Marie Harte: Killer Thoughts

“Harry’s gone,” Owen said bluntly. “If you see him again, you need to let me or Tim know right away. He’s not part of the organization any longer. Consider him a dangerous threat.”

Ian blinked. “Ah, okay.”

They walked past the entryway into the main living area. Five thousand square feet of comfort had cost Owen a pretty penny, especially with the views he had of Mount Bachelor. But he’d gladly pay more to feel at peace, protected. He had two more men on staff for security, as well as a cook and a housekeeper who lived on the premises. Two guesthouses on the periphery of the property, as well as a swim house for an indoor pool, took up the space outside. But the main home was a gem all on its own.

“I sure do like your style,” Ian murmured.

Owen watched as he walked past the living room, with its grand leather sectionals, rock wall and fireplace, and expensive artwork. A Van Gogh and a Matisse had special places on the walls away from the heat generated by the fireplace, while other sculptures and local artwork gave the room a comfortable feel. Owen liked nice things, but he didn’t want to feel as though he lived in an art gallery.

“That’s new.” Ian pointed to one particular piece in the corner, Coyote Dreams.

“Yes. It’s a Dane Hanson original.” Dane’s work had recently taken the art world by storm. In a few years, the piece would easily be worth three times what Owen had paid for it. Yet Owen had bought it because he liked it.

Ian grinned. “Does Kitty know you have her new boy toy’s artwork in your house? Does Dane?” Just a few short months ago, Kitty and Dane had worked a case that involved a cursed statue and Owen’s ex-girlfriend. A woman who’d done her best to kill Owen while Ian had watched from the closet, yet she’d ended up dead instead.

“They will at the Christmas party this year. Heather convinced me to have it here.” Owen shrugged. For his sister, he’d do anything. To include keeping her safe and away from him. Thank God she had Jack. Owen didn’t worry so much with that hulking brute to watch over her.

“I still don’t understand what Heather sees in Jack. I mean, I get the muscle and the tough-guy thing he’s got going on. But she’s so nice.” Ian shook his head and gave Owen a sour look. “Not like you at all.”

“Ian, behave.” Owen saw Tim try to hide a grin before the big man walked past them to the kitchen.

“Lunch is waiting for you on the table, sir.”

Owen sighed. “You can call me Owen, you know.”

“Yes, sir.” Tim disappeared.

Ian smirked. “If you didn’t have that lord-of-the-manor attitude, I’m sure your staff would be friendlier.”

“I don’t see you calling me sir.”

Ian stopped moving, propped his hands on his hips, and glared. “I’m not part of your staff.”

Owen drew closer, invading Ian’s personal space. To his gratification, Ian swallowed audibly. A nice show of nerves. “You could be, Ian. I’d love to hire you to work me.”

“You mean work for you.” Ian’s gaze dropped to Owen’s mouth.

Owen had been waiting for months to make his move, and now that he had Ian at his beck and call, for however long it took to finish this Kerr business, he’d indulge. Hell, he’d more than earned it. Keeping his distance from the handsome con man had been difficult at best. When Owen found something he wanted, he didn’t stop until he got it. And he wanted Ian. Badly. Owen raised a hand and pushed Ian’s long bangs off his forehead so he could see into those beautiful blue eyes.

“Yes, you’d work me hard, wouldn’t you?” he murmured, pleased to see Ian lick his lips, his eyes glazed over with lust. Owen smiled, dropped his hand, and stepped back. “I mean, you’d work hard for me. Now let’s get some lunch, and I’ll fill you in on where we stand.”

He thought he heard Ian swear behind him. Good. Ian wasn’t unaffected. As it was, it took Owen a moment to calm his raging hormones. Being so close to Ian, inhaling the sexy cologne he wore, gave Owen the hard-on from hell.

To his relief, he entered the kitchen without an erection and found the large marble table laid out with a full lunch. Cold cuts, sandwich rolls, a pasta salad, fruit, and glasses filled with tea had been arranged to perfection. He loved Beverly. The older woman cooked like a dream. She’d been with the family since before his parents died, nearly seventeen years ago, and she kept getting better with age.

“Pays to have money,” Ian said and sat down without being asked. He filled his plate with food and commenced to eating, not waiting on Owen. “So what now, Your Highness?” he said between bites. “Damn. This is good ham.”

Owen sat and watched his future lover wolfing down lunch. “Good. You need to eat more.”

“Feed me like this, and we won’t have a problem.”

Ian grinned, and a face that could have made a fortune in magazines brightened up the room. Then that grin faded. “You know, this great lunch aside, we need to be real about what you need from me. It’s not that I don’t want to help you. But I’ve done all I can. If my sources can’t find it, it can’t be found.”

“But you did find it. Or rather, him.”

“Come again?”

I’d like to come between those full lips the first time. Then in your tight ass after . Owen frowned, annoyed to let Ian distract him with thoughts of sex. But really, Owen had a right to fantasize. Ian had no lack of male attention. His looks saw to the initial attraction, while his charm kept them coming back for more.

“Uh, Owen? What? Do I have mustard on my face or something?”

The flush on Ian’s cheeks told Owen he knew what Owen wanted. But he wanted to pretend otherwise. Fine. Owen would let it stand for now, considering he’d wanted to talk about Kerr in the first place.

He concentrated on business. “The pattern you thought you saw last week. Tell me again what struck you.”

Ian shrugged. “Something in those newspaper articles linked for me. I don’t know. They didn’t seem related, but those deaths connected. All five businessmen had their throats slit. They were each involved in illegal arms, small-time, but still. All of them in northern states. Not too far-fetched, but it struck a bell. The Canadian ties really clued me in. When you put that together with their financial backers buried under a lot of paperwork and false trails, all of which led them back to northwestern-based companies, I don’t know. It seemed like that’s what you were looking for. Made sense to me.”

“It did. Does.” Owen helped himself to a sandwich, hungrier than he’d thought. He glanced to his right and peered out the window. Overlooking the guesthouse where the Knox brothers, his personal security, lived, the majestic Cascade Mountains stood like sentries, clear against a crisp blue sky. He wanted to go running or maybe take a day hike. But duty called.

“How so?” Ian asked and started on a second sandwich.

Pleased to see the man eat more, Owen explained. “I don’t know if you’re familiar with my history.”

“You mean, besides you mysteriously killing Linda Cavendish?”

His ex-girlfriend and a woman sent to plague him by none other than Carl fucking Kerr. Owen ignored the reference to Linda’s death. “Years ago, my family had a loose tie with Jacob Kerr, founder of what used to be known as JHC Industries.”

Ian’s eyes narrowed. “Now known as Precision Tech. A Stallbridge concern.”

“Yes.” Ian had done his homework. He reminded himself not to underestimate the man again. “What you don’t know is we didn’t just buy out the company. My father threatened to go to the police and tell them exactly what Jacob had been up to if he didn’t sell to my father. Making guns for the military was one thing; selling them to unfriendly foreigners with a lot of money was another. Jacob sold the company back to us, then killed my parents.”