A few seconds later, the door was opened by a butler actually wearing a black suit with a white shirt underneath—everything looked ironed. For some reason, that surprised. He looked like he came right out of a movie. Then her gaze went to look inside the house and her eyes widened. Rich. King Brunes had to be rich. Rich as in everything looked very expensive and thereby very breakable. From the antique mahogany-looking hutch and side tables inside the foyer, to the rustic paintings of landscapes and people in finery on the walls.

“King Brunes is expecting you. Right this way, sir,” the old man said just as slowly as he moved.

She passed over a plush maroon rug with dangling fringe on the ends and her feet actually sunk into its softness. A twitchy feeling came over her and she scratched at her arm as they followed the butler down a long corridor complete with real old-looking floors, more art on the walls, and glass shelves with what had to be antique pieces of art. There was an old-looking pistol in a velvet-lined case, a sword with an arched blade and shiny metal handle with leather wrapped over the middle and leafy engravings in the metal. It looks like something a Calvary officer used in the Civil War. All she could think as she eyed all this stuff was that Sarina had lived here. Sweet, caring, free-loving Sarina. No wonder she’d wanted out. Everything felt stifling, like walking through a museum.

They came into another room, a large sitting room or maybe a study. The room made the living room she’d had at Joseph’s look tiny in comparison, and very, very poor. There sat an assortment of chairs, from leather that were fit for taller people than her, and several sofas with coarse-looking fabric in deep brown and a dull yellow. Though it certainly wasn’t yellow from fading with time, but it’d meant to be that color and it actually fit in well with the masculine, if not stuffy, design of the room.

A man stood from behind an expansive desk and smiled. He had long blond hair, nearly to his wait, and he wore what reminded her of a robe-style shirt that billowed around his wrists and stopped mid-thigh with matching baggy pants. Brayden released her hand to clasp King Brunes’ and Vanessa fidgeted at the loss, finally crossing her arms. She felt weird in this place, naked and way out of place in her jeans and red T-shirt.

“Justicar Brayden, good to have you here.” He waved a long-fingered hand toward the furniture. “Please, take a seat.” King Brunes folded his tall form into a chair and crossed his leg in a feminine way. He wore a cat’s smile and rested his elbow on his bent knee, his chin on his hand.

Brayden tugged her onto a seat next to him and Brunes’ gaze flicked to her as if just realizing she stood there. “Who’s this?”

“This is Vanessa K---”

She quickly spoke over him. “Vanessa Harrington.” God, she hated saying his name, especially combined with hers. Brayden didn’t look at her, but she felt from the way he stiffened that maybe he, too, forgot she’d had to take Joseph’s name when they mated.

“Is she a Justicar, too?” he asked Brayden.

Vanessa stiffened, her eyebrows rising high. She wondered if she imagined it or if he really did just speak around her when Brayden answered.

“No, she’s here in an unofficial capacity.”

King Brunes’ seemed to smile bigger. “Then, you’ll understand that I wish for this conversation to be...private.”

Brayden didn’t look happy, but nodded. He turned to her. “Wait outside the room for me.”

Her stomach danced like snakes had taken up residence, twisting and writhing her nerves into one big mess. She didn’t want to leave his side and she really didn’t want to be in this house alone, but she nodded and left. The butler waited in the hallway as if he’d known she’d be kicked out. He closed the door after her, then left her there.

She stood in the quiet hallway, unable to even hear the voices in the room, and couldn’t stand it another minute. Charging forward, she opened the front door and didn’t take a deep breath until she spotted their car parked in a small lot on the side of the house. Valet parking, she thought and laughed.

For such a big house, there was a definite emptiness. So much space, yet she didn’t see anyone else except the valet and butler inside. How could one person live in such a large house by himself? What rubbish. She crossed to the car, then stopped dead in her tracks.

Her heart started beating wildly in her chest like it was trying to break out. Her body turned cold and when her eyes started to burn from the wind blowing, she blinked then slammed her eyes back open again. No, no, it couldn’t be. She stepped closer to the car, to the item dangling from the passenger-side door handle. She stopped within fifteen feet, confirmed that it was what she thought, then started backward, her gaze scanning the outlying area.

Her heart wouldn’t slow down. Her back hit the hard scratchy brickwork of the house and she didn’t stop scanning the forest. Sweep after sweep, her panic didn’t die even as no faces appeared. She darted looks all around and started scooting sideways to the front door. Then a branch snapped. Her whole body froze as her gaze swung fast to the trees more than fifty feet behind the car. Her hands quickly patted down her pants pocket, then she stopped and almost sobbed. She didn’t bring her pocketknife. How could she be so stupid? With a final look at the mating bond, the joining of her and Joseph’s hair and clothing hanging like a tattered rag from the door handle, she turned and fled inside.

Brayden listened to King Brunes’ retelling of the night his wife died. He stated the same thing down to an exact T as he’d written in his report to the Justicars the day they’d found her body. That didn’t surprise him; he’d expected that much.

What he watched for was the subtle tells. Tells that most people couldn’t hide or master. The darting of the eyes away during a lie, the look of the eyes while describing parts of that night—were they dilating in pleasure? Many guilty people, when pressed, expressed a load of bodily ticks. A twitching foot, twitching hands and fingers, sagging shoulders with guilt. King Brunes expressed none of those tells.

He held his shoulders high, his chin up, and kept on smiling. His crossed leg didn’t bounce or fidget under his questioning. But what Brunes didn’t realize was that by not showing any of those tells, he still expressed one in great abundance—confidence. Arrogance. The first time he’d interviewed Brunes two years ago, the man had sat with both feet on the floor, his hands steepled together, a look of lost remembrance and thoughtfulness on his face. The man knew he had nothing new to go on and his over-confidence shone like a blinking pink neon sign screaming ‘See me, I’m not hiding anything!’

“When the Givens’ family fished your dead wife out of the water that night, they claimed they saw bruising on the side of her face like she’d been struck. Do you have any idea why that might be?” He watched for a reaction. He hadn’t brought this up in the previous interview.

Brunes didn’t lose his smile. “Perhaps she hit her head when she fell over the railing. You know, Justicar Brayden, this was a long, long time ago. Time I’ve spent moving on and putting the past behind me.”

I’m sure you have. “I spoke with the lead Justicar from the investigation. You remember Daniel Cuthwright, don’t you?”

Brunes smile fell into a perfect frown. “Ah, Daniel. Damn shame what happened to him.”

Brayden didn’t move, but his heart skipped a beat. “And what happened to him?”

Brunes shook his head side to side. “Hit by a car while crossing the street. Damn, damn shame. He was a good man.”

“Interesting. It’s rare that a car can kill a vampire.”

“Well, he wasn’t just hit once. After the initial car claimed him, another behind him drove right over him. Didn’t have time to stop. Crushed his skull like a watermelon. Terrible way to go.”