Weston might not be a professional interviewer but he had no question that the punk knew more than he was leading on, and he was wasting their damn time. He clenched his jaw—enough of this bullshit.
He stepped forward. Roxy grabbed his arm. He looked at her, and she shook her head—no. Then, she looked at Adam and stepped closely to him.
“You don’t know anything, huh? Are you sure about that, Adam?”
“Yep.”
“We’ll just leave you alone, then. But first, I’m curious where you got those snazzy cowboy boots? I’ve got a buddy in the police department, and boy he’d really like a pair of those brand-new eight-hundred dollar Lucchese roper boots you’ve got on. Probably the only place in town that sells them is…” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, damn, wait a minute, I heard Brandy’s Boots and More was broken into earlier…” Her eyes narrowed. “Now Adam, I’m going to ask you again, do you happen to know anything that might have gotten your uncle into some trouble?”
The blood drained from Adam’s face as his eyes rounded. He stared at her for a moment, apparently shocked at this new development in the conversation. He opened his mouth, paused, and then in a low, shaky voice said, “Look, I don’t want any trouble, okay? I’m on parole, and I can’t get into any more trouble. I… uh… let me look into a few things for you.” He glanced at the door to make sure no one was listening. “Come by my house tomorrow evening after I get off work, say eight o’clock.” He quickly rattled off the address. “And then, you leave me alone, okay?”
She nodded, smiled. “Thanks, Adam. We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
Adam yanked off his apron, pulled his keys from his pocket and jogged to his car, casting one last look at Weston before fading into the darkness.
CHAPTER 13
Weston’s eyebrows tipped up as he turned to Roxy. “Very, very nice work, PI.”
“Thanks.”
“How the hell did you know he’d broken into that store?”
“I didn’t. Ace told me he had several B&E’s under his belt, and Zander told me about the break-in earlier, and when I noticed his fancy boots, I remembered Ace telling me that the kid was dead broke. So I took a stab in the dark.”
“I repeat, nice work.”
A light flicked on in the room they were standing outside of, illuminating Roxy’s face and for the first time tonight he noticed dark circles shading her puffy eyes.
She was exhausted. Stressed.
He stepped closer. “Hey.”
She turned.
“Hungry?”
A second slid by, and he knew she was weighing her options in her head. One by one. Should she do this… should she do that.
“Actually, yeah, I’m starving.”
He took her hand. “I know a place that’s close.”
She laughed as he guided her back into the restaurant. Cookie’s eyes lit up the moment he walked through the door.
“Hello, again.”
“Hi, Cookie. Thanks again for helping us out.”
“My pleasure.”
“Can we get a table for two, please?”
Cookie glanced at Roxy, who grinned.
“Oh, sure. Right this way.”
As they walked through the main room, Weston looked around at the few other diners—all couples. Cookie led them to a back corner table next to the fireplace, flanked by tall windows that looked out to the lake below.
Pretty much the most romantic table in the room.
The light was dim, the candle was lit, and above them were hundreds of twinkling bulbs hanging from the ceiling. It was like something he’d seen in some Italian romance movie.
She sat across from him as Cookie handed out the menus.
“Your waitress will be right with you.”
“Thank you.”
Just then, the waitress walked up, a beautiful woman with greying hair braided elegantly down her back.
“Evening, folks. What can I get you to drink?”
“Whiskey, please. Double, with ice.”
Roxy raised her eyebrows and grinned. “Alrighty then. I’ll have the same.”
“You got it.”
The waitress walked away, and he put his hand over his heart. “A girl who drinks whiskey…”
“So if I begin quoting cheesy eighties movies are you just going to lay me out right here on the floor?”
“We wouldn’t make it to the floor, Miss Knight.”
She smiled, her eyes twinkling.
The waitress delivered their drinks and took their orders—grilled chicken parmigiana for her, lasagna for him. He was impressed when she didn’t order a piece of lettuce with a cube of chicken.
She sipped, closed her eyes for a minute, savoring the taste. The candlelight danced across her face, and he found himself gazing at her lips—those luscious, kissable lips. He felt his pants begin to tighten and looked away.
Dammit. This girl did it for him—big time.
She opened her eyes. “You mentioned you had information for me?”
He sipped, nodded. “The piece of paper we found in the vial, in the tunnel…”
“That we’re assuming Leland swallowed before he was killed.”
“Right. But first, fill me in on everything you know. I only heard bits and pieces of the other end of your phone call earlier.”
She nodded and told him the information Zander and Dr. Prescott had provided earlier in the day—names and details of the victims, and the initial skeleton analysis.
“This aligns perfectly with what my father told me today, then.”
“Your dad?”
“Yeah. I called him about the formula. He’s a doctor.”
“Ah… that’s why you went to medical school—following in daddy's footsteps.”
“You could say that.”
She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes, inquisitively. “There’s more to this story.”
“One story at a time.”
She stared at him for a minute, with those penetrating blue eyes that seemed to cut right through him. Right into his soul. Finally, she said, “Okay, then. What did he say?”
“He confirmed that it is, indeed, a formula for a drug.”
“Really? How?”
“I told him what was on the paper.”
“How the hell did you do that without having it with you?”
“I remembered.”
“Photographic memory?”
“I’ve been told. Anyway, he looked through some of his old files and determined that it’s possibly a drug related to the Marburg virus.”
“The Marburg virus?”
He nodded. “The Marburg virus is a nasty virus that causes hemorrhagic fever. Vomiting, uncontrollable bleeding, the works. It also affects the central nervous system. It’s extremely rare but has almost a ninety percent fatality rate. It’s one of the deadliest viruses in the world.”
“Sounds brutal. How is it transmitted?”
“Brutal is an understatement. It originates in fruit bats, which bite humans. And then it can be transmitted by contact. Once it spreads, it spreads rapidly. There’s been recent breakouts in Africa.”
“Did you say Africa?”
“Yep.”
“The same place Sebastian Wells has a beach house.”
“Yep.”
“Coincidence? Maybe, maybe not.” She paused. “Is there a cure?”
“Nope.”
She leaned forward, giving him her undivided attention, and sipped her drink.
He continued, “The formula that Dr. Leland Richmond created possibly suppresses the NPC1 protein strain that is essential for the virus to survive in the human body.”
She paused. “Wait…” Her eyes widened. “Are you saying…”
“Yes. The formula Leland created didn’t just treat the Marburg virus, it cured it. If the NPC1 strain is suppressed, the virus cannot take over the body.”
She sat back. “Oh, wow.”
“That’s not all. The Marburg virus is
very closely related to the Ebola virus, which is more widespread and common than Marburg. Much less rare.”
“And there’s no known cure for that either?”
“Nope.”
“So Leland’s formula is potentially the only cure known to mankind.”
He slowly nodded. “Making it one hot commodity.”
She slowly nodded, too. “A formula worth millions and millions of dollars.”
“Oh yeah.”
“And someone killed him for it.”
“Tortured him and his wife for it.”
He saw the excitement in her eyes as she opened her mouth, but closed it immediately as the waitress delivered their food.
She quickly thanked the waitress and waited until they were alone. “Okay, let’s go over what we know.” Her eyebrows scrunched together, and she chewed on her lower lip, making the cutest expression. She looked young, vulnerable, like a schoolgirl solving a math problem.
“Okay Leland and his wife were tortured and killed, let’s assume for the formula of the only known cure of two of the deadliest diseases in the world. And Leland has a brother who is dead and a nephew that is as sketchy as it gets—
“No doubt in my mind that kid knows something about something.”
“Agreed. And the kid gets random influxes of cash from Leland’s old friend, Sebastian Wells, who has a beach house in Cape Town, Africa, where the virus originated.”
“Right.”
She yanked out her phone. He reached over and gently placed his hand over hers. “Roxy, wait. You can text Ace later. Eat. Your food is getting cold.”
She looked at him with a shocked expression. He wasn’t sure if it was because he’d just given her orders, or he’d just suggested that she wait to investigate a tip on one of her cases. He stared back at her.
A solid ten seconds passed, until finally, she slid the phone back into her bag. Her hand wrapped around her whiskey glass, and with her eyes locked on his, she slowly sipped.
He gave a quick nod. “Thank you.”
She inhaled and picked up her fork.
He smiled. He won that battle, and it felt damn good.
She cut into her chicken. “Tell me about medical school…”
He quickly took a bite of lasagna.
“You didn’t finish. What happened?”
He cocked his head, playing coy.
She pressed. “Medical school to fireman… that’s quite a change.”
He swallowed, took a deep sip of his drink. “I guess.” He cleared his throat.
“Well?”
Pause. “I dropped out. Made it to the last year, and dropped out with one credit remaining.”
“You’re kidding. Why?”
He shifted in his seat. Of all the damn things they could talk about! “Wanted to see the look on my old man’s face.” He took another sip.
“Tell me the story here.”
Story—she didn’t know the half of it. He took another bite.
“You and your dad aren’t close.”
“You could say that.”
“Why?”
He started to feel anxiety creep up. “He was never around. Never really got to know him, you could say.” And he never cared to get to know me, he thought.
“Never around? Like, ever?”
“No. Like, ever. My mom left him for it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
He laughed. “Me, too.”
“So he pushed you to go to medical school, follow in his footsteps.”
“Yep. Told me I wouldn’t amount to anything if I didn’t.”
“And although you couldn’t stand your dad, there was still something in you that wanted to make him proud.”
“Guess so.”
“Why did you drop out at the last minute?”
He took a deep breath. “It wasn’t for me. Being a doctor. There’s so much bureaucracy and politics involved. I knew I wanted to help people but working in a clinic was not what I wanted to do.”
“Understandable. Did you always want to be a fireman?”
He looked at her. “Ever since I saw my first fire truck.”
She smiled. “That’s kinda cute.”
He grinned. “I have my uniform at home if you wanna…”
She laughed, and he saw her shoulders relax, a tiny, tiny bit. “I bet your dad was pissed about the money, huh?”
“Nope. I had a full-ride. He didn’t lose a dime.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Really? A full ride to medical school?”
He laughed. “Hey us country boys know more than just how to sow a field, Roxy.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t mean…”
“No, it’s fine. Anyway, today was the first time I’d spoken to him in years.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Wow… and you did it to help me out.”
He sipped again—this time draining his drink. “Anyway, what about you, Roxy? You sure are good at avoiding any personal conversation about yourself.”
He watched her squirm in her seat.
“Okay, fine, what about me?”
“Why do you put so much damn pressure on yourself?”
“Because I have to.”
“No, you don’t.”
She narrowed her eyes. “With all due respect, you don’t know.”
“I know your parents were killed, and I know you're the unofficial CEO of a massive, multi-million-dollar business. I know that you are fiercely protective of your sisters and that you’ve taken it upon yourself to take care of them.”
She looked down, clearly uncomfortable.
He continued, “I know you’d run yourself into the ground before allowing anyone to see you stumble or fall, which would make you appear not in control. Not perfect.”
Her cheeks flushed. She grabbed her drink, and drained it, too.
He leaned forward. “I know that you’re one of the strongest, most intelligent women I’ve ever met. And Roxy, I know that even the strongest women in the world need help every now and again. It’s okay to accept help, and it’s okay to take a few bricks off of that wall you’ve built around yourself.” He paused. “Let me help you. Let me carry some of that weight on your shoulders.” He leaned closer, feeling a surge of intensity inside him. An urgent want to help her. To pick her up, cradle her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay. “It’s okay, Roxy, you’re going to be okay. Let me help you.”
Wide-eyed, she looked up at him, with a glisten of a tear.
Rain began to sprinkle against the windows as they stared at each other.
The waitress walked up. “Can I get you both another drink?”
Roxy looked at her. “No, just a to-go box.” She looked back at him with a piercing gaze that had his heart skipping a beat.
A look that only meant one thing.
CHAPTER 14
He yanked her bag from her hands and tossed it across the marble floor, its contents spilling everywhere. And somehow, just that whipped her into even more of a sexual frenzy.
She kissed him, wildly, as she kicked the front door closed. The house was dark, with only the light from the garden lanterns streaming in through the windows. He pushed her back against the door, pressing his body against hers. Heat flamed in his eyes as he looked down at her.
Her heart pounded in her chest.
He inhaled, shook his head, and the message was clear—you’re in trouble now.
And trouble with Weston Cage was exactly where she wanted to be at that moment.
He pressed harder against her, trapping her against the door, then cupped her face in his hands.
His lips crushed onto hers and goosebumps spread across her skin—her body’s response to the unfamiliar touch of a man. But not just any man—him.
Weston Cage.
She wasn’t sure if it was the whiskey, the exhaustion, or the delusion that her body had finally succumbed to after twenty-four hours of hell, but the moment
he told her that he wanted to help her and that everything was going to be okay, he’d melted some of the ice inside her. The look in his eyes when he’d said it, the intensity, emotion—she trusted him. Wanted him.
Needed him. If only for tonight.
Pinned against the door, he leaned into her neck, kissing, licking, nipping.
Her chest heaved with adrenaline, urgency, and pure lust as she tilted her head back, savoring every sensation.
As his lips made their way to the nape of her neck, she tugged at his T-shirt.
Take me, Weston.
He got the message and ripped it off, his skin perfuming the air—the musky, woodsy smell of a man. She dragged her fingernails down his tanned back, feeling a prickle of goosebumps. He groaned at the touch, before ripping her silk blouse off of her.
Buttons clattered against the marble floor.
She kicked out of her heels as he tugged down her pants, then popped her bra. The soft silk floated down her body, falling silently to her feet. As she unzipped his jeans, his hands cupped her breasts, her nipples puckering at the touch. He circled his thumb around her nipples, and she felt a warm flush between her legs—she was ready. Her entire body ached for him. As he licked her breasts, she ran her fingers over his erection.
Oh, my God.
“Roxy.” His mouth found hers.
His hands gripped around her waist, his kiss becoming more frantic as he kicked off his shoes and undressed completely. He pressed his rock-hard cock against her, leaned into her ear and in a low, husky voice, demanded, “I have to have you, Roxy. Now.” He nipped her ear. “I’m the one in control now.”
And with that statement, he slid down her panties, gripped under her arms and lifted her into the air. She wrapped her legs around him as he pressed her back against the wall.
The warm skin of his six-pack rubbed against her clit as he kissed her, forcefully, in a way that told her, yes, he was absolutely, completely and totally in control.
It was about as much as she could take.
He pulled back, looked around the dark house. His gaze landed on the long, shiny table in the dining room. He carried her across the foyer, sat her on the table and for the first time, she got to look at his body—really look at it. He was deliciously tanned, with wide, round shoulders and thick, muscular arms. A massive chest topped the ripples on his stomach.
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