Possessed by a Warrior. Sharon Ashwood
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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 grimaced. “He wasn’t stupid. Not where the Porsche was involved.”
God, she did know her uncle. Jack loved that car. This whole conversation offended his sense of fair play. She deserves to know she’s not the only one who thinks Jack was killed. But if he broke cover, it wasn’t just his existence on the line. Women like her die around creatures like you. The thought repeated in his mind like a tolling bell. He knew that from bitter experience. Everything about who he was, what he did, invited danger.
“Leave it to the police,” he said reasonably. “They know what they’re looking for.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Which is why your two friends are all over the scene of the accident? They’ve been there since day one like a pair of designer-casual bloodhounds.”
Sam stomped on a snort of laughter before it could get away. “You’re imagining things.”
“Lame.” The heat in her eyes said she didn’t like being dismissed.
“You’re just upset because he died suddenly. It’s understandable.”
“Lame.” A flush of pink was climbing her cheeks. “I’m not a clueless child, Mr. Ralston. Don’t try to hide information from me.”
Irritation flashed through him. “What do you think happened? One of your relatives hired a gunman to get Jack’s estate?”
Her blue eyes didn’t waver. “I bet you’d know how to find out if they did.”
He gave up. “I can’t help you.”
“Then get out of my bedroom.”
Her expression was hard. Unexpectedly, Sam felt it dent his ego. He wanted to reach across the gulf his job and his nature put between them. It was a rare impulse, and one he couldn’t do a damned thing about.
Probably just as well.
His gaze wandered to the wedding dress, taking it in for a brief moment. Marriage was just one more human entanglement he’d left behind, but for a split second he wondered what it would be like to be that unguarded with somebody. It had been too long to remember.
Sam turned and walked out of the room, leaving Chloe alone on the bed.
For now.
Chapter 4
Chloe curled up under the covers, her eyes sandy from lack of sleep. The room should have felt restful, for this was where she’d slept most of her teenage years—but too much had dramatically, tragically changed.
Someone had murdered Jack, she was sure of it, but she had no proof. She’d tried talking to the police, but they couldn’t—or wouldn’t—help. They’d treated her like a kid too young for grown-up worries. It pushed every one of her buttons. Still, how could she blame the cops? All she had to go on was Jack’s character and the suspicious behavior of his buddies.
In the dark quiet of the bedroom, she surrendered to pain and loss, letting the pillow muffle her sobs. She just couldn’t grasp the fact that she wouldn’t see Jack again. Ever. For as long as she drew breath. But it wasn’t just grief she felt. Hot, frustrated anger sliced along her raw nerves. She wanted to act, to avenge, but she didn’t know how.
Chloe sniffed and rolled over, the sheets sticking to her hot skin. Outside the window, wind hissed through the trees, making a lullaby of the restless breeze. Chloe’s mind ticked on.
Suspicion just wouldn’t stop clawing at her. She knew she was right to speak up, but other people reacted like she was a hysterical freak—even Sam Ralston. Once she’d asked him about Jack’s accident, it had been like talking to a wall, his handsome face wiped of expression.
Oh, well. At least stone-faced was a change from broody or bossy, which seemed to be his other settings. Too bad he had a magnetism that turned her insides to pudding. Yeah, right. A broody, bossy blank wall with gobs of animal magnetism. Every girl’s dream.
She had worked long enough in the marriage business to know what she wanted in a man: dependable, home-oriented, quiet and sensible. None of her family’s nasty competitive streak. An independent business owner or middle-ranking executive would be perfect. Solid, but not flashy.
Chloe pulled the blanket under her chin. Someone who likes gardening and country fairs.
Not Sam Ralston.
She rolled over again and froze.
What was that? It wasn’t a sound so much as the sense of the air being displaced. As if something had passed in absolute silence. Chloe held her breath, listening.
The wind soughed outside. Almost beyond her range of hearing, she could hear the clock on the grand sweep of stairs chime half past midnight, and then the house was still once more. Logic said she’d been imagining things. There was no one there.
And yet every nerve ending strained with apprehension. A bead of sweat trickled down the small of her back, making her shiver.
She heard a faint exhalation of breath.
Not her own.
Someone’s in the room with me!
Without moving a muscle, she scanned the darkness. The bedroom curtains were partially open, admitting just enough moonlight to separate one blob of furniture from the next. Opposite the foot of the bed, the wedding dress hung on the wardrobe door like a filmy ghost. She wasn’t about to leave the dress unattended, but having it near made her feel closer to Jack so she’d left it there for the night. She suddenly wondered if that had been a wise thing to do.
Beside the tall wardrobe lurked a darker shape, and it was slowly moving. Like a stain, it crept across the white cloud of the dress, making the garment shift. The moonlight caught the crystal beads, making the bodice glitter with shards of cold light. Chloe heard the soft rustle of silk, and then the dress seemed to bob in the air.
Someone was stealing it. Outrage sparked through her, followed by flat-out disbelief. She was right there, mere feet away! Why would anyone risk her catching them? And who knows I’ve got it?
Aunt Mavis? Her hand snaked out from beneath the comforter, finding the switch of her bedside lamp.
“Don’t.” The male voice was hard and cold and not one she recognized.
The sneering tone made her more defiant than smart. Chloe swore under her breath and flicked the switch anyway.
She felt the rush of air as the figure lunged across the room. The china lamp exploded as it hit the floor. Chloe yelped in surprise, instinctively rolling away to avoid the spray of shards. Rough hands grabbed her by the back of her nightgown, forcing her facedown on the mattress.
“Don’t,” the voice repeated, the sneer turning to something more sinister.
Chloe