“King Brunes said Daniel was killed. I have to look into it.”
Her eyes shot to his. “The Justicar we just met with?”
He nodded, his expression grim. “Seems he got his skull bashed in by car tires—twice. Stay here; I’ll be right back.”
He left and closed the office door after him. She fidgeted in her seat, then finally turned the chair so she could keep an eye on the door. She didn’t like having it at her back...anyone could come in behind her.
She couldn’t help but notice his office. It looked as immaculately clean as his home did. The desk was black and shiny, his walls a shiny bright white that gleaned back the reflection of the fluorescent light overhead. It all felt very hospital-like.
A shadow appeared in the doorway. Some instinct inside made her freeze, as if by not moving, the shadow wouldn’t be able to see her and would go away. The thick-paned glass showed no features, only the figure of a man. The hairs at the back of her neck stood on end and her stomach muscles bunched hard like she was about to take a hit. She dared not even take a breath.
It could be him.
The figure turned to face the door and she sucked in a breath. She already knew what would happen next. The door would open and Joseph’s stocky face would be there with his angry dark eyes and hard fists. The head of the figure moved as if searching inside the office or reading the label on the door which read: Justicar Brayden Erickson. The figure might have stood there for only a few seconds, but it felt as though time had stilled. She wanted to leap from her seat and switch the light off, but then whoever it was would know someone was in there for sure. She wanted to turn the small lock on the handle, but she couldn’t move. She sat rooted in place in fear.
Then the figure turned and kept walking down the hall. Only then did she release the breath she’d been holding.
The door swung open and she screamed. Brayden eyed her curiously; he had a thick manila envelope in his hands. He checked her from head to toe, then closed the door behind him.
“What’s wrong?”
Deep breaths. Deep breaths. “Nothing. Just freaking myself out, I think.”
His gaze fell down, left her eyes. “You can stop gripping the chair like you’re trying to strangle it now.”
Startled, she looked down to find what he saw. She had a death grip on the arms of the chair. Slowly, she uncurled her fingers, but then they felt empty so she grabbed her can of soda two-handed and drank it. The taste fell flat and lifeless on her tongue.
He moved around her and took a seat at his desk. She didn’t even watch him move, just heard his soft steps on the carpet floor. Her gaze stay glued to the thick-paned glass, which made everything on the outside look milky and blurred, sinister.
“Vanessa.”
She jumped, then looked at him. She hated the look on his face. The concern. It made her feel like a crazy person whom he couldn’t dare leave alone for a minute without doing something nutty.
“Yeah?”
“Just give me a minute and I’ll get you out of here. You’re safe with me. You know that, right?”
She took a deep breath and let it out. The man had tracked down kidnappers just to save her. He’d killed them with his freaking hands. Yes, she knew he could be dangerous, and yes she trusted, so she nodded.
What she soon realized as she crossed her legs into an Indian-style position was that Brayden’s sense of time was way off. He poured over papers, his brow furrowed deep, occasionally scribbling down notes in a small black notebook as the hour hand on the clock on the wall ticked by. He didn’t speak. He didn’t even make a sound except when he flipped a page over or tucked it behind the rest of the stack.
Her skin felt itchy. She couldn’t stop scratching her nails across her arms. Pink lines had already started to appear across her forearms like she’d been under some kind of animal attack. Every few seconds or so, it seemed, she found herself staring at that door waiting to see if the figure would appear again. But it didn’t. He didn’t.
Seething inside, she scrubbed a hand through her hair and tugged until the strands pulled along her scalp nearing the point of pain—then she pulled harder until spikes of pain exploded along her skull. Her heart rate calmed then and her body relaxed, some.
Sighing, she looked back at Brayden and found him staring intently at her. A flush came over her. Had he just seen her childish little tug-of-hair bit? His eyes flicked up to her hair and she gulped. Yes, yes he did.
“All right, let’s get out of here.”
She was out of her seat and waiting at the door in a flash. “God, I feel like I’ve been cramped up in here all day.” Looking back at the clock, she moaned. More like three hours. Brayden’s sense of timing was way off.
He shoved the files back into the folder then led her out of the office. She glanced behind them but found only an empty hall with shiny white floors that looked freshly cleaned and buffed. No mysterious man waiting for her at the end of the hallway.
Cool air greeted her outside. It felt like a breath of fresh air after the stifling pounding of the A/C unit in the office. “Did you find out anything interesting?” she asked.
He didn’t answer for a moment. At the SUV parked in the lot, he opened her door and let her climb in. Only after he climbed in and took off did he answer. “The first car that hit Daniel was a hit and run. It happened late last night. Two witnesses saw it happen, but said it was too dark to get a license plate number. Only recalled that it was a ‘dark car’. The second car that hit him had been an accident from all accounts. The woman who’d done it is human with a husband, small house, and four kids. Paperwork says she slammed on the brakes as soon as she saw Daniel get hit. But the car who hit him sped off fast, and even hitting her brakes, it wasn’t enough to stop her in time. She ran him over.”
Vanessa’s stomach rolled with a curling queasiness. “God, that’s awful. That poor woman.”
“Reports said they had a hard time talking to her. She was nearly incoherent from crying. We’ll go have a talk with her soon.”
Vanessa's gaze slammed to his. “Say what? Why? After what she went through?”
He nodded and his voice grew harder. “Yes, we have to. Or rather, I have to. I need to talk to her myself. What kind of food do you like?” he asked.
The quick change of topic sent her fumbling. “Um, Mexican is pretty great.”
He nodded. A few minutes later, he pulled into a brightly lit and colorful restaurant. A folksy trumpet blared an uppity beat over the speakers outside. The aromas of spicy meat, corn, and flour instantly brought a smile to her a face and a growl to her stomach.
“Do you think he’s trying to cover this whole thing up since you’re looking into it?”
He grabbed her hand making her stomach clench with something warm and exciting. His was so much bigger, stronger than her. His palms were slightly coarse, his skin not quite as warm as hers, but still warm enough she’d like to cuddle against him and just let him hold her. Her stomach dancing with excited nerves when he threaded their fingers together. When his thumb made a pass across hers, her breath stuttered.
“That’s exactly what he’s doing.”
An hour later, she was fed. No, stuffed more like, with refried beans, chicken and beef enchiladas and a lot of extra guacamole and cheese. She’d even ordered a strawberry margarita under Brayden’s warning eyes. She’d hesitated, but ordered it anyway. She had one life to live, might as well live it up. And, by God, did she make the right choice. That margarita was delicious! She finished the whole thing while gobbling up her enchiladas in record time.