Highland Blood Moon: A Cassidy Edwards Novella - Book 3.6 by Caine Carmen

Author:Caine, Carmen [Caine, Carmen]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2017-03-11T16:00:00+00:00

One Lord Lucian Rowle

Jax’s mouth flopped open, his body swaying back and forth like a ragdoll under my hands. The half- dozen or so people around me began to whisper and cough in shock. One looked ready to head my way or a not-so-friendly chat. I couldn’t have that. Licking my lips, I forced my fingers to relax, and letting Jax go, sat back down in my chair heavily.

“Where did you get that?” I asked again, trying for calm this time but failing miserably.

Jax squirmed and gave an uneasy laugh. “No wonder you’re so good at this, Raven,” he said, white-faced. “You scared the living sh—”

I didn’t have time for small talk. Not when I stood within grasp of my lifelong goal. “Where?” I barged in curtly.

He blinked but answered, “Lord Lucian Rowle. He’s offered us the case on the condition that he meets you—”

My head snapped back. As a rule, I never met Jax’s clients—but this time? “Yeah, I want to meet him, too,” I snarled, struggling to reel in a full growl, complete with drooling canines.

“He’s got a car waiting—”

“It can wait,” I cut him off again. There was no way in hell I would meet this English dude without every weapon in my personal arsenal hiding somewhere on my body. “I’m getting my things first.”

The color returned to Jax’s face and he grinned. “Alrighty then, so you’re taking the case?”

I sent him a withering glance.

He took it as a yes.

Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out a folded slip of white paper. “He sent his address, in case you preferred to arrive on your own.”

That made my hackles rise. This Lord Rowle had obviously been watching me. Was it a trap? Grabbing the paper, I snatched the spider barrette from the table and jammed it along with the Ziploc into my jacket pocket.

“Catch you later, Jax,” I muttered and then crossing the floor in long, bold strides, left the coffee shop.

My mind raced the entire way back to my apartment, a ten-story distressed crumbling pile of bricks long past due for demolition. I didn’t care, though. It suited me just fine. Everyone left me to my own business, and for the most part, I left them to theirs—I repeat, for the most part. On occasion, I had to play the role of peace enforcer when their fighting intruded on my sleep. After a few times of that, whenever they saw me coming, they tended to slink away as if they had tails tucked between their legs.

I skipped up the rusted fire escape two steps at a time, heading for my window. I’d learned long ago to avoid front doors. I barreled up the escape, clenching my jaw as I approached the window directly beneath mine. The old lady there loved Christmas. I hated it. She’d covered every inch with Christmas lights, obnoxious pinpricks of light blinking ‘Merry Christmas’ right in your face. The whole display never failed to make me break out in a cold sweat. Wincing, I dashed past and prying open my bedroom window, slid inside.

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