Possessed by a Warrior. Sharon Ashwood
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fairy godmother. Don’t underestimate her.”
Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’ll steer clear of mice and pumpkins.”
* * *
It took little time for Sam to track Chloe down. She had taken the dress from Jack’s suite to the room where she was staying. The door was ajar, allowing Sam to pause a moment before he had to knock. He used the time to study the location, as he always did before mounting an assault. It was a large chamber, one window, sparse furniture. Definitely a feminine space, with flowery prints on the walls and bedspread.
Chloe was standing in the middle of the room with her back to the door, looking sleek and polished from her high-heeled shoes to the twist in her dark blond hair. She was staring at the dress. It was hooked to the front of a huge, mahogany wardrobe, the dark wood showing off the white foam of lace.
Sam knew nothing about gowns, but he was pretty sure this one was exceptional. There was something in the proportions and detailing that said this wasn’t some off-the-rack number.
The same could be said for Chloe. The curve of her spine drew his eyes, his gaze lingering on her exposed neck. Ever since he’d arrived at Oakwood, she’d drawn him. Sam desired women and had them, well and often, but few provided more than a moment’s interest. War was not prone to the softer emotions—they were anathema to everything he was.
This woman, though, brushed his senses like the scent of a delicate perfume. She was pretty, but it was a sense of poised energy that made her remarkable—like an arrow about to fly. He couldn’t help watching, expectant for the moment, wondering what would happen if she finally sprang loose.
Sam imagined that release of energy, feeling it with his whole body. It would be exquisite. The thought made his fangs descend, and he quickly began thinking of dull paperwork instead. She’s not for you. Women like her die around creatures like you.
She turned, her brows drawing together when she saw him there. “Something I can help you with?” Her words were quiet and low, but her voice resonated right through him.
You have no idea. A sudden stab of hunger pushed to the fore, reminding him again of what he was: a weapon meant for blood sports. She looked soft and delicious, as if she would taste of summer. Once again, his body tightened in anticipation.
Sam swallowed hard, wrestling himself as he had Kenyon’s wolf, holding back the snapping jaws of the beast. Small talk. Make small talk.
“I can’t help wondering what Jack was doing with that.” He nodded toward the dress.
She relaxed a bit. “Me, too.”
“It’s good quality, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” She folded her arms and walked toward it. Sam trailed after her, using the moment as an excuse to get closer. The room was redolent with her perfume—something that reminded him of sunshine and lemonade.
He realized he was stalking her, and forced himself to stand still. “Should it be out of the safe?” he asked.
“Maybe not, but I can’t learn anything about it when it’s locked away.”
Sam nodded. She had a point. “That’s right. You’re the wedding expert. Any insights?”
With a professional air, Chloe eyed the dress. “There’s no label, but I’m sure it’s made to order. The beading is hand-done. It’s probably unique.”
“Expensive?”
“It’s worth a fortune. That’s Italian silk or I’m a duck.”
Sam slanted a glance at her. She was definitely not a duck. “None of your relatives tried to make off with it yet?”
She gave a rueful smile. “They don’t know about it. Fortunately, the last of the happy horde is leaving in the morning.”
“How long will you be here?” He wouldn’t be leaving a moment sooner.
She looked up. Her eyes were dark blue. “Until the end of the week or so. After that the house will be going on the market.”
“You don’t waste time.”
She gave a soft sigh that made his skin tingle. “It’s not me. Everyone wants their piece of the estate.”
Sam watched her eyes sparkle with tears. Forgetting himself, he brushed her wrist with his fingertips, the lightest gesture of sympathy. One he would never normally make. She blinked, folding her arms across her stomach. Sam dropped his hand, the feel of her skin clinging to the pads of his fingers. Silky.
He forced his mind to the task of asking questions, doing his best to shut off his senses. The woman was like a drug, scrambling his thoughts. “Was Jack close to any family but you?”
“Not really. My father, but he died when I was fourteen. Along with my mother.” She looked away. “Long story.”
Something told Sam now was not the moment to ask for details. “No one was close, but the rest still think they should get a piece of all this?” He made a gesture indicating the house.
“Of course.” Chloe made a slight movement, almost a shudder, as if she was trying to shake off a distasteful memory. “Jack had a talent for making money.”
He also had centuries of financial experience, but Chloe didn’t know that.
“Who were Jack’s friends?” he asked abruptly.
“I thought that was you.”
Winspear was right. He sucked at interrogation. Frustration made him resort to his usual bluntness. “You’re in the wedding business. You said the dress was unique. Is there any way to figure out who owned it?”
“What did you say you did for a living?” She narrowed her eyes.
Too blunt. Oops. “Trust fund baby,” Sam said lightly. “I don’t do anything.” But I want to know Jack’s exact schedule for the last six weeks.
The set of her mouth said she didn’t believe him. “But obviously you like solving mysteries.”
“Why not?”
“Well, here’s one for you to chew on. I don’t think Jack died the way the police say he did.”
Sam nearly started. He kept his voice very neutral. “Oh?”
Chloe sat on the edge of the bed, looking suddenly tired and much younger than she had a moment ago. “Jack had a hidden side. I don’t think most people even noticed, but if there was a loud noise, he’d reach for a gun even if he wasn’t wearing one. I never knew what that was all about, but I’d bet good money you and your friends do.”
A very, very smart girl.
“Did Jack have enemies?” she asked, her voice even.
“They’re mostly dead.” Or undead.
Her hand, so fine-boned and soft, made a fist. “I think you guys missed one.”
“What are you talking about?”
She shot him a look. “You’ve got that whole brothers-in-arms vibe going on. I think you watch each other’s backs pretty closely, and I don’t mean around the boardroom table. Well, try this one on. I don’t think Uncle Jack smashed up his car by accident.”
Sam stayed mute.
Chloe pushed on, her jaw set in a stubborn line. “He never drank as much as he pretended to. The whole playboy thing was a game, like a mask he wore when it suited him.”
Her fierce tone was doing something to Sam’s insides, a painful, hot, sweet feeling radiating from deep in his gut. He was getting turned on in a big way. Oh, good timing, Ralston.
“I don’t know,” he said casually. “Once in a very rare while, Jack could tie one on.”
Chloe