Two sisters, one treasure, and a killer determined to have it all.
Street Callan wants only one thing from the sultry voluptuous woman in red heels, a night of steamy, unadulterated sex.
Na’arah Simmons has no problem submitting to Street’s seductive allure, since she shares in the attraction.
When their one night stand leaves her with an unplanned souvenir, his less than desired response will force her to move on.
However, when she’s the only witness to a brutal murder, Na’arah has only Street to turn to if she wants to save herself and her unborn child.
Na’arah pulled up short at the small man hovering on the other side.
“Kyle!” she gasped. “You startled me.”
Kyle pushed his mirrored aviator shades to his forehead and frowned. “Where’s Auggie?”
“Uh, he was attacked last night and will be in the hospital for a few days.” She studied him a moment. A flicker of amusement shaded his eyes before it was replaced by concern. “Was there something I could help you with?”
He leaned to one side, lifted a hairy leg and scratched his calf. The skin on his knuckles was raw and abraded, as if he’d punched something. . . or someone. She scrutinized him. His thin tanned face held a shadowed bruise across his pointed chin.
“I wanted to see what time I’m supposed to take over this evening.” He lowered his leg and glanced around. “You got a schedule or something?”
Unease rippled down her spine. Kyle was the only employee at the spa she didn’t like. He was genial toward the clients and Auggie thought he was some kind of miracle worker when it came to the deep tissue massage, but Na’arah still didn’t like him. Something about his suave manner and shark’s smile made her skin crawl.
Even the way he studied her now made her want to bathe in bleach. She was thankful other vendors were present in the tent.
“Yeah.” She stepped to a second curtained off area, knelt in front of a box and thumbed through the myriad of clipboards and brochures. She’d seen a schedule somewhere. Material rustled behind her and the slide of metal barely registered through the flutter of papers. Of course it would be at the bottom of the box.
“You said he’s in the hospital?”
“Yeah.” She scanned through the spreadsheet until she found Kyle’s name. “Coupla broken ribs, a mild concussion and a bunch of bruises, but he’ll be fine.” When she pivoted, still on her knees, she was staring at the open brass zipper on a pair of khaki shorts. Short, curly blond hair peeked through the opening while disgust sluiced through her system. She lifted her gaze to find a smirk on Kyle’s face.
“I’ve always wanted to know if you’d need a pillow for extra height, but you’re perfect.”
Revulsion roiled through her belly and she scooted away from him. She smacked the back of her head on the edge of the table and saw stars.
Kyle gripped her shoulder, his fingers biting into her flesh. “Stay where you are,” he ordered. “This won’t take but a...”
“If you don’t take your hands off her, I promise you’ll sing an octave higher the rest of your life.”
Somehow in all the chaos Zee had awakened and stood behind him. The pointed tip of something metal peeked from between his legs, right near his happy place. By his pained scowl, Na’arah realized it must be very close.
“You okay, sis?”
“Yeah.” Na’arah scrambled to her feet, brushing a blade of grass from her knee. She looked Kyle in the eye. Sweat rolled down his face. “Don’t bother showing up this afternoon. Your services are no longer required.” She held out her hand, palm side up. “Keys.”
He glared at her. “You don’t have the—hey!” The knife shifted and he squealed. “Watch it!”
“Hand her the keys.” For emphasis, the tip disappeared and a pained expression creased Kyle’s face.
Na’arah almost felt sorry for the prick as he searched through his pockets for the keys. A knife in his groin couldn’t be very comfortable and she knew Zee was very good at what she did.
The keys jangled in rhythm to his shaking hand. He laid them across her outstretched palm.