To Bedevil A Beauty (Southern Sanctuary - Book 5)

by Jane Cousins

  Of course her clever plan didn’t take in to account the claw happy cats. What was left of the mud brown coloured sweats was currently piled high on her bed in a mound of tiny shredded ribbons. A mocking feline gift.

  Goddess, what did that leave her with exactly?

  She opened her underwear drawer and froze in disbelief, empty, where were all the packs of cheap cotton bras and knickers she’d bought at the discount super store? How had those fiendish fuzzballs accessed the drawer and absconded with her underwear? And why?

  Muttering a litany of curse words under her breath Berry turned to fling open the door to her closet, staring into the dark depths. Praying not so much for inspiration, but just for something that would adequately cover all her bits so that she could walk out to the living room, politely thank Chief Hotshot Hughes for his time, and see him swiftly to the door.

  So what were her options? She took a quick step back as the bridesmaid’s dress she’d been forced to wear to her cousin Gaia’s wedding loomed out of the dark. Damn thing, she’d thrown the hideous monstrosity away twice already, but it kept finding its way back into the closet. Even the cats gave the mold green garment a wide berth.

  Berry was about to swing the door shut in frustration when a brush of silk caressed her arm. Oh no… seriously, was that the only thing she had left to wear? Her welcome home present from her cousin Riya; she of the magically talented sewing skills. Damn, well just because she was going to be dressed like a seductress didn’t mean she had to act like one… nor, as she began scaping her hair back off her face vigorously with a brush, did her hair have to look like Medusa’s snakes trying to escape her head.

  * * *

  Ramsey heard her stomping back to the front of the house. He kind of liked that Beryl Malone was a stomper. Far too many people crept around him, frightened they might attract his attention or provoke him to attack.

  “I’m in here.” He called from the kitchen. “Thought you might appreciate a warm drink.” Plus the living room, when he got a really good look at it, had kind of made him uncomfortable; something to do with all the scary wooden masks on the walls and the mantel piece lined with statues of small men displaying ridiculously large phalluses. “I hope cocoa is okay? It was all I could find. The cupboards are practically bare.”

  Berry froze in the kitchen doorway, watching as the Chief frowned down at the hot drink he was stirring. Even from across the room she could see the water had completely failed to turn a chocolaty colour of promised goodness. “With the name brands you need to use three times as much,” she instructed.

  “Oh right, thanks.” The Chief scooped in two more large spoonfuls and kept stirring.

  Berry felt a flush of embarrassment, yes the cupboards were practically bare and what was in them was invariably tasteless generic home-brands, but she couldn’t afford to waste her money on life luxuries. She had herself and Joanne to support. “I’m hardly ever here to eat.”

  “There we go.” Ramsey nodded down at the cup, it was as good as it was going to get. At least it would warm the Judge up. “That’s an interesting art collection you have out there.” He turned to hand her the cocoa and froze.

  Bloody hell, just what kind of silk frippery had the Judge changed in to? It was all perfectly respectable but his cock leapt to attention at the sight of the silky robe clinging to soft alluring curves and the glimpse of lace he caught under the wrap, suggesting a camisole top and matching shorts. Where was a shot of whiskey when he needed it? The pale peach colour did great things for her dusky skin, making it look warm and touchable. His eyes travelled upwards, noting the high colour on slightly gaunt cheeks, a small straight nose, full, naturally red lips and those eyes of hers, a decadent rich brown, shooting imperious - I dare you to make a stupid comment - sparks his way.

  Then his gaze narrowed in on her hair, gone was all the soft glossy curls, instead she’d scraped all that glorious hair back in to a tight, almost painful looking, bun. Man, it must take her about a fifty pins to tame that mane in to submission. Ramsey blinked for a moment… hold on, that hair? Oh shit. He mentally flashed back to a court room just over two and a half years ago, where he’d first caught sight of this woman.

  Only then she’d been pale, her eyes flat, her hair scraped back exactly as it was now. Dressed in dark grey business suit, she’d sat in the gallery, an older woman clinging to her side, sobbing quietly as they waited for preliminary reading of the charges. He’d thought then she was the most interesting of creatures, soft and yet at the same time her back was ram rod straight. Radiating a fierce strength, signalling she was ready to overcome any obstacle that came her way.

  He’d been captivated by the sight of her, wanted to know her story but was all too conscious that a woman of her calibre was way out of his league. Even when he wasn’t undercover, dressed like biker scum; his hair falling down his back, five days of scruff shadowing his jaw, the tattoo on his bared left arm glaringly obvious under the harsh courtroom lights. A woman like that would never give the character he was playing a second look, let alone a first. But then suddenly her eyes shifted, clashing with his. And she didn’t look away.

  They’d stared at each other… seconds? Minutes? Hours? He didn’t know, but then the court bailiff called for attention and everyone rose dutifully to their feet. The ice princess instantly lost from view. His mind had begun churning. Who was she? Why was she here at the initial arraignment of the notorious Midnight Riders Motorcycle gang?

  His focus moving to his illustrious colleagues as they shifted in their chains next to him. All of them had been swept up in co-ordinated police raids just after dawn that morning. Raids he’d personally given the green light to after three years of undercover work culminating in one of the largest recovery efforts by the police of drugs, money and illegal weapons. Not that the fact of his involvement would ever be made public. If all went to plan, then no one but his superiors would ever know of his involvement in the operation. The only thing left for him to complete on this assignment was to die… well, not him personally, but the character he played. Sonny Jefferies, was scheduled to be killed in prison in two days’ time.

  He’d wondered at the time if one of these grimy assholes could be related to the pale, tightly wound beauty in the grey suit? No, he had refused to believe that. That only left one possible option. The gang’s slimy, gambling addicted, money-laundering, snooty lawyer, Robert Granger. The woman had to be connected to him somehow… sister maybe?

  Then the court bailiff was demanding attention, someone kicked him in the leg reminding him to rise to his feet and the beauty was all but forgotten. He needed to be Sonny Jefferies, the case wouldn’t officially be over until they hauled him out of his temporary holding cell in a body bag.

  Now, over two years later, in Judge Malone’s kitchen, handing over a cup of steaming watery hot cocoa. Ramsey suddenly recalled the one and only time he and some of the Raider enforcers had been forced to visit Granger’s office to collect some money he owed. A memory surged forward of a photo on Granger’s desk that had caught his eye. For one, it had been the only photo in the room depicting people and not race horses. Two, the woman in it wearing the wedding dress had been laughing in to the camera, dark eyes sparkling, a tumble of fly away glossy curls falling to her shoulders. A number of pieces of a puzzle clicked together abruptly.

  Shit, Ramsey couldn’t believe his god-awful luck. Two and a half years ago he’d been instrumental in imprisoning Judge Beryl Malone’s husband.

  Chapter Three

  If working undercover had taught Ramsey nothing else it was to be damn wary of coincidences. And above all else, Ramsey trusted his gut instinct. It had kept him alive this long. So what wasn’t adding up about this particular coincidence? God damn it, what were the chances of him being assigned to this weird assed Southern Sanctuary gig, only to run across Beryl Malone, a woman he’d had a momentary fleeting crush on a couple of years ago? A woman, whose husband, thanks primarily to him, had been sent to
jail - for nine years non-parole for colluding with criminals, money laundering and fraud?

  Seriously, where was a calculator when you needed it? He’d like to do the math on the statistical improbability of him bumping into Beryl Malone… formerly Beryl Granger, a fact he’d confirmed online this morning.

  Absently his eyes flicked to the counter on the radar gun as a car passed by. Manning a speed trap was not the most auspicious of duties. Nor was it a particularly draining job, mentally. Giving him plenty of time to do some heavy thinking. It was market day in Reverie Valley and all the Haven Bay locals headed that way were all perfectly aware of the speed trap, so there was little actual work for Ramsey to do, other than sit in the comfort of his car and think. Not just about the intriguing Beryl Malone and the strong instant attraction he’d felt upon seeing her… both times. But about how peculiar the Southern Sanctuary… and Haven Bay in particular, was.

  There was no church in Haven Bay for one thing, or cemetery for that matter. A centuries old by-law meant locals were allowed to walk around with swords, and many did. He’d been told by Maureen in his first week how popular the local fencing club was, with bouts and training scheduled every day. But to Ramsey’s eyes, the people carrying the swords didn’t look like amateurs, they moved with that surety and grace that professionally trained bodyguards and soldiers displayed.

  Seriously, he didn’t know what his problem was. He had a cushy six month gig, in a district where crime was practically non-existent… except, the problem was, when it did take place, it was kind of fishy. Sending his instincts once more clamouring.

  Take for example the recent attacks on a local painter. First, supposedly random - passing through - college kids, drive the artist’s car into the ocean. It was bad enough the mystery offenders mysteriously disappeared into thin air, no description, no trace. But even more puzzling, when Ramsey had driven by the crime scene the following morning there had been no tire tracks across the sand leading to the ocean. Just how had the elusive college kids managed to get the car into the water?

  Then several days later, according to a report filed by Cam McKenzie, an unknown artistic rival broke into the same painter’s house and trashed the place. Going with his gut, Ramsey had visited the house in the early hours following the incident to discover it looked as if Wolverine with his claws had gone ten rounds with Indigo Montoya of the Princess Bride. How else to explain the rips and tears through solid brick?

  What was it about this place that had him on edge? Maybe it was the residents. They were just all so… so nice, certainly the ones he’d met so far. Of course, no matter where he went, he always seemed to startle people, as if he appeared out of thin air before them, causing people to flinch, freeze or in some extreme cases, run. But not here at the Sanctuary, sure they jumped a little but then they’d smile at him and greet him like a long lost relative. It was mildly… unsettling.

  But it was more than that, it was like he’d fallen into some strange alien society. There were almost no children, not in Haven Bay anyway. Though there were plenty of couples, amorous couples at that. Who strolled along hand in hand, kissed, and all too frequently disappeared into nearby shrubbery or the sand dunes. And a lot of the couples weren’t all that young.

  Weirder still, most of the people his generation appeared to be single, though he supposed that could be explained away by the fact the majority of them were related somehow. Ramsey didn’t know what was going on in Haven Bay… or the Southern Sanctuary as a whole, there was just this vibe he was getting.

  Not that he could fault how he’d been treated. His accommodation was fantastic. He’d been assigned an apartment in the recently renovated former Life-Saving Headquarters right on the beach. He had a balcony overlooking the sand for Pete’s sake, the view as the sun set of an evening was fantastic.

  Likewise, the local police station was modern, with state of the art equipment and his office was huge and comfortable. His immediate staff, nicer still. Maureen working as dispatcher, the superman look-alike McKenzie brothers plus Tanner Bright, Matt Bennett and Benedict DeWitt, who he’d mentally nicknamed the masked avengers because of their gravelly voices, the way they seemed born to fill out a uniform and the fact that they preferred to patrol after dark. Not a dud or a shirker in the lot.

  Absently he adjusted his sunglasses. It was a beautiful sunny day, more reminiscent of summer than a third of the way into Autumn. A day like today, tourists should be flocking to Haven Bay to take advantage of the beautiful long stretch of pristine beach. And yet, hardly a car passed by headed in that direction.

  He’d noted over the past few weeks only a minimal number of what he’d term, tourists, patronising the local cafes, restaurants and shops. Stranger still, when outsiders did discover the delights of Haven Bay they only ever seemed to linger long enough to make a purchase or two and none ever appeared interested in making use of the beach. Maybe it was because there was no apparent accommodation available for them. Oh, there were three B&B’s in town, but they always had no vacancy signs on them when Ramsey passed by, yet their car parks always appeared practically empty.

  When he’d asked Maureen about it, she’d just laughed, and said most people visiting the area were usually artists and they wanted to stay in Reverie Valley. She also mentioned the recently opened camping and cabin facilities for the back to nature crowd available in Hidden Cove… the third town that made up the Southern Sanctuary district. A town, Ramsey had only caught a brief glimpse of, when Cam McKenzie had driven him around the district in his first week.

  The only impression he’d gotten of Hidden Cove were a lot of houses camouflaged amongst thick woods that edged the small sandy cove. Cam had pretty much given the impression that nothing exciting ever happened in the Cove and the locals made sure anyone using the cabins or camping ground kept it that way.

  A loud roar shook Ramsey out of his meditative state, his eyes flicking to the readout on the radar gun and widening. Shit, he revved the engine and hit the siren, putting his foot down hard on the accelerator in order to pursue the speeding white Mercedes convertible.

  Who in their right mind would be caught doing twice the speed limit in a notorious and highly visible speed trap?

  * * *

  Berry dashed across the marble lobby of the huge gothic Council building first thing Monday morning, juggling her handbag, a sheaf of folders and her mobile phone. She sensed several heads turning in her direction and forced a bright, happy smile as she abruptly slowed her pace to something more sedate and befitting a Judge. She felt extremely self-conscious and more than a little silly, considering what she was wearing, but what choice did she have? The cats had destroyed every last viable work outfit she had and as a piece de resistance, she’d discovered Limbo had peed in all her shoes. Little furry bastard.

  Her budget for this month wouldn’t cover replacing clothes, let alone the tank of gas it would require for her to travel to the nearest discount chain supermarket to track down clothes she might actually be able to afford.

  Inspiration… okay, desperation, had come late Saturday afternoon when she heard one of the cats knock something over in the attic… The attic! Thank the Goddess her Great-Grandmother Tally was a hoarder. It had taken her an hour of relentless rummaging before she’d stumbled over a large turn of the century Louis Vuitton trunk with her Great-Great-Aunt Etta’s name written on the side.

  Much younger than her older siblings, Etta had been rather a wild child in her youth, eloping with a minor Norse God just after she turned twenty-one. Which meant given the passage of time, Berry was well within salvage rights to claim whatever clothes and cast-offs Etta had left behind. Thank the Goddess for free spirited, travel the world, spend thrift Etta. Berry had rejoiced as she extracted armfuls of clothes and shoes from the trunk, many looking as if they’d never been worn, maybe her luck was finally changing.

  Not hand me downs… vintage, Berry reminding herself yet again as she came to a halt at the base of the grand stair
case, straightening her shoulders. She nodded, greeting Big Thom, the security guard manning the base of the stairwell that led up to her chambers, the town library and assorted High Council offices and departments. A former family enforcer, Thom had been bitten by a Gargoyle ten years ago. As a result he had become markedly territorial; it had been his choice to volunteer as High Council Protector.

  “Hey Thom. Good weekend?”

  Thom smiled at Berry, not a tall man but a very broad man and even more intimidating in the grey security uniform he wore. “Jazz band in the square yesterday, couple of great sets.”

  “And I suppose you were out on the dance floor strutting your stuff?”

  Thom grinned unabashedly, his dark eyes flashing. “The ladies love a man light on his feet.”

  Berry grinned in return. Thom was a very good dancer and there was always a line of eager partners waiting in the wings for him.

  “How about you Berry? Good weekend?”

  Where did she start? The cats locking her outside? The new Chief of Police seeing her naked? The new Chief making a run for it when he finally saw her dressed? “Oh you know, just the usual, cleaning, pottering about in the garden.”

  “Well you look rested, in fact, you look great. That outfit really suits you.”

  “Oh, um… thanks.” Berry fought hard not to roll her eyes. She supposed anything was better than the cheap nasty suits and shoes she’d been forced to wear since she’d become officially impoverished, all of which she’d been forced to assign to the rag bin thanks to the feline furies. “Well, got to go. Keep an eye out for Gaia would you.”