Southernmost Murder Page 4

  “Okay.”

  I brought him inside and was happy to see a healthy number of tourists moving about the room. I really hadn’t wanted to open the house again after this morning’s fiasco, but without a body, there wasn’t much excuse to keep everything shut down. If the nonprofit board got wind of that and my not-so-rock-solid reasoning behind the locked doors, I’d be shit-canned in a heartbeat. So Adam had opened ticket sales again when Jun and I left for lunch.

  “Hey, Aubrey,” Adam called from the register.

  “Everything okay here?”

  Adam nodded. “No one’s reported unsightly visitors in the house, at least.”

  “Hilarious,” I said, deadpan. “I’m off the clock, just bringing Jun over to see the place before heading out again.”

  Adam glanced at Jun. “Sure thing.”

  I led the way outside and into the gardens. There were a few visitors strolling about the walkways, taking pictures, and reading information plaques about some of the rare and beautiful plants on location.

  Jun’s hand settled on my lower back, and holy shit—I hadn’t realized how badly I’d missed that sort of touch from another man. “I’m not so sure your employee likes me.”

  I pulled my attention away from Jun’s hand and glanced up. “Adam?”

  “Hmm.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Gut feeling.”

  “What’s up? Your cop senses tingling?”

  Jun’s mouth curved into a small smile, and he started walking along a path toward the towering house ahead. “No.”

  “He’s never even been late, you know. He’s always waiting on the porch when I roll into work. Adam’s a good guy.”

  “If he wasn’t good, you wouldn’t have hired him,” Jun said, seeming to agree with me.

  “So why do you think he doesn’t like you? Adam likes everyone.”

  “Boyfriend senses.”

  I stopped, smirked, and put my hands on my hips. “Ohhh.”

  Jun paused and turned to look at me. “Not that—”

  “No, no, I get it,” I said, feeling a wicked grin curl my lips. “Mr. Tanaka, are you officially asking me out?”

  Jun swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Not in so many words.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I don’t want to make you feel obligated. Especially since I’m here visiting and staying with you….” He shrugged.

  “I must be getting old, because that’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  Jun looked away briefly, covering his mouth with a hand to suppress a laugh. “Not looking for a sexy, passionate man these days?”

  “Oh, I so am,” I corrected. “But a guy who likes to talk about my feelings too? What a turn-on.” I took a step closer. “Don’t even get me started on men who dust baseboards or know how to balance checkbooks.”

  Jun glanced from side to side, likely confirming there were no gawking tourists in the vicinity, before he took my hands and pulled me closer. “I do both,” he confirmed.

  “Yeah? My jeans just got a little tighter.”

  Jun’s eyes crinkled in the corners as he laughed. “You know what other skill I have on my résumé?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ve been known, on more than one occasion, to take scary bugs out of the house.”

  “Oh shit, you’d best propose to me now, because you’re not going anywhere,” I said, laughing loud.

  Jun kissed my forehead.

  “So how about it, Mr. FBI? Want to be my better half?”

  Like I said, Jun’s pretty quiet. It was kind of cute, because I’ve seen him in official G-man mode. He was a badass straight out of a Hollywood movie. And flirting? No trouble there, and no issue with PDA either. But actual conversations? It wasn’t really his thing. If I waited for him to ask me out, we’d be here until I was eighty.

  But I wasn’t joking in regard to a guy who cared about my feelings. My last boyfriend—Matt O’Sullivan—had given so few fucks, we were in the negatives by the time I split. I hadn’t realized until I was a thousand miles away the toll my self-esteem had taken from that relationship. But Jun gave a crap. He gave many craps. And that was the kind of man you brought home to Ma and Pa.

  “I’d like that,” Jun said.

  “Goodie! Now I have a legitimate excuse to show you my piercings.”

  “Piercings?”

  I made a satisfied noise and let go of him. “Come on. You wanted to see the house.”

  “That was before I knew you had piercings.”

  “Yup.” God, I was such a little shit sometimes.

  “Plural?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Like, where?”

  I hiked up the porch stairs and opened the door. “I guess you’ll have to do a thorough inspection.”

  Herb was giving his not-so-impressive spiel to a group of visitors when we stepped inside. I waved at him to continue and quietly led Jun up the first set of stairs. We passed by the master bedroom and children’s rooms on the second floor before going up the next staircase. The third floor was quiet and empty, which was typical. Tourists never stayed long up here, despite the captain’s study being one of the more exciting displays, in my humble opinion.

  “Impressive home,” Jun said as he reached the landing.

  “Thanks. I’ve put more time and effort into this house than any place I’ve ever actually lived in.” I motioned him over to the closet in question. “So, this is it.”

  Jun stared at the door, back at the stairs, and then the door again. “Do you mind opening it?”

  I nodded and popped the eyehook. It was still empty inside.

  I admit a small—very small—part of me wanted Skelly to be there again, if for nothing more than to prove I hadn’t briefly gone insane that morning. I pointed to the wall at the back. “He was in there.”

  Jun took a step into the closet. He pulled out his cell phone and turned on the flashlight, looking around.

  “Whole lot of nothing, am I right?”

  “Yes.”

  I grunted and cautiously squeezed in beside him. “I’d been peeling old wallpaper and found this lever,” I explained, tugging up some of the paper to show Jun. “And the false wall gave way and Skelly fell out.”

  “Skelly?”

  “He was just hanging there like a sad, empty piñata.”

  “Certainly leaves a lot of unanswered questions,” Jun stated, flashing the light here and there, as if hoping to find something in the tiny little nook.

  “Adam thought maybe the person was murdered. Because why else would you hide someone? And Sebastian kinda thought the same thing—Skelly was clearly hidden with no intention of being found.”

  “Sebastian Snow?”

  “Yeah.”

  Jun nodded. “Don’t drag him into this.”

  “I’m not. Just mentioned it in passing.”

  “That seems to be about all he needs as an excuse to get involved.”

  “I’m pretty sure even Seb won’t fly down to the Keys to sleuth around for a lost skeleton—crazy as he may be.”

  “Let’s keep it that way. I’ve no interest in making a call to—Winter, was it?—to come fetch his wayward assistant.”

  Jun knew of Sebastian because his beau, homicide detective Calvin Winter, had been the one asking for FBI intel on a cold case. I didn’t think Jun had an issue with either of them, but you know… federal agent versus a metro detective. It was always a whose-dick-is-bigger contest.

  Jun leaned into the false wall, shining his flashlight again. “Found your phone.”

  “What?” I got close and looked inside as Jun reached for it. “How’d the fuck it get in there?”

  He handed it over.

  I swiped, unlocked the phone, and yeah—four missed calls and half a dozen texts from Jun. I winced and pretended I didn’t see them. “Seems okay,” I said at length.

  I peered back at the wall. The tight spot didn’t seem big enough
to cram a human into, which said something about how desperate the person who hid the body had been. There was nothing left now but a shitload of dust, which made me sneeze a few times.

  “You’ve got the cutest sneeze,” Jun murmured.

  “Shut it, mister.” I was about to step back, but then something caught my attention. “Jun, shine the light down there.”

  Jun put the phone’s light back on the wall, pointing it down at the bottom of the nook. “Are those words?”

  I leaned down as much as I could, blowing dust out of the way. “An X on my… heart,” I read.

  “What’s that mean?” Jun asked.

  I shook my head, turning to stare at him. “I have no idea.”

  Chapter Four

  PATSY CLINE puts me to sleep.

  I like her voice, but every time I hear any of her songs, insta-nap.

  I leaned over and hit the radio button, trying another preprogrammed station in Jun’s rental car. Hello, Rihanna, my gorgeous queen. “S&M.” Sex was in the air. Good song, that one.

  Jun glanced at me.

  “Patsy is like warm milk at bedtime,” I protested.

  “It was better than this. This song is awful.”

  I gasped. “Take it back!”

  “What?”

  “I love this song. You should see me dancing to it after I’ve had a few.”

  His mouth quirked. “I won’t get between you and your pop divas.”

  Jun’s cool and chic appearance fooled a lot of people. He was a bit of a bad boy deep down. He listened solely to the hardest rock and metal and old-school punk that could be scrounged up. I was talking the kind of music where you could barely understand the lyrics and someone was going to give themselves a neck injury from thrashing. Jun would probably be right at home in a mosh pit.

  I only knew he was so not a Rihanna fan because a few years back he had gone out to a bar with me and Matt after work. Matt had spent the entire time flirting with some younger guys there—and fuck, it still hurt thinking about that. About how stupid and unwanted that made me feel, and Jun had seen it all. He sat with me all night, doing his best to chat, which was where I also learned he wasn’t a chatter, and he ended up bonding with me over our extremely diverse musical tastes.

  “You okay?” Jun asked, glancing away from the road once or twice.

  “Yeah,” I said quickly and a bit too loudly. “I was thinking about the time you nearly blew out my eardrums with Five Finger Death Punch.”

  “I knew you were lying when you said you liked them.”

  “I was trying to impress you.” I reached over and put my hand on Jun’s thigh. It was solid muscle and felt right to touch. “Did it work?”

  He only smiled in response.

  After Jun and I found the message in the closet, I was done. No more crazy, creepy shit for me, thank you very much. I’d put Adam in charge of closing up for the night, grabbed my belongings, and we left. The only thing I wanted to do for the next week and a half was relax on the beach, pretend to be a tourist, and do a whole lot of naked lounging with Jun. A vanishing skeleton and mystery message were not going to ruin my vacation.

  So help me if something came between me and sexy Mr. Tanaka over the next ten days. I might be tiny, but I would fuck someone’s shit up.

  “Left or right?” Jun asked at the next intersection.

  “Left here,” I said. I sat up a bit and pointed to a cottage coming up. “That blue one is me. This is my parking spot too.”

  Jun pulled up on the side of the road. “Where’s this pink Vespa I’ve heard so much about?” he asked, taking the keys from the ignition.

  “Oh, the Princess?” I asked, smirking. “Backyard.”

  Jun laughed as he climbed out of the driver’s seat and went around back to fetch his suitcase.

  I got out and walked to the front door, unlocked it, and held it open. “Welcome to Chez Grant. Come for the home cooking—stay for the sweet ass.”

  “Does everyone get that offer?” Jun asked as he stepped inside.

  “Only crime-fighting linguists.”

  “Sounds like a short list.”

  I shut the door and turned to look up at him. “You’d be surprised. I think I can squeeze you in for brunches every other Wednesday. What do you say? Omelets from scratch, followed by your front and my back?”

  Jun set his laptop bag beside the rolling suitcase and approached me. I backed up against the door and loved how he towered over me. I could feel the heat of his body and the tension rippling in his muscles. So much self-control. Maybe too much.

  “Although I think my tables are reserved now,” I whispered.

  “Last name, Tanaka. Want me to spell that?”

  “I think I got it.”

  Jun’s gaze wandered briefly, and it felt like he was stripping me with his eyes. My breath was coming shallow and quick, and my dick had most definitely perked up, thinking it was go time.

  No reason to stand at attention. He hasn’t even touched you yet!

  “Let’s be certain,” Jun said, voice dropping so deep, it was like he was caressing my balls with it. He got as close as he could without our bodies actually touching, and I could feel myself starting to vibrate as I held back from grabbing him. Jun gently pressed his index finger to my throat and drew what felt like a T.

  “T,” he stated.

  He went a bit lower, just under my collarbones.

  “A,” I said.

  Jun dragged his finger down and across to my nipple, where it bumped a barbell piercing. His mouth did that lopsided smile when I let out a sudden breath. “N,” he said as he drew the letter.

  I swallowed.

  Jun slowly brought his hand down to the middle of my stomach and pressed another shape against my body.

  “A,” I whispered.

  Jun smiled a bit more boldly. He slid his index finger down to my belly, then paused at another piercing. “K,” he said as he gave the ring a little nudge, and what was never an erotic piercing for me suddenly made my entire body ache. Jun raised his eyes, stared hard at me, and brought his finger down against my straining cock, drawing a shape against it.

  “Ahh,” I groaned, tilting my head back against the door.

  Jun removed his hand.

  “Going to spell and run?” I mumbled. I started to move from the door and staggered.

  Jun grabbed me. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I insisted, moving out of his hold.

  “There’s no reason to rush,” Jun confirmed.

  “Except that I’ve got a chub, which, when you’re wearing skinny jeans….” I straightened my posture and pointed to the affliction I was suffering from.

  Jun was amused. That bastard. He unzipped the front of his suitcase and removed a pair of black house slippers. He toed off his expensive-looking shoes, briefly flashed his bright, rainbow-striped socks, and put the slippers on.

  I glanced at my torn, scuffed-up Chucks. I walked a narrow line of caring very much about my looks—let’s admit it, my hair, piercings, and back tattoo make me look fierce—while also appearing like I’ve forgotten how to adult, considering my questionable wardrobe. Cheap, teenage-style clothes mostly, and I wouldn’t be surprised if these Cons were from 1992.

  “What’s with the socks?” I asked.

  “My sister buys me a pair of silly socks every year. I have a lot.”

  “Aww,” I cooed. “That’s cute.”

  Jun cleared his throat.

  I walked into the living room. “So. Downstairs.”

  The cottage was probably bigger than what I needed, considering I lived by myself, but it was really quite gorgeous and I was used to rent rates that bleed you, coming from New York, so I kept it. Each room was painted in bright, beachy colors seen all over the island—blues, greens, and pinks, with a few eclectic pieces of local art on the walls. The living room had the basic essentials—television, couch, and a bookshelf full of romance novels and cookbooks.

  I know, right? And m
y appointment book is suddenly always full whenever I find a romance novel about a chef and a cop.

  I walked to the open doorway of the kitchen and flipped on the light for Jun to see. Nothing super impressive, but my old place in Brooklyn had exactly half a counter, and here I had several counter spaces and a dishwasher.

  “There’s a laundry room by the back door,” I began before leading Jun to a spiral staircase. “My bed and bathroom are in the loft. You can bring your suitcase if you want.”

  I went up ahead of him to make sure, in my rush to get to work earlier than usual that morning, I hadn’t left dirty socks or briefs lying around. Not like Jun hadn’t seen another man’s underwear in his lifetime; he was forty-one and not a virgin. But still. I wanted to go a full twenty-four hours before he saw what a shitty housekeeper I was.

  Lo and behold, there was a pair lying on the floor, which I quickly tossed in the hamper. There were also several shirts left on the bedspread from when I was trying to pick out what would make me look the cutest, because naturally I’d wanted to impress Jun that morning. Then, of course, I realized I’d spent way too long hemming and hawing, was late, and left wearing an X-Files-themed shirt. Monster of the week wasn’t the look I had been going for, but c’est la vie.

  I turned as Jun reached the top. “Not bad, right?”

  “Not at all.” He pushed his suitcase to the banister that overlooked the ground floor.

  I picked up the T-shirts and went to the closet to hang them. “I know it’s lame,” I began, shutting the door and looking at Jun, “but would you mind if I took a quick nap? I’m supposed to take it at one, but better late than never.”

  “It’s not lame,” he answered. “Go right ahead. How long do you need? An hour?”

  “Oh no, twenty minutes,” I said. I flopped on the bed and rolled to my side. “Any longer makes me groggy.” I fished my cell out of my pocket and set the alarm before putting it on the nightstand. I looked back at Jun and patted the bed in invitation. Exhaustion was already weighing me down. It took me under a minute to fall into a deep sleep—but at least I’d felt Jun slide his arm around my waist before I was off to never-never land.