by T. A. Grey
A few seconds later, the door was opened by a butler actually wearing a black suit with a white shirt underneath—everything looked ironed. For some reason, that surprised. He looked like he came right out of a movie. Then her gaze went to look inside the house and her eyes widened. Rich. King Brunes had to be rich. Rich as in everything looked very expensive and thereby very breakable. From the antique mahogany-looking hutch and side tables inside the foyer, to the rustic paintings of landscapes and people in finery on the walls.
“King Brunes is expecting you. Right this way, sir,” the old man said just as slowly as he moved.
She passed over a plush maroon rug with dangling fringe on the ends and her feet actually sunk into its softness. A twitchy feeling came over her and she scratched at her arm as they followed the butler down a long corridor complete with real old-looking floors, more art on the walls, and glass shelves with what had to be antique pieces of art. There was an old-looking pistol in a velvet-lined case, a sword with an arched blade and shiny metal handle with leather wrapped over the middle and leafy engravings in the metal. It looks like something a Calvary officer used in the Civil War. All she could think as she eyed all this stuff was that Sarina had lived here. Sweet, caring, free-loving Sarina. No wonder she’d wanted out. Everything felt stifling, like walking through a museum.
They came into another room, a large sitting room or maybe a study. The room made the living room she’d had at Joseph’s look tiny in comparison, and very, very poor. There sat an assortment of chairs, from leather that were fit for taller people than her, and several sofas with coarse-looking fabric in deep brown and a dull yellow. Though it certainly wasn’t yellow from fading with time, but it’d meant to be that color and it actually fit in well with the masculine, if not stuffy, design of the room.
A man stood from behind an expansive desk and smiled. He had long blond hair, nearly to his wait, and he wore what reminded her of a robe-style shirt that billowed around his wrists and stopped mid-thigh with matching baggy pants. Brayden released her hand to clasp King Brunes’ and Vanessa fidgeted at the loss, finally crossing her arms. She felt weird in this place, naked and way out of place in her jeans and red T-shirt.
“Justicar Brayden, good to have you here.” He waved a long-fingered hand toward the furniture. “Please, take a seat.” King Brunes folded his tall form into a chair and crossed his leg in a feminine way. He wore a cat’s smile and rested his elbow on his bent knee, his chin on his hand.
Brayden tugged her onto a seat next to him and Brunes’ gaze flicked to her as if just realizing she stood there. “Who’s this?”
“This is Vanessa K---”
She quickly spoke over him. “Vanessa Harrington.” God, she hated saying his name, especially combined with hers. Brayden didn’t look at her, but she felt from the way he stiffened that maybe he, too, forgot she’d had to take Joseph’s name when they mated.
“Is she a Justicar, too?” he asked Brayden.
Vanessa stiffened, her eyebrows rising high. She wondered if she imagined it or if he really did just speak around her when Brayden answered.
“No, she’s here in an unofficial capacity.”
King Brunes’ seemed to smile bigger. “Then, you’ll understand that I wish for this conversation to be...private.”
Brayden didn’t look happy, but nodded. He turned to her. “Wait outside the room for me.”
Her stomach danced like snakes had taken up residence, twisting and writhing her nerves into one big mess. She didn’t want to leave his side and she really didn’t want to be in this house alone, but she nodded and left. The butler waited in the hallway as if he’d known she’d be kicked out. He closed the door after her, then left her there.
She stood in the quiet hallway, unable to even hear the voices in the room, and couldn’t stand it another minute. Charging forward, she opened the front door and didn’t take a deep breath until she spotted their car parked in a small lot on the side of the house. Valet parking, she thought and laughed.
For such a big house, there was a definite emptiness. So much space, yet she didn’t see anyone else except the valet and butler inside. How could one person live in such a large house by himself? What rubbish. She crossed to the car, then stopped dead in her tracks.
Her heart started beating wildly in her chest like it was trying to break out. Her body turned cold and when her eyes started to burn from the wind blowing, she blinked then slammed her eyes back open again. No, no, it couldn’t be. She stepped closer to the car, to the item dangling from the passenger-side door handle. She stopped within fifteen feet, confirmed that it was what she thought, then started backward, her gaze scanning the outlying area.
Her heart wouldn’t slow down. Her back hit the hard scratchy brickwork of the house and she didn’t stop scanning the forest. Sweep after sweep, her panic didn’t die even as no faces appeared. She darted looks all around and started scooting sideways to the front door. Then a branch snapped. Her whole body froze as her gaze swung fast to the trees more than fifty feet behind the car. Her hands quickly patted down her pants pocket, then she stopped and almost sobbed. She didn’t bring her pocketknife. How could she be so stupid? With a final look at the mating bond, the joining of her and Joseph’s hair and clothing hanging like a tattered rag from the door handle, she turned and fled inside.
* * *
Brayden listened to King Brunes’ retelling of the night his wife died. He stated the same thing down to an exact T as he’d written in his report to the Justicars the day they’d found her body. That didn’t surprise him; he’d expected that much.
What he watched for was the subtle tells. Tells that most people couldn’t hide or master. The darting of the eyes away during a lie, the look of the eyes while describing parts of that night—were they dilating in pleasure? Many guilty people, when pressed, expressed a load of bodily ticks. A twitching foot, twitching hands and fingers, sagging shoulders with guilt. King Brunes expressed none of those tells.
He held his shoulders high, his chin up, and kept on smiling. His crossed leg didn’t bounce or fidget under his questioning. But what Brunes didn’t realize was that by not showing any of those tells, he still expressed one in great abundance—confidence. Arrogance. The first time he’d interviewed Brunes two years ago, the man had sat with both feet on the floor, his hands steepled together, a look of lost remembrance and thoughtfulness on his face. The man knew he had nothing new to go on and his over-confidence shone like a blinking pink neon sign screaming ‘See me, I’m not hiding anything!’
“When the Givens’ family fished your dead wife out of the water that night, they claimed they saw bruising on the side of her face like she’d been struck. Do you have any idea why that might be?” He watched for a reaction. He hadn’t brought this up in the previous interview.
Brunes didn’t lose his smile. “Perhaps she hit her head when she fell over the railing. You know, Justicar Brayden, this was a long, long time ago. Time I’ve spent moving on and putting the past behind me.”
I’m sure you have. “I spoke with the lead Justicar from the investigation. You remember Daniel Cuthwright, don’t you?”
Brunes smile fell into a perfect frown. “Ah, Daniel. Damn shame what happened to him.”
Brayden didn’t move, but his heart skipped a beat. “And what happened to him?”
Brunes shook his head side to side. “Hit by a car while crossing the street. Damn, damn shame. He was a good man.”
“Interesting. It’s rare that a car can kill a vampire.”
“Well, he wasn’t just hit once. After the initial car claimed him, another behind him drove right over him. Didn’t have time to stop. Crushed his skull like a watermelon. Terrible way to go.”
Brayden’s next question was interrupted when the doors flew open and a panicked, wide-eyed, nearly in tears Vanessa flew to him. “H-he was here. He was here, Brayden.”
Brunes stood. “What kind of trouble do you bring here, Justicar?”
She sucked in an unsteady breath, but still didn’t have her ragged breathing under control. “The mating wrap. It was here. On the car.”
Brayden blinked. “Mating wrap?”
Her wet eyes darted around and she started speaking animatedly with her hands waving all around. “Yes, the mating wrap. The binding between two mates. The symbol of our bonds. My hair and his. Hello, does any of this mean anything to you? It’s here at the car!”
“Just a moment,” Brayden shot to Brunes, then grabbed Vanessa and took her outside. He walked up to the car, unlocked it and scanned inside. “What are you talking about?”
She didn’t answer. Jerking his head over his shoulder, he found her frozen in place, a look of utter disbelief on her face. “It was right there. On the door handle. It was right here!” she screamed.”
“Vanessa—”
“Don’t!” she said in a hard voice then leaned down to peer under the car. She searched all around it, then gazed off into the grass. “It was wrapped around,” she said softly as if speaking to herself. “Maybe it blew off. Maybe it...”
Brayden’s heart squeezed tight and he pulled her into his arms to ease it. “Tell me what you saw.”
She told him again and he stared at the passenger door handle. “Hold on.” Leaning down, he studied the door handle. Pulling it out and searching.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Looking for any strands of hair that might have gotten stuck.” After a second, he stood and looked at her. Not a single piece of hair was there.
Stray tears fell down her face. Her hands wound together then wrapped around her body. “You don’t believe me. You don’t believe me.”
He scanned the thick expanse of forest surrounding the house. “I believe you, Vanessa.”
He could hear the breath she sucked in. “You do?”
So much hope hung in her words it clenched like a fist tight around his chest. “Yeah, baby, of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?” True enough. He did believe her.
A sob left her then she flung herself into his arms. He braced barely a second before he caught her.
Someone cleared his throat and Brayden looked over his shoulder. The butler stood there, his gaze on the ground. “King Brunes has a busy schedule. If you wish to finish your interview it must be now, sir.”
Brayden opened the passenger door then pushed Vanessa into the seat. He buckled her in, then reached across her to turn on the car’s A/C. “Stay here. I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”
Her eyes opened wide and scared. “Don’t leave me. He’s out there right now.”
He leaned in close to her and cupped her cheek. “He won’t do anything with me around, and I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll be just a minute. Lock the doors after me.” Then he pressed a quick kiss across her lips and shut the door.
He found Brunes in his office. “Everything all right?” Brunes asked in a voice that clearly said he didn’t care.
Brayden marched right up to him and got in his face. For the first time, Brunes’ temper flashed in his eyes. “You had something to do with her death, I know it. Maybe you even straight-up beat her and threw her off the boat like a piece of trash. Either way, I’m gonna find out. Then I’m taking you down.”
“Be careful whom you threaten, Justicar.”
“I’m also going to find out if you had anything to do with Justicar Daniel’s death. Be sure, if I do, you’re going down for that, too. You got me?”
Brunes’ cheek clenched, then he smiled. “The case is closed, Justicar. Let it go. Everyone else has.”
“Not everyone,” he said.
A flicker of emotion, anger, flashed in Brunes’ eyes. “Sarina never did adjust to her mother’s death. She’s got a bit of a soft side.”
“Maybe, because you killed her mother.”
Brunes’ smiled broader. “It’ll take more than your puny questions to break through me, Justicar. I have nothing to hide. Good luck with your investigation. I have a feeling you’ll be needing it.”
Brayden swung on his heel and headed toward the door. At the last second, he turned around. “Do you know what my track record is for catching murderers?”
Brunes lifted a bored eyebrow.
“One hundred per cent. Just think on that, why don't you?”
He slammed the door behind him.
Chapter 10
“Sit down and drink this.” Brayden shoved a cold can of Coke under her nose until she took it.
She popped the tab with a fizzy hiss and sipped the sweet syrupy drink. Her eyes searched his office. “Why are we here? Shouldn’t we be doing something about Joseph?” God, he knows where I am.
“We can’t do anything about Joseph except keep you away from him. I’m going to call your father and see if he’ll void the contract. If not...then we’ll move on from there.”
She set the cold can on the desk and dug her palms into her eyes. “And why are we here?” she asked again. She didn’t want to talk about Joseph now. Every time they did, the road led to a dead end with no possible out except to go back from where she came. And she couldn’t do that.
“King Brunes said Daniel was killed. I have to look into it.”
Her eyes shot to his. “The Justicar we just met with?”
He nodded, his expression grim. “Seems he got his skull bashed in by car tires—twice. Stay here; I’ll be right back.”
He left and closed the office door after him. She fidgeted in her seat, then finally turned the chair so she could keep an eye on the door. She didn’t like having it at her back...anyone could come in behind her.
She couldn’t help but notice his office. It looked as immaculately clean as his home did. The desk was black and shiny, his walls a shiny bright white that gleaned back the reflection of the fluorescent light overhead. It all felt very hospital-like.
A shadow appeared in the doorway. Some instinct inside made her freeze, as if by not moving, the shadow wouldn’t be able to see her and would go away. The thick-paned glass showed no features, only the figure of a man. The hairs at the back of her neck stood on end and her stomach muscles bunched hard like she was about to take a hit. She dared not even take a breath.
It could be him.
The figure turned to face the door and she sucked in a breath. She already knew what would happen next. The door would open and Joseph’s stocky face would be there with his angry dark eyes and hard fists. The head of the figure moved as if searching inside the office or reading the label on the door which read: Justicar Brayden Erickson. The figure might have stood there for only a few seconds, but it felt as though time had stilled. She wanted to leap from her seat and switch the light off, but then whoever it was would know someone was in there for sure. She wanted to turn the small lock on the handle, but she couldn’t move. She sat rooted in place in fear.
Then the figure turned and kept walking down the hall. Only then did she release the breath she’d been holding.
The door swung open and she screamed. Brayden eyed her curiously; he had a thick manila envelope in his hands. He checked her from head to toe, then closed the door behind him.
“What’s wrong?”
Deep breaths. Deep breaths. “Nothing. Just freaking myself out, I think.”
His gaze fell down, left her eyes. “You can stop gripping the chair like you’re trying to strangle it now.”
Startled, she looked down to find what he saw. She had a death grip on the arms of the chair. Slowly, she uncurled her fingers, but then they felt empty so she grabbed her can of soda two-handed and drank it. The taste fell flat and lifeless on her tongue.
He moved around her and took a seat at his desk. She didn’t even watch him move, just heard his soft steps on the carpet floor. Her gaze stay glued to the thick-paned glass, which made everything on the outside look milky and blurred, sinister.
>
“Vanessa.”
She jumped, then looked at him. She hated the look on his face. The concern. It made her feel like a crazy person whom he couldn’t dare leave alone for a minute without doing something nutty.
“Yeah?”
“Just give me a minute and I’ll get you out of here. You’re safe with me. You know that, right?”
She took a deep breath and let it out. The man had tracked down kidnappers just to save her. He’d killed them with his freaking hands. Yes, she knew he could be dangerous, and yes she trusted, so she nodded.
What she soon realized as she crossed her legs into an Indian-style position was that Brayden’s sense of time was way off. He poured over papers, his brow furrowed deep, occasionally scribbling down notes in a small black notebook as the hour hand on the clock on the wall ticked by. He didn’t speak. He didn’t even make a sound except when he flipped a page over or tucked it behind the rest of the stack.
Her skin felt itchy. She couldn’t stop scratching her nails across her arms. Pink lines had already started to appear across her forearms like she’d been under some kind of animal attack. Every few seconds or so, it seemed, she found herself staring at that door waiting to see if the figure would appear again. But it didn’t. He didn’t.
Seething inside, she scrubbed a hand through her hair and tugged until the strands pulled along her scalp nearing the point of pain—then she pulled harder until spikes of pain exploded along her skull. Her heart rate calmed then and her body relaxed, some.
Sighing, she looked back at Brayden and found him staring intently at her. A flush came over her. Had he just seen her childish little tug-of-hair bit? His eyes flicked up to her hair and she gulped. Yes, yes he did.
“All right, let’s get out of here.”