Kate Carlisle - One Book In The Grave

“I know you didn’t do it, Max.”

“Yes, we know it wasn’t you,” Derek said. He sounded tired. Then in a heartbeat he sprang forward, gripping Max’s arm and swinging him around to look him straight in the eyes. “But I won’t allow Brooklyn to be terrorized by whoever’s behind this. If you’re not willing to tell us who you think killed Joe and planted this knife in Brooklyn’s tire, I won’t think twice about calling the police and telling them exactly where you are.”

They stared at each other for another moment; then Max nodded. “Understood.”

Derek stepped back, satisfied with Max’s response.

Max straightened his apron, glanced around, then said, “There’s a loaf of French bread in the pantry. Can someone butter it for garlic toast?”

“I’m on it,” Derek said, as if nothing monumental had just transpired between them. But as he walked to the pantry closet, he passed behind me and suddenly I was in his arms. He held on to me tightly for almost a minute and kissed my neck, then let me go and continued on to the pantry.

“All rightie, then,” I muttered, dazed but pleased.

Gabriel walked back into the kitchen. “Smells great in here.”

I stopped chopping to stare at him. His dark hair was slicked back and still wet from the rain. He’d taken off his jacket, and the black T-shirt he wore defined every muscle in his chest, arms, and shoulders. Even his cheekbones were more defined. His eyes glittered more brightly as he looked at me and winked. How could he look even better than he did a few minutes ago? It was, like, otherworldly.

Is it rude to stare? I didn’t care; I couldn’t help myself. Just because I was madly in love with Derek didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate some other guy’s awesomeness.

And there is the answer, I realized with a start. The secret to Derek’s appeal versus Gabriel’s. Obviously this was a subject to which I’d dedicated long hours of thought, but hadn’t reached an acceptable conclusion-until now.

No doubt about it, Derek defined the word hunk . He was solid. Tall, dark, handsome, protective, dangerous. Great body-did I mention that? But Derek’s feet were planted firmly on the ground, and when he found something he wanted, he took hold of it with both hands and wouldn’t let go. Apparently he wanted me, and I was thrilled to let him have his way.

Gabriel’s appeal, on the other hand, was more ethereal, his energy more vibrant, his lean looks more elegant. He was dangerous, too, and there was no doubt in my mind that he’d killed before. But his danger to women? That classic bad-boy attitude. A love affair with Gabriel would be high drama, wild sex, and fast burnout.

Hmm.

Speaking of drama, it occurred to me that ever since I’d met Derek, we’d been overwhelmed by high drama. Namely, murder. Victims. Suspects. I’d been involved in so many criminal investigations, I’d lost count. The fact was, I had never even seen a dead body until I met Derek. Had he brought the murder magnet Karma into my world? Or had he simply entered my world right when I needed him most?

I’d have to give that more thought.

“Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes,” Max said as he filled a large pot with water for pasta. “Then we’ll have a nice conversation about you all leaving.”

“Not gonna happen,” Gabriel said amiably, “but the dinner invitation is appreciated. That pasta sauce smells incredible.”

“Thanks.”

“The bread is ready to go in the broiler,” Derek said. “Give me a three-minute warning and I’ll turn on the heat.”

“Perfect,” Max said.

“Now, while I was outside,” Derek said, switching subjects, “I dug the spent bullet from your veranda out front.” He pulled a flattened bullet from his pants pocket, held it up to the light, then placed the chunk of mangled brass on the chopping-block surface.

Gabriel moved in, picked up the bullet, and studied it. He pulled out a small pocketknife and scraped at the edges.

“Hand loaded,” he said, casting a meaningful glance at Derek.

“Yes,” Derek said, nodding as though he’d already come to that conclusion. Nothing much got past him.

“Risky,” Gabriel mused.

“What’re you talking about?” I asked.

“Our shooter packs his own bullets,” Gabriel explained.

Max stepped closer now, picked up the bullet, turned it over in his hand. “Oh yeah. Hand packed.”

“How can you tell?” I asked.

With the tip of his knife, Gabriel pointed out minute grooves in the bullet’s surface. “Shape of the bullet. The crimping pattern along the seal. Lot of ways to tell the difference.”

“Right.” I stared at it but still didn’t have a clue. Maybe it was a secondary sex characteristic that allowed men to more easily recognize a hand-packed bullet. Like male pattern baldness, this was something I would never have the joy of experiencing.

“Why would anyone hand pack a bullet?” I asked. “It can’t be any cheaper, can it? Are they zealots? Control freaks? I don’t get it.”

“It does have something to do with control, darling,” Derek said. “An experienced gun enthusiast will load his own cartridges, increasing or decreasing the amount of powder in order to add to his accuracy or to customize the performance of a particular shotgun or rifle. In the long run, for serious gun owners, it can be cost effective.”

“Good to know,” I said, astonished by his knowledge of such matters. I smiled at all three men. “Okay, ’nuf said about guns. Are we absolutely sure there’s no one out there?”

Gabriel shot me a look. “If he’d still been out there, we would’ve found him.”

Derek met my gaze and nodded reassuringly. “Yes, he’s gone, love.”

“Or she’s gone,” Max muttered, his tone edgy with anger.

What?

Oblivious, Max continued stirring the sauce until he finally turned around and flinched at the sight of three pairs of curious eyes staring back at him.

“You think it’s a woman?” Derek said in surprise.

“Possibly.” Max kept stirring. “Could someone grab two bay leaves from the jar in the pantry and throw them in here?”

I looked around and my two companions stared back at me with blank faces. Okay, fine. I raced to the pantry, then returned and slid two leaves into the tomato sauce. “Come on, Max. Tell us who you think is behind this.”

“It makes sense that it’s a woman,” Gabriel said with a nod.

I frowned at him. “Why?”

“All the drama, the clues, the various scenarios. If a man wanted Max dead, he would’ve just shot him. But this person-this woman, I’m guessing-wants him exposed. She’s letting go of clues inch by inch. It’s theatrical. Messy. Not straightforward. In other words, female.”

“So you’re saying women are sneakier than men?”

He grinned. “No, I’m saying women are more clever, more complicated. Men are basic. Easy. Un complicated.”

“Stupid?” I suggested with a smile.

He chuckled. “Sometimes.”

“I’m kidding, sort of,” I said. “I see your point about women, but I happen to know a lot of complicated men. Three of them are here in this room.”

Gabriel glanced around and shrugged. “Maybe so, but I still think it’s safe to say that none of us would go to this much trouble to kill a man. Personally, I would take out a gun and shoot him in the head.”

I winced. “That’s sweet.”

“No, that’s simple.” Gabriel glanced around the room. “Am I right?”

“Fairly accurate, I’d say,” Derek said.

“I agree with what you’re saying,” Max said, “but I’m also hedging my bets. There’s a guy in my past who could have come up with all the clues and scenarios you’re talking about. He thrived on that crap.”