Bourbon Creme Killer: Book 9 in The INNcredibly Sweet Series

by Summer Prescott

  “You look beautiful,” he raised his glass to her and took a sip of a very dirty martini. Her eyes had seemed to glow when he ordered it.

  She blushed, knowing that it was true. “Well, aren’t you sweet! You’re not so bad yourself… thanks for giving me a call.”

  “My pleasure,” he nodded, flirting.

  “So, what took you so long, handsome?”

  “Well, I was kinda seeing your friend, ya know, and I thought that I might see her again, but when she didn’t answer my texts for like three weeks, I figured that she was sending a pretty clear message,” he shrugged.

  “I’d say so,” Rhonda nodded, her lips pursed. “I mean, that’s just rude. If I’m not interested in a man, I just let him know. I don’t lead him on and then stop responding.”

  “You don’t think she’ll be mad, do you?” Tommy asked, popping an olive that he scooped out of the martini into his mouth.

  “I can almost guarantee she won’t,” Rhonda smiled a strange smile.

  “I almost didn’t ask you out, ya know.”

  “Because you thought that someone who had ignored you might be mad? That’s just silly,” she snorted.

  “No, because I heard somebody else had dibs on you.”

  “What? I’m not seeing anyone else,” she frowned. “Who would’ve said such a thing?”

  “Ricky Raguso,” Tommy went after another olive.

  An expression that looked like a mix of fury and terror flickered momentarily across Rhonda’s features, so briefly that if he hadn’t been looking for it, he probably never would have seen it.

  “Ricky… what? I’ve never heard of that person,” she stammered, taking a gulp of her manhattan.

  Tommy set his drink down and raised his eyebrows. “Well, he’s sure as heck heard of you. Said he did some work for you, and that you might have a thing going on. Said you hit on him pretty hard,” he shrugged.

  “Well, that’s preposterous…” Rhonda sputtered, clearly rattled. “I work with a lot of different contractors, and I don’t hit on any of them, so if he said that, clearly he’s an egotistical, delusional maniac,” she exclaimed.

  “That’s a pretty harsh thing to say about someone you don’t even remember,” he observed, reaching into a bowl of peanuts, shelling one, and tossing the salty halves in his mouth.

  “Well… men shouldn’t be spreading rumors like that about women that they work for. It’s just offensive.”

  “What did he do for you?”

  “I have no idea. I don’t remember. He could’ve been a pest control inspector for all I know,” she glanced away, taking another swig of her drink.

  “Well, I’m sure you know, I have a bit of a ‘checkered’ past,” Tommy began, watching her carefully. “And I gotta tell ya, the things I heard about Ricky while I was in the joint are pretty scary for a delicate lady like you.”

  “What do you mean? Should I be concerned for my safety?” she asked, blinking rapidly, and gesturing to the bartender for a refill.

  “What I mean is that when Ricky does work for people, somebody certainly better be worried about their safety,” Tommy smirked.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rhonda covered her discomfort by fishing the cherry out of her new drink and eating it.

  Tommy moved closer. He was able to tell by her eye movements and expression that the liquor was kicking in, and he was going to make the most of it.

  “Look doll, I’m flattered, okay?” he whispered in her ear, letting his lips graze the side of her neck. He heard the sharp intake of her breath and knew that he was on the right track.

  “I think you and me will make a good team. Whatever you had to do to make that happen, can’t be a bad thing, right?” he continued, touching her lower lip with a fingertip, then kissing her briefly.

  “Really?” she breathed, unable to think straight with the man of her dreams behaving this way.

  “Yeah baby. The way I see it, getting Jeanie out of the way opened my eyes to… greater possibilities,” he kissed the side of her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath his lips. “Mmm…” he groaned. “You smell good.”

  “It’s Jeanie’s perfume,” Rhonda confessed, her head spinning with alcohol and lust.

  “It smells better on you,” Tommy purred, running his fingertips along her jawline, making her forget that they were in a very public place. “Did you take it after you offed her?”

  “I didn’t do it,” Rhonda gasped, grabbing a handful of his thick black hair.

  “Ricky did it?” he nibbled her earlobe, making her groan.

  “Mmhmm…” she murmured, sinking her fingernails into Tommy’s biceps.

  “How much did you pay him, sweetheart? I’ll give you back every dime, I swear,” he took her hand, kissing her palm and moving his lips up to the tender skin in the crook of her elbow.

  “Don’t worry, it wasn’t much,” she whispered. “He only asked for twenty grand, and I took it out of the safe in Jeanie’s office. I couldn’t stand not being with you…”

  Tommy pulled back for a moment, brushing a strand of hair from Rhonda’s eyes and staring into them intently.

  “You only had to give Ricky twenty grand to off Jeanie, and you used her own money to do it?” he grinned with admiration.

  “Yes,” she nodded, spellbound. “I did it for you, Tommy, for us. I knew I couldn’t have you as long as she was in the way. I’ve wanted you for so long,” she confessed, licking her upper teeth in a way that she thought was seductive.

  “Wow,” Tommy Mancino nodded. “Rhonda, baby?”

  “Yes,” she said breathlessly.

  He leaned over until his lips brushed her ear and his breath stirred her hair. “You’re under arrest.”

  Police rushed in from every side, while Tommy made sure that Rhonda Cooper didn’t go anywhere.

  “You tricked me,” she said as he lifted his shirt to untape the wire that he’d been wearing, while she was being handcuffed. “You’re no good, Tommy Mancino. I should’ve known better. Ricky warned me about you, said you were nothing but trouble, said he’d off you, too. For free if I wanted. I should’ve let him. I should’ve paid him to go after you,” she screamed hysterically.

  Tommy shook his head and met Missy’s eyes across the bar. She nodded her thanks and slipped out a side door, ready to go home to her husband, and to help Echo and Kel console a grieving teenager who’d lost his mother.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “I now pronounce you man and wife, you may kiss your bride,” Judge Harlan Campbell proclaimed, beaming at Echo and Kel.

  Scott stood by his father’s side, holding up amazingly well after having buried his mother a month earlier. Missy, Chas, Spencer, and Joyce attended the courthouse nuptials as well, the women wiping tears, the men grinning at the couple’s happiness. Maggie the innkeeper, in charge of events as usual, was at the inn overseeing the efforts of the caterer. While Echo and Kel had nixed plans for a full-blown reception, Missy had managed to talk them into at least letting her host a celebratory dinner at the inn for close friends and family, and the Wedgwood parlor had been transformed into a fairyland of twinkling lights, candles, beautiful china and crystal, featuring an orchestral trio that would play love songs during the event.

  The dinner had just begun when Spencer felt a chill running down his spine and turned to see one of the waiters from the catering company studying him closely. When he recognized the man, his face remained neutral, despite his profound internal reaction.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” he said graciously, standing and buttoning the jacket on his tuxedo.

  Kel had insisted that, though they might be having “just a courthouse wedding,” the men would wear tuxedos, and the women would wear formal dresses. There were some compromises that he just wouldn’t make, and not wearing a tuxedo to his wedding was one of them.

  “Everything okay?” Missy asked, instantly alert.

  “Yes, everything is fine,” he smiled, his glance lingerin
g on Joyce for a moment. “I’m just going to go check on Maggie and make sure she has everything under control.

  “Okay, darlin, and could you make sure that we ordered enough champagne?”

  “Of course,” the Marine smiled and headed for the kitchen, the waiter that he had spotted close at his heels.

  “What are you doing here?” Spencer hissed once he’d reached the deserted butler’s pantry.

  His long-time colleague, Janssen, a scarred veteran who also worked for Beckett Holdings’ security division moved closer, so that what he had to say wouldn’t be overheard.

  “Steve Arnold is in town,” he said in a low, urgent voice. “I’m here because I knew we’d both be safer in the same place and I had to let you know.”

  “What does he want?” Spencer’s jaw was set in a chiseled line.

  “What does he always want, man? He probably was sent to bring you in for an assignment.”

  “How do you know that he’s not here looking for you?”

  “My sources say it’s you, but you know how it goes, if he can’t get you, he’ll probably settle for me,” Janssen shrugged with a grimace.

  “How are we going to approach this?” Spencer’s eyes darted back and forth as he considered various possibilities.

  “I say we beat him at his own game,” the scarred Marine suggested.

  “What do you mean?” Spencer eyed him guardedly.

  “He’s always trying to convince us to go back to black ops. Tells us that the best way we can serve our country is by staying anonymous and going on suicide missions. What if we recruit him to do what we do? What if we make him a team member for Beckett Holdings? With the connections that he’s got, it’d make our lives a lot easier, and we wouldn’t have to constantly be looking over our shoulders. Simple.”

  Spencer stared at Janssen for a long moment. “Have you lost your mind completely? Steve Arnold doesn’t care whether we live or die as long as he has warm bodies for his off-the-book suicide missions, and you want to try to convince him to serve the greater good by coming to work with us? Did you get too close to a concussion grenade recently?”

  Janssen quirked an eyebrow.

  “I’m serious here. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. Or, in this case, have ’em join us instead. Think about it, Bengal, if black ops doesn’t have Steve birddogging us for them, they’ll give up and leave us alone. They’re certainly not going to spend the funds that it would require to train someone who would be able to find us and deliver us to HQ for an assignment.”

  “We can’t make that assumption. If taking Steve Arnold out of commission would’ve accomplished that, someone would’ve done it a long time ago.”

  “Well, clearly, time is running short, and we’re nearly out of options, so if you have a better idea, I’d really like to know what it is. When Steve is on a mission, people start getting hurt. Like friends and loved ones,” Janssen reminded his fellow Marine, nodding his head back toward the music and laughter coming from the parlor.

  “I’m supposed to be here to protect them, but my presence here is potentially putting them in more danger,” Spencer gritted his teeth at the thought of leaving the people who had become closer than family.

  “You gotta do what you gotta do, man,” Janssen said quietly.

  “I’m just not sure what that is yet.”

  ***

  The party didn’t last too long into the night, since Echo was in a delicate condition and everyone had to work the next day, but a good time was had by all. Chas received a phone call that he left the room to answer, just as they all heard a loud KABOOM! from the street in front of the inn. The guests all rushed through the foyer and out onto the porch, seeing a huge fire in the street.

  “Oh my goodness, what happened?” Missy exclaimed, horrified.

  “That was the catering truck,” Spencer muttered, his voice thick.

  Chas ran out to the porch, having just hung up the phone, glanced at the fire blazing in front of him, then grabbed Spencer by the arm.

  “Did anyone call 911?” the detective asked.

  “The moment I heard it,” Maggie nodded.

  “Good. Spence, come with me, let’s see what we can do to help.”

  Spencer, Chas, and Kel sprinted toward the burning truck, but couldn’t get close enough to see anything before heat seared their skin and smoke filled their lungs. Coughing, they retreated.

  “With a fire that big and that hot, no one who was in that truck survived,” Kel commented, stunned.

  Spencer stared at the blaze, his throat working. He just couldn’t believe that his friend was gone.

  “Spencer, I need to talk with you about something,” Chas said urgently, turning the Marine away from the fire and guiding him to a corner of the yard where they could talk.

  “What’s up?” Despite mourning his friend, the Marine was instantly clued in to the pained look in Chas’s eyes.

  “I just got a phone call from the lab. The finger that was delivered to the bookstore… it wasn’t Jeanette Hammond’s,” the detective began.

  The Marine stared at him, still reeling from the impact of having seen the truck, with Janssen inside it, turn into an inferno. There was a howl of sirens in the distance, adding to the gruesome, surreal atmosphere outside the inn, and Chas gazed at his friend, with compassion.

  “The finger… was, is, Izzy’s,” he said quietly, placing a hand on Spencer’s arm for support.

  The young veteran’s eyes narrowed, and he was instantly fully alert. “What?” he asked quietly.

  “The DNA matched, Spence, I’m sorry.”

  “That finger showed up nearly two weeks ago,” the Marine calculated. “Where is she? Have you talked to her?” he clutched at Chas’s shirtfront.

  The detective put a reassuring hand on top of Spencer’s and the Marine let go.

  “Haven’t you heard from her recently? I thought you two were close?”

  “No, we broke up just before the box came to Echo’s store with the finger in it. I thought that I hadn’t heard from her because she never wanted to speak to me again. I never imagined that something had happened to her,” he shook his head, filled to the brim with regret.

  “Do you have any idea why she might be a target?” Chas probed.

  Spencer looked him directly in the eyes and the detective knew.

  “This is because someone is after you, isn’t it?”

  Spencer nodded, unable, for the moment, to speak.

  “I swear to you, Chas, if they hurt her…” his fists closed and he clamped his jaw shut in fury.

  “Do you know who did this?”

  “I think so,” was the husky reply.

  “And you’re not going to tell me, are you, son?” Chas looked at the young man ruefully.

  “No sir. You’re just going to have to trust me on this one,” was the determined reply.

  “I have to open an investigation.”

  “I understand, and I’m not worried. The police will never crack this one. No offense.”

  “None taken. Are you going to be able to pull this off, Spence?”

  “Either that or die trying,” the Marine uttered, loosening his tie.

  “I was afraid you’d say that,” Chas looked him in the eye. “Will we see you again?” he asked, knowing what the outcome of the Marine’s determination might well be.

  “I certainly hope so, sir,” Spencer’s gaze was steady.

  Impulsively, Chas pulled the younger man into a bear hug, clapping him on the back.

  “Stay alive, Marine,” he muttered, swiping covertly at his eyes.

  “I’ll try my best, sir,” Spencer replied, and in the dark of night, he was gone.

  ***

  Missy cried for days, lamenting the fact that Spencer hadn’t been able to tell her goodbye, and that he might never return, but Chas had explained that he’d gone to find Izzy and that she should say nothing about it to anyone. She found herself glancing out the window from time to time, hoping for
a glimpse of the handsome young man, whom she considered a son, and she texted him daily to let him know that she loved him and missed him, even though she knew she wouldn’t receive a response. She and Echo had several good cries together, and both were trying the best they knew how to deal with such a tremendous loss.

  Knowing that life must go on, and knowing that Spencer would want her to carry on, Missy went back to planning for Grayson and Sarah’s upcoming wedding, sad that such a happy occasion would be overshadowed by silent pain.

  Chalmers, the overseer of the vast Beckett estate and fortune, sent Patrick “Paddy” Wellsley, a flame-haired Irishman, to watch over Missy and Chas in Spencer’s absence, but even the influential overseer had no idea where the Marine had gone, nor if he was okay. Paddy was a polite, hard-working respectful young man, who was ostensibly as skilled as Spencer in providing support and security, but he’d never fill the gaping hole in their hearts.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  (Two weeks before)

  Stumbling through unfamiliar territory, and feeling much like a character in one of her own books, Izzy Gilmore resigned herself to the fact that she was most likely going to die, and soon. Given the screaming agony in her hand that pulsed through her in nauseating waves, she felt that death, at this point, was a pretty preferable option, despite her strong will to live. She woken up in some sort of holding cell, and had found herself face to face with the evil golfer who had drugged her and kidnapped her from her home. He assured her that she would come to no harm, and that he was just waiting for the proper time to release her, but gave her no idea as to what “the proper time” might mean. Two days? Two months? Fourteen years?

  Left on her own to contemplate a future consisting of sitting on a bunk in a cement cell with nothing to look forward to, aside from the delivery of a packet of military rations three times a day, Izzy began to notice things. One of the things that she noticed was that she couldn’t possibly be in Florida anymore. There was a grate at the top of the high-ceilinged cell, which had fresh air flowing through it, and when the air did waft down to her, it was cool and moist, smelling of unfamiliar plants.