Catch a Falling Star

by Jessica Starre

  He pulled her into his arms. “You don’t need to dance. Just stand here and sway with me. That’s what people do when they don’t know how to dance.”

  He was much too warm and she wanted to snuggle into him, and that seemed like a bad idea. “Maybe you should teach me a waltz. Natalie says there are some simple ones that are easy to learn.”

  “Not tonight,” he said. “Tonight I just want to hold you in my arms and make you say my name until you can do it without sarcasm.”

  Her heart bumped. That sounded … promising.

  “And then?” She was a little breathless. She knew what she felt. She felt forever in his arms. But she wanted to hear it from him. She wanted —

  “And then … events will proceed.”

  That was a lawyer for you. She settled a little closer. “I’m looking for something a little more enticing than ‘events will proceed.’”

  He was silent for a moment. “How about this? It was supposed to be you. It was always supposed to be you, but you had these Keep Out signs staked out all over the place.”

  “Oh, blame me,” she said, outraged. “You’re the one who wandered off.”

  “And then I wandered back again,” he said. “I gave all my money away for you, Brianna. And you think I’m not committed?”

  “I think you should be committed,” she said, but that was just nerves, which he seemed to know, because he leaned down to kiss her. She reached up to kiss him, and overshot, and they bumped noses, and so she stepped back in a hurry and accidentally crushed his toes beneath her heel and he said, “Just hold still, will you?”

  And so she did, and he leaned down to kiss her, a kiss full of knowledge and affection, a grown-up kiss. A kiss that took nothing for granted, a kiss that held all the joy and sorrow of two lives already well-lived. A kiss that made one promise only: I will never leave you.

  “Matthias,” she whispered.

  “Much better,” he said. “Not a trace of sarcasm.”

  She collected herself. “It’ll be back.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  He looked down at her, tilted her face up to his. “I love you.”

  “It took you long enough,” she said and that didn’t seem very gracious but he didn’t seem to be expecting graciousness because he said, “I should have known the first day I met you. I thought, ‘I have never known anyone like Brianna.’ You just didn’t seem to fit my life. Then I finally realized it wasn’t you that was wrong. It was my life.”

  “I love you,” she said fiercely. “I’ve always loved you. Always.”

  His arms tightened around her. Then he said, “Look,” and pointed up at the dark velvet sky. A shooting star streaked across the night.

  “Make a wish,” she said.

  “I wish Brianna Daniels would marry me.”

  “Oh, you had to wait till after you gave all your money away.”

  “You would have said no otherwise.”

  That was true. Christ. He really had given his money away for her. That made her knees buckle a little but he had his arms around her, so that was okay.

  “So?” he said, slightly tense. “Yes or no?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Like there was ever any doubt.”

  “Good. Know anyone who can plan a wedding?”

  “I think I might.”

  The star faded from the sky. Matthias’s arms were warm around her. She could hear Natalie laughing in the music room and Joe’s easy response.

  Her feet in these heels were going to start killing her in about twelve seconds, and Matthias was going to have to go inside to mingle with his guests, and she didn’t know what the future held, but there would always be this moment to come home to.

  Lucky us, she thought, leaning in to kiss him again, just because she could. Lucky lucky us.

  About the Author

  Jessica Starre is the author of the Crimson Romance titles A Certain Kind of Magic, Children of the Wolves, Date with the Devil, and Acts of Faith. Find out more about her at www.jessicastarre.com

  Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance

  (From Relentless by Winter Austin)

  Of all the witnesses, in all the homicides, in all of Dallas, she would have to be one.

  Detective Remy LeBeau stared at the cowgirl sitting in a chair in the far corner of the Stanton Enterprise Stadium meeting room. Cody Lewis hugged her body, gnawing on her lip. A coiled red lock slipped from her right ear and fell against her cheek. Lifting a trembling hand, she tucked the strand behind her ear and let her hand fall limp in her lap.

  This wasn’t the same confident woman who strode into the homicide offices three days ago to hand him a pair of tickets to the Dallas Roundup. A rodeo that had now become a crime scene. Remy hated off-duty calls. The lieutenant better have a good reason for dragging him away from a hot bowl of gumbo and out of his dry condo.

  Cody bowed her head and seemed to curl up on herself. Remy knew the disjointed sensations she was experiencing, the need to withdraw from the real world in order to maintain some kind of control.

  He tugged the detective cloak about him and inhaled a long breath. No need to return to that place and time. Exhaling, he approached the unfortunate redhead.

  His partner, Detective Heath Anderson, glanced up, fatigue circling his blue eyes. Another late night on the job. He combed his fingers through his sandy-blond hair, making a mess of it. “LeBeau.”

  Cody’s head snapped back like she’d taken an uppercut to the chin. Pink stained her cheeks. “Detective?”

  “Hello, Ms. Lewis.” He looked at Anderson. “Grab a coffee, I’ll take it from here.” When they were alone, Remy crouched in front of her. Close up, he compared her features to those of the victim’s. Why hadn’t he noticed the freckles on her nose and cheeks when they first met? Her scent, a mixture of spice and sweet — vanilla maybe — combated with the sharp odor of wet men and manure.

  Her green eyes locked with his. “Guess you didn’t need those tickets.”

  He gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry ’bout it.” He withdrew his notepad. “Why don’t you tell me what happened.”

  Breaking eye contact, she slumped against the backrest. “Again?” The dusting of makeup couldn’t hide the fatigue.

  “You’re a witness, Ms. Lewis. We need to make sure you remember what you can.”

  She lifted her head. A wet sheen coated her eyes. “Witnesses see the crime as it happens. I didn’t. I found her like that.”

  His armor cracked and compassion wiggled inside, wrapping around his heart like a warm embrace. He cleared his throat, desperate to hold the jagged pieces together. Stick to business. “Did you know her?”

  She shook her head and drew in a hasty breath. “How could someone do this?”

  How indeed? If Remy knew the answer to that, he wouldn’t be doing this job. “I plan to find that out. Just tell me how your night went before you found the body.”

  “Body?” Red streaks spread from her flared nostrils to her hairline. “She’s not a body. She was a person.”

  Cut right to the matter. Merci! This woman was a firecracker. “Ms. Lewis, I’m well aware of that fact. Until we know her identity … ” Why was he explaining himself to her? “We’ll continue this tomorrow. After you get some sleep.”

  She straightened, stiff as a pirogue pole, and glared at him. Whatever rapport he might’ve had with her fled. She must be holding her emotions together with a thread. If he pushed any harder, he wouldn’t like the outcome.

  Cody tilted her chin a notch. “As if I could sleep.”

  Her hard line crushed his compassion. Clenching his teeth, Remy stood. “Thank you for your time.” He pulled a business card from the inside pocket of his jacket and scribbled on the back. “If you need anything, or remember something, don’t hesitate to call. Or show up. You know where I work.” He thrust the slip of paper in her direction.

  Swallowing, she took it, careful to avoid contact with him. Her hand trembled a fraction, and she
clenched her fist around the paper, pressing it to her chest. “When can I go? I need to take my horse home.”

  “You’re free to leave, but you won’t be able to take your truck or the trailer.”

  Her face blanched. “How am I supposed to get home?”

  Remy stashed the notepad in his jacket and stood. “I’d suggest asking a friend.”

  • • •

  As Cody gaped at the detective’s retreating backside, the Lewis temper reared its ugly head. Her breath came in short bursts. The man was a cold-blooded prick. A woman died tonight. She wasn’t just a body. She had a family, people who loved her and would grieve for her. Good God, the woman had a name.

  Bolting from the chair, Cody chased after him. “Detective LeBeau!”

  He whipped around, his hand flashing to his right hip. Cody reined up short, choking down the prickly pear that catapulted into her throat. Her eyes locked on his hand. Gradually he inched away from the black gun butt, hooking his thumb behind his badge, fingers splayed to obscure the faceplate.

  “What, Ms. Lewis?”

  The irritated tone in his voice broke her trance. Cody’s gaze clashed with his dark glare. Ribbons of steel laced her spine. Handsome or not, the man needed a priority adjustment. “What’s wrong with you?”

  A scowl marred his face, then his features smoothed out and his hand fell away from his coat. “Wrong with me?”

  Her neck prickled and she glanced about the room. Her outburst had attracted the attention of LeBeau’s partner and the other cops. The fight drained from her body and pooled under her boots.

  Looking around at his fellow cops, LeBeau took hold of her elbow and escorted her to the corner.

  Cody tensed. The warmth of his hand seeped through her shirtsleeve, branding her with his touch. When he released her, she clamped her arm to her side and cupped her elbow to ward off the feel of him.

  “Do you have something you wish to say to me?”

  The soothing timbre eased her knotted muscles. How did he do that? Go from being a Grade A jerk to a civil human being in a flash? Detective LeBeau’s short dark-brown hair and black leather coat shone in the conference room lights. The scent of cedar and peppermint tickled her nose. Her first encounter with this man in his department kept replaying in her mind on a nightly basis. And tonight wouldn’t be an exception.

  Avoiding eye contact, Cody buried her hands into her Wrangler’s pockets. “No.”

  A cocky smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Really? It seemed you had a lot on your mind a second ago.”

  Yeah, well, she’d been chastised enough. No way was she going to let him bait her. “She doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.” Open wide, insert foot. So much for keeping her trap shut. Cody refrained from slapping her palm to her forehead. She was such a bullhead.

  LeBeau frowned. “She?”

  “The woman I found slashed to death in my trailer. She has a name. A family. Don’t treat her like another number.”

  The lines in his forehead disappeared. “Believe me, Ms. Lewis, when we learn her name and find her family, we won’t treat her like a statistic.”

  His dark penetrating gaze seemed to peer into her soul. Cody shivered, stepping back. “Just checking.”

  “Right.” He turned, then looked at her over his shoulder. “Be assured. I am one of the best.” With a tip of his head, he strode away.

  Why that bloated swamp rat! Throwing her words back in her face. He better be the best. For the victim’s sake.

  Cody hugged her body. Why didn’t he ask about her resemblance to the victim? It couldn’t have passed LeBeau’s notice. Surly he’d seen her before he barged in here demanding she repeat for the hundredth time how she found the poor woman.

  God have mercy on the family. Cody knew all too well the pain and suffering they would endure. She’d lived through it when her mother was killed. Had it not been for her dad and her friends … Cody shook the sorrow away. That road was best left untraveled.

  Free to leave, she wandered out of the meeting room. She asked a passing patrolman the way out, and he pointed her in the direction of the main entrance. Slipping through the crowd of police officers, she left the noise behind and entered the stadium’s enclosed exit, halting before the glass door. A curtain of rain blocked her path of escape. Beads of moisture on the windows blurred the red emergency lights to bloody streaks.

  Her mind snapped to the moment she found the victim. Screams. Who was screaming? The image faded to her mother’s casket. Dark cherry wood peeked from under the long white cloth draped over the coffin. Quiet sobs filled her head.

  Thunder cracked.

  Cody jerked to the present, stumbling back. Not again. I can’t go back there.

  Swallowing hard, she glanced around. If her rig was confiscated, how would she get home?

  A weight like an eight-thousand-pound tractor dropped on her chest and tears coated her eyes. Where was her dad? Where was her horse? What side of the Stanton Enterprise Stadium was she on? Cody started to hyperventilate.

  “Hey, kiddo, did they let you go?”

  She whirled to face a stocky man in a silver-belly Stetson. “Dad.” She vaulted into his circle of comfort and wrapped her arms around him. The scent of horses and leather clung to his western dress shirt. “I don’t know how I’m going to get S’mores home. They’re keeping my rig. And that arrogant detective was a jerk. I can’t do this.”

  Sobbing, she soaked his shirt. He held her close until the torrent ebbed. Cody pulled from his arms and swiped a sleeve across her eyes.

  Settling his hands on her shoulders, he squeezed. “I figured they’d keep your rig. It’s a crime scene.”

  Cody hiccupped at the word. “Dad — ”

  “Shh. Shake it off, Cody. Your horse is on her way home right now. By the time we get there, she’ll be tucked away in her stall with a nightcap.”

  “JC?”

  “Yes.” He hooked his arm about her shoulders and drew her to his side. “Let’s get you home.”

  Home. The sound of it wrapped around her like a warm blanket. In reality, any place was better than here. Cody loathed coming back tomorrow night. No trip to the NFR was worth this.

  • • •

  Remy paused in the stadium exit to suppress the grin playing with his mouth. Flames had lit up Cody’s eyes when he taunted her about being the best. Apparently, she didn’t like having her boasts thrown back at her. The cowgirl needed someone to keep her on her toes.

  Hopefully the ME had arrived before the rain. Remy peered through the deluge at the long, white horse trailer hooked to a cherry-red extended cab truck. It appeared someone was inside. Upturning the collar of his coat and hunching his shoulders, Remy jogged across the lot.

  He circled to the back of the trailer and entered, keeping a good distance back. A man in a blue ME jacket knelt beside the victim sprawled on the rubber-matted floor. The air was filled with the stench of blood, death, and manure. Remy preferred the manure.

  The ME shifted, and Remy smiled. “Ahh, my favorite doc on duty.”

  Dr. Rick Warner glanced over his shoulder. “LeBeau, ’bout time you got here.”

  “I’ve been interviewing witnesses.” Remy crouched to Rick’s level. “Why are you here? Don’t you usually leave the dirty work to your underlings?”

  “Circumstances warranted my assessment.”

  “Well, what do you have on our victim so far?”

  With a surgical-gloved hand, Rick flipped through his clipboard. “We have a female, age between twenty and thirty, multiple stab wounds, no identification, with a time of death approximately four hours ago. Don’t quote me on that, can’t get a good reading.” He let the papers fall back in place, as an odd expression lined his face. “I need to show you something.”

  Shifting to the victim’s side, Rick carefully rolled the body on to its side, revealing a single crushed red rose.

  “Interesting.” Remy said.

  Rick returned the body to it
s former position. “She was killed somewhere else. The killer used this trailer as the dumpsite.”

  Remy had known Doc Warner since he began working in the DPD homicide division three years ago. The man kept a stoic presence at a scene, but Remy got the sense something rattled him about this victim.

  “What aren’t you telling me, mon ami?”

  “Sit on it, Cajun. When I get a good look at her back at the morgue, I’ll let you know.”

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