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Peyton sat on a stool at the kitchen counter gazing across the room at Storm. His back side leaned against the counter as he sipped his coffee. She ogled the masterpiece standing before her as she recalled their night of lovemaking.
The buzzing of her cell phone interrupted her glorious memory. Brittiany's smiling face covered the screen. "It's Brittiany," she said to Storm as she picked up the phone and sent it to voicemail. "She's called a couple of times now since she left yesterday. I'll call her back later. I'm sure she's going to ask about what happened yesterday. She'll want to know why she and Spencer had to leave so quickly after our ride. What should I tell her?"
"This is a small town. I'm guessing she already knows, but we don't want to talk about the specific details—what little details we have—that could jeopardize the investigation."
Peyton nodded. The phone in her hand buzzed again. This time her dad's face covered the screen. She hit the speaker button. "Hi, Dad."
"Hi, honey. How's my little gem this morning?"
Just the sound of her dad's voice comforted her, and when he called her his little gem, it warmed her heart. He'd been calling her that ever since she could remember. "I'm good. Just concerned."
"Me too, but you're in good hands with Storm so no need to worry. Is he with you now?"
Little did her father know just how good Peyton knew Storm's hands were. Her face heated at the thought. The corners of Storm's mouth lifted. A devilish look flashed in his eyes. She was busted.
"Yes, he's right here."
"Good. He has strict instructions not to leave you out of his sight, so no riding off by yourself, young lady, and please just do as he says, he's only trying to keep you safe."
Storm wiggled his brows. Mischief flooded his gaze. So, the man does smile and has a softer, fun side. Bonus.
She'd do whatever he asked all right. Peyton's boiling cheeks bordered on flaming.
"Storm?"
"Yes, sir?"
"I know this goes without saying, but she's my..." Her dad's voice cracked. "...she's my gem, my little Crown jewel. Don't let anything happen to her."
All playfulness disappeared from Storm's face and was replaced by hard seriousness. "Sir, I'll do whatever it takes to keep your daughter safe."
"I know you will. Thank you. Any updates from Detective Jorgenson?"
"No."
"We're catching an earlier flight. We'll be home by noon or shortly thereafter. In fact, we're boarding in a few minutes."
Though Peyton knew she'd be safe in Storm's care, it still felt good to know her dad and brother would be home soon.
"Great. Love you, Dad."
"Love you too, honey."
Peyton disconnected the call, rose from her chair, and folded into Storm's safe, strong arms.
Though she understood the serious tone the phone call ended with, she wanted to bring back the playfulness Storm displayed earlier during the conversation. For her, a distraction from the issue at hand would be welcomed, and what better distraction than a lovemaking session with the hot ex-Army operative turned ranch hand, standing before her. It sure worked in the wee morning hours. Peyton pressed against Storm's hard-muscled body while stretching up on her tiptoes. "I've been ordered to do whatever you ask," she whispered into Storm's ear. "What would you like me to do?"
At the hitch of his breath, she knew she got his attention. His arms loosened and he lowered his hands to her butt and lifted. Instinctively, her legs wrapped around his slim waist. In one quick movement, he had her on the island countertop. His hands dug into the crease of her thighs. Hers were yanking off his snug-fitting T-shirt. The rippled abs before her looked delicious. She needed a taste. Leaning forward, she touched her lips to the soft skin that covered his rock-hard muscles. Her tongue sprang out for a taste. He pressed against her. The feel of his erection against her sex lit her on fire.
Storm yanked her shirt from the waistband of her jeans and his hot hands splayed over her sides, then stomach, as they made their way up and under her bra. He lightly squeezed her breasts and gave each nipple a slight tug. Delightful sensations ripped through her. Holy heavens, this man's hands were good. She wanted more. She wanted sensation overload just like several hours earlier.
The cell phone on Storm's hip buzzed. He pulled his hand from her breast.
"No. Let it go to voicemail," Peyton begged, needing his hand back on her breast.
His lips crushed down on hers and his searing tongue dove into her mouth, exploring every crevice. This was exactly what she needed.
The phone rang again. This time she couldn't stop him from answering it. She wanted to throw it on the floor and stomp on it—mood killer.
"It's Detective Jorgenson," he mouthed.
Storm backed away and adjusted his clothing. Peyton slid off the counter and did the same.
"Uh huh...I see." The blood drained from Storm's face. "Yep...okay...yeah, bye."
Storm disconnected the call.
"What happened?" Peyton asked, not sure she really wanted to know.
Storm reached down and took her hands in his. "They found Charlie Elliott in his car behind the abandoned distillery on the edge of town."
"Dead?" Peyton asked, knowing the answer before asking the question.
"Yes. Murdered. He was shot."
Peyton's lip quivered. Alarm numbed her extremities. She didn't really know the man but his murder meant there was a lot more potential trouble headed her way—their way.
"Do they know who did it?"
"Not yet."
"Why there?"
"I don't know. One possible theory is that he went there to collect his paycheck for poisoning Diamond and the killer decided to tie up loose ends. In light of what little we know, that theory is looking pretty good."
* * * *
The frightened look on Peyton's face when he told her the news of Charlie's murder and the theory he believed to be as good as any, about killed him. Storm pulled her into his arms.
"Don't worry. We'll get to the bottom of this," he promised as he stroked her soft, silky strands of hair with one hand and planted the other firmly against the small of her back. He wasn't going to let her out of his sight. They'd have to go through him to get to her.
Spencer's conniving face ran through Storm's mind. Though the man passed the background check he and Coach ran on him, Storm still didn't trust him. Something about the way the man carried himself rubbed Storm wrong. In fact, the more Storm thought about the background check the more he wondered what they missed. Nobody ever turns up that clean. Not even a parking ticket for this guy. History and studies show that when someone's that clean—well, no real person is ever that clean.
Then there was ex-husband Tyler whose name seemed to pop again; yet, nobody had seen him recently. They'd only heard about his current sour business dealings.
Both these men walked in the Chicago, Lexington, and Louisville developer circle, and probably more. Did the two of them know each other? Storm would start digging into that right now.
Storm loosened his hold on Peyton and stepped back. "I need to run a more thorough check on Charlie Elliott. See if I can find any connections between him and..." Storm paused, lost in Peyton's curious gaze. He knew she knew her ex-husband was a crooked businessman and there was potential he was behind this for financial purposes, but he still felt odd stating the obvious.
"Tyler," Peyton said before he did.
Storm nodded. The fresh tears flooding Peyton's eyes stabbed his heart. If he had it his way, this lovely woman standing before him would never shed another tear.
Her lips pulled into a frown. "And Spencer, too."
Oh, Spencer was on his list all right, but he was surprised she mentioned him as well. "Spencer?" Storm questioned.
Peyton nodded. "Yeah, I don't know. He just seems too friendly, too chatty, and too charming. It's like he's looking for something or up to something.”
Peyton was a lot more perceptive than he'd given her credit. Her ex-husband must have really been something to pull the wool over her eyes. Storm's hands fisted at the thought.
"I'm going to spend the morning in the office. Hopefully, I'll find something, anything to give us a lead."
"Me too. I can help you."
Relief swept through him when she volunteered to help. Not so much for the help but for the fact she'd not be out of his sight.
Storm grabbed the thermal coffeepot and filled it. "We could be in there for a while."
He followed Peyton down the first-floor hall, past the open staircase, and into the large office housing three desks. Her father's desk sat in the prime spot in the center of the room facing the large picture window that overlooked the horse barn and pen in the distance. The oversized, antique mahogany desk was just what one would expect a man of Robert's stature to use. Both his and Coach's desks were the same and both were positioned to the sides of Robert's desk but slanted a bit so they could enjoy the view as well.
Peyton pulled out the chair to Coach's desk, sat, and fired up his computer. Storm pulled shut the vertical blinds covering the window.
"It's so beautiful outside; you don't want to leave them open?" Peyton asked.
"It's best that people outside don't know where we're at in the house."
Panic rose in her gaze. Why hadn't he chosen his words more wisely? All part of his issues with dealing with normal people.
"It's just a precaution."
Peyton looked toward the window, then leaned back, and slid down into her chair. Now he did it. She'd be fearful of walking past any windows in the house and hunker down like a frightened animal.
Storm sat at his computer and started pecking at the keyboard. He'd start by running all three men through background checks again to see if anything else would turn up.
"What do you want me to do?" Peyton asked, peeking around the side of the large monitor on Coach's desk.
"Why don't you check out Charlie, Spencer, and Tyler's social media accounts? You know, Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, LinkedIn, and whatever other ones you can think of. Take notes of anywhere they've been on business or vacation, where they're from, where they went to college, any common business deals, that kind of stuff. What we're looking for is to see if their paths have crossed at all. Charlie must have been working for someone; he didn't seem to have a personal beef with anyone here, so something else motivated him to poison your horse."
"Got it.”
After several hours of research, Storm came up empty. Everything about Spencer Fitzpatrick seemed to be legitimate. Their business, Fitzpatrick Enterprises, was well documented on the internet, particularly local government sights who contracted with the Fitzpatricks to revitalize blighted properties with high-end apartments and commercial spaces. Nothing out of the ordinary for walking in Robert Crown's circle.
As for Charlie Elliott, background check records indicated he was just an average guy who'd worked on horse ranches in Texas before moving to Kentucky. The credit report though was a bit different than the one he'd pulled just over a month ago. The man's credit was in the average bracket then and now was a mere five hundred and sixty-five—poor. It showed unpaid rent and utilities in Texas and several unpaid balances on credit cards. What had happened to Charlie in the past several months to cause this financial change? According to his references, he had worked up until he moved to Kentucky. Drugs? Nothing showed up on his pre-employment screening. Perhaps gambling was the issue. In any case, the theory that Charlie poisoned the horse for money made complete sense. The poor guy was probably looking for a fast way out of his growing debt. But still, the question remained as to who hired him.
Storm glanced at the clock; it read 12:22 p.m. Coach and Robert should be home soon.
He looked at Peyton. She hadn't clicked any keys for a while, nor did she write on the legal pad she'd been taking notes on. Rather, she studied something on the computer monitor. Leaning forward, she placed her elbows on the desk and rested her chin in her hands. Her dark eyes narrowed. What had captured her attention?
"Did you find something?" Storm asked.
She cocked her head to the side. "I'm not sure."
He rose from his chair and walked behind her desk to see what she was looking at. It was a First Communion photo with about thirteen kids. First communion, so they'd be about eight years old. The caption under the photo indicated the church was Holy Name of Mary Church in New York City. Peyton pointed at the names under the picture which included Spencer Fitzpatrick. Okay, so the blond-haired, blue-eyed kid in the photo was a churchgoer. That didn't mean he wasn’t a crook. So why did Peyton look so puzzled?
"I wonder if the names are mixed up on this photo," Peyton questioned before pointing at a little boy in the top row. "This kid looks more like Spencer but they look so much alike it's hard to tell for sure. They could pass as brothers."
She was right. But did it mean anything?
"How did you find this photo?"
"I was just googling Spencer." Peyton shook her head. "I couldn't believe how many Spencer Fitzpatricks there are in the US, especially New York. Anyhow, through all my random clicking, I came across this photo and this one."
Peyton opened another photo. It was a picture someone posted on Facebook showing a page of their senior yearbook from a school in New York. The page contained the entire class of 1997, including Spencer and a young man named Jimmy Weeks, the same kid from the communion photo that looks like Spencer.
"Wait until you see the close-ups," Peyton commented as she pulled up both men's pictures. "They look so much alike. Went to the same church and high school. And again, the names on the pictures are mismatched. Don't you find that odd? "
"They do look alike, but how do you know they're mislabeled?"
"Spencer's scar that runs under the edge of his nose to his lip. Only Spencer isn't Spencer; he's Jimmy."
Storm thought for a moment, trying to picture the scar on Spencer's face but all he could see was the goatee. "With his facial hair, how do you know he has a scar?"
"There's a thin line there where the hair doesn’t grow. It happened to catch my eye."
"So, you think our Spencer is actually Jimmy Weeks."
Peyton nodded.
"Then the question becomes, where is Spencer Fitzpatrick? Why is Jimmy pretending to be him? How in the hell is he getting away with it working with Spencer's dad and all? That is if old man Fitzpatrick is really who he says he is, but he must be with all the business dealings I've come across. Especially since they're all public and he's always getting credit in the media. Someone surely would have noticed and ratted him out by now."
"I bet they're really brothers," Peyton commented matter-of-factly.
"From the looks of them I can understand why you say that, but did you find any proof to substantiate it, and why would one assume the other's identity?"
She shrugged. "Maybe Jimmy's mother was Mickey Fitzpatrick's mistress, and Jimmy assumed it was his birthright and seized the opportunity presented when the real Spencer died."
"Spencer died?"
Peyton pulled up another window displaying a newspaper article from two days after the boys graduated from high school.
"It says here that Spencer and Jimmy, along with three other teens, were in a car accident after leaving a graduation party. Everyone in the car was killed except for Spencer," Peyton looked over her shoulder. A brow arched. "Or was the survivor really Jimmy? All he had to do was switch identifying information at that point."
"But why would Spencer's parents let Jimmy do that?"
"I don't know. People do funny things, especially for money. I'm wondering if these Fitzpatricks are part of the New York crime family Fitzpatricks. Spencer being the only heir to Mickey could mean the money would get filtered into a different direction. Or, perhaps Mickey, being a prominent businessman, finally found a way to stay close to his love child without having to keep hiding or explaining things?"
Peyton had obviously given this whole scenario a lot of thought before he realized she was onto something. Maybe he shouldn’t have interrupted her thought process so soon. Another hour and she'd probably piece it all together.
"But what about Spencer's mom or Jimmy's mom? Why would they go along with something like this? Surely, they knew their own sons? And what about other relatives?"
"I don’t know. Maybe money talked. It always seems to. I haven't found much on the women yet. And, this is interesting. They moved from New York to Chicago immediately after the accident, after Spencer's death. Maybe that was how they hid the switch from other relatives and nosey neighbors."
"Hmm. That’s a possibility, and you could be right about the whole money thing, too. After running another credit check on Charlie Elliott, I found out he recently came into some financial trouble, so the theory he poisoned your horse for cash is probably a legit one."
Storm shook his head and smiled at the smart, dark-eyed beauty looking up at him. They say the eyes are the gateway to the soul and from what he could see she was a lovely soul. He shook his head and chuckled.
"What?"
"You. Your brother and I use expensive background check software your genius brother Garrett designed, and I didn't come up with hardly anything new in the past four hours, yet you, using an internet search engine available to the whole world, have begun to piece all this together. Maybe you should work for Coach and me, rather than at the credit union."
She knitted her brows. "You and Coach, on the ranch?"
Shit. He'd said too much. On the surface that would sound like a foolish comment. Computer or internet skills weren't a requirement to work on the ranch. However, they were required when being contracted by the US government and businesses to run security checks on operatives, employees, business partners, et cetera. As far as Peyton knew, he and Coach just ran the horse farm for her dad.
Her questioning gaze pinned him in place. Sweat beaded on his brow. This woman was too smart to lie to, nor did he want to lie to her but he needed to come up with something quickly that wasn't quite a lie. Coach felt it important they not reveal the details of their business to Peyton. He didn't want her to worry about him. The less she knew about what they did, the better, especially since they would soon be expanding into other areas like those they'd done while in the Army. Only these missions—extractions—were the kind the Army usually didn't recognize.
"Well, if you'd run the check on Charlie, perhaps we could have avoided some of this mess," Storm stammered.
Peyton's eyes narrowed.
If he didn't stop looking at her, he'd confess.
The front door to the house opened. "We're home," Coach broadcasted.
Saved. Announcing entry was something he and Coach routinely did to avoid any potential misunderstandings. It was especially important during a time like this when they were on high alert, and Peyton's well-being was at stake. The last thing Coach would want was to be staring at the barrel of Storm's handgun.
Robert wrapped his daughter in his arms. When they parted, Coach took a quick turn. Storm knew Coach loved his sister, but he wasn't the hugging type. He supposed the circumstances at hand had a lot to do with the affection Coach displayed.
Coach parted from his sister. "Have you found out anything else?”
Storm had intentionally waited until Robert and Coach arrived home to inform them of Charlie's death. The last thing they needed was Coach driving a hundred miles per hour home from the airport.
"Detective Jorgenson called. They found Charlie Elliott with a gunshot wound to his head."
"Dead?"
"Yes."
"And, your sister has pieced together some interesting information regarding Spencer Fitzpatrick."
Coach bounced his gaze between Storm and Peyton.
"Really?"
A proud smile lifted Peyton's lips. Then she informed her dad and brother of her theory that Spencer Fitzpatrick is really Jimmy Weeks.
Robert listened intently.
"What do you guys think?" Robert asked.
"That theory is as good as any. We'll check it out further," Coach replied.
Robert swung his gaze to Storm.
"I think she's onto something here," Storm reassured.
Robert winked at Peyton. "Good work, honey." Reaching down, he picked up his suitcase. "I'll leave you guys to this. In the meantime, I'm going to head out to the barn, and Lyle and I are going to finalize the plans for Prince Bourbonville's transport to Louisville. Six days to go-time. Churchill Downs, here we come." Even considering the other issues at hand, Robert's smile and enthusiasm regarding the Derby and Prince Bourbonville's potential couldn't be any grander.
Storm, Coach, and Peyton grabbed a bite for lunch and then went back into the office to continue piecing together the puzzle. There had to be a connection between this so-called Spencer, Charlie, and Tyler, or, at least a connection between Charlie and one of the others. Not to mention, a connection between Tyler's company, Bluegrass Partnership, and Fitzpatrick Enterprises. Though Tyler's investments revolved around condo developments, and Spencer's revolved around apartments, they were still both in the development business and must have crossed paths at some time. Too bad for Tyler he'd chosen the condo business. Who would have guessed that those would have tanked so badly in the mid to late 2000s?
They'd been at it for a couple of hours when Peyton's phone rang. She looked at her phone, then to Storm and Coach. "It's Spencer again."
"How many times has he called?" Coach asked.
"Once yesterday after he and Brittiany left, and once earlier today. He left messages both times asking how everything was and asking me to call him back."
"It's probably time you call him back so he doesn't suspect we're on to him. Let's hear what he has to say this time."
Though Storm knew Coach was right, he still didn't like the fact Peyton would be calling this man. The mere mention and thought of this man sent Storm's internal alarms blaring.
Peyton set the phone on Coach's desk and tapped the screen to play the message. Spencer's voice filled the room. "Hi, Peyton, this is Spencer. I was at the pub for lunch today, and I heard about your horse. I'm sorry. I hope she's okay. Warner and Lauren invited me to the country club on Wednesday night for bingo night. I guess it's the last one for the season. Anyhow, I'm wondering if you'd like to come with us. Let me know."
"You need to call him back and accept that date," Coach said.
Peyton's eyes widened. "What?"
"I think it's best you accept the date. This way we can keep an eye on him. It may be especially beneficial in the event we don't find out anything else about him and his connection to this in the meantime."
"You can't be serious," Peyton blurted.
The tinge of fear in her eyes and tone made Storm want to wrap her in his arms and comfort her. But for right now, he wanted to keep their little secret. Plus, he knew what Coach said was the correct thing to do at present.
"It'll be okay. Storm can go with Brittiany. He'll never be more than an arm's length away from you. It will give him the perfect opportunity to interrogate the imposter without him realizing it. And I'll have eyes and ears on you all."
Peyton still looked skeptical, but Storm knew she'd do what her brother suggested.
Jealousy seized Storm's heart. Yes, it was the right thing to do but that didn't mean he had to like it—seeing her with another man.
Peyton's gaze drifted to him. He knew she was looking for him to give approval. He’d been in hand-to-hand combat more times than he could count, but at present, a simple nod of his head was impossible. Man up, Storm; she needs this approval from you. His nod came slow, but it came.
Coach bounced his gaze between Storm and his sister. The corners of his mouth tugged upward. “I’ll be damned.”
Peyton’s cheeks turned pink. Storm hoped his weren’t doing the same. So much for their little secret.