Deadly Coincidence (Brantley Walker Off the Books #4) - Nicole Edwards Page 0,56
as you were fallin’ asleep.”
Yep. He could see that. Since he’d been sated sexually, his brain had shifted to food. Otherwise, Brantley would’ve been thinking clearly and asked for sex in the morning.
He rolled to his back and stared up at the ceiling. The room was bright, the day already underway.
“What time is it?”
“Almost oh-nine thirty. You slept late,” Reese called out before disappearing down the hall.
But not late enough. He would’ve preferred to finish that damn dream, thank you very much.
“Why don’t you come back in here and join me?” he suggested, his voice not nearly loud enough to carry through the house. “Get naked and let me use that mouth for a bit,” he rambled to himself. “Christ Almighty, I don’t think I’ll make it through the day.”
Obviously not hearing him, Reese didn’t return so Brantley could sweet-talk him back into the bed, which meant he had only one option: get up.
With a lingering disappointment, he crawled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. He was about to flip on the shower when his cell phone rang. Reversing course, he went back to the bedroom, snatched it off his nightstand.
Baz.
Probably couldn’t remember where his truck was or maybe he was merely calling him from Brantley’s kitchen, wanting to rub his nose in the fact he was enjoying Reese’s pancakes already.
“Hey, man, what’s up? I thought you’d be—”
“We’ve got a major problem,” Baz said, his voice low.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up. “What is it?”
“JJ.”
His throat went tight and every muscle in his body tensed. “Is she all right?”
“She’s alive and unharmed. Physically, anyway.”
The exhale was filled with relief as he waited for Baz to continue. Brantley had to be cool, had to remain calm. No sense losing his shit if he didn’t know what the problem was.
“I can’t do this on the phone,” Baz said quietly. “I need you to get to JJ’s. See for yourself.”
“I’m bringin’ Reese.”
“Good idea. But leave Tesha at home.”
In all the time he’d known Baz, the man had never been overdramatic, so he knew something was seriously wrong.
“Why?”
“You’ll see when you get here. I’m serious, Brantley. Leave the dog at home and get here ASAP.”
“Give us fifteen,” he told Baz.
“Hurry. And bring gloves.”
The call disconnected, and Brantley tossed his phone on the dresser while he grabbed clothes, pulled them on.
Footsteps sounded down the hall seconds before Reese appeared, chuckling. “What the hell are you doin’? Tactical pants? Seriously? It’s—”
“We have to get to JJ’s,” he said, cutting off the good-natured ridicule, holstering his weapon on his hip. “Baz called. Said he can’t talk about it on the phone. Come on. We gotta go. And he said not to bring Tesha.”
He could tell Reese wasn’t happy about that, but he nodded, said, “Give me one minute.”
It only took three minutes before they were out the door and getting into Brantley’s truck. Another three and they were coming into the town proper.
Neither of them spoke, although Brantley knew Reese probably had a dozen questions running through his head. Brantley damn sure did, but until he knew what they were dealing with, it would only be wasted breath.
Because he was one who believed fully in reconnaissance, Brantley drove down JJ’s street once to see if he could get eyes on what was going on. He saw JJ’s little crossover SUV in her driveway, Baz’s truck on the street. Everything else appeared normal. From what he could tell, anyway.
He circled back around, pulled his truck behind Baz’s, partially in front of the neighbor’s house.
As they got out, he scanned their surroundings, noticed Reese was doing the same thing. Still nothing set off his internal alarms, so he headed for the porch.
Rather than linger at the door, Brantley walked right in.
And immediately stopped.
Reese was at his side, also not moving as they both took it all in.
The only view he had was of blood and chaos. It covered the living room, made the usually tidy space look like it belonged in another house, certainly not in JJ’s.
“Baz?”
“In the hallway,” he called out. “We haven’t moved from this spot since I got here.”
Taking that to mean it was safe to move, he stepped past the sofa, past the pool of blood coating the carpet beside the overturned coffee table.
He maneuvered around the furniture, stopped when Reese called out to him, pointed to the bookcase.
There, lying on an open book, was a severed finger.