family group prepared to use any means available to defend their own.
Fighting skills could be taught, but unwavering loyalty was rare and had value beyond consideration. Would he have acquired such dedication to his family or heritage if he’d been raised on the reservation?
His parents and his favorite sister, Dyami, were dead, his remaining half-brothers and sisters scattered. In his line of work, being too involved was dangerous. Living the life of a lone wolf suited him, although a very small part of him was pleased to be included so easily.
As the group was being ushered out the front door, he was comfortable enough to joke. “Well, at least your pink couch was saved.”
Only to hear the entire chorus of men say in unison, “It’s mauve.”
A grin she didn’t even try to suppress lit her expression as she locked the front door. He was not the first who’d made that mistake. Pink? Mauve? Fuchsia? Blush? Who cared? They were all pink.
“If the back half of the house is standing wide open, why are you locking the door?”
She made a sign with her hand, “To fool the evil eye.”
Her skills better be damn good because if Cain McIntosh acted on his threats more than her house needed to be protected.
Chapter Twelve
Across the hall of her father’s house Czigany’s bedroom door was closed when John slipped out early the next morning, wearing nothing but clean underwear, socks and another dress shirt. Worried that she would feel the aches and pains of their confinement in the tub, he let her sleep. They’d have to go to work soon enough.
The long carpeted hallway muffled his footsteps as he headed toward the living room. A glance at his watch told him that with the time change, his team would have been at work for a couple of hours. He pressed speed dial on his cell.
The scent of coffee and fresh baked cinnamon rolls drew him toward the kitchen where Nicholae iced pastries.
Both men nodded. Neither spoke, but the older man gestured toward the table. He placed a hot roll on a plate and poured a cup of coffee. Even from the distance of the five feet that separated them, John saw the thick, black syrup would be a serious eye-opener.
He’d completely forgotten his cell phone call until the voice in his ear spoke. “Our guy struck again last night,” Ciggy said in lieu of ‘hello’.
“Where?”
“Luray, Virginia. Twylla and Dare are already there interviewing witnesses. Standard MO. One girl missing, black limo outside the bar. Her friends can describe him. I’ve sent the photos to Twylla’s phone to get confirmation.”
“Luray? They’re having a harder time in smaller towns. Download the case file to me. I want to see if Czigany has a handle on how they are choosing the locations of their hits.”
John forked the warm cinnamon roll. The phone was quiet, but he knew Ciggy sent the information as they spoke. “Also,” he said into the receiver. “Send all the photos of the missing girls. Let’s see if we can pick up any physical similarities. Have Twylla call me with anything she finds.”
“Will do.”
John slipped the phone into his shirt pocket and raised the fork to his lips.
From the kitchen Nicholae made a choking noise. John ratcheted his head almost one hundred and twenty degrees to determine the problem. The silver-haired man stared out the window, muttering unintelligible words as he launched into action. Scrambling around the kitchen he grabbed everything out of place. Without even a glance in his direction, Nicholae snatched the plate holding the cinnamon roll from under John’s fork. In an apparent afterthought he also grabbed the fork.
Opening the oven he shoved the fork, cinnamon roll and extra pan of rolls inside and shut the door. A sharp determined rap sounded on the front door. John rose to make a quick exit with his coffee, but when Nicholae walked by he placed a strong hand on John’s shoulder and firmly pushed him back to his seat.
“Stay
Fighting skills could be taught, but unwavering loyalty was rare and had value beyond consideration. Would he have acquired such dedication to his family or heritage if he’d been raised on the reservation?
His parents and his favorite sister, Dyami, were dead, his remaining half-brothers and sisters scattered. In his line of work, being too involved was dangerous. Living the life of a lone wolf suited him, although a very small part of him was pleased to be included so easily.
As the group was being ushered out the front door, he was comfortable enough to joke. “Well, at least your pink couch was saved.”
Only to hear the entire chorus of men say in unison, “It’s mauve.”
A grin she didn’t even try to suppress lit her expression as she locked the front door. He was not the first who’d made that mistake. Pink? Mauve? Fuchsia? Blush? Who cared? They were all pink.
“If the back half of the house is standing wide open, why are you locking the door?”
She made a sign with her hand, “To fool the evil eye.”
Her skills better be damn good because if Cain McIntosh acted on his threats more than her house needed to be protected.
Chapter Twelve
Across the hall of her father’s house Czigany’s bedroom door was closed when John slipped out early the next morning, wearing nothing but clean underwear, socks and another dress shirt. Worried that she would feel the aches and pains of their confinement in the tub, he let her sleep. They’d have to go to work soon enough.
The long carpeted hallway muffled his footsteps as he headed toward the living room. A glance at his watch told him that with the time change, his team would have been at work for a couple of hours. He pressed speed dial on his cell.
The scent of coffee and fresh baked cinnamon rolls drew him toward the kitchen where Nicholae iced pastries.
Both men nodded. Neither spoke, but the older man gestured toward the table. He placed a hot roll on a plate and poured a cup of coffee. Even from the distance of the five feet that separated them, John saw the thick, black syrup would be a serious eye-opener.
He’d completely forgotten his cell phone call until the voice in his ear spoke. “Our guy struck again last night,” Ciggy said in lieu of ‘hello’.
“Where?”
“Luray, Virginia. Twylla and Dare are already there interviewing witnesses. Standard MO. One girl missing, black limo outside the bar. Her friends can describe him. I’ve sent the photos to Twylla’s phone to get confirmation.”
“Luray? They’re having a harder time in smaller towns. Download the case file to me. I want to see if Czigany has a handle on how they are choosing the locations of their hits.”
John forked the warm cinnamon roll. The phone was quiet, but he knew Ciggy sent the information as they spoke. “Also,” he said into the receiver. “Send all the photos of the missing girls. Let’s see if we can pick up any physical similarities. Have Twylla call me with anything she finds.”
“Will do.”
John slipped the phone into his shirt pocket and raised the fork to his lips.
From the kitchen Nicholae made a choking noise. John ratcheted his head almost one hundred and twenty degrees to determine the problem. The silver-haired man stared out the window, muttering unintelligible words as he launched into action. Scrambling around the kitchen he grabbed everything out of place. Without even a glance in his direction, Nicholae snatched the plate holding the cinnamon roll from under John’s fork. In an apparent afterthought he also grabbed the fork.
Opening the oven he shoved the fork, cinnamon roll and extra pan of rolls inside and shut the door. A sharp determined rap sounded on the front door. John rose to make a quick exit with his coffee, but when Nicholae walked by he placed a strong hand on John’s shoulder and firmly pushed him back to his seat.
“Stay
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