Sharon Ashwood - Possessed by a Warrior

“Maybe not, but I can’t learn anything about it when it’s locked away.”

Sam nodded. She had a point. “That’s right. You’re the wedding expert. Any insights?”

With a professional air, Chloe eyed the dress. “There’s no label, but I’m sure it’s made to order. The beading is hand-done. It’s probably unique.”

“Expensive?”

“It’s worth a fortune. That’s Italian silk or I’m a duck.”

Sam slanted a glance at her. She was definitely not a duck. “None of your relatives tried to make off with it yet?”

She gave a rueful smile. “They don’t know about it. Fortunately, the last of the happy horde is leaving in the morning.”

“How long will you be here?” He wouldn’t be leaving a moment sooner.

She looked up. Her eyes were dark blue. “Until the end of the week or so. After that the house will be going on the market.”

“You don’t waste time.”

She gave a soft sigh that made his skin tingle. “It’s not me. Everyone wants their piece of the estate.”

Sam watched her eyes sparkle with tears. Forgetting himself, he brushed her wrist with his fingertips, the lightest gesture of sympathy. One he would never normally make. She blinked, folding her arms across her stomach. Sam dropped his hand, the feel of her skin clinging to the pads of his fingers. Silky.

He forced his mind to the task of asking questions, doing his best to shut off his senses. The woman was like a drug, scrambling his thoughts. “Was Jack close to any family but you?”

“Not really. My father, but he died when I was fourteen. Along with my mother.” She looked away. “Long story.”

Something told Sam now was not the moment to ask for details. “No one was close, but the rest still think they should get a piece of all this?” He made a gesture indicating the house.

“Of course.” Chloe made a slight movement, almost a shudder, as if she was trying to shake off a distasteful memory. “Jack had a talent for making money.”

He also had centuries of financial experience, but Chloe didn’t know that.

“Who were Jack’s friends?” he asked abruptly.

“I thought that was you.”

Winspear was right. He sucked at interrogation. Frustration made him resort to his usual bluntness. “You’re in the wedding business. You said the dress was unique. Is there any way to figure out who owned it?”

“What did you say you did for a living?” She narrowed her eyes.

Too blunt. Oops. “Trust fund baby,” Sam said lightly. “I don’t do anything.” But I want to know Jack’s exact schedule for the last six weeks.

The set of her mouth said she didn’t believe him. “But obviously you like solving mysteries.”

“Why not?”

“Well, here’s one for you to chew on. I don’t think Jack died the way the police say he did.”

Sam nearly started. He kept his voice very neutral. “Oh?”

Chloe sat on the edge of the bed, looking suddenly tired and much younger than she had a moment ago. “Jack had a hidden side. I don’t think most people even noticed, but if there was a loud noise, he’d reach for a gun even if he wasn’t wearing one. I never knew what that was all about, but I’d bet good money you and your friends do.”

A very, very smart girl.

“Did Jack have enemies?” she asked, her voice even.

“They’re mostly dead.” Or undead.

Her hand, so fine-boned and soft, made a fist. “I think you guys missed one.”

“What are you talking about?”

She shot him a look. “You’ve got that whole brothers-in-arms vibe going on. I think you watch each other’s backs pretty closely, and I don’t mean around the boardroom table. Well, try this one on. I don’t think Uncle Jack smashed up his car by accident.”

Sam stayed mute.

Chloe pushed on, her jaw set in a stubborn line. “He never drank as much as he pretended to. The whole playboy thing was a game, like a mask he wore when it suited him.”

Her fierce tone was doing something to Sam’s insides, a painful, hot, sweet feeling radiating from deep in his gut. He was getting turned on in a big way. Oh, good timing, Ralston.

“I don’t know,” he said casually. “Once in a very rare while, Jack could tie one on.”

Chloe grimaced. “He wasn’t stupid. Not where the Porsche was involved.”

God, she did know her uncle. Jack loved that car. This whole conversation offended his sense of fair play. She deserves to know she’s not the only one who thinks Jack was killed. But if he broke cover, it wasn’t just his existence on the line. Women like her die around creatures like you. The thought repeated in his mind like a tolling bell. He knew that from bitter experience. Everything about who he was, what he did, invited danger.

“Leave it to the police,” he said reasonably. “They know what they’re looking for.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Which is why your two friends are all over the scene of the accident? They’ve been there since day one like a pair of designer-casual bloodhounds.”

Sam stomped on a snort of laughter before it could get away. “You’re imagining things.”

“Lame.” The heat in her eyes said she didn’t like being dismissed.

“You’re just upset because he died suddenly. It’s understandable.”

“Lame.” A flush of pink was climbing her cheeks. “I’m not a clueless child, Mr. Ralston. Don’t try to hide information from me.”

Irritation flashed through him. “What do you think happened? One of your relatives hired a gunman to get Jack’s estate?”

Her blue eyes didn’t waver. “I bet you’d know how to find out if they did.”

He gave up. “I can’t help you.”

“Then get out of my bedroom.”

Her expression was hard. Unexpectedly, Sam felt it dent his ego. He wanted to reach across the gulf his job and his nature put between them. It was a rare impulse, and one he couldn’t do a damned thing about.

Probably just as well.

His gaze wandered to the wedding dress, taking it in for a brief moment. Marriage was just one more human entanglement he’d left behind, but for a split second he wondered what it would be like to be that unguarded with somebody. It had been too long to remember.

Sam turned and walked out of the room, leaving Chloe alone on the bed.

For now.

Chapter 4

Chloe curled up under the covers, her eyes sandy from lack of sleep. The room should have felt restful, for this was where she’d slept most of her teenage years—but too much had dramatically, tragically changed.

Someone had murdered Jack, she was sure of it, but she had no proof. She’d tried talking to the police, but they couldn’t—or wouldn’t—help. They’d treated her like a kid too young for grown-up worries. It pushed every one of her buttons. Still, how could she blame the cops? All she had to go on was Jack’s character and the suspicious behavior of his buddies.

In the dark quiet of the bedroom, she surrendered to pain and loss, letting the pillow muffle her sobs. She just couldn’t grasp the fact that she wouldn’t see Jack again. Ever. For as long as she drew breath. But it wasn’t just grief she felt. Hot, frustrated anger sliced along her raw nerves. She wanted to act, to avenge, but she didn’t know how.

Chloe sniffed and rolled over, the sheets sticking to her hot skin. Outside the window, wind hissed through the trees, making a lullaby of the restless breeze. Chloe’s mind ticked on.

Suspicion just wouldn’t stop clawing at her. She knew she was right to speak up, but other people reacted like she was a hysterical freak—even Sam Ralston. Once she’d asked him about Jack’s accident, it had been like talking to a wall, his handsome face wiped of expression.

Oh, well. At least stone-faced was a change from broody or bossy, which seemed to be his other settings. Too bad he had a magnetism that turned her insides to pudding. Yeah, right. A broody, bossy blank wall with gobs of animal magnetism. Every girl’s dream.