Get a Clue

On the other hand, they die earlier.

– Breanne Mooreland's Journal Entry

Breanne pushed up on her elbows and stared at the body. 'Oh, my God! Are you okay?'

It was a man. He lay flat on his back, arms and legs sprawled, not moving. There was a gash on his forehead, the blood dried.

Surging up to her knees, she put her hands on his shoulder. 'Can you hear me?'

When he didn't budge, a very bad feeling snaked through her. The thick, icky air seemed to close in around her as she stared at him, heart pounding in her throat. Who was he? Nicely dressed, he wore dark trousers and a dark, long-sleeved shirt. He was missing a shoe, she thought inanely. 'Can you hear me?' she repeated.

Nothing. Less than nothing. 'I was really hoping you'd blink,' she whispered. 'Or moan. Anything.'

He didn't blink or moan.

Or anything.

Oh, God. She got down low and tried to peer into his face. Please be okay, please be okay… Could she see a pulse in the base of his neck? As she leaned in, her hand slipped from his shoulder to his chest, which felt… stiff.

She pulled her hand back and stared at him in horror. 'Oh, my God. You're not unconscious. You're…'

Dead.

Her entire body went as stiff as his. Her stomach sank, everything sank, weighing her down so she couldn't seem to move.

Dead.

The knowledge sort of seeped into her brain in slow motion, and when it finally landed and was processed, she did what any sensible city girl stuck in the mountains in a snowstorm without luggage, who'd found a naked guy and a dead guy within a few hours of each other, would do.

She scrunched up her eyes and screamed.

In what might have been an eternity or only a moment later, footsteps sounded above her. Cooper appeared. 'Breanne?' He took the stairs two at a time, those always-aware eyes narrowing in on the body at her feet.

While Breanne's eyes narrowed in on the object in Cooper's hand.

A gun.

A gun.

It was hard to wrap her mind around much in the condition she was in, but facts were facts. She'd screamed and he'd come running, ready to slay a dragon for her.

'What the hell happened?' Cooper demanded.

'I don't know.'

He hunkered down and put his fingers to the man's neck, then looked up at her, slowly shaking his head.

Breanne slapped a hand over her mouth to hold in another scream.

Rising, Cooper stuffed his gun in the waistband of his jeans low at his back and took her arms in his hands. 'You okay?'

A few moments ago, he'd had her up against a wall, skirt shoved up to her belly button, hands in her panties, his fingers driving her straight to oblivion, and now… now he was this intense, cool, calm, and collected man.

With a gun.

'Breanne. Are you okay?'

She stared at him. He had his shirt loose and draped over the bulge of his gun. He looked rough-and-tumble. Badass.

Damn it, she had a serious weakness for badass.

'Breanne?'

'P-pretty sure I'm n-not okay.' Her teeth were chattering again, though she wasn't cold. Or maybe she was and she couldn't tell because she'd gone numb.

With a low sound of empathy, he pulled her close, a protective gesture that felt amazingly seductive for its sweetness, so much so that she felt herself want to cling. Just for a moment, she told herself, and did just that: wrapped her arms around his neck and absorbed his strength, his heat.

How was she going to resist this? Him?

Didn't matter, she'd find a way. She'd promised herself a break from bad decisions, and anything she did here, while out of her element and scared and hurt, would be bad. Very bad.

Probably she should stay out of cellars, too.

Cooper pulled back, leaving his hands on her arms, and looked into her eyes. 'Tell me why you're standing over a dead body.'

'I got lost. I tripped over him.'

'He was here when you got here? Like this?'

'Well, I didn't put him here!'

'Okay.' He stroked his hands up and down her arms. 'Damn. A dead body. I hate it when that happens.'

She let out a hysterical laugh. 'He's dead. Omigod, when did he get that way? Last night? When I saw a face over me? What if I was almost the dead body? What if-'

'Shh.' He waited until she'd gulped in a breath and nodded.

She was okay. She was going to hold it together. She was. You've got a gun.'

'Yeah.'

Was that his voice, all tight and grim, and so unlike the sexy, low, rough one he'd used only a few moments ago to murmur naughty nothings in her ear? 'Cooper, why do you have a gun?'

'How about first we figure out why you have a corpse at your feet?'

She hugged herself and carefully didn't look down. 'That's easy. Because I'm in the twilight zone. Or having a dream. Any minute now, I'm going to wake up.'

'Sit,' he said gently, and backed her to the bottom stair and pushed her down. 'Hang tight.'

Hang tight. Sure. She'd just do that while Cooper squatted next to the body about fifteen feet away, his eyes scanning the layout, taking it all in as he pulled out a cell phone. He looked at the display and swore at his lack of reception.

'Please tell me why you have a gun,' she said as he shoved the cell back into his pocket. 'And why you were holding it like a cop.'

'I am a cop.' He glanced up at her. 'Or I was until last week when I quit.'

More running footsteps sounded above them, then suddenly Shelly and Dante were crowding for space in the doorway above, peering down.

Shelly gasped, Dante swore, and they both came tearing down the steps.

From some dim corner of her mind Breanne realized that if Shelly had come with Dante from somewhere in the house, she couldn't have been in that next room humming, but then Shelly let out a shocked cry and lifted her apron to cover her mouth, her eyes wide and wild. 'Oh, my God!'

Dante didn't say a word, just put a hand on Shelly's shoulder.

'Who is he?' Cooper asked them.

Shelly just stared at the body, her mouth still covered.

Dante lifted his gaze, hooded and inscrutable.

'Do you know him?' Cooper asked.

'Yeah.' Dante's voice was like granite. 'We know him.'