He felt painfully alert, watching out for any little movement and sound. It was getting to him.
A dead body did that to a person.
So did all the sexual play without getting off. Damn, that was
He had no idea where she'd run off to, the woman who'd actually thought he'd touch her the way he had and yet believe her capable of murder. Wherever she'd gone, he doubted he'd be welcomed anywhere near her.
He looked into the great room. Dante was the one stirring up the fire. Breanne sat on the couch, her back to Cooper, laughing at something the butler was saying.
Laughing. His temper rose a notch.
Shelly stood off to the side, smiling dreamily at Dante.
Cooper let out a breath and entered the room, prepared to be universally hated. 'Hey.'
Everyone looked at him but no one said anything. Yep, universally hated. Breanne looked away first. He wanted to wring her neck. Instead he nodded to the flashlight she had on her lap. 'I need that for a moment. Or your other one.'
'Other one?'
'The Day-Glo pink vibrator,' he said, being intentionally crude, but damn it she didn't have to look at him like he was a pervert. There'd been
'Here,' she said, shoving the flashlight at him.
He took it and walked out of the room. He decided that was the smart thing to do at the moment because he was absolutely not going to defend himself to her.
In general, people had two reactions to finding out what he did for a living. There were the 'cop' groupies, the women who found his job an exciting adrenaline rush. And then there were those who clammed up and got suspicious of everything he said, as if he was getting ready to shove them against a car and cuff them like they did on
The only person who'd ever accepted him as he stood was his brother, and that had been because they were two peas in a pod. But James was married now, and Cooper had gotten used to being alone. Good thing, since they were going to be here at least another night and he had a feeling he was definitely going to be solo for this one.
No warm, sexy Breanne, a woman he'd thought for a brief moment could maybe have gotten to know him, the real him. He'd been wrong. Again he made his way down to the cellar to make sure no one had messed with the crime scene, just for fun checking the locked bedroom door next to the cellar. Still locked.
He entered the cellar and hunkered down next to Edward, shining the light over him. Poor bastard. Then he eyed Edward's shirt and went still. Had someone adjusted the body? He leaned in closer. The smell was bad, but Cooper had smelled worse so he ignored that, especially as he realized something he'd missed before. There was a curious lack of blood around the hole in Edward's chest, as if the injury had occurred postmortem.
The body had suffered blunt trauma as well, a fact that had become more apparent with the passing of time. The body was bruised from head to toe, as if he'd been beat to hell, or… as if he'd fallen.
Cooper craned his neck and looked at the staircase, a good fifteen feet away. 'Which came first, Edward? The fall or the shot to the chest?'
And why did Cooper have the gut feeling that neither had been what had killed him?
He scrubbed a hand over his face, frustrated and uneasy. Nothing added up-not the staff's reaction, not the lay of the body, and not the fact that he'd searched the house the best he could and hadn't come up with any sign of a gun, BB or otherwise.
He shouldn't care. He'd laid down his badge, ostensibly for good. At the time, he'd meant it. Even as late as this morning, he'd meant it. He'd worked his ass off and his soul into the ground, and he'd thought leaving the job had been the only answer.
But now, staring down at Edward, he wondered at his need to know what happened, at his need for justice.
The shadow flattened against the wall, heart pounding like a primal drum, watching Cooper.
Edward was dead already, dead, dead, dead, and no amount of looking at him could change that.
So why was there still so much fear?
Breanne sat in front of the fireplace in the spare bedroom where just last night she'd foolishly believed she could sleep. Shelly was pouring her a glass of wine.
Breanne figured she needed the whole damn bottle. But remembering what had happened when she'd oh-so- innocently gone into the cellar for a bottle, had her shuddering.
'There.' Shelly pushed a tray of food toward her, a bowl of canned chili heated by the fire and some fruit. 'I can't believe your bad luck. Missing out on my cooking for two of your days here.'
'As if that's the worst of my problems.'
Shelly let out a shuddery sigh. 'Yeah. It's been a rough one around here, huh? First the break-in, then Edward-'
'What?' Breanne set down her wineglass and twisted around to look at Shelly. 'You had a break-in?'
'Well, we're not sure exactly, to tell you the truth.'
'What do you mean?'
'Last week Lariana went to town and cashed her check at lunch. That night after work, her wallet was missing from her purse out of the main hallway closet. Her entire paycheck, gone.' Shelly lifted her hands. 'Not that we get paid all that much, let me tell you, but still.'
'Did she call the police?'
'No. Nothing else was taken that we could tell.'
'Shouldn't the police have been notified?'
'To tell you the truth, it wasn't my place to do so. And Lariana said it was her own stupid fault. We'd left the front door open that day for a big spring cleaning. Edward freaks when we leave the front door unlocked. If he'd found out-'
'But the front door was unlocked when I got here, Breanne said.
'Yeah.' Shelly flashed her a guilty look. 'See, the house is so big, and we all have so many chores because Edward's too cheap to hire a rotating staff. It's just easier to leave it unlocked rather than miss a delivery or a guest.'
Breanne stared into the fire and remembered last night. The face hovering over her in bed. 'But you make sure to lock the front door at night, right?'
'Always,' Shelly promised, then winced. 'Or at least I think so.'
'It's just that I used to leave after I cooked dinner, so I don't know the late night habits.'
'But last night you slept here. In the servants' quarters, right?'
