Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 463(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
His blood stirred, and he found himself craving another kind of dessert—
“You could have cut that closer,” came the dry greeting from the sitting area. “I mean, really, you had at least three or four minutes’ wiggle room.”
Tohr leveled a stare at Butch O’Neal, but as usual, the former homicide cop was impervious to a good pipe-down-sonny and merely smiled back. Next to him on the couch, the brother’s roommate and best friend, V, was going back and forth between a cell phone and a laptop as if he were watching an argument and not sure who to back.
Vishous was always sharp as a dagger. “I was about to break out the ranch dressing—”
“Enough.”
As Tohr made a pointed can-you-please-not-freak-her-out-more glance at his mate, the two of them winced.
And Butch stammered. “Ah . . . yeah, so anyway, I . . . hey, is it time to eat?”
“Last Meal will hold,” Autumn said as she took took her place on the love seat across from the brothers. “Fritz has it in our warming drawer. What happened tonight.”
Tohr glanced around the cozy living room with its relaxed furniture and many throw blankets. Autumn liked their home to be the kind where people could kick their shoes off and curl up—and he wanted it that way, too . . . especially because so many of the conversations were so damned heavy. Like tonight’s.
This morning’s, rather.
And yes, he wished he could talk about this shit out of earshot from her. But he respected her enough not to play the chest-thumping hellren who demanded that her delicate ears be protected from subjects not suitable for the fairer sex.
“What have we got, boys,” he asked in a low voice.
Butch brought his rocks glass up to his lips and took a sip of the Lagavulin in his traveler. “I went through the entire scene at Broadius’s. Very professional job. The killer knew where the security system was, knew how to disarm it, knew the layout of the house. Also knew the schedule of the staffing. He—or she—picked the dead zone right before the maid arrived. ”
Tohr glanced at Autumn. Her eyes were locked on the cop. So he just cleared his throat and continued on. “What about the body?”
“Again, our murderer was very confident in their work. No defensive wounds, no disruption in the closet except for a couple of scuffs on the wall-to-wall, and minimal blood. They’re also strong enough to carry deadweight without knocking into doorjambs or dragging the body to the bed.”
“Why bother with that,” Tohr said. “I mean, you could have just left him in the closet—”
Butch held up his forefinger. “I think there’s a message being sent. You lie in the bed you make. I’ll bet dollars to dickheads that the killer was making an example of Broadius, and took a couple of pictures to send to people. The male who did this—”
“Or female,” Autumn pointed out.
The brothers nodded at her before Butch corrected, “That’s right. Whoever did this also took a souvenir. Broadius was only wearing one cufflink. I didn’t find the other one.”
“Where’s the body now?”
“At the morgue.” Butch tilted his glass forward. “Now it’s your turn. What do we know about our victim?”
Going over to his shellan, Tohr sat on the arm of the love seat, and rubbed her shoulder. “From what Saxton and I were able to discover, he was part of the new group welcomed into the aristocracy about thirty years ago. Not mated. Money made in bitcoin. No controversies—”
“Here we go.” V sat forward and turned his laptop around. “This is our killer.”
Everyone leaned in as the surveillance footage was played on the screen. The grainy images didn’t show much because of the fucking falling snow, but after Tohr’s eyes focused properly, he could make out a figure in white battling the blizzard’s fury, curved in against the gusts as they approached the garage.
“The ski mask covers the face, of course.” V hit replay. “And they weren’t stupid. The first thing they did when they got inside was turn off the system so this trek to the side of the garage is all we have. The interior cameras go black right after this.”
“Like I said, it’s a professional,” Butch murmured as they watched things for a third time. “I mean, no fingerprints anywhere—but then I’m working under the assumption it was one of our kind anyway. But no boot prints, either. I did find two puddles on the floor just inside that door. I’m guessing they jimmied the lock, got in, and slipped on some treadless pads.”
“Any sense what they did with the security stuff, V?” Tohr asked.
“They knew the code.” V sat back on the sofa and stroked his goatee with his gloved hand. “It’s a pretty standard system. You have a minute to disarm it any time you open a door or a window. The log was easy to access and review, and it shows entry from the garage at five thirty-eight p.m. and shutoff with the code less than thirty seconds later.”