Page 4 of Operation Wolf: Hunter
CHAPTER 2
Kia
“KIA! PHONE CALL FORyou.”
I bit back a snappy retort as I adjusted the focus on my camera lens. “Little busy here, Drew,” I said. Then I lifted my head, so I could look at the basically nude model I was photographing. “Turn your head slightly to the left.”
The model, who was wearing nothing but strategically placed paint, did as I had asked. I studied the play of light against her angular body and then dropped my gaze back down to the viewfinder.
“I told the lawyer on the phone you were in the middle of a shoot, but he was most insistent,” Drew said, now hovering at my elbow.
I frowned, adjusting the aperture. “A lawyer? What the hell does he want?”
It’d better not be another lawsuit.
I’d gone through a nasty one several years ago, back when I was still doing wedding photography. I’d learned a big lesson back then. Even if you were an expert photographer and did an incredible job, you could still get royally screwed by your client.
“He said something about a great-uncle dying and an inheritance.”
I nearly knocked over the tripod as I whirled around to face Drew. “Is this some kind of a joke?” I demanded. “I don’t have a great-uncle.”
Drew shrugged. “I don’t know, but the guy sounds legit to me.”
I sighed.
Despite Drew’s purple hair and neck tattoos, which somehow managed not to clash with the dressy pants, button-up shirt, and vest he typically wore to work, he was the best assistant I’d ever hired and was damn good at weeding out the bullshit in my life. If he said the lawyer’s call was legit, then it probably was.
“Tell him I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
It was more like twenty-five before I finally finished the shoot. As the model traded in her stilettos for a white silk bathrobe, I hightailed it to my office at the rear of the studio, my black-heeled boots clicking against the concrete floor of the warehouse I’d converted into my photography studio over a year ago. My mind spun with all the questions I’d pushed to the back of my mind while I was working.
Who is this great-uncle? What did he leave behind? How come I never knew him?
“I told him you’d call him back,” Drew said from his desk as I stepped inside.
The office was a small glass and concrete structure I spent little time in since the majority of my after-shoot work occurred in the darkroom.
Drew pointed toward the phone perched on my desk without looking up from what he was doing. “You’ll find the phone number on the sticky note I left there for you.”
“Thanks.” I dropped into my desk chair and then picked up the sticky note. I scowled as I read the phone number. “Area code 325? Where the hell is that?”
“Texas, I think,” Drew said absently. “The guy on the phone had an accent thicker than a bowl of oatmeal.” He glanced over at me. “Why? What’s up?”
“I think I know who this is,” I said slowly. Then I picked up the phone and dialed.
Drew started to ask more questions, but I tuned him out, letting the buzz of the ringtone fill my mind. My father’s family was from Texas.
“Stafford Law,” a woman with a Texas drawl answered pleasantly. “How may I help you?”
“Hi.” I cleared my throat. “I’m calling for . . .” I checked the sticky note. “James Stafford. He just called my office a few minutes ago. My name is Kia Nash.”
“Oh!” I heard papers shuffling in the background. “Yes, Mr. Stafford very much wants to speak with you, Miss Nash. Hold on just a moment.”
There was silence for a minute, and then a gravelly, deep voice came on the line. “Kia Nash?”
“That’s me.” I tried to keep the impatience out of my voice. My nerves felt as though they’d been scraped raw already. “Are you the attorney who was trying to reach me?”
“Yes, Miss Nash.” The lawyer coughed slightly. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m calling to inform you that your great-uncle Daniel Nash has passed away.”
