Bound by Blood (The Garner Witch Series) (3 page)

As we were leaving, something caught my attention. “Hmmm, that’s strange,” I muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing, really.  It’s just, this place is really clean—like, fanatically clean—but there’s a big pile of dust over there in the corner.” I pointed to the kitchen floor. “I just thought it was weird.”

“Where?” Morrison asked, his interest piqued as he turned. “Oh, my god.”

His response was a little confusing. Granted, it was strange, but I wasn’t sure that a pile of dust merited an ‘Oh, my god’. “What is it?”

“We found the same thing at the Harper crime scene. She was also the vic that hired Donovan Security.” He became animated as he explained. “We had it tested, but it wasn’t dust at all.” His grin was smug.

“Well, there’s no need for a dramatic pause. What was it then?” I motioned for him to continue.

“Human remains,” he said, flipping open his cell. “We’ll have CSU collect it and take a sample to the lab.”

As we left the condo, a feeling of relief overcame me. The further I got from the victim’s apartment, the quicker the electrically-charged air cleared until it was gone altogether.

I looked back at the building before getting into my car. “What the hell was that?”

Chapter 3

Donavan security was located in one of Denver’s first skyscrapers. It was a gorgeous twenty-story building with all of the original 1910 architectural features.

We rode the elevator to the nineteenth floor. The first thing I noticed when we arrived was the breathtaking view of the mountains.
Can’t find that in Chicago
, I thought appreciatively.

Morrison explained to the young receptionist that we needed to speak with Nathan Donovan. To my consternation, he flirted shamelessly with the gorgeous girl.

“Mr. Donovan will be with you shortly,” she explained, though how he could understand anything beyond her mindless giggling astounded me.

“Do you always behave like that during an investigation?” I snapped quietly, barely able to restrain my exasperation.

“Like what?”

“Are you serious?” I whispered with disgust. “You were blatantly flirting with that girl who, by the way, I doubt is even legal.”

“You thought
that
was flirting?” His mouth twitched with amusement.

“Oh, please! The way your chest puffed when you told her you were FBI... And when she asked if she could touch your gun…” I snorted and shook my head.

“What?” He blinked, innocently.

“‘I don’t think so. We don’t want it going off prematurely’,” I mocked his cheesy pick-up line. “I’ve never heard anything so tacky before. And she was eating it up. I can’t believe this shit works for you. Although...I bet you could string together the brain cells of every woman you’ve ever dated and still not manage to get an intelligent thought.” Okay, that was a little snide, but probably true.

He laughed a deep throaty chuckle. “It was unintentional, I swear. But it sounds as if you don’t like my flirting. Agent Reece, are you jealous? Would you like me to flirt with you instead?” He waggled his brows.

Now he was just goading me. “Morrison,” —I leaned in closer than was comfortable, staring him straight in his baby blues— “the problem is your big tough FBI routine won’t work with me. Especially since I knocked you on your ass once already.”

That wiped the self-righteous smile off his face. He sat back and scowled.

A few minutes later, a perky little blonde called our names.

“Hello. My name is Stacey, Mr. Donovan’s assistant. He’s waiting in his office.” She gestured for us to follow.

Leading the way into Mr. Donovan’s office, she opened the door and ushered us in.

Before entering, I lowered my emotional barriers.  I needed to be receptive to Nathan Donovan in order to ascertain whether he was answering our questions truthfully. Without the protective barrier I constantly kept erected, I felt unnerved and a little exposed. Regardless, it was necessary to sense everything clearly.

Stepping into the office, I was immediately enveloped by a pulsating charge in the air. The phenomenon was comparable to what I felt at the victim’s apartment last night; a crackling in the atmosphere. Unlike last night though, there was no feeling of menace accompanying the sensation. This was pleasantly intimate, almost familiar, as though my entire being recognized it. I suddenly shivered, reveling in the unprecedented reaction. I felt heat building inside me as the potency of the current caressed my body. Instead of panicking and fighting it the way I had last night, I embraced it, allowing the impressions to stroke along my sensitized skin.

Oh, my God
. I closed my eyes and almost moaned out loud before I remembered where I was, and why. When I came to my senses, I gathered what little self-control I could muster.

My gaze wandered, taking in my surroundings. The office was luxuriously decorated in rich mahogany woods and elegant leather furniture. A wonderful scent filled the space. Like rich spice, it was clean and masculine. Attempting to ferret out the source, I looked around until I registered the man sitting behind a massive desk.

Nathan Donovan rose to greet us and I noticed three things at once: First, the alluring scent filling the room came from him. Second, he was undeniably the most drop-dead-gorgeous man I had ever laid eyes on. And third,
he
was the source of the pulsating charge in the room. His aura vibrated like nothing I’d ever seen or felt before, as if lightning was contained in the body of a man.

His movements were purposeful and sinuous, utterly confident—although, not cocky. He was simply a man comfortable in his own skin. He wore black dress slacks and a light blue shirt with a dark silver-blue tie. Despite the business attire, I could see he was muscular and well built. Tall, at least six-foot-two, his shoulders were broad and tapered down to a lean waist. His hair and perfectly shaped eyebrows were deep brunette, almost black, and they contrasted seamlessly with his tone. His skin was luminescent—flawless, completely unlined and free of blemishes.

His hungry gaze drank in my body from head to toe. When he finished his leisurely perusal, he lifted the corner of his full, very kissable lips, into a wicked and dangerous smirk. He turned his attention to my partner and extended his hand, all the while keeping me in his peripheral. “Hello. My name is Nathan Donovan.”

“I’m Special Agent Morrison,”—my partner shook his hand—“and this is Special Agent Reece.”

Nathan Donovan turned the full power of his gaze back to me. It was then that I got a good look at the color—deep chocolate brown with tiny, almost imperceptible, hints of golden flecks. High cheekbones and a slightly shadowed square jaw made him look as though his face had been chiseled by the gods themselves.

“Hello, Mr. Donovan,” I stammered while extending my hand.

When our hands connected, it felt as though liquid fire suddenly pumped through my veins. I almost wrenched my hand back in surprise.

There was a gleam in his eyes telling me my reaction hadn’t escaped his notice. His tongue peeked out, tracing the inside of his lower lip. No one had ever stared at me so intently, like he knew I was undressing him with my eyes and he welcomed the fantasy.

A heated blush spread furtively across my face, and I quickly pulled my hand back, averting my gaze. For the first time in my life, I was speechless.

“How can I be of assistance to the FBI?” he asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

Great, his voice is just as destructive to my libido as his touch. It’s like pure sex!

The sound of it did something wildly erratic to my heart rate. Aside from the formality of his speech, the tone of his voice was sensual, almost melodious. God, the intonation was like foreplay. My stomach felt like a hundred butterflies had taken flight, and my heart was banging against my chest so loud I was sure they could both hear it.

Get a grip, Brianna. Focus. Wait...did he ask me something?

Morrison cleared his throat and glared at me as if I’d lost my mind. “We’re here investigating a homicide. The victim had one of your business cards, and we’re hoping you could explain.”

I was grateful for Morrison’s presence. Otherwise, I may have made a complete ass of myself—as opposed to the half-ass I just made. I tried to keep my thoughts professional and focus on what they were saying.

“Oh?” He glanced at me briefly before turning his complete attention to Morrison. “I am very sorry to hear that. What was the victim’s name, Agent Morrison? If there is any way I can help with your investigation, I would be happy to do so.”

“Morganna Tate”

He sighed wearily and I could see sadness fill his eyes. “Yes, I met Morganna. I made her acquaintance just recently. She believed someone was stalking her, and she was frightened. Unfortunately, the lack of corroboration prevented police involvement. Her only proof was that she had a bad feeling.” He shook his head with a faraway look. “Regrettably, it would seem her instincts proved spot-on.”

“What exactly did she want from you?” Morrison asked.

“She wanted to hire one of my bodyguards for protection.”

“Your bodyguards are expensive, or so I’ve heard,” Morrison commented.

“Ms. Tate was a successful psychologist, from what I understand. She could afford our services.”

Slowly, I regained some rational thought, and asked a question, hoping it would come out somewhat articulate. “Who did you assign as her bodyguard?” I managed to keep my voice steady.

He looked at me, tentatively, as if deciding how to answer. “I had not yet assigned her a body guard.”

I had the distinct impression he was lying, but the electricity coming from him was muting his emotions.

Time to do my thing.

I prodded deeper to gauge his real reaction, not the one he voiced. I established a profound connection and was momentarily able to read two very distinct emotions. The first was incredible sadness. The news of Morganna’s death had hit him hard. The second was deception. He was hiding something from us.

Unfortunately, I only had time for a brief glimpse—as soon as I formed the link between us, it unexpectedly slammed shut.

His expression suddenly filled with suspicion as he narrowed his eyes and stared intently into mine. For the first time ever, I had the distinct impression he knew precisely what I was doing.

That’s not possible.

Before I could try again, his lips quirked into a smirk I could only describe as challenging, and then he had the nerve to wink at me.

Could he have known what I was doing? If he was somehow involved in her death, why was he grieving over it? I didn’t get the feeling that he killed anyone, but I knew he was concealing something, and I wanted to know what.

“What about Leslie Harper, Mr. Donovan?” Morrison continued, oblivious to the unspoken exchange occurring between us.

He stared at me for another minute before answering. As he spoke, I felt the power slowly shift in the room. The electrical charge I was sensing gradually receded, as though it was being drawn into Nathan Donovan, until it completely dissipated.

I felt…nothing.

“Ah, Ms. Harper...” he said thoughtfully. “That was also a tragedy. Ms. Harper employed one of our bodyguards about a month ago to protect her from a stalker. I received word she was murdered, and the bodyguard I had assigned to her case had disappeared. No one has heard from him since.”

“The bodyguard’s name was Colin Lafferty, is that correct?” Morrison asked.

Unnerved as I was, I couldn’t really focus on his answers. Instead, I attempted once more to penetrate the barrier blocking Nathan Donovan’s emotions. There was no outward indication he knew what I was doing, although each time I attempted a connection there was an imperceptible stiffening in his shoulders. Still...no luck. I was baffled. This had never happened before.

“Where were you Monday night from eleven PM to one AM, Mr. Donovan?” I cut in abruptly, disconcerted by the fact that my gift was rendered impotent. I felt unbalanced. Not only by the sudden emotional blindness, but also by how captivated I was by him. He was a suspect for God’s sake!

He answered calmly, his eyes never losing contact with mine. “I attended a business meeting at Sambuca Restaurant Monday night. The evening came to an end just past midnight, and my driver took me straight home.”

“Is it usual for you to conduct business meetings so late?”

“It depends on the client, but yes.”

“And where were you on the night of April 28th?” I continued.

“The evening Ms. Harper was murdered, I presume?” He seemed amused by the question. “I really cannot recall. However, you are welcome to check with my assistant before you leave. She will be more than willing to confirm if I had an engagement that evening.”

“And if you didn’t have an ‘engagement that evening’, what would you have been doing?” I suppressed a grin at Morrison’s not–so-subtle mockery of Nathan Donovan’s faultless grammar.

“I would have spent the evening at home,” he responded, oblivious to the ridicule.

“Do you have someone at home who can substantiate that?” Morrison asked the question, but I found myself eagerly anticipating his answer. I tried not to think about
why
I was so eager.

He looked directly at me, his mouth twisting with a suggestive and sultry grin. “Unfortunately, no. I am single and live alone.” I thought that was it when he added with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, “Although...I am open to the possibility.”

Wow!
Between his voice and carnal look, my pulse started a violent race, and I felt a blush creeping back into my cheeks—again.

“Okaaay,” I mumbled, breathlessly.

“Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Donovan,” Morrison said curtly, shaking his hand again. “If we have any more questions for you, we’ll be in touch.”

Nervously reaching for his hand, I expected to feel the same jolt as before. I was disappointed when I felt nothing. “Thank you, Mr. Donovan.”

We were standing in the reception area when Morrison turned to me. “What the hell was that?”