of him—too thin, too dark, and too intense—stalking her through the forest.

  Over the next few weeks, Emma and the joint investigative teams from the US and Canada watched as Rico Salvatore’s operation fell apart without his control and leadership. Gina Salvatore tried to hold her brother’s territory together with Slick’s help, but neither had the experience or ability. Assigned to work with Inspector Blankenship through the RCMP office in Toronto, Emma hoped to resume her undercover role and re-establish contact with Gina.

  “You should talk to Ash. He’s got firsthand information. He knew Gina personally when he worked the op.” Jim scrubbed his face with his hands. They’d put in another late night, Emma at a borrowed desk crammed into Jim’s small office.

  “Makes sense.” As long as she didn’t make a fool of herself ogling the young and attractive Inspector Beaulieu.

  “I’ll set up a meeting.” Jim blew out a breath and blinked blearily at the clock on the wall, then sat back and rubbed his belly “Tomorrow. I’m going to the gym in the morning to work out before I head to the office. Want to meet me?”

  “Sure.” All her time was spent either at the station in the cramped space she and Jim shared or her temporary apartment not far from the RCMP offices. She was about to go stir-crazy from lack of exercise.

  “Great.” Groaning as he stood, Jim bent to write an address on a scrap of paper. “The Force has a gym a bunch of guys use—and by guys, I mean men and women. Full gym, pool, and a jogging path that meets up with the park trail. Be there about six.”

  “AM?” She echoed his groan when he grinned and nodded.

  “Suck it up, Justice. Isn’t that what you Americans say? See you at six sharp. In the morning.” He laughed at her expression as he left.

  Emma was so not a morning person, but she beat him to the gym the next day despite the early hour. Her tank-style top fit snugly over her sports bra, giving her extra support, but she’d brought a sweatshirt for warmth and cover if they went for a jog. She’d been blessed—or cursed, depending on her mood—with generous curves along with her tall, athletic frame. Her boobs often got in the way, both physically and from appreciative attention.

  She garnered quite a bit of that attention as she warmed up on the mats along the back wall of the gym. Jim finally showed up, standing over her with a grin as she stretched her legs.

  “What do you want to start with?” He took a boxer’s stance and danced from foot to foot, doing his best Rocky imitation. “Punches?”

  “I kickbox a little bit.” Big understatement. She was an expert kickboxer.

  “Hm.” He stopped his antics, putting his hands on his hips and examining her bare arms and then legs encased in loose cotton pants. “I don’t kick, but I box. And wrestle.”

  She stood up and imitated his pose. “How about a free-for-all?”

  “You got it.”

  They circled each other, grinning, and the other officers in the gym stopped to watch. Jim feinted, and she countered. He rushed her, tried to grab around her torso and immobilize her arms to throw her to the floor. She took advantage of the half-hearted attack by grasping his arm and flipping him through the air. He stared up, dazed, from the flat of his back.

  “Come on, Rocky. Let’s try that again.”

  He scowled at her, rubbing his shoulder as he stood. “You’re quick.”

  She tipped her head and waited. Examining her stance warily, he still didn’t go full force when he rushed her. She sidestepped neatly and placed her leg behind his, then struck his chest so he lost his footing. Jim flew backward to stare at the ceiling again, gasping for air. Hoots and catcalls sounded from the other guys, and he slowly rose to his feet.

  “Shut up,” he groused to the crowd. “She’s strong. You’ve done more than just a little kickboxing.”

  “Maybe.” She struggled not to laugh. “You’re holding back.”

  “Hard to hit a woman,” he admitted, confirming Emma’s suspicions.

  “The bad guys don’t feel that way. Come on, show me what you’ve got. I promise I can take it.”

  More calls and whistles followed her statement, and Jim shook his head in grudging admiration. “Okay, but remember, you asked for it.”

  “Bring it,” she taunted. “That’s another thing we say in America.”

  When he came at her next, he showed a lot more determination. Emma settled into her zone, concentrating, calculating, her body responding. She wouldn’t be an easy target, not for Jim or anyone else who tried to take her. He wasn’t bad, maybe a little out of shape, but she had to be careful of his superior size, reach, and strength. They wrestled and struck, and he did a good job with his kicks despite protests he’d never kickboxed. His shirt darkened with sweat and his face flushed red, but his advantage of size and weight eventually got the best of her.

  Caught up in the action and the challenge, Jim grabbed her arm, flipped her over his shoulder as he pivoted and turned, and slammed her down on the mat. She’d seen the move a fraction too late to avoid but soon enough to protect herself. Stars swam across her vision for only a few seconds as she sprawled on her back and waited for the breath to trickle back into her lungs.

  “I refuse to let you make me feel bad,” Jim panted, bent over at the waist with his hands on his knees. “You told me to come at you—to forget you’re a woman. Damn it. You okay?”

  “Yeah. Fine. Nice takedown.” Emma rolled to her feet to prove her words, startled at the amount of spectators crowding their mat.

  She got a nice round of applause and bowed, nodding in thanks when someone threw her a towel. Wiping her face and neck, she stepped out of the way when Jim fell into a heap at her feet.

  “Kicked my ass,” he gasped, throwing his arms and legs wide. “You, my friend, are something else.”

  “Thanks, I think.” She tossed the towel over his head, and he made no move to push the material off his face. “But I’m the on
e who ended up on my ass.”

  “Yes, but it took everything I had not to cry like a baby for mercy. Another ten seconds and I would have. I’m not joking,” he added when she laughed.

  “I’m going to cool down with a short jog. Care to join me?”

  “Guess I have to if I want to keep my manly image.” He didn’t move. “In just a second.”

  “I’ll grab my sweatshirt.”

  He groaned dramatically but got to his feet. Emma shook her head with a snort as she moved toward where she had left her bag.

  “I’m going to put on some sweatpants. I’ll meet you outside,” Jim told her as he searched through his bag on the floor next to hers. He pulled a dark knit cap over his head before ducking into the locker room.

  “Be right there.”

  Another inspector approached her to talk about kickboxing as she pulled the sweatshirt over her tank and re-secured her long hair, and she did a couple of stretches before heading outside to find Jim.

  A number of people filled the courtyard, either finishing a workout or getting ready to train. Jim stood a short distance away, stretching against the wall of the building with his head—topped with the dark cap—bent between his arms. Ah, the perfect opportunity to get payback for the takedown he’d laid on her. She crept up behind him and moved to the side to get a good angle. He looked bigger in sweats, taller and much more buff. What she’d thought was a little paunch in his loose shorts proved to be broad, hard muscle in the clinging sweatpants and T-shirt. Who knew he had such great shoulders? Or such a spectacular ass? She jerked her eyes away, mortified she’d ogled his behind and even more shocked at the tingle of awareness—sexual awareness—over Jim, for crying out loud.

  Embarrassment put more force behind the sneaky kick than she intended. She checked her swing, but the blow never even got close. Somehow, he spun and blocked as she let her foot fly toward his side, knocking her leg away with his wrist. In the next second, he shoved her against the block wall and held her in place with his forearm across her throat. Emma stared, shocked, into Inspector Asher Beaulieu’s angry blue eyes.

  Her first thought was thank God I was turned on by him and not Jim. What a great ass. The second was oh, shit.

  He leaned into her, breathing more heavily than the situation should warrant. Digging her nails into the bare arm pressing into her windpipe, she forced her body to go lax and repressed the instinct to fight. He held the advantage of position and strength. Struggling would only make her predicament worse

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he growled, and damn it, she was turned on again. Still. Whatever.

  She struggled briefly, but she’d been right. Fighting him did no good. “Could you maybe let me go?”

  “Are you going to kick me again?”

  “I’m not making any promises.” She sank her nails deeper into his skin. A brow arched, and she clenched her teeth against the urge to bite it off.

  “Really? Because—”

  “Hey. What’s going on?” Jim appeared behind Beaulieu.

  “She attacked me from behind. Tried to kick me.” Beaulieu’s gaze drifted down to her mouth.

  “I thought he was you,” Emma said to Jim, but she didn’t glance away from the inspector’s mesmerizing face.

  “Yeah, because we look so much alike.” Ash’s tone held a suspicious dryness. Emma would have thought he was being funny, but she didn’t think he had a sense of humor.

  “It’s the damn hat. And the stupid Force-issued sweats.” She made another effort to free herself but gave up with a frustrated huff when he tightened his hold.

  The inspector glanced at the knit cap Jim wore, identical to the one on his head. He swept the incriminating fabric off with his free hand, exposing his dark, rumpled hair, and deliberately deepened his accent. “We call it a toque, eh?”

  Jim grinned but wiped the expression from his face when Emma glared. “Don’t tell me she tried to roundhouse you. She’s lethal with those legs.”

  Inspector Beaulieu jerked, and his gaze dropped. His eyes got stuck on her chest heaving under his arm, and he stiffened before stepping back. Emma was mortified when she fell forward at the release of pressure on her throat and crashed into him. He caught her but immediately set her away as if she smelled bad.

  “You need to work on your approach.” Standing ramrod straight, he looked every inch the cool, detached man she’d seen at the Salvatore crime scene. She must have mistaken the flare of heat in his eyes. “I heard you coming from the time you left the building.”

  “I could have taken you. I just held back,” she muttered, full of chagrined bravado.

  That damned brow arched again as he pointedly eyed where she rubbed her throat. “Care to try again and see if the outcome is any different?”

  She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to wipe the smug, superior look off his damn pretty face. But, unfortunately, that pretty face was attached to a killer bod with lightning reflexes. He’d filled out a bit—quite a bit—since the last time she’d seen him. He’d been much too thin when they’d first been introduced in the clearing standing over Rico Salvatore’s body a couple months earlier. Thin, yes, but his masculine appeal had been blatant and compelling even then.

  “Um, Ash, you remember DEA Special Agent Emma Justice.” Jim looked back and forth between them.

  “I remember.”

  “You do?” she asked doubtfully, giving him the eyebrow arch right back.

  He’d barely acknowledged her presence when they’d met, and she… She’d been much too intrigued. Her subsequent reading of his file had only whetted that interest.

  “Yeah,” he affirmed gruffly. His gaze slid down her body before he forced it back to meet hers.

  “That’s right. You were both there when they found Salvatore.” Jim cleared his throat and shifted as they held each other’s stare, neither willing to look away first. “So, uh, Emma—”

  “Is that how people introduce themselves in the States?” Beaulieu asked. “Got to tell you, I’ve been there before, and no one ever kicked me just to make an impression.”

  Emma refused to blink. Even the slightest show of weakness would be a sign of defeat. Sure he was used to having women turn into blathering idiots around him, her pride wouldn’t allow her to be bunched with simpering groupies.

  “We only kick the special ones,” she sneered. Jim coughed, and the harsh sound gave her the excuse she needed to stop staring at Beaulieu.

  “So I’m special, huh?” He grinned, crossing his arms over his wide chest and bracing his legs slightly apart. He looked ready to take on the world, and she wanted to let him start with her.

  “Yeah.” A derisive snort escaped her. “You’re special, all right.”

  Emma refused to give an inch as she glared, refused to let his looks distract her. An American among Canadians, a DEA agent among Mounties, and one of the few women among men, she had to be careful—more careful than most. Taking a deliberate step back, she came up hard against the wall and stifled the urge to punch him for the brief flash of amusement that crossed his face when she banged her head. She called on every ounce of her willpower not to rub the stinging spot.

  “And to think, we barely know each other. You have no idea how special I can be.” His voice was a low rumble.

  “Oh, yeah?” Her eloquence was stunning. “Well, let me tell you something, Inspector—”

  “Oh, Emma,” Jim interrupted in a singsong voice. “Jogging, remember? Working out? With me?”

  He pantomimed running, pumping his arms at his sides with an open-mouthed smile and raised brows.

  “Yes, of course.” Damn it, she blushed. She could tell by the amusement flashing across Beaulieu’s handsome features. “Inspector. It’s been a pleasure.”

  His smirk grew, and as he opened his mouth, she held up a hand. “Don’t even. If you say anything about pleasure—mine or yours—I will kick you again.”

  His mouth opened once more, and she pointed a finger at him.


  “I’d expect better from you. Let me know when you can come up with something other than a tired old cliché. Eh?” She mocked his accent and turned to Jim. “Ready?”

  His wide eyes went from her to Beaulieu and then back. He nodded, and she fell into step beside him as they jogged down the well-marked trail, leaving the inspector behind. Silence reigned, but Emma caught Jim casting her sidelong looks.

  “What?” she finally asked, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice.

  He shrugged and kept a steady pace. “What the hell was that back there?”

  “I thought he was you.” She cast a dark look at the cap on his head. “You guys have the same taste in hats.”

  “I’m flattered you’d mistake me for Beaulieu.” He chuckled and gave her another sly glance. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Jim shrugged, then slowed to a stop and wiped his face with the hem of his sweatshirt. “I mean, he attracts women like flies.”

  “Thanks, pal.” She grimaced at the unflattering comparison.

  “It’s true.”

  She could believe it. The image of Beaulieu’s beautifully crafted face and stunning eyes remained vivid in her mind. “He is a good-looking jackass.”

  “Well, to be fair, he’s a good guy, smarter than hell, and a lot of fun. At least, he used to be,” Jim commented as they continued on their way.

  “Used to be?” Hopefully, the rampant curiosity stayed out of her voice.

  “I knew him, you know…before. Before the thing with Salvatore.” Jim frowned and slowed his pace. “He’s changed a lot. Losing your family, friends, and everyone you care about can do that to a person.”