This Year's Black (Killer Style 2)

“Sylvie Bissette, right?” He strolled closer, his pace as deliberate as his words. “Wasn’t she the one who had that crazy stalker a while back?”

“That would be the one.” A demented fashion insider-turned-whack-a-do had become obsessed with outing Sylvie’s top secret blogger identity and then killing her. Yeah, the stalker had been a real piece of work, to put it mildly. The only good thing to come out of the whole situation had been Tony and Sylvie falling in love.

“Does that happen a lot?”

“Stalker cases?”

“No.” Devin stopped within arm’s reach. “Maltese Security personnel getting involved with a client.”

Ryder stumbled over her own feet and wobbled in midair. Just as gravity grabbed hold of her, Devin wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against his hard chest. His hand lay flat against her stomach, fingers spread wide. Electricity jumped from his fingertips to her skin, strong enough that she might well have been naked instead of wearing a simple cotton tank. The power of attraction coursed through her and raced across her skin, making her breathless and lightheaded.

Heat sizzled through her veins. It was too much in one breath and not enough in the next. She felt ready to combust on the spot. Which was why she had to put as much space between them as possible. Too bad forcing her legs to move had become beyond her capability.

She had to get the words out before her brain short-circuited. “Someone told Sylvie that Dylan’s Department Store is about to tank financially.”

He jumped backward, as if her words had burned him. “And how in the hell would someone know that?” Accusation lay heavy in his tone.

But she noticed he hadn’t denied it. All the soft fuzzies evaporated in a second. “W-what?”

“Up until you dropped your four-point-seven million dollar bomb on me in Harbor City, it seemed that George was the only one who knew that bit of information. Hell, even I didn’t have a clue that it’s as bad as it is. This could ruin the MultiCorp deal.”

She rounded on him and planted her hands on her hips. “Are you blaming the leak on me?”

Anger had painted him scarlet. Before he could open his accusing mouth, a knock sounded at the door. She stormed over and yanked it open.

“Good morning, Ms. Falcon.”GA bellboy held a large envelope with her name and a Maltese Security return address. His eyes widened when he got a look at her, and he took a step back. “This just came for you,” he said, his voice wobbled as he handed the package to her. “The messenger said it was urgent.”

“Thank you.” She shut the door and ripped open the envelope.

She’d told Tony to back off. If he was trying to micromanage things on top of her having to deal with the asshole across the room, this case could get ugly. The Thanksgiving when Uncle Sal had tried to stab Sammie Jr. with a cannoli would have nothing on her throw-down with her big brother when she saw him again.

Inside the envelope were several eight-by-ten color photographs and a piece of paper. She pulled out the photos and her pulse went into overdrive. Holy shit. Obviously, the return address was bogus.

The first showed her and Devin standing in line at customs. The second showed them outside the tea shop. Her vision darkened around the edges as fury swirled inside her. But she couldn’t give in to it. Not yet.

“What it is? Are you okay?” Devin hustled to her side and tried to put an arm around her.

She easily sidestepped the move. “I’m fine.” The bastard had been just about to accuse her of submarining her own case before the bellboy arrived, and now he wanted to comfort her?

Fuck. That.

She blinked until she could focus on the pictures again. In the third, she and Devin were holding hands during the blessing ceremony. The forth showed them in bed, making love, taken through a crack in the curtains. Devin was embracing her in the fifth shot, his muscular arms pulling her close.

Her hands shook and she fought the urge to rip the glossy paper to shreds. But they were evidence. She might be able to find something in the angles or in a reflection to lead her to the bastard who’d taken them. And then that person would feel the full impact of her wrath.

Without a word, she passed the pictures to Devin and opened the single sheet of pale pink paper.

Ms. Falcon,

Consider this your last warning. You see how easy it is for us to get c

lose to you. If you value your life, you’ll go home now.

It ended there without a signature, but she didn’t need one to know who’d sent it.

“What the fuck?” He tossed the pictures on the bed’s rumbled sheets before fisting his hands.

“The images aren’t grainy enough to be a telephoto lens. One of Sarah’s lackeys must have been practically sitting in our laps.”