His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(39)
Author: Shayla Black

“When Blane showed up looking for Bailey today, Mrs. Lester realized he had no idea where she’d gone, so she went from annoyed to alarmed.”

“Mrs. Lester likes to bake cookies for Blane. She says he reminds her of her son. Poor thing has no notion that he can’t keep his dance regimen and eat those cookies.”

“After Blane left, she kept watching your place. Then it got interesting . . .” He grimaced. “A soldier she’d never seen before knocked on the door. She said she saw him walk around the house and peek in the windows. She was about to call the police until he knocked on her door and explained that he’s your uncle Robbie, home for a surprise visit.”

“I don’t know a soldier, and I don’t have an uncle Robbie.” Horror spread across her face.

“That’s what I thought. Axel asked her to describe your ‘uncle’s’ uniform. What she said was bang on with what Callie had seen before. They sound exactly like the uniforms the nut jobs of LOSS wear.”

So their speculations had been right. Someone who’d tried to dig up Aslanov’s research and silence Callie had turned their attention to the scientist’s long-lost daughter. That didn’t particularly make Joaquin feel better. “Thanks for the confirmation, man. It’s what we expected. Did anyone send a sketch artist to Mrs. Lester so we can try to ID this guy?”

“Already on it,” Thorpe said. “We should have something by tomorrow.”

“It doesn’t exactly set me at ease that someone snooped around my house.” Bailey’s voice sounded a little thin, thready. Afraid.

“It gets worse.” Thorpe whipped out his phone and opened his text messages. A small collection from Axel contained pictures of the inside of Bailey’s little quirky, historic-charm house. It had been trashed—every room, every surface, every nook and cranny. All of it turned upside down and inside out. A broken chair, papers scattered, dishes in shards.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The silent devastation all over her face was like a mule kick to the gut. “Why?”

“All of the previous victims’ houses have been thoroughly searched. They’re looking for whatever they can find about the victim and her ties to Aslanov’s research. And since you weren’t home, I’m sure they poked around for e-mails or travel arrangements—anything to indicate where you might be. You’re next on their list.” Without thought, Joaquin wrapped his arm around her.

“But they don’t know I’m Tatiana Aslanov.”

“None of the other women they’ve slaughtered were, and that didn’t stop them.”

Bailey began quaking against him. “Did Mrs. Lester see who did this?”

“We’re speculating ‘Uncle Robbie’ is the culprit, but she didn’t see him enter the house, so not definitively,” Thorpe murmured, shaking his head. “Sorry.”

“Whoever it was also didn’t leave behind any prints to identify him. The police checked. They only found yours and Joaquin’s.” Another damn dead end.

Chances were that “Uncle Robbie” was also the killer or his right-hand man. Either way, he was a person of great interest, worth hunting down and grilling. They had to figure out who the hell he was.

Joaquin took Bailey’s face in his hands. “Look at me. I won’t let them hurt you, baby girl. I’ll figure out how to stop them.”

“We will,” she insisted. “If these bastards are ruining my life, I’m going to help put a stop to them.”

Gumption and guts—she had both. He liked that about her. But he wasn’t about to have her in more danger than she already was. “I’ve got it.”

“The best thing you can do is stay here and keep your profile low,” Thorpe advised. “It kept Callie alive for four years.”

Bailey didn’t look happy with that advice, since she pursed her lips together stubbornly, but she didn’t argue. Yet. But despite her fear, Joaquin wasn’t sure how long he could keep Bailey from jumping into the battle to fight for her tomorrows.

Chapter Seven

BAILEY paced the bedroom. Joaquin kept walking in and out with Sean and Thorpe. They’d ask questions, then leave again. That didn’t do anything to cure her nerves. Then Axel arrived from Houston to show her the pictures of her devastated house in person. The images freaked her out all over again. Just knowing that someone who wanted to kill her had been in her home made her tremble with fear.

But her volcanic attraction to Joaquin scared her almost as much. Every time she turned around he was there, hovering, his hazel eyes dark with concern and desire. Though he hadn’t touched her in hours, he made her yearn. She could still feel his lips shoving hers wide apart, his tongue surging deep, his hot fingers curling around her breast, his body heavy as he covered her own and ground his cock against her needy flesh. God, he was big all over.