Get a Clue

floor, anywhere but at him, wondering how long it would be before one of them cracked. Correction-before she cracked.

Finally she ran out of things to look at, so she looked at Cooper again. Honestly, she could have looked at him all day long, with those jeans, faded to white in all the stress spots and worn like an old friend. His shirt was snug to his broad shoulders, untucked, and, she suspected, draped over the gun at his hip.

Which reminded her.

Dead body.

Unknown murderer.

Then, as if fate thought this whole thing funny as hell, his flashlight flickered and went out, leaving them in complete darkness.

Chapter 17

Cheer up-I'm sure the worst is yet to come.

– Breanne Mooreland's Journal Entry

Breanne's heart clenched and she let out an inadvertent whimper, but before she could really get behind a healthy panic, a hand settled on her shoulder.

She nearly swallowed her tongue, and with a terrified squeak, brought up the knives.

'Whoa, there,' Cooper said softly, as if talking to a spooked horse. 'Just me, remember?'

Right. Just him. The only man in her entire life that had- in less than twenty-four hours-made her feel precious, sexy, smart-

'What's up with the knives?'

'Oh, these?' She forced a laugh. 'I thought I'd whip up some stir-fry-'

'It's going to be okay, Bree. You know that, right?'

See, now that should have rankled. The way he'd shortened her name was pompous, and yet… nice. No one had ever called her Bree before. No one had ever thought to.

But damn it, she was independent, fiercely so; she didn't need him. 'How, exactly, will it be okay? I'm in a house with a dead body, and probably also the person who made him dead.' She tightened her grip on the knives. 'God, I hate this. I so really, really hate this.'

She heard a click, and then there was a small beam of light. Cooper held up another flashlight.

She did enjoy a prepared man, but that usually applied to having a condom in his wallet, not being a flashlight carrier. 'Were you an Eagle Scout or something?'

He laughed, a sound that scraped low in her belly. 'Or something.'

'A MacGyver type.'

'A troublemaker,' he admitted, leading the way to the door. 'Come on, let's get to a warm room.'

'Tell me about this troublemaking.'

'You don't want to hear this now,' he said, towing her along.

She had to run in the teetering heels to keep up with him, and tugged on the silly short skirt with the hand still holding the knives. 'Yes, I do want to hear this now.' She needed the distraction. This flashlight was smaller than the other, the beam of light small and narrow. Insubstantial, in her humble opinion.

'What are you doing back there?' he asked, pulling her up beside him.

Concentrating on not freaking out.

An arm slipped around her waist, and he snugged her to his side. 'You hanging in?'

That was debatable. The pictures on the walls of the hallway seemed haunted, the eyes of the people in them following her. 'I'd be better if you talked to me.'

He glanced down at her. After a moment he said, 'I was a rotten kid. I spent more time in the principal's office than class, and at home… don't even ask.'

'Your parents had their hands full?'

'Just my dad, and yeah, he had his hands full. His answer for me and my brother's antics was his belt.'

She looked up at his profile, but in the dark she couldn't see his expression. 'Did it work?'

'Only momentarily. We were seriously rotten to the core. My brother and I still laugh that we ended up capturing the bad guys instead of being them.'

It'd been one thing to resist him when he was merely a hot body and an unbelievable kisser. But now, with the picture of him as a kid with no mother to soften his father, she wanted to hug him. That, coupled with the knowledge that he'd grown up with a rebel heart…

No! She wasn't even going to go there. 'We left Lariana and Patrick in the dark.'

'I think that's where they want to be.'

They were now back in the main hallway, between the foyer and the great room. 'You ever been in any of those rooms just outside the cellar?' she asked.

'The servants' quarters?'

'Yeah, I heard someone down there right before I found Edward.'

'Who?'

'I thought it was Shelly, but then she came running from upstairs, so it couldn't have been.'

He studied her for a beat. 'You didn't mention that before.'

'I heard humming.'

'You're hearing a lot of things,' he said.

'I know.' She rubbed her temples. 'God. It gets dark at four o'clock here, and I hate the dark! I'm losing it completely, I can feel it.'

'You're not losing anything. Let's go look.'

She didn't exactly want to, but he had the light and the warmth, so she followed him, trying not to hyperventilate at the thought of what lay ahead.

When they stood in front of the closed cellar door, Breanne shuddered at the thought of Edward in there. Alone.

Dead.

The two doors on the right were open. In the first bedroom was a neatly made bed, a dresser, and a pair of strappy high heels on the floor-Lariana's. The second room had the same dresser, an unmade bed, and no personal effects.

Across the hall, the first bedroom looked untouched. The second… locked. This was the one from which Breanne had heard humming. There was no sound behind that door now, and no one answered their knock.

Cooper looked intrigued. 'Wonder why that one is locked and not the others?'

Breanne thought about every cop show she'd ever seen and imagined him kicking down the door and drawing his gun to search the place. 'Should we break in?' she whispered when he didn't move.

'No.'

'Then let's get out of here.' She glanced at the cellar door, glad when Cooper led her back down the hall.

Back in the foyer, there was a glow from the fireplace across the way, and Breanne breathed a sigh of relief. 'I know you're probably used to this tense, overwhelming stress,' she said, 'but I'm not.'