by Vella Day
The detective took a large gulp of soda and eyed her above the lip of the glass. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“N-no.”
Chelsea sauntered up to the detective, slid onto the stool next to him and leaned close. “Do you have any other cases you need help with?” She ran a nail down the Pledge can, slow and easy.
Tessa made a silent promise to give the girl a bonus for distracting the policeman.
The detective scanned Chelsea from head to toe before turning back toward the bar. “No.”
“Tessa,” one of her cooks called, sauntering out of the kitchen, the swinging double doors clacking close behind him.
“Excuse me,” she said to the detective, relieved to get away from him. “And Chelsea? Work awaits.” She turned and strode toward Roger. “What is it?” She failed to keep the exasperation from her voice.
Roger shuffled his feet from side to side and stuck his hands in his pockets. “We’re out of chicken,” he announced in the slowest southern drawl she’d ever heard.
“You’re kidding. That’s like a bar being out of beer. How could this have happened?” she whispered, not wanting the cop to overhear their conversation. She didn’t need this aggravation.
“I dunno. Walt does the ordering.”
She checked her watch. “And where is Walt?”
His lips firmed for a split second before shooting his gaze shot to the floor. “He’s not here.”
Obviously. “So what would Judd do in this case?” she asked, praying Roger would offer a quick solution.
“Get some more?”
Duh. “Look, we open in forty-five minutes. Can you run down to the store and buy whatever we need?”
Roger let out a long breath and rolled his eyes. “I suppose so.”
The kitchen help around here sucked. What had her brother been thinking when he hired these guys? She made a mental note to speak with Judd. On second thought, maybe not. He didn’t need the added stress when he was so ill right now. She’d have to handle the crisis herself.
As soon as Roger disappeared into the kitchen, she looked up Walt’s number and called him. She kept her back rigid and turned away from Detective Rossi.
“Uh-huh?” Walt answered.
Oh God, she’d either woken him up or he had a hangover. “Walt, where are you? It’s after ten already.”
“Who’s this?”
“Tessa. Your new boss. Remember?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “You’re supposed to be at work.”
“I quit yesterday.” He yawned loudly into the phone. “Charley was supposed to tell you.”
Charley, her taciturn bartender, wouldn’t bother telling her if the restaurant was on fire. “Why didn’t you tell me? Did something happen?” If she could understand his dilemma, she might be able to help.
“I’m moving back to Alabama. Sorry. Didn’t my friend show up? He needs a job, and I told him to stop by.”
“No.”
“He’s a good guy and really needs the work. Just don’t judge him by his past. Listen, I gotta go.”
“I don’t—”
He hung up on her. Damn it. Tessa dropped the receiver back onto the cradle and swiveled on her heels. She was half way back to the cash register to check on the change drawer when the phone rang again. She threw up her hands. “What is this? I-4 in rush hour?” she mumbled as she marched back. “Hello?” This time she didn’t sound so nice.
“Ms. Redman, please.”
Tessa glanced toward the detective, wondering what was going through his mind and why he was still here. His elbows were planted on the counter, his gaze solidly fixed on her. Not a hint of expression laced his face.
“This is she.” She kept her voice low. Maybe it was Walt’s friend telling her he’d found another job. Wouldn’t that suck?
“Ms. Redman. This is Grady Jankowski from the Jankowski Development Company.”
Her body tensed, ready for battle. She’d needed the caller to be the cook, not the jerk who kept bugging her every few days about selling the place. She had to believe her brother would recover soon. He loved the Blue Moon, and he didn’t need some sleazy developer to come in and liquidate his pride and joy.
“Mr. Jankowski, as I’ve told you before, the restaurant’s not for sale. Please don’t call here again.”
“Thanks for the Coke, Ms. Redman,” the detective called out as she pressed the disconnect button. She whipped around to face him. He smiled and her heart sped up. “Seeing you at work has been an enlightening experience.”
Before she could question him what he meant, he tossed a few dollars on the counter and walked away.
“Rossi,” Dom’s partner, Phil Orloff, sang out as he walked into his office and tapped him on the shoulder.
“What?” Dom swiveled in his desk chair to face Phil.
“We have a homicide to solve or don’t you remember?”
Dom remembered all right. He wished he could forget the way the black gunpowder stippled the Wilkerson woman’s temple or the angle at which her head slumped against the steering wheel. Her vacant eyes kept haunting him. They were so much like his mom’s eyes after the burglar killed her and Dad. The memory of the bullet hole in each of their heads made his stomach sick.
“Yeah, what about it?” Dom said between clenched teeth.
“Did anything at the restaurant pan out?” Phil leaned against the gray metal desk and crossed his arms, reminding Dom of a damned commando—tough and ornery.
Dom relaxed. “We were right about the victim visiting the Blue Moon the night she was murdered. Ms. Redman, the bar’s manager, told me the Wilkerson woman said she found dear hubby in bed with another man the night she died.”
Phil whistled. “Now there’s something we didn’t suspect.”
“No kidding.” Dom drew the keyboard closer to him, ready to work on the report.
Phil leaned closer. “I know the look on your face. What aren’t you telling me?”
Dom sat up. He knew Phil’s bulldog tone meant he’d never leave him alone until he gave up the info. “Ms. Redman isn’t coming clean. I can feel it. I tell you, Phil, the woman looked downright scared the moment I walked into the bar. I’ve never seen such wide eyes. Talk about being fidgety. She couldn’t wait to get rid of me.”
“Well, that’s because of your ugly mug,” Phil answered without a trace of humor in his eyes.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” He flashed a smile then sobered. “Did you run her name?”
“Of course, but nothing popped up.” Dom leaned back in his chair. “Did you check to see when the autopsy would be back on Keri Wilkerson?”
“I did. You should have the results by the end of next week.”
“Next week?”
“The woman’s only been in the morgue two days,” Phil said. “You know how overloaded they are.”
“I know, but just this once—” Dom waved a dismissive hand. “Never mind. Did you get anything on the victim’s relatives?”
Phil straightened, pulled out a notepad and riffled through the tattered pages. Dom shook his head. The guy needed to get some kind of PDA.
“It’s here somewhere,” Phil said then smiled. “Yup. Here it is. Only living relative in the area was her husband, Taylor Wilkerson, aged forty-five. I checked out his alibi. He was at the Tampa Art Museum fund raiser until 10:30 p.m. before heading to a party on Davis Island until 2 a.m.”
Dom whistled. “On a Wednesday night? Even I’m too old to be partying that late on a work night, and I’m ten years younger.”
Phil chuckled. “You? Party? When was the last time you had fun? As in F-U-N?”
Ever since Lisa died, Phil was always worried about him, but he wouldn’t confide in his partner if he ever did go out. The whole precinct would have a memo detailing his actions by morning. “None of your business. What else you do you have?” Dom kept his tone even.
“I can take a hint,” Phil said. His grin did nothing t
o calm Dom’s stomach. “Let’s see.” He ran a finger down the pad. “Jimmy finished canvassing the neighbors, but as you might expect, nobody saw anything.” Phil looked up.
“No surprise. See what dirt you can dig up on Wilkerson’s love interest.”
“I’m on it.” Phil shoved off Dom’s desk and strode back to his own.
Dom studied Keri Wilkerson’s file again. There wasn’t much he could do until the reports came in. As his palm brushed his short-cropped hair, he contemplated his next move.
The smell of burnt coffee wafted over to him. What he wouldn’t give for a cup of his specially mixed Kenyan blend right now, but he’d have to settle for the crap Sergeant Cantori was brewing—that or toothpicks to keep his eyelids open.
As he picked up his blue coffee mug, the exact color of Tessa’s eyes, he could almost see her glaring at him. Pretty eyes, but one that held a well of guilt. Her knee-jerk reaction to his simple questions implied she was troubled. Now all he had to do was find out why.
Terror and Temptation, Book 3
Terror and Temptation
Copyright © 2018 by Vella Day
www.velladay.com
[email protected]
Published in the United States of America
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief questions embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
Trust or run? The wrong decision will be deadly.
After losing three loved ones, Detective Dominic Rossi is an expert at keeping his distance from all things female—that is until he meets Tessa Redman, a woman who seems mighty troubled. She's definitely hiding something from him, but that only brings out his need to protect even more.
When a hot looking detective begins snooping around Tessa's bar, she panics, believing he's there on behalf of her ex-husband—a cop on the take who she turned in—a man who swore he'd kill her.
But Dom's random tenderness awakens something deep inside her, and while he doesn’t seem anything like her ex, the guy is a cop—and a rich one at that.
Only after several of her patrons are murdered and her father is killed is she forced to decide: trust Dominic or run for her life?
Prologue
Charlotte, North Carolina
About time she got here. Morton Richter ducked down in his seat just as Audrey Mae Thompson and her baby boy, Bobby, rolled to a stop at her duplex. He turned the ignition key to on to check the dashboard clock for the tenth time in the last hour. What had taken her so long to arrive?
Better not have been another man. His pulse spiked. Don’t even go there. Morton forced a calming breath. Think. She has Bobby with her, which means she would have been visiting her mama. It was the only explanation.
He unclenched his fists, wiped his slick palms on the nubby seat fabric, and lowered his window halfway, sending in the cold air. He took another deep breath. Shit. Did it stink or what? It had been a bad idea to park next to the open dumpster, but he hadn’t wanted Audrey Mae to spot him when she got home.
He wrinkled his nose, sat up, and placed the clunky binoculars on the top of the steering wheel, ready for a front row view of Audrey Mae in the flesh.
Damn, it was fucking cold. What’d he expect? He’d been sitting in his truck in the middle of November for three goddamn hours with the engine off.
Hold on.
Morton jerked to attention. She was getting out of her car. Just as Audrey Mae hauled little Bobby out of the backseat of her rusty, lime green VW, the front porch light flickered, and then went out. He hoped she’d remembered to pay her utility bill. It wouldn't do to keep a baby in a cold house.
Audrey Mae shifted her kid from one hip to the other as she stabbed her hand in her purse, probably for her house key. Good thing the moon was full so he could see her.
Morton started to get out to give her a hand but quickly decided it was best to let her settle in first before he surprised her. A moment later, she slipped inside. The lamp in the window came on and cast a yellow-like glow in her postage stamp sized living room.
Through his lens, Morton watched her duck into the baby’s room. As he waited for her to come back, his foot tapped out a beat.
Sweet Audrey. So vulnerable. So in need of his care. Morton vowed he’d never hurt her child like his old man had hurt him. No. He’d be gentle, no matter if the kid stole his cigarettes or stashed porno mags under the bed. Kids deserved a little fun.
There. She was back with little Bobby now in his pajamas. Morton adjusted the focus ring to get a clearer image of her breastfeeding. Pride swelled. This morning he’d decided he had no choice but to take them away. Far away—where Bobby’s no good father couldn’t find him and abuse him.
No use wasting time. He pushed open the truck door, and the hinge squeaked loud enough to wake the neighbors. Damn. If the car noise didn’t alert her, the stupid mutt barking across the street would. The dog acted like someone had filleted one of its young.
“Shut up,” Morton whispered in a throaty growl.
He hoped to God Audrey didn’t question the dog’s racket. Of course, around here, she probably didn’t even flinch at a gunshot.
He tossed the binoculars behind the seat and closed the door real slow, but it let out another groan. He needed to fix it. But not until after he took Audrey and the baby away from here.
Morton strode up to her place, wishing he’d brought a flashlight. Just his luck to step in dog shit.
He couldn’t wait to see the expression on Audrey Mae’s face when she saw him in his spiffy new suit. He pretended it was his wedding suit. The flower he’d stabbed in his lapel made it look official too. Shouldn't matter the pink carnation was plastic.
He straightened. He should have brought her flowers. All women liked flowers. And Audrey Mae was all woman.
He pressed her doorbell a couple of times, liking the sound of the chirping birds. Sweet. Like the woman inside.
“Who’s there?”
Her voice came out too shrill, almost as if she was frightened. Had Bobby’s father come sniffing around and hurt her again?
“It’s me, Morton,” he said real slow, wanting to sound non-threatening.
“Go away,” Audrey Mae shouted.
She couldn’t mean it. The baby began to cry. “Now you’ve gone and upset Bobby,” Morton bit back, trying not to become angry. When she didn’t answer, a sharp pain stabbed him behind his eye. “Come on, Audrey Mae. Lemme in,” he said with more force than before to make sure she’d hear.
He jiggled the storm door handle. Shit. It was locked.
“I told you I don’t want nothin’ to do with you,” Audrey yelled back. “Do I need to get a restrainin’ order or somethin’?” Her tone changed to sharp and demanding—real mean-like.
“Don’t talk like that, honey. I want to help you and Bobby.” He waited a beat, watching his breath frost on the glass.
She wedged open the main door and peered out. Her blondish red hair tangled about her shoulders and her jeans were a little too tight, but to him she looked like a ripe peach ready to be plucked.
“You can’t come in. I told you we was finished.” Audrey Mae’s bottom lip firmed as she clasped Bobby closer to her chest and turned to the side.
“Please?”
God. You sound pathetic. Just like when he was ten and had to grovel in front of his dad to stop him from doing bad things to him.
“Go away!” She slammed the door in his face.
Anger rushed up his gut so fast he had to take a sharp breath to keep from ripping off the door.
“Bitch,” he spat out.
Audre
y wasn’t any better than his no-good mama who’d ignored him when he needed her most. As he stalked back to his truck, Morton knocked the lid off from one of the trashcans. It pinged and rolled half way into the street. He hoped the whole goddamn neighborhood woke up.
Once in his truck, he stabbed the key into the ignition and took off, but he didn’t go far. Oh no. Not far at all. He knew women. Audrey Mae would go running back to her mama. And he’d be right there behind her when she did.
From a block away, he pulled over to the curb where he could watch her house. He’d wait for as long as it took. He had no place else to go.
Sure enough, twenty minutes later, Audrey Mae came sneaking out with her bundled up baby and a suitcase. She looked so like his mama, all scared and whimpering, bent over like she was waiting for a beating.
What had he seen in Audrey anyway? Oh yeah. She was a woman with a child who had a bad ex hanging around—a woman who needed protecting.
Her headlights flashed on, and she raced out her drive. She headed toward Charlotte, where her mama had an apartment—just as he’d guessed. Morton wasn’t sure exactly where the older woman lived, but he knew it was somewhere in town.
Keeping a few car lengths behind, he kept an eye on her as she sped up. Audrey took a corner too fast and her VW skidded toward the curb. His heart raced, fearing for Bobby’s life. He wanted to yell at her for being so careless, but he knew scared women never listened.
She pulled to a stop at the signal then turned around toward the baby. She obviously had no clue he was two car-lengths behind.
Speckle-like rain drizzled on his windshield, and he wanted to warn Audrey to drive more careful, to tell her the roads would be slick, but before he could get his hand on the door handle to jump out, the signal turned green and Audrey Mae took off, the car’s rear end fishtailing through the intersection.