always came to the Amurovs. Knowing Matherson had been stalking Flambé, they would question Sevastyan straightaway.
The club parking lot was full, not a bad thing at all. That meant more witnesses to him being there. The three quickly made their way through the dark streets, avoiding any street lights. They jogged through the empty park and cut through a lot that took them to the upscale neighborhood where Matherson leased his estate. It was a two-story contemporary home on one acre behind a tall wrought-iron fence. With a custom pool and multilevel decks, it was a dream home for people and would have been nice for leopards with the landscaping, but Sevastyan doubted if Matherson allowed his men the use of the amenities the place provided—the game room and spa.
He had the blueprints of the house and had memorized the layout of the yard. As they approached the fence, they stripped, rolled their clothes and placed them in the small bags they could sling around their leopards’ necks when traveling. In this case, they stashed them. Shifting, they easily leapt over the fence and landed in the yard. All three let the leopards take a few minutes to inhale, to prowl around in silence to get a feel for the shifters guarding Matherson.
Scents were everywhere, heavy on the ground, in the trees and shrubs. Male leopards had sprayed and raked, claiming territory. Tracks were in the dirt, but there was no sign of anyone, human or leopard. The three split up, Matvei jumping up on the deck to walk around the outside of the house and then up on the roof to look for sentries while Kirill and Sevastyan made their way around to look for a way inside.
Doors were locked, but one window was open about half an inch. It appeared to be stuck and Matherson’s men were too lazy to bother with it, or it was a trap. Kirill carefully worked at it until he got it to move. Cautiously his leopard stuck his head in and looked around. He sniffed the air and jerked his head out again, shifting head and shoulders. Sevastyan did the same.
“Something’s dead inside,” Kirill warned. “Someone,” he corrected. “You’re going to need that alibi.”
“Let’s see what we’re facing.” Sevastyan hoped whoever they found was Matherson, but he knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. Men like Matherson seemed to have the devil guarding them.
Kirill pushed his way inside, Sevastyan right behind him. The house had been abandoned hastily. There were three bodies, two women and one man, all human. All three had been killed by a bullet to the head. None wore clothing. It looked as if there had been a huge party thrown, with wine, champagne and various sorts of liquor bottles strewn everywhere along with glasses and broken bowls of chips. To Sevastyan, the room looked staged.
“We can’t stay here, Sevastyan. You have to get to that club fast and make an appearance. The timing has to be right,” Kirill said. “Matherson is missing and could be presumed dead if they don’t suspect him for this. For some reason, he always seems to get a pass.”
“I wonder why that is,” Sevastyan said, and shifted back fully to his leopard.
10
THERE was pure satisfaction in watching a barren landscape transform into something lush and beautiful. Flambé loved putting her hands in soil. She found the soil grounded her. She also found that watching the people who worked with her moving the trees into position with confidence and sometimes outright joy made her happy.
She loved what she did at every stage. One of her gifts was talking with the client and catching images of what they really wanted when most of the time they were unable to describe with actual words what they envisioned or needed. Often, the client had no idea what they really wanted and she would look at a space and know, after spending time with them, what would best suit them. She loved providing something special and unique for them.
She enjoyed picking out plants that would suit the various landscapes. She worked in all sorts of areas, the urban and rural. She worked in malls and business buildings as well as clubs and private estates and modest homes. She had very wealthy clients who owned acres of land planted with grapes. Others had ranches. The fact that her clients were so different provided the artist in her with continual varied canvases to work on.