Free Always Look Twice by Geralyn Dawson Page B

That’s when he’d decided to meet with the team and share his intentions to investigate the matter.
    Even though he’d rather chew tenpenny nails than sit across the table from his oh-so-sexy ex.
    She looked like a million dollars tonight. Like she’d told him that night on Lanai, black was a great color for her and the conservative cut of her dress only accentuated her curves. She’d done something different with her hair since the last time he saw her that day in her office. It looked . . . bouncy. And she had big honking diamond studs in her ears.
    What’s up with that? Annabelle had never worn diamonds. Never been much on jewelry of any kind, from what he recalled, except for that cheap-ass wedding band he’d bought at the Vegas wedding chapel. That she had worn on every one of their ‘‘weekends’’ until it slipped off while they snorkeled in New Zealand. He had intended to buy her another, but he’d never followed through.
    Looked like his replacement didn’t hesitate to drop the big bucks on bling. She could have bought the ear rocks for herself, true, but knowing Annabelle, he doubted it. Much better odds that the boyfriend had given them to her. The idea made him a bit nauseous.
    Mark knew that his reaction was stupid. He had expected her to hook up with someone. That was the whole idea of legally splitting the sheets, wasn’t it? Yet when he’d called her home phone the day their divorce was final and a man had answered—at six freaking a.m. her time—the reality of it had been a punch to the gut. He hadn’t liked listening to the bastard’s voice then, and he didn’t like looking at proof of his existence now.
    It made him almost glad to turn his attention to something as disturbing as murder.
    Small talk continued as a waitress served their drinks; then just when Mark decided to share Frances Russo’s request with his friends, Annabelle spoke up. ‘‘Guys, I have some news.’’
    A note in her voice warned him. Mark looked at her hard and put the pieces together. She had contacted the others. Someone else is dead. Well, hell.
    ‘‘It’s bad and it worries me,’’ Annabelle continued. Once she had everyone’s attention, she announced, ‘‘I think we have trouble. Russo isn’t the only Fixer we’ve lost. Nelson, Hart, and Anderson are dead, too. Hart and Anderson just in the past two weeks. Plus, I couldn’t reach Stanhope, Sundine, Parsons, or Holloway.’’
    While Annabelle spoke, Tag Harrington froze with his beer mug halfway to his mouth. Noah Kincannon set his scotch on the table. ‘‘What was that?’’
    ‘‘Hart fell while climbing, and Melanie . . .’’ She briefly closed her eyes, then finished, ‘‘The ME classified Melanie’s death as a suicide.’’
    ‘‘Screw that!’’ Harrington declared.
    Kincannon set his mouth in a grim smile. ‘‘I don’t believe that for a minute. What about Nelson?’’
    ‘‘He died a couple months ago in a car accident in Europe.’’
    Mark drummed his fingers on the table. ‘‘Tell me about the others.’’
    ‘‘Holloway’s number has changed and I wasn’t able to track him down before I had to catch my plane. Rhonda Parsons is apparently on a white-water-rafting vacation. Stanhope lives in some remote mountain cabin in Colorado and doesn’t answer his phone, and Jordan Sundine . . .’’ She blew out a heavy breath. ‘‘Jordan hasn’t shown up to work in almost a week.’’
    While Kincannon and Harrington grappled with the news and peppered Annabelle with questions, Mark mentally connected the dots and reached an undeniable conclusion. During a pause in the conversation, he lobbed it out like a grenade. ‘‘We’re being targeted.’’
    Conversation around the table abruptly died. Annabelle licked her lips, then nodded. ‘‘Yes. I think so, too.’’
    ‘‘Holy crap,’’ Harrington breathed. He sat back in his chair hard.
    Kincannon tapped his fingers against the battered and aged tabletop, his