Don't Play With Odin (Trouble For Hire Book 2)

by Cynthia Eden

  Big, bad, and currently out of his element…

  Odin Shaw thought he’d spend his life on a battlefield. But fate had other plans, and now the ex-Special Forces operative has just landed a new job at his best friend’s PI office. It’s one hell of a life change, and the giant “Viking” is trying to adjust, fast, but then she walks into his life.

  Delicate, beautiful, and hunting a killer…

  Maisey Bright has been following the news. She knows that the small PI firm just helped track a killer and get the perp locked away—so Maisey figures that the towering man sitting behind the massive desk will be perfect solution for her current predicament. The cops don’t believe her story, so Maisey has no choice. She wants to hire Odin. The job in question? Well, she needs him to help her find proof—irrefutable evidence—that her next-door neighbor is a serial killer.

  The gorgeous ones are always a little bit crazy…

  Odin figures the case will be a snap. He’ll prove that Maisey’s neighbor is most definitely not a serial killer. He’ll do it in record time, and he’ll score some extra cash for the PI firm. Maybe he’ll even score some points with the lovely—but obviously way too crime-enthusiast-obsessed—Maisey. Piece of cake.

  It’s not a piece of cake. It’s a freaking nightmare.

  When Odin steps into Maisey’s world, things seem off from the very beginning. Her neighbor is suspicious as hell, and when Maisey is nearly kidnapped after leaving her job, Odin realizes there is much more to the case than meets the eye. A whole lot more. He stays at Maisey’s place to protect her—and to keep an eye on her neighbor. But the close proximity to the maddening Maisey stirs a fierce desire inside of Odin. Maisey is smart, off-beat, sexy…and when he kisses her, Odin is a goner.

  But first, the killer…

  Odin and Maisey set off to uncover the truth about her neighbor, and as they dig deeper into the disappearances of three women, Odin begins to suspect that Maisey may be dead right. He also realizes that he is falling for a woman who now seems be the target of a killer. Looks like it might be time for Odin to go to battle once more. Because there is no way—no way—that anyone will hurt Maisey.

  Author’s Note: Calling all true-crime enthusiasts! Maisey is your girl. She spends her nights listening to podcasts and sleuthing, but when she suspects that a killer is living next door, Maisey knows that she needs a professional partner…so Odin Shaw enters the picture. Odin has muscles for days, and he doesn’t even blink when he faces danger. He’s just the PI that she wants. Danger, romance, twists—time for their story to begin.

  By Cynthia Eden

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people, places, or events are not intentional and are purely the result of coincidence. The characters, places, and events in this story are fictional.

  Copyright ©2021 by Cindy Roussos

  All rights reserved. This publication may not be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without the express written consent of the author except for the use of small quotes or excerpts used in book reviews.

  Copy-editing by: JRT Editing

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Don't Play With Odin

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About The Author

  Chapter One

  “There’s a killer on the loose.”

  At that ever-so-dramatic statement, Odin Shaw slowly lifted his head from the comic book that he’d been reading. A gorgeous woman stood in the doorway, one delicate hand clutching the wooden frame, the other pressed to her chest.

  He hadn’t heard her approach. His bad. Unusual. Normally, he was highly aware of his surroundings. It had been one hell of a slow Friday for him, and he’d just been about to head down to the bar that waited below—

  “Did you hear me?” She let go of the doorframe and hurried inside. A couple of fast steps in her canvas shoes that didn’t make even a whisper of sound. “There’s a killer hunting, and we need to stop him.”

  He eased the comic book into the top drawer. Squared his shoulders and tipped back his head as he studied her.

  His mystery lady had a tumble of thick curls. She’d tried to pin them up, but the dark locks had slid free to frame her face. No makeup was on her face, but she didn’t need any. He thought she looked perfect just as she was. Wide, dark eyes. Oval face. Full, unpainted lips.

  She was small, maybe around five-foot-four or five-foot-five. Nice curves. Actually, some pretty incredible curves and—

  “Hello?” She waved a hand in front of his face. “Are you listening to me at all?”

  Right. He should speak. Odin cleared his throat. “I don’t believe you have an appointment,” he rumbled.

  Her pretty mouth parted. “I—” She looked back over her shoulder. “No one was in the lobby. I thought I could come on in. Figured no line meant no wait.” Now she peered back at him. “Are you Warren Channing?”

  “No.”

  She blinked. Her eyes weren’t just brown. They were golden brown. He liked the gold. Liked the warmth in her gaze and he liked the long, long dark lashes that framed her eyes.

  “If you’re not Warren, then who are you?” She took another step forward. This step brought her to his desk. Her hands—small, with short nails painted a soft pink—pressed to the wood.

  “Odin.” His name came out sounding like a growl.

  Her eyebrows rose. “Battle god.”

  He stiffened.

  “Responsible for the creation—and also the destruction—of the world. At least according to Norse myth.” Her smile was quick, and, holy fuck, she had dimples. Sweet dimples that winked at him before she confessed, “I’m a mythology buff. I actually teach history at the college down the road and I—I am rambling.” She blew out a breath. “Odin.”

  He nodded. That’s me.

  Her head tilted. “I talk a lot when I’m nervous. You should know that I am very, very nervous right now.”

  He thought she was very, very gorgeous.

  “Since you are sitting in the office at Trouble for Hire, I take it to mean that you’re a PI?”

  “I am.” His license was all new and shiny.

  “You…work with Warren?”

  “Honeymoon.”

  A furrow appeared between those pretty eyes of hers. Hell. Had he just given her a one-word answer? He needed to do better than this.

  Odin rose.

  And those eyes of hers—they widened.

  Damn. He’d forgotten. He’d been sitting. When he stood, he clocked in at past six-foot-four. And with his muscled weight, he could be intimidating.

  She backed up a step.

  No could be about it. He was scaring the pretty lady. “War is on his honeymoon.”

  “War?” She was almost gaping up at him.

  “Warren—War. He’s on his honeymoon. I’m running things.”

  She licked her lips.

  His body instantly jolted. A rather over-the-top reaction to such a s
imple motion, but it had been a long time since he’d—

  “I want you,” she said.

  Well, that was blunt. And surprising. But he nodded and figured if his luck was about to turn around this way, then who the hell was he to argue? After the clusterfuck of the last year, maybe he deserved something good.

  The lady in front of him definitely qualified as good.

  She shoved her hand into the oversized bag that was flung over her left shoulder. When her hand came back up, she tossed a thick—very thick—wad of cash on his desk. “Will that cover it?”

  He looked at the cash. Then at her. “What all do you want me doing?”

  “I want you to help me stop the killer!” Her breath huffed out. “I need to hire you. That should cover your fee, right?”

  He suspected that hunk of cash would cover a dozen PI fees. He pushed the cash back toward her. “Why don’t we start at the beginning?” Because he wasn’t going to take advantage of her. That wasn’t how he’d been raised. The woman was obviously upset about something. He would figure out what it was and try to help.

  “The beginning? That’s kinda far back. How about we cut to the current situation?” She squared her delicate shoulders. “I saw on the news that your office stopped that killer a few weeks ago. The man who was strangling those women in Florida.”

  Yes, they had stopped him. Odin waited.

  “You don’t talk a lot, do you?” She nibbled on her lower lip.

  Odin shrugged. When he talked, he had a tendency to sometimes say the wrong shit. Especially where women were concerned. This woman was fucking beautiful, and he was trying to not open his mouth and say something like—

  “And you’re really big. Like, scary big.”

  He glowered. Then realized his glower probably just made him look even scarier.

  “I mean that in the best possible way, of course,” she continued quickly. Perkily. “I bet the bad guys see you and immediately start running.” She nodded and now seemed thrilled. “If they’re smart, they’d run.”

  His gaze swept over her. She wasn’t running. Didn’t seem at all put off by him. And damn it all, but he was finding her…intriguing.

  The evening was definitely looking up. “Who are you?” He wanted her name.

  Her golden brown eyes gleamed even more. “I didn’t tell you? I am so sorry!” She offered her hand to him. Silver rings were on two of her fingers, and a little bracelet jingled around her wrist. “I’m Maisey. Maisey Bright.” Her dimples winked. “And you are the answer to my dreams.”

  I would love to hear all about your dreams, lady. He took her hand in his. Made sure to keep his grip easy because his bear-like hand easily swallowed hers. The moment he touched her, a surge of heat zipped through his fingers, down his arm, and straight to his core. Her skin was soft, silky, and her scent reached out to wrap around him. A creamy, decadent scent. Like strawberries and cream. Or strawberries and—

  He was leaning toward her. Closing in and his gaze had dropped to her mouth. Okay, sure, it had been a while, but he needed to get himself under control. Odin forced his hand to let her go. “Why don’t you sit down?”

  “Okay.” She hopped onto the edge of his desk.

  He frowned.

  “Oh. You didn’t mean here, did you? But the couch is way over there.” She motioned vaguely as one shoe swung in a quick rhythm. “Look, let’s cut to the chase.”

  That sounded like a great idea. He slowly lowered back into his chair. He couldn’t take his gaze off her.

  “You stopped a killer before. You and your partner, I guess? War? I like that name way better than Warren, by the way. Sounds a lot tougher.”

  He just waited.

  She sucked in a breath. “I’m desperate, you see. That’s why I pulled all of that money out of my savings and I came here.” She lowered her voice. “I know some PIs like to deal only in cash.”

  They did? Since when?

  “If you don’t take the case, I will go to someone else. But after I saw your agency on the news, and since you have such great experience in my particular area of concern, I thought you’d be the best fit for me.”

  He would not imagine how they would fit together. He could be professional. He normally was professional.

  His gaze dipped over to her swinging foot.

  “You stopped one serial killer, so I know you will be able to stop another.”

  His gaze flew back to her face. “What?”

  She gave an encouraging nod of her head. “You can stop this guy, too. With my help, we can get him locked away in no time. The streets—and my neighborhood—will be safe again.”

  He was trying to follow along. Odin hadn’t had a drop to drink from the bar downstairs. Totally sober, but…still confused. “You have a serial killer in your neighborhood?” Was that what Maisey was trying to tell him?

  She leaned closer. Her hands flattened on the desk. “Yes.”

  He shook his head.

  She nodded. “Not just in my neighborhood.” Her voice dropped as if to reveal a secret. “He lives right next door to me.”

  Odin stared into her gleaming eyes. Let his gaze sweep over her beautiful face. A few more tendrils of hair had escaped to slide around her cheekbones. “Look,” he began gruffly. “I’m sure you got scared after all the news stories started circulating, but there aren’t serial killers clustering in the streets. You are perfectly fine and—”

  “I’m not crazy.”

  He didn’t remember using the c-word. He’d carefully avoided that word. War had told him it was bad for business and to not use it, no matter what clients might say when they strode through his office door.

  “Is that what you think?” Maisey’s voice notched up. “That I saw what happened to those other women and I got scared and started imagining things? That I am imagining a serial killer next door?”

  He had considered that option, yes.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You’re just like the cops.”

  No, he wasn’t. He didn’t have a badge. He had a PI license. “You, ah, went to the cops with this story?”

  She jumped off the desk. Began to pace. “They didn’t believe me, either. Why not?” She swung back toward him. “Do I give off some vibe that says I’m delusional? Because I am not delusional, I assure you of that. I know what is happening. I know I am on to something dangerous, and I just need concrete proof.” She pointed at him. “That is where you come in.”

  “Me?”

  “You.” She nodded. “You’ll help me find irrefutable evidence that the cops can’t deny.” She started pacing again. Fast, determined strides.

  “Irrefutable evidence…that your neighbor is a serial killer.” His head tilted as he studied her. She was quite fascinating to watch. The faded jeans she wore clung lovingly to a truly world-class ass.

  Not that he was supposed to be noticing things like that. Don’t focus on a client’s ass. He was sure that was probably one of War’s rules for the office.

  “Exactly! Undeniable proof that he is guilty!” She spun and beamed at him. “So we have an agreement? You’ll take my case?”

  He offered her a strained smile in return but said, “No.”

  The wattage on her killer grin dimmed. “Excuse me?”

  “Do you watch true crime movies?” His fingers began to tap against the edge of the desk.

  “Well, sure, who doesn’t?”

  “And let me guess…whodunits, are those your favorite books?” More tapping.

  “I love Agatha Christie. Is that some kind of sin?”

  Nope. No sin. His fingers kept tapping. “Do you listen to murder podcasts?”

  Her chin jerked up. “I might have my own podcast. So what if I do?”

  He nodded and his fingers stilled. “I get it. That’s popular these days. And with the shows and podcasts saying killers are everywhere…you started seeing them…everywhere.”

  Her jaw hardened. “I’m not seeing them everywhere.” She stalked back toward him. “I�
��m seeing one killer—one particular killer—right next door. I want you to help me prove that he’s guilty.”

  “Yeah, that’s the part I’m getting stuck on.”

  “Stuck?”

  He tried to be delicate. Not really his strong suit, but he made an effort. “I can’t take your money for something I might not be able to do. Just wouldn’t be right. Not ethical, you get me?”

  “Come again?” Judging by her expression, she obviously did not get him.

  “Say I take the case. I start investigating. Only I discover that your neighbor is just some normal Joe and not a secret killer who is hacking up people in his basement.”

  “He doesn’t have a basement,” she mumbled.

  Not the point. “If I find out you don’t have Dexter next door, then you’ll have lost your savings.” His gaze darted to the wad of money still on his desk. “I wouldn’t feel good about that.”

  “Why not? I’d feel great.”

  She…what? He narrowed his eyes as he studied her. He could not figure out this woman. So much for tact.

  “If you can prove I’m wrong, that’s fabulous. Wonderful.” She skirted around his desk. He turned to face her, and the legs of his chair squeaked. “I will be able to sleep at night,” Maisey continued as she came to a halt inches from him. “I’ll stop feeling like I might be next on his hit list. Take the case. Guilt or innocence—that’s what we’re proving. You have real experience at this—”

  Not so much. He’d handled one serial killer case, and he’d primarily worked in the background on it. She was under the way wrong impression. He tried to correct the situation. “I, uh—”

  “Your agency stopped the last killer that terrorized this state.” She was directly in front of him. Her delectable scent surrounded Odin. “With your experience and my enthusiasm—”

  The lady had plenty of enthusiasm, all right. He’d definitely give her points for that.

  She leaned forward and put her hands down on the arms of his chair. “We can do this!”

  He knew what he wanted to do. It involved leaning forward and kissing that delectable mouth of hers.