Free Get a Clue by Jill Shalvis Page A

but she recovered, and with that pert little nose thrust high, kept going.

Seven

    Don’t expect a man with a hard-on to be able to think; he doesn’t have enough blood to run both heads.
    â€”Breanne Mooreland’s journal entry

    Breanne kept her nose in the air until she left the formal dining room and found herself in the dark with nothing to guide her except for a faint glow from far down the hallway.
    The fire from inside the great room.
    Or so she hoped, anyway. She wished now she’d brought that vibrator as a flashlight instead of leaving it on the couch. Standing there all alone with the huge mansion surrounding her, the corners and far reaches unknown, she felt her belly quiver unpleasantly. “You’re a big girl,” she whispered to herself, and holding her plate and bottle of wine, took a tentative step toward the orange glow. “A big girl who’s calm in the face of adversity.” Another step. “A big girl who doesn’t believe in haunted houses or monsters—”
    Something creaked, probably just the house, but she jerked as if shot, then thought, the hell with this . She burst into a run, her wet boots squeaking, wine jostling, grapes flying, skidding to a halt just inside the great room. Panting, she shut the doors, then leaned back against them.
    In front of her, the fire crackled. The downy-soft leather couches looked inviting. Perfect for snuggling up on a night like this. She pushed away from the doors and headed toward them.
    Halfway there, the doors opened behind her, and with a startled gasp she whipped around, dropping both the plate and the bottle of wine.
    â€œJust me,” Shelly said quickly. “Sorry.”
    Right, just Shelly. Because there were no boogeymen or monsters anywhere in this house.
    Shelly crouched down to help pick up the dropped plate. “You okay?”
    â€œSure.” Except now the wine had spilled. She really could have used the rest of that bottle. “Sorry about the mess.”
    â€œDon’t worry about it. It’s not my usual fare, anyway. Trust me, once the power comes back on and I feed you, you’ll think you’ve died and gone to heaven.”
    â€œI’ll look forward to that.” She looked up when another woman appeared in the doorway.
    â€œBreanne, this is Lariana,” Shelly said. “She’s the maid here.”
    Lariana was not petite like Shelly or average like Breanne, but a tall, curvaceous, exotic creature, the kind women envied and men killed for. She wore tight black trousers and a white Lycra satin blouse with the top and bottom buttons undone, emphasizing her tiny waist and huge boobs. These were thrust forward due to her five-inch stiletto heels that had Breanne both envious and wincing at the thought of being on them all day long.
    â€œWelcome,” Lariana said. She had a beautiful Latin complexion and dark hair piled up on top of her head, with long strands artfully drifting free. She was incredibly beautiful and yet somehow also incredibly intimidating at the same time. “I have a warm bedroom for you upstairs,” she said to Breanne, her voice soft, cultured, and slightly accented. Though she couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Breanne, she spoke with far more elegance and grace.
    Feeling sloppy and out of place, Breanne tugged at Cooper’s sweats. “Did the heat kick on? We have electricity?”
    â€œNo,” Lariana said regretfully. “But I started a fire for you in an upstairs bedroom.”
    â€œWhich means no freezing to death tonight,” Shelly said. Her smile faded at a long look from Lariana. “What? That’s good news, right?”
    Lariana didn’t roll her eyes, nothing so obvious, but Shelly still looked chastened. “Yeah, um . . . How about that snow, huh? Crazy stuff.”
    Lariana shook her head and moved through the room, scooping up Breanne’s wet sweater and jeans, holding