Jigsaw (Hell's Handlers MC 3)

Everything about their life together made him happy. They rarely argued, spent all their free time with each other, shared most interests, and made love a few times a week. Callie was a great cook, a wonderful mother, and a nurturing partner. In bed, she was pleasing and generous and looked like a dream when she came. What more could a man ask for?

With a smile on his face and a hard-on in his slacks, he jogged the three steps to his townhouse. For a split second, his brow furrowed. The porch light wasn’t on. Callie always flicked the light on for him hours before the sun set. He’d teased her about it, but she said she hated the thought of him tripping on the steps because it was getting dark and he was tired.

Sweet woman.

His smile grew even more extensive. Maybe Callie had a surprise of her own planned. One that included some new lacy lingerie and her white-blond hair flowing around her shoulders just the way he loved it.

He stuck his key in the lock and frowned as it turned without resistance. Hmm… He was all for surprises, but he’d have to remind Cal to keep the door locked when she was alone. Putting her safety in jeopardy wasn’t worth it no matter what she had planned. They didn’t live in a sketchy neighborhood, but with so many college students enjoying their first taste of freedom, home invasions weren’t unheard of.

“Hey, beautiful, I’m home!” he called into the dark house. Silence greeted him. Total silence. Not even the ambient hum of the refrigerator or churn of their decades-old HVAC trying desperately to combat the Alabama heat. “Cal?” he called out as he set the wine and flowers on a table full of picture frames in the foyer. “Where are you, sweetheart?”

He flicked the light switch next to the door, but nothing happened.

He pushed it up then down again.

Unease snaked down his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose to attention.

This wasn’t an ordinary power outage. Something was wrong.

He could feel it in his gut.

A thump from the kitchen had his heart stuttering.

Lincoln glanced around as best he could in the dark, searching for a weapon, but Callie kept the house so neat there wasn’t anything to grab. Maybe the umbrella hanging on the hook on the wall. It was the only thing within reach beside the bottle of wine he’d brought home. He gripped the handle with a sweaty palm and started toward the kitchen.

The whirring in his head was so loud it drowned out his ability to listen for any unexpected sounds. He had no idea what he’d do if he encountered an intruder. Sure, he was tall at six-two, but he was a geeky science guy who hadn’t seen the inside of a gym since his mandatory PE class in high school. Not exactly ninja material.

His gaze darted in every direction as he tiptoed his way down the hallway leading to the kitchen. He clutched the long umbrella in his hands like a lifeline. One of his loafers squeaked on the floor, and he cursed in his head. Should have left them at the door.

Step. Step.

Closer and closer to the kitchen.

He choked up on the umbrella, gripping it like a baseball bat.

With each stride, his eyes adjusted to the darkness until he was able to view the entrance to his kitchen on his left, just five feet away.

Step. Step.

Three feet to go.

Step. Step. Step.

He entered the dark and silent kitchen brandishing the umbrella like some sword-wielding pirate.

“Grab him! Watch it. He’s got a weapon.”

Linc spun left just as a massive fist flew into his stomach.

With his breath immediately forced from his lungs, he doubled over, choking and clutching his midsection. All his muscles seized while he tried to suck in air, and the useless weapon slipped from his limp fingers to the floor. He tried to get his bearings as he was wrenched upright by the collar of his Oxford shirt and yanked against the hard chest of a man. The next thing he knew, he was staring at a bearded brute in his kitchen while the other man banded his arm across his throat and pressed the blade of a knife into Linc’s cheek.

Without thought, his hands rose in a position of surrender. Fear sludged through his veins, thick as oil. Was she here? Maybe she’d had time to take their daughter and flee out the back door. A tiny sprig of hope blossomed. “Wh-where’s Callie?” he rasped out, still with difficulty breathing. First time taking a punch, and he had to admit they made it look much easier in the movies.

The bearded man grinned a gap-toothed smile and stepped sideways.

Lying face down on the kitchen floor, his wife was motionless. The smooth skin of her beautiful face was pale, too pale for the summer in Alabama. The gorgeous blue eyes that always danced with joy and love when he walked through the door stared still and cold. Beneath her, a dark puddle expanded across the beige linoleum.