My phone buzzed. “This is Anna,” I said.
“Hey. It’s Nick. Let’s see the judge tomorrow. I’m on to something today.” He sounded distracted. “Let’s grab breakfast at Smiley’s. Seven in the morning.” He clicked off without waiting for an answer. Humph. That was mildly annoying.
On the bright side, I had some free time. So I headed home and went for a run, careful to stay on the path and keep my surroundings in sight. A murder had occurred on the dike road, and the world seemed even less safe than it had a week before. I breathed heavily as I finished and returned home to make a simple chicken and rice dish. I wondered what Aiden was doing.
Was Tessa right about him? Of course, she was. There was no way any man could live up to the guy I’d created in my head through the years. After reading for a while, I headed to bed, more than a little exhausted after the night before. Breakfast with Nick. A business meeting and not a date.
The phone buzzed me awake sometime after midnight. I fumbled for it on the dresser. “Wh-what?” I mumbled into it.
“She’s dead.” A loud crash sounded. “Damn it. My foot.”
I blinked awake, my mind clearing. “Nick?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled; his voice slurred. “She’s dead. My fault. So young.”
I sat up and flipped on the bedside table lamp. “Who’s dead?”
“Cheryl Smythers,” he hiccuped. Something crashed.
Cheryl was dead? What? What was wrong with him? “Are you okay?”
He sighed, the sound loud through the phone. “No, Albertini, I am not fine. I am totally and completely bombed.” He hiccuped again.
I pushed from the bed. “Where are you?”
“In my condo,” he mumbled. “Didn’t I tell you where I live?”
“No.” I reached for a pair of jeans I’d tossed over a chair, my hands shaking. “What condo?”
“Blueridge Condos above the marina. Lucky number seven, baby,” he slurred. “Shoot.” More banging sounded, he grunted, and a loud crash echoed. Several, actually, followed by a hard grunt. “Stupid stairs.” Then he clicked off.
I wiped a hand across my face. What the heck? Was it part of my job description to help out a drunk Nick Basanelli? He had called me, and he was living in the condos right above the Tamarack Lake Marina and only about five minutes from my cozy cabin. How was Cheryl dead? The bodies were piling up, and I wanted some answers. So I tossed on a shirt, brushed my teeth, yanked my hair into a ponytail, and headed out to my car.
The night was cool but not raining as I drove around the lake road to the luxury condos. It figured Nick would live there. I parked next to his Jeep and strode up the stairs to knock loudly on his door.
He opened the door dressed in faded jeans and nothing else. What was it with bare male flesh these days? Although, unlike the judge, Nick was something to look at. Hard muscles with a tattoo over his bicep that surprised the heck out of me. Some sort of military designation? His jeans were unbuttoned and his feet bare. A bunch of boxes were stacked behind him. “Albertini,” he murmured, weaving in front of my eyes. “What are you doing here?”
I tore my gaze from his nice chest to see a bleeding wound above his eyebrow. “What did you do?” I moved toward him, reaching for it.
He slapped my hand away and staggered back. “Fell down the stairs. Gravity wins every time.”
I peered closer but didn’t try to touch again. “You might need stitches.”
He scoffed. “Stitches are for wimps.” Then he grinned, making him look more boyish than I could’ve imagined.
My chest warmed. Whoa. I had to keep myself in check here. “Let me at least put a bandage on you.”
He shut the door and leaned toward me, bringing the scent of whiskey with him. “We gonna play doctor?” His eyes glimmered a soft amber, and with his five-o-clock shadow, he looked like a guy who knew all about anatomy.
“No.” I pushed past him to walk beyond the stairway toward a great room overlooking the lake. More boxes were stacked on a leather sofa and chair. The kitchen was to the left with high-end appliances, and no doubt his bedroom was upstairs. I was not going up there. “Where’s your first aid kit?”
He followed me, picking up a half-full crystal tumbler holding an amber liquid that matched his eyes. “I’m a bachelor. There’s no first aid kit.” He lifted the glass to his mouth.
I grabbed it, yanking it from him.
“Hey.” His lip pouted out. I swear it did. “Give that back.”
“No.” I moved for the kitchen and dumped the contents in the sink. “You’ve had enough.”
