Rita Herron - Vows of Vengeance

Soft meant forgetting what he had learned from the Master. The Master who had led him down the path years ago, just as he continued to lead the others.

Stella had been one of them. One of the hardest to break. One of the ones who’d tried to get away.

But there was no escape. Only a price to pay for trying to do so.

And Stella would learn just how high that price could be.

Death for her lover. For herself.

But first…first, she would know the pain of betrayal.

And if Sutton couldn’t handle it, he’d meet death himself.

Luke’s gaze rose from Stella’s bloodstained, powder-burned fingers to her heart-shaped face. The bruise stood out, stark now, making his gut clench.

As their gazes locked, the undeniable spark of sexual energy that had zapped him the first time he’d met her rippled through him again, as strong and potent as before. The pull of those green eyes, luminous with fear and confusion, tugged at emotions he refused to acknowledge.

Sweat beaded on his forehead and hands, and his heart pounded. The air was sultry, the room cloying with the stench of death, yet she still had the power to touch some unreachable place that he hadn’t even known existed. A weak place that wanted and needed her in spite of the fact that she had deceived him.

Every protective instinct he’d ever possessed reared itself, taunting him with what-ifs.

What if Stella were telling the truth? What if she were innocent? What if this were some bizarre case that was more complicated than a wife having skipped out on her husband? What if the dead man had tried to hurt her, and she’d been acting in self-defense?

What if she hadn’t wanted to leave you?

Hopeful, stupid thoughts that no jaded cop or federal agent was supposed to think, much less allow himself to believe. Not even for a second.

After all, he’d seen the worst of mankind, witnessed deplorable acts and betrayals that had destroyed his trust in the human soul. And years ago, he’d steeled himself against falling for a wounded woman.

Until Stella had stepped into his life.

Then a part of him had gone soft.

He hated softness of any kind. Had been trained not to tolerate it.

He glanced at her hands again, registered the absence of her wedding ring, and he won the war with his primal instincts. Humiliation and anger raging inside him, he wiped the sweat from his brow and spun away from her, leaving her to face the cops alone while he spoke with the crime scene unit. The medical examiner, Dr. Yates, studied the body, making notes. A sandy-haired man in his twenties and a red-headed female CSI tech were collecting evidence, combing for fingerprints, picking hair fibers from the bed and carpet, lifting prints from the water and wineglasses on the end table. The sheets were soaked, hanging askew, the white pillow-case marred with a crimson stain in the shape of a hand. Stella’s hand.

Luke swept his gaze over the victim. Noticed not for the first time that he was naked. He had brown hair, was average height, no distinguishing marks on his face, except for a scar by his right ear. He was lying on his back, his legs partially dangling over the side as if he’d tried to get up and run. One hand was thrown over his head, the other on his chest where the bullets had pierced his heart. His body was lean, but not muscular. Hairy. And his jewels… They were limp, hanging in plain sight.

Not a man he’d have thought Stella would have been attracted to.

Luke’s hands knotted by his sides. Had Stella slept with the man, then killed him? And if so, why hadn’t she tried to cover up the murder? Why had she screamed as if she was calling for help? She hadn’t even attempted to hide the weapon.

Or maybe her amnesia act was part of her plan…a self-defense ploy to keep her from jail.

He scratched his chin, assessing the rest of the room with a trained eye. There were no suitcases. No bottle of wine to go with the wineglasses. No…clothing.

No woman’s purse.

The pieces of the puzzle didn’t fit. Where were the man’s clothes?

He stalked to the bathroom and found one of the investigators bagging a pair of slacks, so he introduced himself to both the techs. “Any ID in there?”

“No. So far, we haven’t found any for him or her,” Doug, the male investigator, said.

“Condoms?” Luke gritted his teeth while he waited.

The female, Jill, shook her head. “None in here.”

“I didn’t find any in the bedroom, either,” Doug added.

Luke frowned. Stella had always insisted on condoms. So had he, for that matter.

Then again, maybe she and the dead man hadn’t gotten to the nitty-gritty yet.

Luke rushed to the bedroom, checked the nightstand. Empty except for the motel Bible.

He closed the drawer with a scowl, then approached the body again, parking himself by the M.E. “What do we have so far?”

“It appears he died of multiple gunshot wounds. Two to the chest. Close range. My guess from the size of the wound, a .38.”

The same kind of gun Stella had been holding.

“Any other injuries?”

Dr. Yates rolled the man to his side, indicating several bruises that marked his lower back. Others, less noticeable due to the blood on his chest, covered his torso. And another one darkened his thigh.

“Any signs that he had a weapon?” Luke asked.

“No powder burns on his hands. There is some blood under his fingernails. We’ll send it to trace.” The M.E. glanced up and frowned. “There are hair fibers that appear to match the woman’s.”

Luke spotted a long, black strand of hair caught in the man’s finger and his stomach knotted. “Any evidence that indicates someone else might have been in the room?”

The crime scene techies returned. “We’ve found a few short brown hairs in the bathroom,” the sandy-haired CSU guy reported. “They don’t appear to belong to the victim or suspect.”

Jill shot a look of disdain around the room. “Could be a product of a shoddy cleaning staff,” she muttered. “You know they rent these rooms by the hour.”

Luke nodded. “Bag and tag all of it. I want every inch searched, including the bathroom.” He glanced back at Stella, bracing himself for his next move. “I’ll arrange for a doctor to examine her, and make sure he goes over her body with a fine-toothed comb. He’ll look for defensive wounds, signs of sexual activity, blood, semen, DNA from the victim and any other source.”

“She’s already asked to shower,” Jill remarked, a hint of derisiveness in her tone. “At least she isn’t screaming rape.”

Luke aimed a frigid stare toward the tech. “This is a murder investigation, so let’s stick with the evidence. Stella claims she has no memory. We don’t know what happened, and until then, we can’t rule out any possibility.”

The woman’s expression went from cocky to chastised in a flash.

He exhaled, then pivoted to study Stella again, to look for the lies and the truth in the woman he’d married. She was shaking violently now, had her arms wrapped around herself in a blatant attempt to hold herself together. Either that, or she was a consummate actress.

Still, her hair was disheveled, dried blood crusted her fingers and nightgown, and the pale skin of her legs was showing. His eyes narrowed. A long scar glistened along the bottom edge of the nightshirt—a scar that hadn’t been there a year ago. And he would know. He’d loved, kissed and touched every inch of her.

“She can’t clean up until she’s thoroughly examined,” he said, shutting out the memory. “And I’ll inform the doc to examine that scar on her leg. I want to know how long it’s been there and what caused it. Our psychiatrist will also conduct a complete neurological. Let’s see if her amnesia is for real.” He jerked his gaze back to the crime scene agents. “Get me the results from here as soon as all of you are finished.”