“Us, at our crime scene. We showed up first,” Rory spit out without preamble, then took a sip of his coffee.

“By like five minutes, if that. Have you even looked at the scene yet?” Detective Ben Stoyer, Zeke’s partner in crime and best friend, replied.

“Dr. Everly told us to wait out here until he had a look with Susan,” Reese replied as if they weren’t about to fight over who got dibs on this case.

“Which implies we were here first and it’s our case,” Rory said, trying for the same upbeat attitude as Zeke had.

“The captain called us,” Zeke said.

“He called us, too.” Which was why Rory was annoyed. Why couldn’t the man get it together? Call one set of detectives for a case and leave it at that. Sometimes, it felt like the man was trying to create conflict in the workplace.

“I always lose at rock, paper, scissors.” Ben shrugged. “Even to my niece Isabella. You do it this time.”

“You’re as bad as Rory,” Reese said with a chuckle. Then he grabbed the coffee out of Rory’s hands and took a large sip.

Always taking his stuff, like he had the right. Just because they were partners—and best friends—didn’t mean he wanted to share his shit with him, especially his coffee. It was way too early to be dealing with this bullshit.

Yet, he didn’t argue, especially when Zeke eyed the exchange, a slight twinkle in his eyes. Reese took another sip, then handed it back to Rory. Note to self, don’t forget Reese’s coffee next time. He usually brought him a cup as well, but he had a rough night sleeping after dealing with his ex again. Then the captain called, waking him out of a decent sleep he had finally managed to get.

“Come on, Ben, let’s show them how it’s done.” Reese put up his hands, one fist over his palm.

Zeke chuckled as Ben mimicked Reese’s hand gesture.

Rock, paper, scissors was always his go-to growing up with two brothers. Fights started so easily, even over something as simple as who got to use the bathroom first. He was an expert at it, and he normally won.

He taught his partner well when Ben lost the game getting his rock covered by Reese’s paper.

“See, I never win,” Ben grumbled.

“Better luck next time.” Rory winked and then headed for the house.

He waited long enough for Dr. Everly. Reese joined him shortly after saying good-bye to Zeke and Ben, who he knew no doubt would find another case soon enough. Or hell, keep working on one of their open cases.

The dead man, Mr. Fontain, was found in bed, arms outstretched and tied to the bedposts, naked, strangled with a tie. By the looks of it, in the throes of passion, if the condom still wrapped around his dick was any indication.

Sex games gone too far? Revenge murder? Had one woman on the side and his current woman didn’t appreciate that?

The housekeeper called it in. According to her, he wasn’t married, no girlfriend that she knew of.

“Well?” Rory took a sip of coffee as he continued to glance around the room. Nothing looked disturbed, as if whoever had killed him hadn’t rummaged through his drawers. Not a robbery.

“Always the conversationalist, Detective Walker,” Dr. Everly said dryly, then leaned away from the bed where he was inspecting the man’s neck. Yeah, Rory didn’t have much patience—especially in the mornings when he was woken up too early—or tact when it came to pretty much everything. Probably why Dr. Everly wanted him to wait outside while he did his preliminary check on the body. Rory tended to get on his nerves more often than not.

“He appears to be have been strangled by the tie. We’ll see if the autopsy confirms.”

“You don’t think so?” Reese asked.

“It appears so, but like I said, I want to confirm when I do the autopsy. It feels…” Dr. Everly shrugged. “Staged in a way. I don’t know why. Although, there are red marks around his wrists as if he struggled. I imagine he did if he was strangled by the tie.”

Susan cleared her throat. “Or you don’t think a woman could have done this.”

“I didn’t say that.” Dr. Everly pushed up his glasses and offered Susan a gentle smile as if trying to apologize for whatever he might’ve been insinuating.

“Well, condom, naked, tied to the bed, a tie around his neck. All signs he was having some kinky sex when he died,” Reese said. “Makes sense it would be a woman. She starts squeezing harder than he anticipates with the tie, and although she might be smaller, she’s got the upper hand. He’s tied up. He’s not going anywhere. He’s dead within less than a minute.”

“All true. I always like to perform an autopsy before confirming,” Dr. Everly replied.

“I did a small cursory glance when I got here. No signs of forced entry. Lola, the housekeeper, said she unlocked the front door. Whoever was here, Roger Fontain knew them. Let them in, and they locked the door on their way out. Either stole a key—because she said the deadlock was set—or had a key of their own.”

“Time of death?” Rory asked.

“A simple please and thank you would go a long way, detective,” Dr. Everly said tersely.

Okay, Rory’s tone of voice was a bit too clipped this morning. Hello, not a morning person. He couldn’t help it. He produced a friendly smile. The last thing he wanted to do was upset Dr. Everly. The man held all the answers he’d need to solve this case. “Please.”

“Based on the rigor mortis of the body, I’d say somewhere between midnight and three a.m.”

“Thanks, doc,” Rory replied.

“Dr. Everly.” The usually friendly coroner was quick to correct him—with a stern tone.

Rory couldn’t hold back the chuckle. He knew Dr. Everly didn’t like to be called doc, but sometimes it was fun to needle the guy.

Even Susan chuckled. Reese had the good sense to stay quiet when Dr. Everly glared at the two of them.

“Let us know if you find something good.” Rory looked at Susan as he said it, and added a grin, but nothing too flirty. Susan’s husband might not be here, but Stitch was a man who didn’t stand for anyone flirting with his wife, even if it was in friendliness. The last thing he wanted to do was get on her husband’s bad side. Not a dude to mess with. He knew Sauer had gotten into it with Stitch one time and he didn’t walk away without a scratch. Although, Sauer had held his own.

Susan nodded and returned a smile.

“He works at an advertising company or something. Let’s canvas the neighborhood, then hit up his place of employment.” Reese walked out first.

Sounded like a solid plan.

They walked around the house before leaving. Mr. Fontain had nice tastes. Expensive paintings on the wall. Good china in the cupboards. A wine collection worthy of wanting to stash a few bottles under his coat. He made good money at his job.

Talking to the neighbors—most were still home, since it was so early in the morning—yielded nothing. Why would they have seen anything? Everyone had been asleep at that time of night. No one had seen anyone visit Mr. Fontain before night fell either.

When they arrived at his place of employment and asked to speak to his secretary, Rory felt the first giddy feeling of the day.

She wasn’t here. Called in sick.

Left early yesterday as well. Mr. Fontain had left shortly after her.

They had also argued, yet no one knew why.

Finally, a lead.

Maybe to their killer.

* * *

“You know what, don’t look at me that way.” She cocked a brow. “You’re so damn judgmental.”

Brooke grabbed another mini powdered doughnut, chomping with emphasis as she stared at her annoying cat, Willow. She was a beautiful black-and-white tuxedo cat, but with so much sassiness, she thought she ruled the house. Which wasn’t too far off when Brooke thought about it.

She wanted to be fed? Meowed and meowed until Brooke stopped whatever she was doing—sleep included—to stop the incessant noise.

She insisted on being petted? Nudged her furry face into her hands until Brooke gave her soft, little rubs under her neck. Her favorite spot.

Snack time? Yep. More meowing until she got her way.

Willow ruled the house, and Brooke honestly wouldn’t change a thing. Because when she needed comfort, Willow was there. When she needed company, Willow to the rescue. When she needed to vent about her tyrant boss—asshole with grabby hands—Willow always delivered the best disgusted looks, like she couldn’t believe the nerve the jackass had. When her latest boyfriend turned out to be a loser, Willow to the rescue with cuddles.

She could always count on Willow to be there for her. Reliable and steady.

Something she couldn’t say about anyone else in her life. How sad.

Hell, she could even rely on Willow to judge her as she ate another doughnut—number five, to be exact. She was supposed to be on a diet. Something she tried every other month and always failed. No matter how many times Willow glared at her with her beady, green eyes, she always grabbed one more handful of whatever snack she had caved in and bought.

What could she say? She loved food. Food loved her. She didn’t even know why she attempted to diet; it never worked.

Meow.

Brooke rolled her eyes and snatched her hand away from the bag of doughnuts. “Fine. I’ll stop. Quit with your hollering.”

Meow.

Then her tail flowed back and forth as she turned around and walked away. Of course with her head held high as if she were showing off her crown.

Brooke eyed the bag, then huffed with annoyance and walked away. She should’ve never bought the bag in the first place because she could devour a bag in one day all on her own. But it had been so tempting when she stopped at the store last night after work for milk, bread, and eggs. After shoving her boss away from another attempt of getting in her pants, she had wanted to drown her sorrows in something. Since she didn’t drink often—alcohol tasted nasty to her, except for a nice crisp glass of white wine—she chose junk food as her poor-pity-me comfort food. Ice cream was so cliché. Doughnuts were more her choice of woe-is-me.

She should go to human resources about his behavior. But she couldn’t afford to lose her job, and he had threatened to fire her on numerous occasions.

The bastard.

She needed more of a backbone. She needed to stand up for herself.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow would be the day she’d go to human resources and file an official complaint against him.

Today she planned to eat a few more doughnuts—hey, she couldn’t let it go to waste—and enjoy her hooky day. She had called in sick, needing a day to herself. To get her emotions back in place—and to avoid her boss for at least one day.

Everyone deserved a hooky day, and she hadn’t taken one in—well, never. She always played things by the book. Followed the rules. Didn’t speed—something that drove her last boyfriend up the wall. He never let her drive after the one time he found her following the speed limit to the number. It said thirty-five miles per hour, she went thirty-five miles per hour. Not to mention, he was a bit of a control freak and argued when she insisted on driving—just the one time. They were living in the twenty-first century; women driving for a date wasn’t unusual. At least, it shouldn’t be, in Brooke’s eyes.

Life was exhausting lately.

Asshole boss.

Controlling ex-boyfriend, who couldn’t get a clue they were done.

She had needed a day to herself, and for once, she decided to take it.

Heading to her room to change into shorts, she saw Willow sitting on the bed, eyeing her with her judgy eyes still.

Waving her shorts in front of her, she laughed. “See. Going for a run, like I said I would. Stop getting on my case about it.”

Willow circled once on the bed, then laid down completely, stretching out her body in a languid move.

“You just have to rub it in. When I’m done running, I’m going to curl up under the blankets and take a nap, too. So there.”

She changed and put on her running shoes, ruffled Willow’s head, which the silly cat pushed into her hand looking for more, then walked out of the room with a smile.

She could always count on Willow to brighten her mood, even with her sassy attitude and demanding ways.

Locking the door on her way out, she jogged in place on her porch, trying to get herself in the mood. She wasn’t a huge fan of running, but she also didn’t like going to the gym. Too many people. Too many eyes on her. No, thanks.

Not to mention, that’s where she met her latest why-did-I-even-date-you boyfriend. If she wanted to go back to the gym, she’d have to find a new one. There was no way she wanted to run into Ted for any reason, especially since he didn’t understand the words ‘we’re done.’

“You got this, Brooke. You can do it.”

Yeah, she talked to herself too much. She should stop that.

“Run!”

But today wouldn’t be the day she did. With her pep talk done, she jaunted off the porch and headed toward the same route she always did. A quick run around the block. A simple circle. It took her about fifteen minutes, and she was always sweating and breathing heavily at the end. But it always made her feel more energized. Running sucked in the moment, but it was always worth it in the end.

She cleared her head of all negative thoughts as she ran. Focused on putting one foot in front of the other. By the time she turned the last corner and headed back toward her house, she was out of breath and dripping with sweat. As usual.

As she neared her driveway, she slowed down, eyeing the unknown vehicle parked and the man standing by it.

He was dressed in a gray suit, his tie loose around his neck. Classic brown hair, a bit longer and swooped back with perfection she would’ve failed to master. A day’s growth beard, maybe a few days, filled his cheeks, although she could see the sharp jawline. One she’d describe as kissable. Not that she daydreamed about guys’ kissable jawlines.

What an odd thought.

Even Ted hadn’t had a kissable jawline. And the bedroom techniques, well, he kind of sucked in that department, too. Not that she let him get all the way in her pants. She hadn’t felt the connection, so she held him off.

This man looked like he knew all the right moves.

Get a grip, Brooke.

Shaking off naughty thoughts, she ran toward him instead of her front door.

He wore sunglasses that shielded his eyes, which bothered her for some reason. She wanted to see his eyes. Because with the fierce frown on his face, this wouldn’t be a happy visit.

Geez, what had she done? Nothing. Minding her own business on her hooky day.

The closer she got, she realized he had a bit of gray hair sprinkled on the sides, close-shaven, probably making it easier to comb his hair back as he did. A bit of gray on his chin as well.

A sexy silver fox if she ever saw one.

Mind, get out of gutter.

She stopped in front of him, breathing heavily, embarrassed by her appearance. Sweat dripped down her face. Glistening chest. Probably didn’t smell too pleasant either. Well, whatever, she wasn’t out to impress anyone. Just get her workout in for the day.

“Can I help you?”

“You don’t appear sick.”

Odd thing to say.

“I’m sorry?”

The man removed his glasses, his green eyes piercing her with a look that made her want to drop to her knees in pain. Cat-like eyes that held a world of judgment, like Willow.

“You called out of work today. You don’t appear sick.”

Wow. Her boss was—ugh! She couldn’t even find the right word for that asshole. But enough was enough. She refused to let that jackass get his way all the time. Control her life and think he was untouchable.

Her eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

His hand went to his jacket where he pulled it away from his chest—super muscular, if she had to guess—and flashed a badge clipped to his belt and a gun close by it.

“Detective Rory Walker. Your boss was found murdered this morning. Where were you between the hours of midnight and three a.m.?”

Her jaw dropped, and her entire body nearly dropped to the ground. But she managed to hold herself together and stay upright. She could feel her heart pounding, but this time not from the run she just endured.

No. Nope. She had to have misheard him. Her boss couldn’t be dead. He was too stubborn of an asshole to do something like that.

“Ms. Duncan?”

Right. Mr. Sexy with an attitude wasn’t lying to her about her boss. And he didn’t seem to have any patience either.

Men. Such ridiculous creatures.

“Home.”

“Can anyone verify that?”

Her asshole boss…dead.

She still couldn’t believe it.

“Ms. Duncan? I asked you a question.”

Ugh. From one asshole to the next. All men were the same. Yet, this man seemed very…well, suspicious of her. Like she had killed her boss. How ridiculous. She barely escaped his clutches last night in his office.

“Yes. I was home all night with Willow.”

Oops. Wrong thing to say. Willow was her cat. Not exactly the best witness to verify her alibi. But it was true. She was at home all night with Willow.

“I’ll need to speak to her.”

But it had been a helluva day yesterday, and today obviously wasn’t going to go much better. Small laughter slipped out before she could stop herself.

“Sure. Follow me. She’s inside the house.”

Boy, he was in for a rude awakening. He deserved it for his abrupt manner. She didn’t kill anyone. How dare he think so.

She walked away toward her front door, knowing exactly the kind of greeting Willow would give Detective Walker. Hisses and claws galore. She wasn’t a huge people person, especially with men.

Just one of the many reasons she broke up with Ted. Willow didn’t like him.

And anyone Willow didn’t like wasn’t worth her time.

Copyright © 2022 Amanda Siegrist.

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