Page 9 of Echoes of Sin

She tacked on that she’d also ordered dinner for the team while she’d been downstairs, letting them know that Allie would be bringing up their meals. Brook quietly closed the connecting door. She understood Riggs’ impatience, and she agreed that the clock was ticking, but he didn’t seem to understand that the alarm had already gone off without any of them hearing it.

Luna Breen was dead, and her killer could already be thousands of miles away.

Chapter Four

Brooklyn Sloane

October 2023

Friday — 5:02am

Thedimglowofthe emergency exit sign above the back door of the pub was nestled to the side of the staircase. One of the letters flickered, tired in its continual effort to stay lit and provide a safety net for those inside. The vibrant hue cast red and black shadows on the steps as if warning the person using them to be mindful of their destination.

Brook had taken the time last night to get a layout of the bar. As she took the last step that put her on solid ground, she reached for the light switch next to the exit door. While the pub itself had security lighting tucked up underneath the decorative wood surface, she preferred to see a bit better than someone who wanted only to drown their sorrows in solitude.

She’d gotten around three and half hours of sleep. Considering that was her usual, minus around thirty minutes, she questioned her sanity upon inhaling the delicious aroma of coffee. It all made sense as she made her way behind the counter to where a note had been taped to the coffee machine.

You strike me as an early bird. ~Wyn

“I’m liking you more and more, Wyn,” Brook muttered to herself as she took the glass carafe off the burner.

Brook began to pour the contents into the white carafe that Wyn had set to the side. She doubted that Wyn came in before nine or ten o’clock, but she’d return the favor. Once she’d secured the cap to the tall carafe, she set about brewing up another pot so that Wyn had something to drink when he arrived. Worst case scenario, she could enjoy another pot all to herself before having to question Luna Breen’s mother and sister later in the day.

Brook’s cell phone vibrated, and she pulled it out of the back pocket of her jeans. She’d only brought two pair of denim pants with her. She hadn’t expected to take on an additional case and one that would require clothing that she normally reserved for her days off. Seeing the name of the person calling her, she might be able to get away without having to drive a town over to buy additional clothes.

“If it isn’t my business partner,” Brook greeted as she searched for the can of ground coffee. She’d expected the container to be next to the machine, but the counter space had been cleared off except for a stack of porcelain coffee mugs. “I thought you were in Somalia.”

“And I thought you’d be at the office this morning,” Graham replied in a rich tone that she’d surprisingly come to miss during their business trips. “Imagine my disappointment when Arden greeted me with a cup of coffee. Not that I’m complaining too much. That man makes a mean cup.”

General Graham Elliott was a former Commanding General of Marine Forces Special Operations, and he also happened to be more than just her silent business partner.

She’d always had the philosophy that it was better to wake up alone.

Less worry, less stress, and less heartache.

It had taken her a very long and winding emotional road to figure out that she was more than the sister of a serial killer. Yes, there were many things she’d done in her life that she needed to atone for, and she would continue to do so until the day she drew her last breath.

Graham had taught her that she didn’t need to do so alone. He’d faced his fair share of demons that had resulted in the same ugly scars that she carried on her soul. For once, she was learning to share. She just needed to be reminded of that occasionally.

He was also one hell of a lover.

“I haven’t figured out Arden’s secret to making coffee, either,” Brook said as she struck gold after kneeling behind the bar. There were a few bags of ground coffee, and it was an unfamiliar brand. That might explain why it hadn’t tasted like the dime store stuff. “I’m pretty sure that’s on purpose. Arden believes if I figure it out that I’ll fire him.”

Arden Hinnish was the latest addition to the team. A unique one, given his age. The former private investigator was in his late sixties with a penchant for cardigan sweaters. His previous career hadn’t always been on the up and up, but it was also the reason why his opinion carried weight. He came at an investigation from a completely different angle, and she could appreciate the distinctive view.

“Would you fire him if he didn’t know how to make a fantastic cup of coffee?”

Brook caught herself smiling, which was something of a rarity from what she’d been told time and again by her team. She grabbed the bag and stood, not expecting the door to the bar to swing wide open. Riggs and two men came in as if they owned the place, though that was doubtful since the other individuals looked nothing like Wyn.

Had Wyn left the front door unlocked on purpose or due to the fact that he had guests staying in the upstairs room? Either way, that issue needed to be rectified this morning.

“Arden isn’t in any danger of losing his job,” Brook said quietly as she stopped holding her cell phone in between her cheek and shoulder. “The FBI called me for a consult on a case. Since we were already in North Carolina, I didn’t think it would take up much of our time. Unfortunately, we might be here for a while. Listen, I have to go, but I’ll touch base with you later this evening.”

“I’m afraid that I’m catching a flight to the West Coast.”

“You wouldn’t want to do me a favor first, would you?” Brook asked as she turned around to finish her task. She filled the filter with ground coffee. “There was a murder in the Smokey Mountains. About an hour and a half hike from a small town called Moonshine Valley. Let’s just say that my business attire isn’t cutting it here.”

“I’ll stop by your condo on my way home. It’s cool there this time of year. Do you even own sweatshirts?”

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