No Chance in Hell (2 page)

“Well, Not Sure, you won’t know unless you go inside.”

Tall, tan, and broad-shouldered, he reached around her and pushed the door open. His muscles flexed, stretching his white shirt sleeve to the max. Cool air caressed her face. His scent, clean and masculine, filled her senses.

“Coming?” he asked. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Head and shoulders taller than Chris, he looked down at her with warm brown eyes. A lock of chestnut-colored hair fell onto his forehead, and he raked it back with a large hand.
 

“You work here?” She hoped his answer would be yes. His eyes projected a quiet confidence, and the way he carried himself left no doubt that he feared no man.

“Yes, ma’am.”

There was only one way to find out if Dalton had been right about Lost and Found, Inc. “Then let’s do this,” she said.
 

****

Marcus Ricci held the door open to allow the woman to enter the office first.

“Thank you.” She nodded, never taking her gaze off him.

“No problem.” That he even noticed a hint of citrus trailing behind her surprised him. He sometimes imagined Lynne’s perfume on the pillow, but that was late at night when he was alone and thoughts of her sneaked up on him.
 

He followed the blond-haired woman inside, pushing away his memories. If the faint circles under her eyes were any indication, the lady hadn’t slept well in a while. Even looking exhausted, she’d stop traffic with her creamy complexion and that body. Her eyes had been full of defiance when she’d backed away from him. Yet, behind that bravado, he’d seen an underlying fear. That troubled him. She had the look of a woman who was losing hope while clinging desperately to her pride. She exuded mystery, and Marcus loved nothing better.
 

He paused just inside while she stopped and looked around the office. The work space was laid out much like a police station bullpen. Everyone had a desk and chair, a couple of filing cabinets, and no privacy. Few of their cases functioned as a one-man operation. Even if the help came from one of these desks, backup was always available. The only way to describe their work space was “organized clutter.”

Except for Ty Castillo’s area. Now that he lived in and worked out of Colombia, his desk had turned into a wasteland. Nate was probably holding that spot open for Jake Donovan, the fourth male in a friendship that had formed in college. Ten years later, three of Wolfe’s Pack, as Nate’s wife, Kay, had called them, had joined forces when her life had been threatened. After the crisis had ended, Nate and Kay had married. Marcus and Ty had joined the newlyweds at the agency, mainly because each one carried their own personal guilt for something. Maybe helping others would atone in some small way.
 

“Nate,” Kay called over her shoulder. Her eyes were wide and full of curiosity. She came out from behind her desk with a silly smile plastered on her face. “Marcus is back, and he brought a friend.”

“No.” He squashed that idea quickly. No point in getting Kay started down the wrong path. “She’s a lady who’s not sure she should’ve come inside.”
 

“Then let’s figure it out together.” Nate Wolfe walked out of the break room holding a cup. “Black? Cream and sugar?” he asked the woman.

“Black, please.”

“Come in.” Kay took over while her husband went for the coffee. She introduced herself and then Nate when he returned. “You’ve met Marcus Ricci?”

“Not officially,” Marcus said as he disconnected Diablo’s leash and then extended his hand.

“Christine Holland.” Her grip was strong for such a small-boned woman. “I prefer Chris.”
 

Her hand fit his as if made from a smaller mold. Heat traveled from her fingers up his arm, forcing Marcus to release her.

“You okay with a group meeting?” Nate asked.

“That’s fine,” Chris agreed.

Kay escorted their guest to the small room they used as command central. Diablo followed Kay, dropping at her feet when she sat. Marcus, figuring Chris would feel more comfortable next to another woman, parked himself next to Nate on the opposite side of the table.

“So what brings you to Lost and Found?” Nate went straight to business.

“My sister was murdered...no, slaughtered, two years ago this month.” A deep crease formed between her eyes. “I need help.”

Marcus liked that she was quick and to the point. He also picked up on an underlying bitterness in her voice. “I take it no arrests have been made.”

“None. No suspects have been identified, either.”

“You’re not satisfied with how the police are handling the case?”

‘‘I’m sure they did their best. I’m told the case has gone cold.”

She removed a file from her oversize handbag, placed it on the conference table, and then laid her hand on top of it. She set her purse on the floor. The muffled thud it made caught his attention. He glanced at Nate, whose eyebrows rose toward the ceiling. He’d heard it, too.

The lady carried a gun.
 

“You have a license to carry?” Marcus asked.
 

“Of course.” Chris blinked a couple of times, as if surprised by the question.

“Tell us how we can help.”

“Maybe I’d better start from the beginning. My sister, Chelsea, had a lot of problems. Drugs, to be specific. When she started stealing from our family, things really got bad between her and our parents. They’d paid for her rehab a number of times, but nothing worked. When our father died and the will was read, we learned he’d had her name removed from all bequests. He’d divided everything between our mother and me. Chelsea went off the deep end. She blamed us. Accused us of turning Dad against her. Soon after, she disappeared, breaking all ties.”

“Did you try to locate her?” Kay asked.

“Yes. I’m pretty savvy with a computer, so I regularly searched online for her. Called the few friends of hers I knew, but she’d vanished.” Chris paused and sipped her coffee. “Our mother couldn’t survive without Dad. She overdosed in February. The last thing she asked me to do was find Chelsea.”

“You’ve lost a lot.” Kay’s tone was soft and full of sympathy.
 

Chris nodded. “Mother’s part of the estate was placed in a trust for Chelsea. As executor, I was to ensure she successfully completed a six-month stint in rehab before half of the funds were made available to her. If she stayed clean for one year, my instructions were to give her the balance. I’d failed in my attempt to find her, so I hired a private detective. He located her living just outside of Dallas in North Riverview. She hadn’t been but twenty-five miles away from us the whole time.”

“I’m guessing it was too late,” Marcus said.

“Yes.” Her words were a whisper, but he heard the pain in her voice.

“With your sister’s death, you inherited everything?” Nate asked.

“I’m the only living relative, so that would be a yes.” Her eyes darkened to a chilling blue. “If I’d arrived at my sister’s house one day sooner or even an hour earlier, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“How so?” Marcus asked. She’d piqued his interest.

“Because Chelsea might still be alive and living with me in Dallas.” Chris closed her eyes as if to gather herself. “Her wounds were fresh when I got there. According to the medical examiner, she probably died a few minutes before I pushed my way inside.”

“Wait,” Marcus interrupted. “Are you saying the killer was there when you broke in?”

“Yes. I still have nightmares.”

“That’s a tough image to carry around.” He’d seen death, knew the mark it left on you. Guilt for not being there when a loved one needed you could eat at a person. It hadn’t helped when people told him it wasn’t his fault, so he wouldn’t waste time telling her. “Sorry for the interruption. I wanted to be sure I understood. Please, go on.”

Chris nodded and said, “Her car was home and a light was on. Given her drug history, when she didn’t answer, I forced the door open. Her murderer attacked me from behind, but I fought back and got away.”

“Did you get a good look at him?” Nate asked. He leaned forward in his chair, and Marcus recognized the expression. They had a new case.
 

“Yes.” Her hand went to her neck. “I saw his face when he choked me, but when the police arrived and questioned me, I couldn’t describe him. My doctor diagnosed it as a kind of retrograde amnesia.”

“I’ve heard that’s not uncommon when someone goes through something that traumatic. The fact you escaped is incredible.” Kay’s tone was sincere. She knew all about escaping a killer.
 

“And the police didn’t turn up any clues?” Marcus asked.

“None were ever found. Well, that I know of.” Chris pushed the file to the center of the table. “Like I said, her case is considered cold.”

“You want us to find your sister’s killer?” Nate asked.
 

Marcus rested his hand on top of the folder. No doubt, it contained painful memories, and he saw no need to open it in front of Chris.
 

“Yes. If he’s not caught and locked away, you’ll be looking for my killer.” She paled at her own words. Her back was stiff, and her hands, curled into fists, rested on the table. Her chest rose and fell unsteadily as if the simple act of breathing exhausted her. “Sooner or later, Chelsea’s murderer will kill me, too.”
 

“What makes you think the killer has come back for you after all this time?” Marcus asked. He was glad he’d helped her decide to come in and talk.

“He never went away. I move and he finds me. He’s stalking me,” she said.

“How did you come across Lost and Found?” Nate asked.

“Dalton Murphy said you were the best in the business when it came to helping people.”

“You’re a fed?” Marcus formed a quick image in his head of her wearing dark pants, a white blouse, and low-heeled boots. It didn’t work. Sitting there in front of him in a silky blue blouse over crisp white slacks, she looked more like a model. She was maybe five-foot-eight, trim, and sexy right down to her red toenails peeking through her strappy sandals.

“No.” She smiled, and he was struck by her beauty. “I volunteer at Dallas Animal Services. We received word the FBI had busted a dog-fighting ring, and the shelter in Atlanta needed extra hands.”

“I remember him busting that operation,” Marcus said.

“I didn’t work directly with him. Hundreds of dogs needed medical attention. I helped crate and load many of them.”

Kay leaned down and put her hand on Diablo’s head. “Sheesh. That had to be a heart-breaking assignment.”

“It was tragic. I still worry about those poor animals.” Chris shook her head, as if pushing away images best forgotten. “Anyway, during a few minutes of downtime, I caught myself spilling my guts to Dalton.”

Nate huffed out a breath. “It’s a talent of his. Nobody can keep a secret around him.”

“Do you have any family here?” Marcus pressed.

“I have no one anywhere.” Chris was silent for a minute, as if weighing what to say. “I’m the last Holland.”
 

“Let’s get back to your sister’s killer and how you know he’s after you.” Nate looked up from his legal pad.

“Up until last night his only contact with me was to send me flowers with cryptic messages. He knew where I lived in Dallas, and now he knows exactly where I moved to in North Dallas. He was in my town house last night. He covered my mouth with a rag. Something was on it that knocked me out.”

“What did he say?” Marcus asked. Damn, the woman’s story was intriguing.

“He warned me that I couldn’t have new friends.” She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips.

“That’s it?” Kay asked.

“I remember him rattling on about me being privileged and never having to wonder about my next meal.”

“Tell me you got a look at him,” Marcus said.

“It was too dark. I tried to pick up on something, anything that would help but couldn’t.”

“What else happened? Did he get personal? Touch you?”

“Not in the way I think you’re thinking. He kissed me.” She placed her finger on the spot. “Here.”
 

“The son of a bitch is brazen,” Marcus said.

Chris unclenched her fists and dropped her hands to her lap. Marcus couldn’t tell if it meant she was relaxing or about to run.
 

“I know my story is bizarre. I swear that I’m not some silly, high-strung female who cries wolf every time the wind rattles the windows. Sometimes, flowers just show up on my doorstep. The card sends a direct message, like, ‘You saw what I did to your sister. Wait till you find out what I’m going to do to you.’ Or, ‘Flowers like these will look good on your grave.’ Occasionally, a florist shop delivers them. Those cards are more cryptic. ‘See you soon.’ or ‘Can’t wait to see you again.’“
 

“How long have you lived in Dallas?” Marcus understood why she’d been skittish when he’d startled her outside. Someone was out to get her, and she was wary of any stranger.

“Dallas has been home since I was adopted. I moved to the North side of town a little over six months ago.”