To Bedevil A Beauty (Southern Sanctuary - Book 5) (4 page)

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Ramsey
heard her stomping back to the front of the house.  He kind of liked that
Beryl Malone was a stomper.
 
Far too many
people crept around him, frightened they might attract his attention or provoke
him to attack. 

“I’m
in here.”  He called from the kitchen.  “Thought you might appreciate
a warm drink.”
 
Plus the living room,
when he got a really good look at it, had kind of made him uncomfortable;
something to do with all the scary wooden masks on the walls and the mantel piece
lined with statues of small men displaying ridiculously large phalluses. 
“I hope cocoa is okay?  It was all I could find. The cupboards are
practically bare.”

Berry
froze in the kitchen doorway, watching as the Chief frowned down at the hot
drink he was stirring.  Even from across the room she could see the water
had completely failed to turn a chocolaty colour of promised goodness. 
“With the name brands you need to use three times as much,” she instructed.

“Oh
right, thanks.”  The Chief scooped in two more large spoonfuls and kept
stirring.

Berry
felt a flush of embarrassment, yes the cupboards were practically bare and what
was in them was invariably tasteless generic home-brands, but she couldn’t
afford to waste her money on life luxuries.
 
She had herself and Joanne to support.  “I’m hardly ever here to
eat.”

“There
we go.”  Ramsey nodded down at the cup, it was as good as it was going to
get.  At least it would warm the Judge up.  “That’s an interesting
art collection you have out there.”  He turned to hand her the cocoa and
froze. 

Bloody
hell, just what kind of silk frippery had the Judge changed in to?  It was
all perfectly respectable but his cock leapt to attention at the sight of the
silky robe clinging to soft alluring curves and the glimpse of lace he caught
under the wrap, suggesting a camisole top and matching shorts.  Where was
a shot of whiskey when he needed it?  The pale peach colour did great
things for her dusky skin, making it look warm and touchable.  His eyes
travelled upwards, noting the high colour on slightly gaunt cheeks, a small
straight nose, full, naturally red lips and those eyes of hers, a decadent rich
brown, shooting imperious - I dare you to make a stupid comment - sparks his
way.

Then
his gaze narrowed in on her hair, gone was all the soft glossy curls, instead
she’d scraped all that glorious hair back in to a tight, almost painful
looking, bun.
 
Man, it must take her
about a fifty pins to tame that mane in to submission.  Ramsey blinked for
a moment… hold on, that hair?  Oh shit. He mentally flashed back to a
court room just over two and a half years ago, where he’d first caught sight of
this woman. 

Only
then she’d been pale, her eyes flat, her hair scraped back exactly as it was
now. Dressed in dark grey business suit, she’d sat in the gallery, an older woman
clinging to her side, sobbing quietly as they waited for preliminary reading of
the charges.  He’d thought then she was the most interesting of creatures,
soft and yet at the same time her back was ram rod straight. Radiating a fierce
strength, signalling she was ready to overcome any obstacle that came her
way. 

He’d
been captivated by the sight of her, wanted to know her story but was all too
conscious that a woman of her calibre was way out of his league.  Even
when he wasn’t undercover, dressed like biker scum; his hair falling down his
back, five days of scruff shadowing his jaw, the tattoo on his bared left arm
glaringly obvious under the harsh courtroom lights.  A woman like that
would never give the character he was playing a second look, let alone a
first.  But then suddenly her eyes shifted, clashing with his.  And
she didn’t look away. 

They’d
stared at each other… seconds?  Minutes? Hours?  He didn’t know, but
then the court bailiff called for attention and everyone rose dutifully to
their feet.  The ice princess instantly lost from view.  His mind had
begun churning.  Who was she?  Why was she here at the initial
arraignment of the notorious Midnight Riders Motorcycle gang?

His
focus moving to his illustrious colleagues as they shifted in their chains next
to him.  All of them had been swept up in co-ordinated police raids just
after dawn that morning.  Raids he’d personally given the green light to
after three years of undercover work culminating in one of the largest recovery
efforts by the police of drugs, money and illegal weapons.  Not that the
fact of his involvement would ever be made public.
 
If all went to plan, then no one but his
superiors would ever know of his involvement in the operation.
 
The only thing left for him to complete on
this assignment was to die… well, not him personally, but the character he
played.
 
Sonny Jefferies
, was scheduled to be
killed
in prison in two
days’ time.

He’d
wondered at the time if one of these grimy assholes could be related to the
pale, tightly wound beauty in the grey suit?  No, he had refused to
believe that.
 
That only left one
possible option. The gang’s slimy, gambling addicted, money-laundering, snooty
lawyer, Robert Granger.  The woman had to be connected to him somehow…
sister maybe? 

Then
the court bailiff was demanding attention, someone kicked him in the leg
reminding him to rise to his feet and the beauty was all but forgotten. 
He needed to be Sonny Jefferies, the case wouldn’t officially be over until
they hauled him out of his temporary holding cell in a body bag.

Now,
over two years later, in Judge Malone’s kitchen, handing over a cup of steaming
watery hot cocoa. Ramsey suddenly recalled the one and only time he and some of
the Raider enforcers had been forced to
visit
Granger’s office to
collect some money he owed.
 
A memory
surged forward of a photo on Granger’s desk that had caught his eye.  For
one, it had been the only photo in the room depicting people and not race
horses.
 
Two, the woman in it wearing the
wedding dress had been laughing in to the camera, dark eyes sparkling, a tumble
of fly away glossy curls falling to her shoulders.
 
A number of pieces of a puzzle clicked
together abruptly.

Shit,
Ramsey couldn’t believe his god-awful luck.
 
Two and a half years ago he’d been instrumental in imprisoning Judge
Beryl Malone’s husband. 

Chapter
Three

If
working undercover had taught Ramsey nothing else it was to be damn wary of
coincidences.  And above all else, Ramsey trusted his gut instinct. It had
kept him alive this long.  So what wasn’t adding up about this particular
coincidence?
 
God damn it, what were the
chances of him being assigned to this weird assed Southern Sanctuary gig, only
to run across Beryl Malone, a woman he’d had a momentary fleeting crush on a
couple of years ago?  A woman, whose husband, thanks primarily to him, had
been sent to jail - for nine years non-parole for colluding with criminals,
money laundering and fraud? 

Seriously,
where was a calculator when you needed it?  He’d like to do the math on
the statistical improbability of him bumping into Beryl Malone… formerly Beryl
Granger, a fact he’d confirmed online this morning. 

Absently
his eyes flicked to the counter on the radar gun as a car passed by.
 
Manning a speed trap was not the most
auspicious of duties.  Nor was it a particularly draining job, mentally.
Giving him plenty of time to do some heavy thinking. It was market day in
Reverie Valley and all the Haven Bay locals headed that way were all perfectly
aware of the speed trap, so there was little actual work for Ramsey to do,
other than sit in the comfort of his car and think.  Not just about the
intriguing Beryl Malone and the strong instant attraction he’d felt upon seeing
her… both times.
 
But about how peculiar
the Southern Sanctuary… and Haven Bay in particular, was.

There
was no church in Haven Bay for one thing, or cemetery for that matter.  A
centuries old by-law meant locals were allowed to walk around with swords, and
many did.  He’d been told by Maureen in his first week how popular the
local fencing club was, with bouts and training scheduled every day.  But
to Ramsey’s eyes, the people carrying the swords didn’t look like amateurs, they
moved with that surety and grace that professionally trained bodyguards and
soldiers displayed.

Seriously,
he didn’t know what his problem was.  He had a cushy six month gig, in a
district where crime was practically non-existent… except, the problem was,
when it did take place, it was kind of fishy.
 
Sending his instincts once more clamouring.

Take
for example the recent attacks on a local painter.  First, supposedly
random - passing through - college kids, drive the artist’s car into the
ocean.  It was bad enough the mystery offenders mysteriously disappeared
into thin air, no description, no trace.
 
But even more puzzling, when Ramsey had driven by the crime scene the
following morning there had been no tire tracks across the sand leading to the
ocean.  Just how had the elusive
college
kids
managed to get the car into the water?

Then
several days later, according to a report filed by Cam McKenzie, an unknown
artistic rival broke into the same painter’s house and trashed the place. Going
with his gut, Ramsey had visited the house in the early hours following the
incident to discover it looked as if Wolverine with his claws had gone ten
rounds with Indigo Montoya of the Princess Bride.  How else to explain the
rips and tears through solid brick?

What
was it about this place that had him on edge?  Maybe it was the
residents.  They were just all so… so nice, certainly the ones he’d met so
far. Of course, no matter where he went, he always seemed to startle people, as
if he appeared out of thin air before them, causing people to flinch, freeze or
in some extreme cases, run.  But not here at the Sanctuary, sure they
jumped a little but then they’d smile at him and greet him like a long lost
relative.  It was mildly… unsettling.

But
it was more than that, it was like he’d fallen into some strange alien
society.  There were almost no children, not in Haven Bay anyway. 
Though there were plenty of couples, amorous couples at that.
 
Who strolled along hand in hand, kissed, and
all too frequently disappeared into nearby shrubbery or the sand dunes. 
And a lot of the couples weren’t all that young. 

Weirder
still, most of the people his generation appeared to be single, though he
supposed that could be explained away by the fact the majority of them were
related somehow.  Ramsey didn’t know what was going on in Haven Bay… or
the Southern Sanctuary as a whole, there was just this vibe he was getting.

Not
that he could fault how he’d been treated.  His accommodation was
fantastic.  He’d been assigned an apartment in the recently renovated
former Life-Saving Headquarters right on the beach.  He had a balcony
overlooking the sand for Pete’s sake, the view as the sun set of an evening was
fantastic. 

Likewise,
the local police station was modern, with state of the art equipment and his
office was huge and comfortable.  His immediate staff, nicer still. 
Maureen working as dispatcher, the superman look-alike McKenzie brothers plus
Tanner Bright, Matt Bennett and Benedict DeWitt, who he’d mentally nicknamed
the masked avengers  because of their gravelly voices, the way they seemed
born to fill out a uniform and the fact that they preferred to patrol after
dark.  Not a dud or a shirker in the lot.

Absently
he adjusted his sunglasses.
 
It was a
beautiful sunny day, more reminiscent of summer than a third of the way into
Autumn.  A day like today, tourists should be flocking to Haven Bay to
take advantage of the beautiful long stretch of pristine beach.  And yet,
hardly a car passed by headed in that direction. 

He’d
noted over the past few weeks only a minimal number of what he’d term,
tourists, patronising the local cafes, restaurants and shops.
 
Stranger still, when outsiders did discover
the delights of Haven Bay they only ever seemed to linger long enough to make a
purchase or two and none ever appeared interested in making use of the beach.
Maybe it was because there was no apparent accommodation available for them.
Oh, there were three B&B’s in town, but they always had no vacancy signs on
them when Ramsey passed by, yet their car parks always appeared practically
empty.

When
he’d asked Maureen about it, she’d just laughed, and said most people visiting
the area were usually artists and they wanted to stay in Reverie Valley. 
She also mentioned the recently opened camping and cabin facilities for the
back to nature crowd available in Hidden Cove… the third town that made up the
Southern Sanctuary district.  A town, Ramsey had only caught a brief
glimpse of, when Cam McKenzie had driven him around the district in his first
week. 

The
only impression he’d gotten of Hidden Cove were a lot of houses camouflaged
amongst thick woods that edged the small sandy cove.  Cam had pretty much
given the impression that nothing exciting ever happened in the Cove and the
locals made sure anyone using the cabins or camping ground kept it that way.

A
loud roar shook Ramsey out of his meditative state, his eyes flicking to the
readout on the radar gun and widening.  Shit, he revved the engine and hit
the siren, putting his foot down hard on the accelerator in order to pursue the
speeding white Mercedes convertible. 

Who
in their right mind would be caught doing twice the speed limit in a notorious
and highly visible speed trap?

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Berry
dashed across the marble lobby of the huge gothic Council building first thing
Monday morning, juggling her handbag, a sheaf of folders and her mobile
phone.  She sensed several heads turning in her direction and forced a
bright, happy smile as she abruptly slowed her pace to something more sedate
and befitting a Judge.  She felt extremely self-conscious and more than a
little silly, considering what she was wearing, but what choice did she
have?  The cats had destroyed every last viable work outfit she had and as
a piece de resistance, she’d discovered Limbo had peed in all her shoes.
 
Little furry bastard. 

Her
budget for this month wouldn’t cover replacing clothes, let alone the tank of
gas it would require for her to travel to the nearest discount chain supermarket
to track down clothes she might actually be able to afford.

Inspiration…
okay, desperation, had come late Saturday afternoon when she heard one of the
cats knock something over in the attic… The attic!
 
Thank the Goddess her Great-Grandmother Tally
was a hoarder.  It had taken her an hour of relentless rummaging before
she’d stumbled over a large turn of the century Louis Vuitton trunk with her
Great-Great-Aunt Etta’s name written on the side. 

Much
younger than her older siblings, Etta had been rather a wild child in her
youth, eloping with a minor Norse God just after she turned twenty-one. 
Which meant given the passage of time, Berry was well within salvage rights to
claim whatever clothes and cast-offs Etta had left behind.  Thank the
Goddess for free spirited, travel the world, spend thrift Etta.  Berry had
rejoiced as she extracted armfuls of clothes and shoes from the trunk, many
looking as if they’d never been worn, maybe her luck was finally changing.

Not
hand me downs… vintage, Berry reminding herself yet again as she came to a halt
at the base of the grand staircase, straightening her shoulders.  She
nodded, greeting Big Thom, the security guard manning the base of the stairwell
that led up to her chambers, the town library and assorted High Council offices
and departments.  A former family enforcer, Thom had been bitten by a
Gargoyle ten years ago.  As a result he had become markedly territorial;
it had been his choice to volunteer as High Council Protector. 

“Hey
Thom.  Good weekend?”

Thom
smiled at Berry, not a tall man but a very broad man and even more intimidating
in the grey security uniform he wore.  “Jazz band in the square yesterday,
couple of great sets.”

“And
I suppose you were out on the dance floor strutting your stuff?”

Thom
grinned unabashedly, his dark eyes flashing. “The ladies love a man light on
his feet.”

Berry
grinned in return. Thom was a very good dancer and there was always a line of
eager partners waiting in the wings for him. 

“How
about you Berry?  Good weekend?”

Where
did she start?  The cats locking her outside?  The new Chief of
Police seeing her naked?  The new Chief making a run for it when he
finally saw her dressed?  “Oh you know, just the usual, cleaning,
pottering about in the garden.”

“Well
you look rested, in fact, you look great.  That outfit really suits
you.” 

“Oh,
um… thanks.”  Berry fought hard not to roll her eyes.  She supposed
anything was better than the cheap nasty suits and shoes she’d been forced to
wear since she’d become officially impoverished, all of which she’d been forced
to assign to the rag bin thanks to the feline furies. “Well, got to go.
 
Keep an eye out for Gaia would you.”

“Will
do.”  Thom promised, giving her a wink.

Berry
chewed on her bottom lip as she climbed the marble stairs, looking down at her
feet as she went.  The stylish black suede buckled high heels with the
white rose decorating each toe mocked her at every step.  They were a
little fancy, given her usual style but hey, she’d been lucky they fit and they
did compliment the outfit she’d chosen.  The high waisted black pencil
skirt that fell to just below her knee with a small split that gave a momentary
glimpse of the white with black spot lining when she walked.  The lining
of the skirt matching the - not quite - sheer blouse that she’d paired with a
little black bolero jacket.  She’d been lucky on the fit, though the skirt
was a little loose on her, but not noticeably so she hoped. 

She’d
even been lucky to score underwear, as there were stacks of the stuff in the
truck, all new, still in their boxes.  Of course the garter belt and
stockings might take a little getting used to, along with the demi corset bra
and silk cami knickers.  Well beggars… and she really was one, could not
be choosers.  Considering Etta’s wild child reputation, Berry should
consider herself lucky Etta had bought underwear at all.

She
kind of wished Chief Hughes could see her today.  Then on the other hand,
the man had taken one look at her in her silk wrap and high tailed it out of
the house as if the cats from hell were after him, which they weren’t. 
She’d spent all weekend in mental agony, reliving the memory of Ramsey Hughes’s
eyes widening at the sight of her in the peach silk ensemble.  She was
pretty sure she’d seen horror in those grey depths.  It made no sense, as
she was quite certain the man had been flirting with her when she was
naked.  But as soon as he saw her in the silky wrap, he’d definitely
panicked.  

Perhaps
because then she’d looked as if she were actively trying to seduce him. Men
didn’t like it when women took charge, did they?  How embarrassing. 
And what was she thinking?  She hadn’t been trying to seduce him. 
She’d been trying to get rid of him, and she’d succeeded.  But still, her
ego was a little bruised. She knew she wasn’t some pin up girl, but to have a
man run?
 
It was a little galling.

Reaching
the second floor she headed straight for her office, her little oasis of peace
and solitude when it came to presiding over cases too often involving a member
of her extended family.  There had to be a more apt word to describe them
than
eccentric
, but nothing polite
had yet come to mind.