Sweet Revenge

  “We’re paying off some random woman’s debt now? What’s going on, Mattie?”

  “What’s going on is that you have your fucking orders. Pay off the man.” All he needed right now as a lecture from his younger brother.

  “Wait a minute. Shane was bad enough. We don’t have time for you to mess around with some small-town chick.” Anger rode the low consonants of Nate’s tone.

  “I’m aware of that. Do your job.”

  “If the shark doesn’t want payment?” Nate asked.

  “Make sure he does.”

  “On it. Will text you as soon as I learn anything. For now, get your mind back in the game. We don’t have time for mistakes.” Nate clicked off.

  Nate was right. They had six weeks until the chips in their spines exploded and severed their lives, and he needed to concentrate solely on survival. But at least Matt could take care of the cloud hanging over Laney’s head. Now he needed to find the surgeon he hunted. Chances were, they were about to meet face-to-face again.

  The door opened and Laney stepped outside. “I asked Smitty to hold the notes for the sheriff, who said he was on the way. Tell me again why we’re going to meet your most recent drinking buddy.”

  Laney’s voice held a hint of jealousy, and that shouldn’t warm him so much. “I want to find out who’s threatening you before I leave town.” Might as well give the woman the truth. “Do you want to drive?”

  She shuffled her feet, a small smile playing on her fragile face. “Um, I wouldn’t mind riding the bike.”

  He grinned. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I like to go fast and feel free.”

  Now, that was a woman. “Hop on.” He sat on the bike and waited until she’d settled in behind him, her grip strong around his waist. Once again, the moment struck him as… right.

  The coroner’s office was in the basement of the clinic he’d just left, and the return trip seemed to go too fast. Maybe he could talk Laney into a longer ride that weekend—if he was still in town.

  She hopped off the bike and led the way inside and down a row of stairs. Almost naturally, she reached out and slid her hand into his.

  His heart thumped, and the world softened. The constant vigilance in his head mellowed.

  The scents of formaldehyde and bleach yanked him back to reality. Even so, he tightened his fingers around hers.

  They approached a steel double door, and suddenly, he didn’t want to be there. He sure as hell didn’t want Laney going into an autopsy room. He gestured toward a row of cheap metal chairs. “Why don’t you wait out here?” What the hell had he been thinking to drag her to the coroner’s office?

  The door opened, and a tall woman in clean scrubs walked out. She blinked and stopped moving. “Matt? Laney? What are you doing here?”

  Laney moved forward. “We came to see about Claire.”

  Tasha frowned. “What about Claire?”

  Laney lowered her voice to a whisper. “Claire was receiving frightening notes, and I’ve been receiving the same ones. So, I asked Matt to help me figure out what’s going on. He’s an ex-marine who worked in investigative services for the military.”

  Matt kept his expression placid. Investigative services? The little brunette created quite the convincing lie when she wanted.

  Tasha smoothed back curly blond hair and sniffed. “I see. Well, I haven’t talked to the sheriff yet.”

  “I know.” Laney patted Tasha’s arm. “I wouldn’t ask, but I’m scared, and Matt agreed to help me. What if this guy comes after me?”

  Tasha shook her head. “I’m sure the sheriff is better equipped to figure this out than a bartender and her bouncer.” Condescension dripped from her tone as she glanced at her watch.

  Laney’s chin rose. “Perhaps, but you owe this bartender one, and I’d like an answer.”

  Tasha’s lips drew in a white line. “Fine. This makes us even. Just don’t tell Todd. Claire died from strangulation after a violent beating.”

  “Was she raped?” Matt asked.

  “Yes, but there’s no fluid or DNA—the guy used a condom,” Tasha said, slipping her hands in her pockets.

  “Time of death?” Matt asked.

  “Between midnight and four in the morning. I can’t be more exact.”

  Shit. He’d been with the accountant after midnight, but he sure as hell hadn’t killed her. The poor, lost woman. Anger began to boil in his gut. He’d find this murderer and take him out before he hurt anybody else. But for now, Matt had to figure out if this was the doctor who could save his brothers’ lives.

  She was tall and stood to about six feet. Brown eyes, blond hair, and delicate bone structure. Snotty and arrogant. Exactly the type of person who could still sleep after implanting kill chips in a man’s spine.

  Matt nodded. “How long have you lived here?”

  Tasha leaned against the dingy wall. “I’ve lived here my whole life, pretty much.”

  That was impossible. “In town here?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Yes. Even went to school with the sheriff.”

  Bullshit. If she was the woman he hunted, she’d lie. But why tell a lie that would be so easy to dispute? Unless she had the sheriff covering for her, or unless she was even trickier than that, somehow. In his life, he’d seen some amazing cover-ups. “I see.” He tried to look sympathetic.

  She pushed off the wall. “I need to file my report.”

  He slid his most charming smile into place. “I’m sorry to question you, doctor. It’s just, this seems so crazy to have happened in a small town. You can’t get many murders here, right?”

  Tasha brushed her hair away from her face. “That’s true. Once in a while we get a hunting accident, and every so often we get a murder among friends or family. But a murder from a probable stranger? This is my first.”

  Matt studied the doctor. Every line of her stature showed fatigue. It was a common mask for somebody lying. Either that, or the woman was tired and he’d descended upon the wrong town.

  He didn’t think so.

  Every instinct he had whispered Charmed, Idaho, was the right place to find the surgeon, and the woman looking down her nose at them was the only possibility still standing.

  So he smiled. “Thank you for your help.”

  Back at the empty bar, Laney poured two sodas and handed one to Matt. “Um, I feel like I should tell you I don’t, um, usually…”

  His grin loosened the tension in her. “I know you don’t sleep around. Believe it or not, I’m a decent judge of people.”

  To survive in the military, he’d probably had to have been. She shouldn’t care what he thought, but somehow, she did. But he’d misread her, hadn’t he? “Okay.”

  He took a drink, the muscles in his neck moving nicely. “Will you tell me why Tasha owed you one?”

  “Nothing big. She drank too much one night and passed out in the back booth. I let her sleep it off on my couch that night.” The poor woman had been almost speaking in tongues by the time Laney had helped her upstairs.

  Matt shook his head. “She doesn’t seem like the type to let go and get drunk.”

  Yeah, the woman was a cold fish. “It was some anniversary of her escaping something.” Laney lifted a shoulder. “I got the feeling she had an ex out there she got away from, but who knows.”

  “What was the anniversary?” Matt asked.

  Laney paused and focused on the handsome soldier. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Just curious.”

  Laney frowned. He sure asked a lot of questions, now didn’t he? “Why do I get the feeling you’re not some drifter?” She tried to probe beneath the surface of those intriguing gray eyes. Just how much would he admit?

  “I’m not just a drifter.” His cheek creased. “I’m drifting right now. At one time, I was a soldier, and I actually did investigate crimes. This is old hat to me, and it feels good to be focused on something.”

  He always had a good answer—almost too good. Laney nodded. “It was a few months
ago, maybe in February.”

  “I see.” He finished the soda and slid the glass across the bar.

  “What are your brothers like?” Laney asked. She’d love to get him to open up a little.

  He paused, his gaze lifting to hers.

  The outside door opened, and Greg hurried inside. His polo shirt hung awkwardly out of his pressed dress pants. “Did you hear about Claire?”

  Laney leaned back from the bar as irritation batted through her. The pharmacist was not welcome to just drop by. She had enough problems. “Yes. Poor Claire.”

  The pharmacist jumped onto a stool next to Matt. “I can’t believe it. The sheriff contacted me this morning and asked me about some notes you’ve been receiving.” He pushed wire-rimmed glasses up his nose. “I haven’t sent you notes. Why haven’t you mentioned threatening notes?”

  Because she didn’t want anything to do with the asshat. “They’re not exactly threatening, and I didn’t think you’d sent them.” Laney retrieved a rag and began wiping down the bar, hoping he’d get the hint and leave.

  “That’s good to know.” Greg tapped his manicured nails on the smooth wood. “The sheriff was a bit rough because I was home alone. I mean, if I’d planned to kill somebody, I would’ve thought of a good alibi, you know?”

  “It’s nice to know you’ve given this some thought,” Matt said, annoyance tightening his full lips. “How long have you lived in Charmed, anyway?”

  Greg tugged on the collar of his golf shirt. “I moved here five years ago after graduating from Washington State. My mother died while I was in school, so there was no reason to return to Seattle.”

  “Why Charmed?” Matt asked, his gaze piercing.

  “The pharmacy offered me a job.” Greg glared at Matt. “I find it interesting a murder occurred right after you arrived in town.”

  “I find it interesting that a guy who secretly copies a woman’s apartment keys and breaks into her place isn’t a bigger suspect in this case,” Matt drawled.

  Greg flushed an angry red. “My gesture was romantic, and frankly, none of your business.”

  Matt leaned toward Greg, threat and tension in every line of his face. “Wrong. Laney is my business.”

  Greg gasped, his gaze slashing to Laney. “What does that mean?”

  Heat spiraled into her cheeks, and she focused on scrubbing the bar. The silence dragged on until it became heavy.

  Finally, Greg pushed off the stool, his lips twisting. “I see. Well, I also came here to ask you to the Elks dance tonight, but I can see now you wouldn’t be interested. However, once you come to your senses, you know where to find me.” His stride hitched as he hurried out of the bar.

  Laney threw the dishcloth in the sink and crossed her arms.

  “What?” Matt asked.

  “You know what. Why would you do that?”

  Matt unfolded his impressive length from the stool and maneuvered around the bar—toward her. “For two reasons. One, I wanted to gauge his reaction, because I’m not sure he’s in the clear for Claire’s murder. And two?” He reached her and skimmed a hand around her neck. “This is why.” His mouth slid against her, engulfing her in instant fire. He turned them, putting her back against the wall.

  He slipped one knee between her legs, pressing up with enough pressure to catch the breath in her throat.

  His tongue swept inside her mouth, while the hand at her nape angled her so he could go deeper. Need rippled through her, pebbling her nipples and softening her sex. Finally, he lifted his head, allowing her to breathe.

  Her mouth tingled, her breasts ached, and her clit pounded. She stared at his darkening eyes, bemused. “We’re in the bar,” she murmured. Her mind went blank, her body taking over.

  Challenge and amusement filtered across his face as he slowly, deliberately, slid a hand under her shirt and wandered up to palm her breast. “I know.”

  She blinked several times to keep her eyes from rolling back in her head. She arched against him, wanting more. “We, ah, shouldn’t…”

  “Ask me to stop, and I will.” He rolled her nipple, leaning in to scrape his teeth along her neck. “This is dangerous, and this is fun. Anybody might walk in, Laney.” His talented mouth found her earlobe, and his thigh flexed against her cleft.

  She gasped, her mind swirling. God. The man was correct in that anybody might walk into the bar and catch her making out with her new bouncer. Her body didn’t care. Not even a little bit.

  But her mind did. Self-preservation reared its head. Finally.

  So she swallowed and sucked in a deep breath. “Please stop.”

  He released her and stepped back. “Are you sure? I could have you coming in about a minute.” His grin was almost boyish, while the glint in his eye was anything but sweet.

  She shook her head. “You’re terrible. Just terrible.”

  “I could have you changing your opinion there… in about a minute.” Good humor quirked his lip.

  She titled her head to the side and tried to control her breathing and rioting body. The man was sexy, dangerous… and likable. For a few moments, he’d taken her mind off the danger around them, as he’d no doubt meant to do. “I’ve already changed my opinion. You’re a good guy, whether you want to be or not.”

  He exhaled. “I’m not even close to a good guy, but the fact that you believe so makes me happy.”

  Smitty chose that moment to wander in from outside, his fluorescent pink suspenders nearly overpowering. He glanced from Laney to Matt. “Happy hour is almost upon us. You okay, Laney? You look flushed.”

  Chapter 12

  Matt finished delivering another round of drinks to some college kids home for the weekend, his gaze again turning toward the group of bikers at the far pool table. They were having a good time and seemed like decent guys. He glanced at his watch, surprised how the night had flown by. He’d need to make a move while the bar remained busy, and now was the time.

  He’d questioned Laney a bit more about Greg after the pharmacist had stomped out of the bar, discovering the guy lived in one of the houses scattered a few blocks away in an older subdivision. A quick flip through of the local phone book, and he’d found an actual address. Small towns—no real security. There was something off about the guy, and since Greg supposedly was at some Elks dance, now was the time for Matt to investigate.

  Tossing the tray across the bar, he gave Smitty the high sign. “I need to make a phone call—be back in a few.”

  Smitty nodded, his attention remaining on a woman sitting at the bar chatting with him. The gal had to be about fifty, and wore heavy blue makeup, which enhanced her sparkling brown eyes.

  Laney was in the kitchen scaring up some pizzas for the crowd, so Matt slipped out the back door and jogged down the sweet-smelling alley. He kept to the shadows, his senses tuned in to the night.

  Greg lived in an unassuming white cottage with overgrown grass and weeds. Apparently the guy didn’t like lawn work. Matt glanced around the quiet neighborhood and then quickly vaulted over a rickety fence to the backyard. Weeds and crumbled bricks made an odd pathway to a sliding glass door. He drew on leather gloves and tried the door. It was unlocked.

  What the hell was it with people who didn’t lock their doors? While even an excellent lock was only a minor deterrent, still, it was something.

  Matt slipped inside and waited for his eyes to accustom themselves to the dim light. No sounds echoed in the house—no breathing, no heartbeats. Good. Greg was out somewhere. A dog barked in the far distance, and wolves mourned in the hills.

  He used his phone as a flashlight to search the kitchen drawers. Old bills, parking tickets, and lottery tickets crammed the drawers full. A cursory glance at the living room illustrated leather chairs and yellowed newspapers. Continuing through the house, Matt trod lightly over scratched wooden floors and headed down a narrow hallway. The smell of copper hit him just as his foot slipped.

  His gloves smacked the wall to keep him from going down.

&
nbsp; Regaining his balance, he reached behind himself and shut the hallway door before flipping on the light, already knowing what he’d find. A large puddle of blood now held his perfect footprint. Arterial spray decorated the wall, which showed the shape of his hand.

  Damn it all to hell.

  His mind needed to get back into the game. He tugged off his boot and stepped over the blood and beyond a small bathroom into the home’s sole bedroom, which had been torn apart. The body had been tossed on the floor in a heap. Dropping to his haunches, Matt leaned close. No heartbeat.

  Greg’s blue eyes were open in horror and death. His hands revealed no bruising or defensive wounds. The guy hadn’t seen it coming.

  Matt straightened and surveyed the room. Drawers had been yanked from dressers, the contents spilled. His attention jerked to the photographs spread across the bed. All black-and-white, and all of Laney. Had Greg been stalking her? They were all simple printouts, probably from a home computer. A desk sat in the corner without a computer or printer. Had the killer taken them? If so, why?

  He glanced at his watch. Damn it—he needed to get back to the bar. After he erased any sign of his presence.

  The cleanup took about five minutes, and he tried to leave the crime scene as close to untouched as possible. He paused as he surveyed the pictures. They showed Laney at the bar, around town, even through the window of her apartment. The digital camera or phone that had been used to take them was missing, as was the computer that had printed them out.

  Fury filled him, and he wasted precious moments shoving it down.

  Taking the pictures was a risk to him, and so was leaving them at the crime scene. The murderer had obviously rifled through them, and the sheriff knew Matt was sleeping with Laney. Since Greg had dated her, Matt would already be a suspect in Greg’s death. The pictures of Laney would focus the sheriff on Laney, and in turn, the cop would take a closer look at Matt. He couldn’t afford a closer look right now.

  Without the pictures, Greg was just a dork who’d taken Laney to dinner once. With the pictures, Greg was more than that—an intense stalker who may have gone too far, or who may have seen something he shouldn’t have.