Texas and Tiaras (The Book Cellar Mysteries 2) Read online

  Texas and Tiaras

  The Second Book Cellar Mystery

  Melissa Storm

  K.M. Hodge

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Subscribe for More

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Also by the Authors

  About Melissa Storm

  About K.M. Hodge

  © 2016, Blue Crown Press

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only; it may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or the author has used them fictitiously.

  Editor: Stevie Mikayne

  Cover & Graphics Designer: Mallory Rock

  Proofreader: Falcon Storm

  Blue Crown Press

  PO Box 72

  Brighton, MI 48116

  To ice-cream and hot summer days. To Pomeranian princesses and to all the people we love most.

  To you, dear reader, to you.

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  Chapter One

  Brooke

  The cool metal revolver felt light in Brooke’s hands, far too fragile a thing to claim a life. But here they were—again—the sinister man threatening two of the people she loved most in the world. Her shooting without a moment’s hesitation.

  Bang! Swack! Thud!

  First the bullet, then the spray of blood, then the sickening thump of two bodies falling to the earth. He was dead, which was good. But Vi had gotten caught in their crossfire, which was bad. Ligia lay passed out on the ground, and Brooke couldn’t tell whether she was still breathing. Oh no...

  Brooke had always delighted in power, having it, taking it from others, showing off all that she could accomplish with a simple flick of the wrist.

  But now that power took on a whole new gravity. She could take a life, and she had. He was the bad guy. He wanted to hurt her friends, and she had stopped him. So then why did she feel so guilty? Why couldn’t she escape this single moment in time that haunted her night after night, stealing the rest she so desperately needed for both herself and the child growing within her womb?

  She’d made it to the second trimester now. Twelve weeks and counting, which meant it was time to tell the world. Only she couldn’t even bring herself to tell her own husband. For as much as she feared herself these days, she feared him even more. Brian hadn’t raised a hand to her again since the night of the gala, but the sting which had long faded from her cheek couldn’t be erased from her memory. If he’d hurt her before, would he definitely hurt her again, or was it possible that it had truly been a one-time thing?

  She wished she could ask her social worker friend Vi, but Vi hadn’t spoken to her since the shooting. Why couldn’t her BFF just accept that the stray bullet had never been intended for her? Understand that without Brooke’s fast action, Vi would have gotten hurt much worse or killed even?

  Nothing about the fallout from that night had been fair. Sure, Brooke had emerged as a local hero. Once word had spread that she would do anything to make sure a party went off without a hitch, including bringing any would-be bad guys to their knees with a well-placed bullet or two, Parties by Brooke built up a waiting list a mile-long.

  On top of all of this, reporters staked out her front lawn for weeks after the big showdown, hoping to score some new scoop or soundbite and thus boost sales of their flagging publications. Brooke was more famous than she’d ever even hoped she could be. But instead of basking in the spotlight, she’d found herself shunning the attention the press and the residents of Herald Springs lavished on her. As much as she wanted to scream that she wasn’t quite the hero they all thought her to be, she just couldn’t confess how much her foolish bravery had cost her.

  And all that had led to now, this moment in time. Brooke snapped awake, just as the bullet crashed into Vi a second time. Her friend had only taken a single hit that night, but the truth had little bearing on the nightmares that Brooke had relived ever since. She rolled over in bed with her eyes squeezed shut, afraid to open them just in case it all hadn’t been a dream, in case somehow she’d returned to that hellish moment, had to see the look of betrayal on Vi’s pinched features all over again, to realize that, in that single moment, she’d lost more than she ever realized she could.

  How many times must a woman repent? Brooke didn’t know, and Vi wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to tell her. A month—more than thirty days—had passed since then, and her friend still hadn’t forgiven her. Heck, Brooke hadn’t even forgiven herself. She knew how to handle a gun. She shouldn’t have clipped Vi when going for the assailant.

  Finally, she eased her eyes open and noted the glowing red four on her alarm clock. Four-something in the morning had become her new wake-up time, and she hated it. The dark circles under her eyes couldn’t be hidden by even her best makeup tricks, and since she was pregnant she was limited to one measly cup of coffee and zero sweet, life-saving glasses of wine each day.

  This baby had been something she wanted so much—for her, for Brian, for their marriage. But now that a baby was actually on the way? She felt terrified of the possibilities. Would Brian calm down and be good to her again? Would he make a caring and responsible father? And did she even want to be a mother anymore? She wasn’t entirely sure, and she knew better than to pull at that particular thread, lest her whole world begin to unravel.

  Thread, hmm… Maybe she could pick up sewing or knitting or quilting or some other sickeningly pedestrian hobby to help keep her mind busy. She couldn’t drink, she didn’t enjoy her work or home life, and her best friend wouldn’t talk to her. What else was there? At least with a craft she could measure her day in stitches rather than times she felt like breaking down in tears from sheer disappointment.

  Go to Jo-Ann Fabrics. Pick up knitty stuff, she typed into her task list for the day. Always look busy, she reminded herself. Don’t let them know you’re drowning. Just keep swimming.

  Oh, that reminded her—Princess Tiara, her prize Pomeranian, had
run out of water last night, but Brooke had been too tired to fill her bowl then. Spotting the little gold dish across the room and confirming it was still empty, she began to search around for her furry bestie.

  “Ti-Ti,” she whispered as she lifted up the cover that lined the dog bed. But Tiara wasn’t there.

  “Ti, Ti!” she called a little louder, praying that it wouldn’t wake Brian or Ligia. If she accidentally woke her husband early on a court day, there would be no forgiveness. And while she didn’t think he’d hurt her again, she also didn’t want to test that theory. As for Ligia, well… waking her up any time before noon always proved disastrous. As much as Brooke loved her goddaughter, she knew the girl needed her beauty sleep both for her face and her personality.

  “Tiara!” She clicked her tongue playfully. “Where’s Mommy’s princess?” That’s when she heard a soft whimper and scratching at the back door. Brooke padded through the house and slowly creaked the door open. In ran her little floof, who immediately stood up on her hind legs and stretched her front paws on Brooke’s knees, begging to be picked up and cuddled.

  She was slightly chilly to the touch, as if she’d been outside for a long time. But Tiara had been in the house when Brooke went to bed, and Brian generally liked to pretend the little dog didn’t even exist, so wouldn’t have let her out. What was going on? She thought briefly about waking Brian to ask him, but then decided that she’d just make sure Ti had her electric collar on before bed.

  She hated making her wear that stupid, ugly collar for the shock fence, which is why most of the time Brooke accompanied Tiara whenever she wanted to go out. But Tiara loved to feel the earth under her paws and routinely burrowed under the fence to run down to Vi’s or Jesse’s house for extra pettings. Brian had suggested adding the electric fence as well, because he didn’t want to risk any possible suits should “that little mutt of yours” go feral. Which made it that much stranger that he had left her outside for the night.

  Brooke cried as she fastened the ugly red collar beneath Tiara’s pretty pink one. “What would I do if I lost you, Ti?” she sobbed. “I’ve already lost Vi. You’re the only friend I have left.”

  As if to disagree, her phone buzzed from its perch on the counter.

  Hey, toots. You up?

  Jesse. She still had Jesse.

  Couldn’t sleep, she texted back.

  Wanna go for a run? Today’s a 6k day.

  Brooke’s stomach roiled at the suggestion, but she had promised to help Jesse train for his first Ironman triathlon, and she didn’t want to let him down. Of course, he didn’t know she was pregnant or he wouldn’t push her so hard toward their shared fitness goals.

  Meet you at the stop sign?

  See you in 5.

  Okay, so she had Tiara, she had Ligia for the latter half of each day, and she still had Jesse, too. Now she just needed to make sure she hung on to them as hard as she could, no matter what she had to risk, to keep from losing everything.

  She thought about shooting a quick text to Vi, but knew it would break her if Vi still refused to answer. So how could she make herself Vi’s knight in shining satin? A smile curled on her face as she thought of the perfect solution to her problems. Because, after all, if she could win Vi back, her life just might return to normal. She just might be able to make it through a day without breaking down again.

  Your move, Vi.

  Chapter Two

  Annabeth

  Annabeth crept onto the dark porch and flicked the childproof switch on her lighter. Recent events had caused her to fall back on some unsavory coping habits. The dancing flame kissed the end of her cigarette, and she took a long, satisfying drag. She looked up at the fading night sky and sighed out a plume of smoke. It was five in the morning. She should still be asleep, but the nightmares made that nearly impossible. Why sleep when she could Google all the horrible mistakes she’d ever made?

  She pulled up the Detroit News article on the incident, the one that had brought her and Marcus to where they were today: FBI Sex Ring Bust Gone Wrong, One Dead, Six Injured. Her eyes blurred, making the next line difficult to read, but by now she knew most of it by heart. When she closed her eyes at night, she still saw the body of the slain girl, the one who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The one she had been too distracted to even notice until it was too late.

  Her phone buzzed in her hand. A tiny notification window popped up to tell her she had a new text message from Fin. Every single day he filled her phone’s inbox with frightening prose or, worse yet, succinct blow-by-blows of her day so that she knew he was watching. He doesn’t know about all the information I stole from his brother’s phone after he died. But he will...soon enough.

  A week after the shooting at the gala last month, the police closed the case, claiming it was an attempted rape and mugging. They didn’t even want to hear about the sex ring. On top of that nonsense, they’d let Brooke off with a cursory warning not to discharge her firearm in a public place even though she had caused bodily hard to her best friend and murdered a man. Things were obviously a little different in Texas. And not in the good way.

  Her boss, David Morgan, had hired them to bring down the ring after his daughter was killed. It was her death that had led to the incident, where an innocent bystander had been used as a human shield to a deadly end. She’d left the FBI and started a PI firm with Marcus. Mr. Morgan, their first client, gave her an offer she couldn’t refuse. He wanted someone familiar with the case to go after the men who’d killed his daughter and would do everything within his means to make that possible. The fact that she had allowed a prime suspect to be murdered didn’t sit well with him. Dead men don’t talk, after all. And she was learning that upsetting a powerful and rich man is never a good idea.

  “I told you not to involve the police. They only mess it up. If it wasn’t for them, my baby girl would still be with me. I need to know, what are you going to do about this mess up?”

  “We are going to catch these men, sir. I was able to pull information off the dead man’s cell phone. Marcus is confident that some of the intel will lead us to one of their safe houses.”

  That little tidbit bought them a little extra time at least. The police may have thrown in the towel, but Annabeth was more determined than ever to solve the case, even if Mr. Morgan stopped bankrolling their efforts. It had become a personal crusade now.

  “Anna?” Marcus’s familiar voice brought her a small amount of comfort. At least I have him back.

  She put out the cigarette, wanting to hide this slip-up from him. Of course he could probably smell it, she thought. Even so, she kept up the ruse of sneaking around for her smokes. They were falling back into old habits, too. Dealing with their issues head-on had never been their strong suit.

  Rap, rap, rap…

  He had rolled the wheelchair up to the opened front window and tapped his knuckles against the glass. The small lamp in the living room cast a warm glow all around him, making him look almost angelic. Never mind that he’d nearly become an angel earlier that year. The thought of losing him nearly unraveled what was left of her sanity. She couldn’t prove it—yet—but she was sure that Fin was behind the wheel of the car that gunned Marcus down. Something good did come from the whole mess. Almost losing him was what made her realize how much she loved him.

  She went back inside and let the door close behind her, then locked and bolted it shut. With a crazed criminal stalking her, there really was no such thing as being too cautious.

  “What are you doing outside? It’s five AM, babe.” His thin eyebrows raised to form a long line. A scar from the accident disappeared within the folds of his forehead. He had grown extra protective of her since everything that had gone down at the 80’s-themed charity event last month, which was both sweet and annoying at the same time.

  “I couldn’t sleep.” Which was true enough. “So I thought I’d get some fresh air. Sorry I woke you.” She kicked off her tennis shoes and went into the kitchen.
/>   “Fresh air. Right…” The sarcasm wasn’t lost on her.

  He must smell the smoke. When she’d quit five years ago it had been mostly because of him. It’s not like she was happy to be smoking again, but the stress of everything had brought her to a breaking point. It was only temporary—something to help her through this rough patch—and she could go back to her smoke-free existence once this matter was all cleared up.

  Even she didn’t quite believe the lies she had been telling herself since they’d gotten to Texas.

  Marcus rolled his wheelchair into the kitchen and wordlessly watched her every move, making her heart race. The tall cupboards in the kitchen forced her to use a stool in order to get what she needed. On her tiptoes, she balanced precariously on the edge of the IKEA stool and pulled down the coffee and two mugs.

  His gaze followed her every move, but instead of a flirty smile he sported a frown. With his skull fracture and his legs broken in three places, he was limited as to what he could do. The limitations set on him from the injury were wearing him down. Everything irked him, from the way she cooked their food to how she put the toilet paper on the roll. But it wasn’t about any of those things. She knew that he rightly blamed her for everything going sideways at Brooke’s big charity gala. Someone had gotten hurt, and they had lost their man. He hadn’t said anything, but how could he not blame her for messing it up? She shook her head as if that would knock loose her worries. No sense focusing on this all now, she thought.

  The hot coffee filled the carafe, and her mouth watered in anticipation. Black gold. Forget oil, Texas made the best coffee. The combined smells of the pecan pieces mixed in with the grounds filled her with delight. She poured them both generous servings, which they drank straight black.