Into the Fury (BOSS, Inc. #1)(15)

“Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

“What’re the circumstances?”

“Could be a break-in. The cops think maybe a burglary gone wrong.”

He thought of the note Delilah and nine other women had received. “Or not.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem.”

“Have you given the police the info on the notes?” Ethan asked.

“Met with the lead detective on the case this morning, guy named Bruce Hoover. He wasn’t happy we hadn’t reported the letters.”

“I’ll bet. What about the rest of the girls? Are they all accounted for?”

“We’re in the process. We’re putting a man on every woman in Seattle who got a note and placing guards on every floor of the Fairmont.”

Ethan thought of Valentine Hart and the promise he’d made to Samantha. Worry slid through him. “What about Valentine? She’s a family friend. You got someone with her?”

“Haven’t been able to reach her so far. I’ll stay on it, though.”

“I’ll find her. I’ll let you know as soon as she’s covered.”

“All right.”

“I want to take a look at the crime scene.” Getting as much information as possible was his second priority—after he had Valentine secured. “What’s the address?”

“It’s 342 Lakeside Avenue. It’s a luxury condo right on the water.”

Ethan figured Delilah Larsen could afford it. One of the models had told him her fee was five thousand dollars an hour.

“I’m not sure the cops will let you in,” Carlyle said.

“They’ll let me in.” He was a former police detective, and though Hoover was hard-nosed and set in his ways, Ethan had worked closely with the Seattle PD on a number of occasions since he’d started at Brodie Operations. There was a good degree of mutual respect. “I’ll take a look and get back to you.”

Retrieving the shoulder holster he’d planned to wear to the theater, he pulled out his Glock nine mil, dropped the clip, and checked the load. In Dallas, he’d carried a Sig P226, but he liked the Glock better. He shoved the pistol back in and slid the harness across his shoulders. Grabbing a lightweight black leather jacket, he pulled it on, covering the weapon, and headed for the door.

As he rode the elevator down to the underground garage, Ethan swore softly. They had tried to cover their bases. Clearly they hadn’t done enough. He wished he’d programmed Valentine’s cell number into his phone, wished he’d given his number to her, but at the time it hadn’t seemed appropriate. Now his stomach tightened at the thought that something might have happened to her.

Sliding behind the wheel of his Jeep, he fired up the engine. Since he didn’t have Valentine’s cell, he brought up Samantha’s number on his hands-free, heard the smile in her voice when she answered.

“Hey, Ethan. What’s up?”

“I need Valentine’s number. You got it?”

“Valentine? I’ve got her number, but if you want to talk to her, she’s right here.”

Relief trickled through him. “She’s at your house?”

“No, the shop. She’s—”

“By herself?”

“Yes, but—”

“Keep her there. Don’t let her leave.” Ethan ended the call. He wasn’t about to relay news of a murder over the phone. He called Carlyle, told him he had found Valentine with a family member and was on his way to provide protection. Then he pulled out on the street.

He needed to look at the crime scene, but Valentine’s safety came first. Receiving threatening notes was no longer some nebulous problem. No matter what the police believed, Delilah’s death wasn’t the result of a failed robbery—there was a killer out there.

And Valentine Hart was on the killer’s hit list. She was a friend of Sam’s, and Ethan had promised to protect her. Pressing harder on the gas, he drove onto the freeway and headed for the strip mall on Bellevue Way where the Perfect Pup was located.





Val had been to the Perfect Pup any number of times in the last couple of years. She and Samantha had met through their volunteer work with the Humane Society, and though Samantha was petite and half a head shorter, a married woman and pregnant, they had a lot in common.

Mostly, their love of animals. Val was studying to be a vet. At one time, Samantha had wanted to be a veterinarian herself. Though it hadn’t worked out, the pet-grooming business was a natural fit for her.

Val looked down at the little white poodle shivering on the stainless-steel worktable in the grooming room. Using a fresh swab, she finished cleaning the dog’s injured hind paw, wrapped its tiny foot in gauze, and gently taped the gauze in place.

“Missy doesn’t seem to mind the bandage,” Samantha said, stroking the dog’s soft white curls to help keep it calm.

The dog looked up at Val, then nudged her fingers, as if to say thank you. “Mrs. Murphy can probably take the wrapping off tomorrow,” Val said, giving the dog a friendly rub.

“I can’t believe someone would do a thing like that to a helpless animal.”

Someone had slipped a thin rubber band around the dog’s hind paw. The soft curls had kept it hidden. The constriction had started to dig in, hiding it even further, cutting into the flesh until it had started to bleed. Eventually, it could have cost the poodle its foot.