Page 10 of Autopsy of a Fairytale

“His assistant reported you met with him on the Saturday before his death,” Garrett continued.

“I did.”

“What was the meeting about?” Garrett bristled at the man’s short answers.

“Brett had completed the chandelier. I made the final payment and picked up the piece. If you had arrived later, you would have seen it hanging in its glory. The electricity was the first repair I worked on when I bought the estate. Can’t have this house burn down around me.”

“Did you know Lumen disabled the security cameras at his shop before your meeting?” Bel asked, and Eamon’s head tilted down at her.

“Yes. It was at my request.”

“Why?”

“Because I am a private person, Detective Emerson.” He said her name like a threat. He spoke her name like honey. “I am aware of this estate’s dark history, and I am well versed in small-town gossip. I purchased this mansion to remain far from the public eye, intending to restore it in peace. These grounds are to become my sanctuary to escape the demands of my business.”

“Hiding something?” Garrett asked.

“Aren’t we all, Detective Cassidy?” Eamon’s eyes slid to Bel’s scar as he answered her partner, and her pulse stumbled.

“Were you aware that Brett’s body was found encased in a piece of furniture resembling a chandelier?” Bel asked.

“I am.” He smiled, setting her teeth on edge. “Coincidence, is it not?”

“Are you handling the renovations yourself?” she asked.

“Yes, I am.” He angled his towering form toward her, completely ignoring the other detective in the room.

“A man has been murdered, his corpse displayed like the very furniture you ordered from him, and you are clearly knowledgeable in the art of restorations and construction. I would say that is not a coincidence.”

Eamon’s eyes glared at her, but his mouth twitched into a grin as if he enjoyed the bite of her words. “So, you have decided I am guilty, Detective?”

“I am merely making an observation. I do not speak in absolutes until I have all the evidence.” She met his gaze with a strength of her own despite her pounding heart, and Eamon leaned forward as she asked, “where were you on Sunday?”

“Here.” He took a deep breath before leaning back, and Bel swore he was smelling her. She recoiled slightly, but his eyes caught her movement, and he smirked. “Working.”

“Can anyone confirm your alibi?”

“No.” Eamon uncurled his arms and returned to the shadows, signaling the conversation was over. “I am quite busy, Detectives, if that is all?”

“For now, yes,” Garett said. “But do not—”

“Leave town?” Eamon finished for him. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” His eyes landed pointedly on Bel as if to reinforce his statement, and the weight of his predatory gaze had her unconsciously stepping backward toward the front door.

“We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions,” she said.

“Please do,” Eamon purred. “I hope you find who did this, Detective. We certainly don’t want someone that dangerous running around our little town.”

“Have a good day, Mr. Stone.” She ignored his comment and left the foyer, gasping at the freedom the fresh air brought. She hated her body’s reaction to him. Hated how, despite the lack of concrete evidence, she knew he was the very monster he warned against.

“Goodbye, Detective Emerson.” He did not address Garrett as the partners escaped for the car, and Bel felt the heat of his stare digging into her spine as they moved. She gripped the door handle in relief, pulling it open, but her gaze slipped to the mansion. Eamon had emerged from the shadows, his hulking frame filling the doorframe as he watched her without blinking. His black eyes collided with her crystal blues, and Bel had the overwhelming sensation that Eamon Stone wanted to kill her.

Eamon Stone watchedDetective Isobel Emerson get into the car and drive off down the tree-studded road, and his hand curled into a fist because she had not come alone. He knew the police would question him. He had been biding his time, waiting, hoping, craving their attention, but the sight of her prince charming partner made his teeth ache. Eamon wanted Isobel Emerson to himself.

He had seen beautiful women in his life. Knew their scent, their taste, their sounds, but none of them compared to the detective, whose fragrance still hovered in the air. He detected the faint hint of decay wafting off her skin, soap and perfume attempting to cover it up. He realized they must have come from the morgue, but not even the stench of death dampened her gravity dragging him close. Those big blue eyes. That glorious brunette hair, the kind his fingers ached to curl into, to thread into until she could not escape. He wanted to fist those gorgeous chestnut locks, to pull her head back so that she could stare defiantly up at him through her thick lashes, her full lips challenging him as she scowled. He longed to watch her throat dip as she swallowed in fear, to study how that pink scar moved when he tilted her head. That marred flesh. He wanted to drag his nose down it, to see how far it descended.

She would struggle, refusing to submit. She had fight in her, her muscles well defined and strong, and he reveled in the fantasy of forcing her to surrender to his will, knowing she would defy him every step of the way. His chest warred with the desire to grab her wrists and pin her against the wall, to make her fear him and love him. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he trapped such pretty prey. Would he feel the thundering of her heart and spill the crimson blood pulsing in her veins, or would he claim her mouth, making her gasp against his lips?

Eamon groaned as he retreated into the darkness of his house. That detective was dangerous. She was too smart. Too determined. She would pin his hide to the wall as her trophy, and part of him liked that idea. She was too beautiful for her own good. He should leave this town. Leave her, but he knew he wouldn’t. He had only just begun. He could not abandon her now. Not when her intoxicating scent wrapped him in her beauty, enchanting him.

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