Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 114820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
“Special Agent Lazarus?” she asked.
He reached into the inside pocket of his blazer to get his credentials, but she shook her head.
“Ms. Bonner is expecting you.”
Polly had called ahead.
She held the door open for him.
He walked in, not to face a theater, but an enormous open-plan room with vaulted ceilings that looked part chic mountain getaway living room and part chic mountain getaway bar, and the last part was a high-class restaurant. There were lots of huge windows, including the entire back wall.
And the back of the building didn’t face forest. It faced a drop-away view of a massive valley, at the bottom of which was a rushing river with white water rapids and rising beyond was dense forest leading up to a snowy mountain peak in the distance.
So the show wasn’t the only hot ticket for the house.
It still begged the question as to where the theater was.
The woman who greeted him walked to the side, where there was an open staircase made of rough wood with a banister fortified by polished branches. This was set against a stone wall and rose above an enormous fireplace.
They ascended, and he saw one door at the landing. It would lead to a room situated above the overhang outside. The landing had a view of the entire bar and seating area, through to the vista out the back windows.
Security knocked twice, then opened the door.
“The agent from the FBI is here,” she said, then stepped aside on the landing, indicating Rus should walk in.
He did so.
He didn’t know what to expect, any of it, including Lucinda Bonner, but whatever it was, as usual since he hit Misted Pines, he didn’t get it.
Pure class, from the threshold to the woman rising from her chair, her attention trained on him.
She was behind a big modern desk of ivory-stained wood with an ivory leather chair behind it, the numerous nail heads that held the leather stretched in place, exposed on its edges. Two armchairs faced the desk, they were boxed in spindled wood, covered in cream upholstery and had tan and brown zebra-print pillows resting against their backs.
The wood floor had a large area rug with an ivory nap and champagne-gold highlights woven into it.
The desk was clear of everything, save an attractive, squat desk lamp at the center, front edge, a short stack of manila folders in the middle, and at one corner, a tall, perfect orchid plant with yellow blooms fading into dark pink centers, sprouting from a gold pot.
The walls were mostly windows.
The only other thing in the room was an oval plinth in a corner, on top of which was a large sculpture of a Native fetish bear crafted from what looked like solidified honey.
The desk faced the door. The armchairs faced the forest.
And the woman in a figure-skimming cream dress with a high neck, no sleeves, and bisque suede, high, stiletto-heeled pumps on her feet, had stepped to the side of the desk, and she faced Rus.
Her makeup and hair looked done by a professional. The knot at her nape the polar opposite of that worn by her security. It was soft and feminine, exposing the long line of her neck, which was a continuation of the long line of her body.
She had ass and hips.
But fuck him, he was a leg man, and her legs went on forever.
His wife had been blonde, and when she cheated on him, she’d picked a man who looked uncannily like Rus.
The man wasn’t just her type, it was a way to rub her pain into Rus’s skin, causing him to feel the same.
It had worked.
After his divorce, he’d sworn off anything but the most casual of relationships. A woman to go to dinner with. A woman to catch a movie with. A woman to sleep with. And he had two who were happy to share these things with him and nothing more.
One was redhead.
One was brunette.
They were these because, even though they were three years out on their divorce, he’d made a pact with himself that he was never going to hit Jennifer with the bullet she’d sent tearing through his flesh.
Not that she’d ever see him with either of them. Penny lived in Texas. Ruth lived in Philly. He lived in Virginia, as did Jenn.
But he wasn’t going to take the chance just in case.
So, after he tore his mind off Lucinda Bonner’s legs, then her shoes, he knew this case was going to fuck him in more ways than it already had because she was a brunette.
Fair game.
Shit.
She came forward, hand raised.
“Special Agent Lazarus.”
He was not about to tell her to call him Rus, and not only because her voice was low and sultry.
But now that was one of the reasons.
He took her hand. “Ms. Bonner.”
“Lucinda,” she invited.
So, not everyone called her Cin.