Into the Fury (BOSS, Inc. #1)(19)
She smiled. “I’ve already had an offer for a job in one of the local animal clinics as soon as I get my degree.”
A dark eyebrow arched in her direction. “You don’t think you’ll miss being a model? Most women would go blind with joy if they could work for La Belle.”
Val laughed. “I’m not most women.”
Ethan flashed her a look that made her stomach lift. “Yeah, I’m beginning to get that.”
He turned off I-90 onto Lakeside Avenue, then began to follow the shoreline, eventually pulling up near an expensive set of condos with views out over the lake.
“Modern and expensive,” Val said, repeating Ethan’s earlier words. “It would have suited Delilah perfectly.”
“But not you.” He cast her a sideways glance. “Now that I’ve been to your house, I stand corrected. Not you at all.”
She didn’t know if that was a compliment or an insult. The thought slid away as she noticed the police cars lining both sides of the street in front of the residence. Seeing them there made her stomach roll. It reminded her why Ethan had insisted she come with him instead of staying home by herself.
Delilah was dead. She’d been young and beautiful, her whole life ahead of her. As Ethan stepped out of the Jeep, Val closed her eyes and said a prayer for the woman who had died so needlessly and whatever family she had left behind. When she looked up, she caught Ethan’s gaze through the window.
He opened the door on her side of the vehicle. “I won’t be gone long. Lock the doors. I’ll have an officer keep an eye on you until I get back.”
“That isn’t necess—”
“Just sit tight.”
She blew out a breath as he walked away, his strides long and determined. He paused to speak to a uniformed policeman and the officer nodded, his gaze swinging her way as Ethan disappeared inside the building.
Val leaned back in her seat. For the moment at least, there was nothing she could do but follow orders.
She thought of the years she had bounced from one foster home to another, the bad attitude she had carried that had protected her and at the same time caused her nothing but grief. She was older now and wiser.
But she still wasn’t much good at following orders.
Chapter Eight
Delilah Larsen’s lakeside condo was a million-dollar chunk of real estate, more like two mil the way property values had inflated. The entire back wall of the living room was glass, the window providing a spectacular view of Lake Washington. White carpet covered the floor. The furniture, an L-shaped sofa and chairs, was upholstered in a nubby white raw silk fabric. Dark wood accents grounded the space.
The place was glamorous, something a movie star might live in. Being a world-class model had its advantages. But Delilah had paid a terrible price for fame and fortune.
A price Ethan was determined none of the other women would pay, especially not Valentine Hart.
He stopped at the door and grabbed a pair of crime-scene booties, stretched them over his low-topped boots. Pulling a pair of surgical gloves out of the box on the entry table, he snapped them on, then headed for the lead detective, Bruce Hoover. The lieutenant was not quite six feet, early fifties, with a bald head fringed by light brown hair. One thing you could count on with Hoover: He was always in a bad mood.
The detective looked up as Ethan walked toward him. “Brodie. I heard you were working this.”
“Matt Carlyle brought me in to help with La Belle security a couple of days ago. He beefed up the manpower after some of his models received threatening notes. I presume you know about that.”
“I got the info this morning. A little late for Ms. Larsen. But yeah, we know about the notes.”
“Carlyle made the call. The women are lingerie models. They deal with crackpots every day. No one expected the guy to take it this far.”
“Maybe he didn’t.” Hoover turned his gaze toward the door from the living room into the kitchen. “Looks more like a break-in. Disabled the alarm. Lock-picked the back door, came in through the laundry. Jewelry box is empty. Purse has been cleaned out. She probably walked in on the guy and he offed her.”
Ethan walked over to where the woman’s body sprawled on the floor, covered by a clean white sheet. There was a lamp broken on the floor, but not much sign of a struggle. He knelt and drew back the sheet, saw dark bruises discoloring the woman’s throat and her head tilted at an odd angle. Silky blond hair formed a halo around her face.
Ethan’s jaw tightened. Yesterday Delilah had been a beautiful, vibrant woman. Today she was a corpse.
He drew the sheet back farther, took in the length of her perfectly formed body. “She’s still wearing her nightgown.” An expensive lavender silk with beige lace trim. “Hadn’t gotten dressed for the day when it happened. What’s the preliminary time of death?”
“Sometime between three and five A.M. Still dark, happened before the sun came up.”
The slinky nightgown hugged her curves but hadn’t been shoved up, hadn’t been torn as she’d fought to breathe. “Doesn’t look like she’s been raped.”
“Not at first glance. We’ll know more after the autopsy.”
He lowered the sheet back into place, hiding the woman from view, wished he could blot her image out of his head that easily. “Preliminary cause of death?”