way.
Gabriel’s appeal, on the other hand, was more ethereal, his energy more vibrant, his lean looks more elegant. He was dangerous, too, and there was no doubt in my mind that he’d killed before. But his danger to women? That classic bad-boy attitude. A love affair with Gabriel would be high drama, wild sex, and fast burnout.
Hmm.
Speaking of drama, it occurred to me that ever since I’d met Derek, we’d been overwhelmed by high drama. Namely, murder. Victims. Suspects. I’d been involved in so many criminal investigations, I’d lost count. The fact was, I had never even seen a dead body until I met Derek. Had he brought the murder magnet Karma into my world? Or had he simply entered my world right when I needed him most?
I’d have to give that more thought.
“Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes,” Max said as he filled a large pot with water for pasta. “Then we’ll have a nice conversation about you all leaving.”
“Not gonna happen,” Gabriel said amiably, “but the dinner invitation is appreciated. That pasta sauce smells incredible.”
“Thanks.”
“The bread is ready to go in the broiler,” Derek said. “Give me a three-minute warning and I’ll turn on the heat.”
“Perfect,” Max said.
“Now, while I was outside,” Derek said, switching subjects, “I dug the spent bullet from your veranda out front.” He pulled a flattened bullet from his pants pocket, held it up to the light, then placed the chunk of mangled brass on the chopping-block surface.
Gabriel moved in, picked up the bullet, and studied it.He pulled out a small pocketknife and scraped at the edges.
“Hand loaded,” he said, casting a meaningful glance at Derek.
“Yes,” Derek said, nodding as though he’d already come to that conclusion. Nothing much got past him.
“Risky,” Gabriel mused.
“What’re you talking about?” I asked.
“Our shooter packs his own bullets,” Gabriel explained.
Max stepped closer now, picked up the bullet, turned it over in his hand. “Oh yeah. Hand packed.”
“How can you tell?” I asked.
With the tip of his knife, Gabriel pointed out minute grooves in the bullet’s surface. “Shape of the bullet. The crimping pattern along the seal. Lot of ways to tell the difference.”
“Right.” I stared at it but still didn’t have a clue. Maybe it was a secondary sex characteristic that allowed men to more easily recognize a hand-packed bullet. Like male pattern baldness, this was something I would never have the joy of experiencing.
“Why would anyone hand pack a bullet?” I asked. “It can’t be any cheaper, can it? Are they zealots? Control freaks? I don’t get it.”
“It does have something to do with control, darling,” Derek said. “An experienced gun enthusiast will load his own cartridges, increasing or decreasing the amount of powder in order to add to his accuracy or to customize the performance of a particular shotgun or rifle. In the long run, for serious gun owners, it can be cost effective.”
“Good to know,” I said, astonished by his knowledge of such matters. I smiled at all three men. “Okay, ’nuf said about guns. Are we absolutely sure there’s no one out there?”
Gabriel shot me a look. “If he’d still been out there, we would’ve found him.”
Derek met my gaze and nodded reassuringly. “Yes, he’s gone, love.”
“Or
she’s
gone,” Max muttered, his tone edgy with anger.
What?
Oblivious, Max continued stirring the sauce until he finally turned around and flinched at the sight of three pairs of curious eyes staring back at him.
Chapter 10
“You think it’s a woman?” Derek said in surprise.
“Possibly.” Max kept stirring. “Could someone grab two bay leaves from the jar in the pantry and throw them in here?”
I looked around and my two companions stared back at me with blank faces.
Okay, fine.
I raced to the pantry, then returned and slid two leaves into the tomato sauce. “Come on, Max. Tell us who you
Gabriel’s appeal, on the other hand, was more ethereal, his energy more vibrant, his lean looks more elegant. He was dangerous, too, and there was no doubt in my mind that he’d killed before. But his danger to women? That classic bad-boy attitude. A love affair with Gabriel would be high drama, wild sex, and fast burnout.
Hmm.
Speaking of drama, it occurred to me that ever since I’d met Derek, we’d been overwhelmed by high drama. Namely, murder. Victims. Suspects. I’d been involved in so many criminal investigations, I’d lost count. The fact was, I had never even seen a dead body until I met Derek. Had he brought the murder magnet Karma into my world? Or had he simply entered my world right when I needed him most?
I’d have to give that more thought.
“Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes,” Max said as he filled a large pot with water for pasta. “Then we’ll have a nice conversation about you all leaving.”
“Not gonna happen,” Gabriel said amiably, “but the dinner invitation is appreciated. That pasta sauce smells incredible.”
“Thanks.”
“The bread is ready to go in the broiler,” Derek said. “Give me a three-minute warning and I’ll turn on the heat.”
“Perfect,” Max said.
“Now, while I was outside,” Derek said, switching subjects, “I dug the spent bullet from your veranda out front.” He pulled a flattened bullet from his pants pocket, held it up to the light, then placed the chunk of mangled brass on the chopping-block surface.
Gabriel moved in, picked up the bullet, and studied it.He pulled out a small pocketknife and scraped at the edges.
“Hand loaded,” he said, casting a meaningful glance at Derek.
“Yes,” Derek said, nodding as though he’d already come to that conclusion. Nothing much got past him.
“Risky,” Gabriel mused.
“What’re you talking about?” I asked.
“Our shooter packs his own bullets,” Gabriel explained.
Max stepped closer now, picked up the bullet, turned it over in his hand. “Oh yeah. Hand packed.”
“How can you tell?” I asked.
With the tip of his knife, Gabriel pointed out minute grooves in the bullet’s surface. “Shape of the bullet. The crimping pattern along the seal. Lot of ways to tell the difference.”
“Right.” I stared at it but still didn’t have a clue. Maybe it was a secondary sex characteristic that allowed men to more easily recognize a hand-packed bullet. Like male pattern baldness, this was something I would never have the joy of experiencing.
“Why would anyone hand pack a bullet?” I asked. “It can’t be any cheaper, can it? Are they zealots? Control freaks? I don’t get it.”
“It does have something to do with control, darling,” Derek said. “An experienced gun enthusiast will load his own cartridges, increasing or decreasing the amount of powder in order to add to his accuracy or to customize the performance of a particular shotgun or rifle. In the long run, for serious gun owners, it can be cost effective.”
“Good to know,” I said, astonished by his knowledge of such matters. I smiled at all three men. “Okay, ’nuf said about guns. Are we absolutely sure there’s no one out there?”
Gabriel shot me a look. “If he’d still been out there, we would’ve found him.”
Derek met my gaze and nodded reassuringly. “Yes, he’s gone, love.”
“Or
she’s
gone,” Max muttered, his tone edgy with anger.
What?
Oblivious, Max continued stirring the sauce until he finally turned around and flinched at the sight of three pairs of curious eyes staring back at him.
Chapter 10
“You think it’s a woman?” Derek said in surprise.
“Possibly.” Max kept stirring. “Could someone grab two bay leaves from the jar in the pantry and throw them in here?”
I looked around and my two companions stared back at me with blank faces.
Okay, fine.
I raced to the pantry, then returned and slid two leaves into the tomato sauce. “Come on, Max. Tell us who you
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