Logan and Kitten and drive them in from Dallas. He’d considered it a thoughtful thing to do. Ben had cussed him out. It didn’t matter because Chase had wanted to get a look at that body. If he’d waited, something bad could have happened like cremation or burial. He didn’t dig up corpses. Well, not often, and ashes would defeat the purpose of examining the body.
And now that he’d seen his corpse, he was right back to restless.
It looked fairly open and shut. Dude had been locked in. Dude had some sex. Dude got a crazy overdose of heroin shoved into his back. Natalie was the last one to see him alive. There was no way the victim could have gotten the needle in his own back. Logic stated that the simplest answer was usually the truth.
Natalie Buchanan was going to jail.
And he would be the bad guy. He leaned against the wall, staring out over the floor. He was going to investigate. He was going to talk to everyone who had reasonable access to the spa. Tomorrow morning was soon enough to start collecting alibis. Logic told him that Natalie had the only key to that room. A small vial of pure China White had been found in one of the drawers in the room Natalie used exclusively.
When it looked like a duck and quacked like a duck, the duck had usually killed someone.
And still…
He owed it to Julian to try. And if the asshole deserved it, maybe he could cover for the girl. Who he had yet to meet. He had a time penciled in to talk to the mysterious Natalie Buchanan in the morning.
“Chase Dawson?” A pretty woman with light brown hair approached.
Sub. But not all the time. Oh, the woman in front of him probably liked to submit in the bedroom, but she was a functioning member of whatever team she was on. He glanced at her from head to toe, taking in every inch, evaluating her in a way that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with curiosity.
She was approaching forty, married, likely for a while now. She’d had breast implants. That didn’t fit because she also had laugh lines and the beginnings of a deep crease between her pretty eyes. She worried. She wasn’t vain, and she’d had a couple of kids. Toddlers most likely. There was a bright little stain on the edge of her professional-looking shirt. Paint. Likely water soluble. Someone liked crafts. The boobs bugged him. She had the faintest curve to her belly. Why would a woman get her boobs done, but not liposuction?
“Did you have cancer?”
She stopped short, a startled look crossing her face. “Breast cancer. Many years ago.”
That explained it. “Bilateral mastectomy?”
“Julian told me you were different. May I ask why you’re asking deeply inappropriate questions?”
“Sorry.” Yeah, that sounded like he meant it. “I was trying to figure you out. The boobs don’t fit.”
She frowned. “And what have you figured out?”
“That you are likely Gabrielle Reed.” She wasn’t wearing a name tag, but he would bet a lot that this was the resort manager Julian and Dani had hired. “And before you accuse me of cheating, my brother ran your background check. Background checks bore me. You have at least one, probably two kids, one in a preschool setting who enjoys painting and showing off his…no, her creations. You have a baby, too. Not walking yet. Your husband is a Dom. Your employees adore you. You don’t like me.”
“You can tell a lot just by looking at me.”
“I know about the kids because of the stain on your shirt. You got the start of a shit-eating grin when I said boy, thereby telling me your oldest child is a girl. Your shirt is slightly wrinkled on the left side. That’s where you carry the baby. If your husband isn’t a Dom, I’ll eat my shoe. I can tell your employees adore you because they’re all staring daggers at me right now.”
“And you can tell I don’t like you, how?”
That was the easiest explanation of all. “No one likes me. It’s a safe bet.”
A little smile curled her lips. “You
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley