Get a Clue (20 page)

He wanted to wake her up.

But he knew how exhausted she was, mostly from stress, so instead, he kissed her shoulder and listened to her breathe, with no idea what he was doing, because this sure didn't feel like a quick little ski bunny sort of thing.

It didn't feel like a quick little anything.

He wondered if it was still snowing, if they'd indeed be able to shovel out tomorrow and get into town. Then there was the matter of the dead body.

Even as he thought it, from far, far below, somewhere in the house, came a very soft thud.

Cooper's hackles rose. It was past midnight. Past the hour that Shelly would be making noise in the kitchen, or Dante would be doing whatever it was he did.

Maybe it was Lariana and Patrick with their habit of screwing in every room of the house. He didn't know, but there would be no relaxing now until he made sure. He slipped out of the bed.

Breanne rolled to her belly, spread-eagle, hogging all the space and the blankets, which made him grin. “Be right back,” he whispered, but she didn't move.

He slipped into his Levi's, stuck his gun in the waistband, grabbed the flashlight he'd commandeered, and headed out.

The hallway was pitch black. He flicked on the flashlight, which didn't help much, but he knew his way by now. The noise had come from somewhere downstairs; he knew this, though as he searched, he found nothing in the great room, the kitchen, or the dining room.

Nothing anywhere.

He was halfway back to his bed and Breanne when he remembered.

Edward.

Swearing, he whipped around, making his way to the servants' quarters. The doors there were all shut, and silent. So was the cellar door. But the strand of his own hair he'd carefully draped across the jamb had fallen.

Someone had been in here.

Alert, he let himself in, shining the light down the stairs. “Hello?”

No one answered, but then again he hadn't expected anyone to advertise the fact that they'd gone against his command to stay out of there.

Edward was beginning to smell bad.

Bending down, Cooper tried not to inhale as he looked over the body. Because of the cellar's icy temps, decomposition had begun slowly, but it had begun. “Your bruises are surfacing,” he murmured, especially the long, dark bruise now accompanying the gash on the forehead. There was another bruise just below the Adam's apple. Cooper knew if he unbuttoned Edward's shirt, he'd see another across his chest.

The lines of the stairs, where he'd hit them face-first.

“Were you pushed?” he wondered out loud. “Or was it a terrible accident?”

And who'd moved him from the bottom of the stairs to his current spot?

Questions he really had no right to ask, but the cop in him just wouldn't let it rest. With a sigh, he rose, looking around.

There was no clue as to who'd come in here, or why, but at least the body didn't appear to have been moved.

He thought of Breanne asleep in the honeymoon suite, trusting him to keep her safe. He wasn't exactly sure when it had happened, but he trusted her, too.

Almost as unnerving as the dead body at his feet. “Hang tight, Edward,” he said, and made his way back upstairs, to the warm woman waiting there for him.

Okay, so she wasn't waiting so much as snoring lightly into his pillow.

But he'd take that.

He'd take her.

She let out a soft “Mmm” when he slipped back into the bed, sleepily moving into his arms. “Cooper?” she whispered groggily.

Who the hell did she
think
it was? “Yeah,” he said, tucking her beneath him, making himself at home between her thighs. “Me.”

And then he set out to show her . . .

The next morning—Cooper's second in the middle of his so-called vacation—was a mixed blessing for him. He'd slept all night with an incredibly hot, sexy woman, and nothing beat that.

But unfortunately, it was still dumping snow. And by dumping, he meant huge, fat snowman-sized flakes that accumulated in a blink of an eye. Not a good day for going outside, but it was a great day for being in bed with that hot, sexy woman. They had a whole basket of condoms left, in some extremely inventive colors and flavors.

But he was alone in the bed.

Damn bad luck for him.

He rolled off the mattress and stepped on an empty, lime-green condom packet.

And then a wily watermelon one.

Yeah,
he thought with a grin . . . last night had been something. To his delight, Breanne had turned out to be a sensual, earthy, passionate lover. He couldn't believe she'd doubted herself. Kissing, licking, touching every single one of those doubts away had been his pleasure.

There'd be no more nights, though. Today they'd shovel out, then ride a snowmobile for help.

And go their separate ways, just as she wished.

Telling himself he was good with that, he hit the shower, then made his way down the stairs, noting there was still no electricity.

Dante appeared out of nowhere, dressed in black, oversized jeans and a football jersey, hat low on his head. “If you're hungry,” he said, “Shelly's put together what she can for breakfast.”

“Still no generator?”

Dante lifted a shoulder. “Patrick's on it.”

“He's been on it a long time.”

“To tell you the truth, Patrick's not all that great at his job.”

Gee,
Cooper thought, there's a news flash. “Then why does the owner keep him?”

“The owner doesn't know. Patrick was hired by Edward.”

“And Edward never noticed that Patrick the fix-it guy isn't any good at fixing stuff?”

Dante lifted his shoulder again.

“Come on, Dante. By all accounts, Edward was a tough boss. Why would he keep Patrick on here?”

“Edward's sister made him hire Patrick,” Dante admitted.

“Why?”

“Because she's Patrick's mom.”

Yesterday, when a very dead Edward had been discovered, Patrick had had little reaction.
No
reaction, actually.

And yet Edward had been Patrick's
uncle?
An uncle who'd given him a livelihood? “How does Patrick feel about his uncle's death?”

“Why don't you ask him?”

“Did Edward give Patrick as hard a time as he did the women?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds like the guy had some management issues.”

Dante let out a hard laugh.

“And maybe some social issues.”

“If you mean he was an asshole, you're dead-on.” Dante's gaze never wavered. “No pun intended.”

“We need to get him out of here,” Cooper said. “You knew that. We need to get through to town.”

“The generator—”

“Forget the generator. I saw the snowmobiles. If we all put in some effort, we can dig out. Two of us can ride until we get reception, or into town to report Edward's death.”

Dante just looked at him.

“It has to be reported sooner or later,” Cooper said.

“That's not what I'm hesitating over,” Dante said.

“Then what?”

“The shoveling-out part.”

“How hard can it be?”

Dante shook his head. “Spoken like someone who's never had to spend hours digging out his car. That snow is some heavy shit, man.”

“Don't you have a snowblower?”

“Sure. But Patrick was a bonehead and left it under the eaves of the shed, which has unloaded about two tons of snow onto it since the storm began. That should take all day alone to shovel out—if it's not crushed, that is.”

“You're exaggerating.”

“You think so?” Dante's smile was grim. “I'll be happy to prove a cop wrong.”

Cooper sighed. “I don't know what your beef is with cops, but—”

“Just go eat,” Dante said. “Then we'll start.”

“We'll get Patrick to help, too.”

Dante nodded. “Sure. But just so you know, he's not much better at shoveling than he is at fixing stuff.”

“Great.” Cooper started to walk away, then turned back. “Hey, did you stay up late last night?”

Dante's expression closed. “Why?”

“I heard something, around midnight. Just wondering if you heard it, too.”

Dante slowly shook his head. “Didn't hear a thing.” With that, he turned and vanished.

Cooper stood there watching, thinking . . .
but I never told you what I heard
.

 

 

The lack of electricity wasn't nearly as disconcerting in the light of day—even though that light of day was so muted as to be nearly inconsequential. Cooper passed the foyer and stopped short. A huge mountain of snow stood in front of the open door.

Then the mountain began to move, turning into the outline of a man as he shook the snow off like a great big dog.

Powdery white flakes flew through the foyer, landing on every surface, including Cooper. That wasn't what sucked the air from Cooper's lungs, though; the shocking wind whipping through the open door did that.

“Bloody hell.” Patrick looked around at the mess he'd just made. “Lariana will be killing me for this.” Undeterred by the prospect, he stomped his feet, and more snow fell off him. He wore some sort of head-to-toe snowsuit, which still had snow stuck to every inch, his ever-present tool belt rattling as he stomped. “Sticky shit,” he said conversationally in his Scottish brogue.

Cooper shivered. It had to be close to zero degrees. “Any luck with anything out there?”

Patrick shook his shaggy head regretfully as he shut the door, closing out the unbelievably bitter cold. “The generator is a no-go. The thing needs to be replaced. We actually have one on order but this storm came early. Didn't expect to be needing it so soon.” With a rather absent smile, he walked past Cooper.

“Patrick?”

Lifting a hand to remove his beanie, which left his red hair standing up on end, the fix-it guy glanced back.

“Did you hear anything odd last night around midnight?”

“Not a thing, mate. But this place is haunted.”

“Haunted?”

“By Edward's ghost.” He said this utterly without a flicker of emotion one way or the other.

“I'm sorry about Edward, Patrick.”

“Don't be.”

“He was your uncle.”

“He was a sorry excuse for a man.” Then he turned on his heel and clinked off.

Cooper walked to the doorway and thunked his head on the wall.

“Is that like snapping your heels together three times and saying ‘There's no place like home, there's no place like home?'”

Cooper lifted his head. Shelly stood there, watching him with a curious smile. Wearing whitewashed jeans rolled up to the top of her Ugg boots and a forest-green sweater with a small apron over the top of it, she looked like a melodious, euphoric little thing.

“There are whole days where I feel like bashing my head against a wall, too,” she confided, and reached up to give him a little pat on the shoulder. “But not on an empty stomach.”

“You look happy.”

“I like it when there's guests here.”

How about when there's a dead body?
“I hope we're going to dig out today. You up for lending a hand?”

“Sure.” She pushed up her sweater and flexed her arms. “I work out. You don't think it's easy lifting huge pots full of stew or chili, do you? I'm a snow-shoveling machine.”

He felt her biceps and found rock-hard strength. “You
are
pretty solid.”

Solid enough to have moved a dead body?

“Come into the dining room and get some food,” she said.

Having burned every spare calorie worshipping Breanne's body all night long, his belly twitched hopefully.

“Oh! Breanne said to give you this.” Shelly reached into her apron and pulled out a small piece of paper, folded in some complicated way that took him a minute to open.
Meet me in the theater room. B.

“A love note?” Shelly asked.

He stuck the paper in his pocket. “Not quite. Where's the theater room?”

“Down the hall, right past the library, then left.” She looked up into his face, suddenly serious. “She's a real sweetheart—you know that, right? Because she's been hurt, being stood up at the altar like that, I don't want to see anything else happen to her, especially out here where she feels alone and so vulnerable.”

“Nothing's going to happen to her.”

“You slept with her last night.” She cringed. “I know, none of my business. Just . . . just be good to her.”

And with that demand, she left him alone.

Cooper sighed—good thing so many people were worried about
him
—and left to find the theater room. Turns out he couldn't miss it with the two rows of luxurious red velvet seating, the huge screen, and last but definitely not least, the elaborate system on the right that rivaled any theater he'd ever been to.

But the room, however swank and sophisticated, was empty.

“Breanne?” His tennis shoes sank into the plush carpeting as he came to a halt just in front of a large sliding door on his right. The door slid open and a hand shot out, fisting on the front of his shirt, yanking him inside.

He smelled her just as the door slid shut again, that sexy combination of shampoo and woman, and because it was Breanne, he let her accost him. “All you had to do was ask,” he murmured, lowering his mouth as he slid his arms around her.

“Mmm,” she said at the kiss, and then again as she touched her tongue to his.

Oh, yeah. Now
this
was the way to start a day. Pressing her back against something—he couldn't see a damn thing—he dove into the kiss as a few things fell down over the top of them. Probably DVDs. He didn't know, didn't care, as long as he had this woman and her body against his.

After they were both breathless, she pulled back, and at a small click, light surrounded them from the small lantern she'd turned on. They were in a closet, surrounded by shelves filled with DVDs, videos, and various electronic games. On the floor littered around their feet were the movies they'd knocked down.

And in front of him, gorgeously disheveled, stood Breanne, her mouth still wet from his.

She stared at his mouth as well, looking more than a little . . . flummoxed.

He knew the feeling, as he was currently bowled over himself, with the wanting of her; a wanting he was coming slowly to realize couldn't be sated by lust or even common sense.

She wore her own jeans today, and that pink, fuzzy sweater he'd first seen her in. It crisscrossed over her breasts and had a tie just beneath them. He itched to yank on it and unravel her.

“You came to me,” she said, as if surprised.

He'd have thought they'd gotten past that, but if she needed reassurance, he could give it to her. His hands went to her hips and he brought her back against him, lowering his head, nuzzling her throat. “Soon as I got the note. I was hoping we'd still be in bed, but you vanished on me.”

When he touched his tongue to her skin, she shivered, but put her hands to his shoulders and pushed back to look into his eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Leaning back in, he took a little bite out of her tasty skin, loving the way she trembled. “We could be having a great time right this very minute. Naked.”

Her hands tightened on his shoulders, her fingers digging into him as his mouth cruised over her. “Is that . . . right?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Letting out a slow exhale in her ear, he smiled when she shivered again. “I could be tasting you from head to toe. I'd start here—” He took a little nip out of her shoulder.

“That sounds . . . nice,” she said, sounding as if she was having trouble getting air into her lungs.

“Nice?” He let out a choking laugh. “Trust me, it would have been a helluva lot better than
nice
.”

She looked so intrigued he wrapped a finger around the pink angora tie beneath her breasts and tugged.

But she put her finger on the bow, preventing it from slipping out of its knot. “That's the only thing holding the sweater on.”

“Is it?” He tugged again.

She held onto the bow. “Want to know a secret?”

“If it involves being naked.”

“I've always had this closet fantasy . . .” She whispered this softly, as if she found the suggestion almost too naughty to bear.

But nothing was too naughty for Cooper, and though he'd been hard since she first yanked him in here, his jeans got even tighter.

“But if you'd rather go back to the bedroom—”

“No, let's stay in your fantasy.” Taking her hands, he brought them down to her sides, urging them to grasp onto the shelf at her hips.

Both excitement and nervousness filled her eyes, but she held the shelf and let him pull on the string of her sweater until it popped free.

The sweater sagged in front where it was crisscrossed. A little nudge with his finger and it fell open, exposing a siren-red lace number that shot him from zero to sixty in one second flat.