Scorched Page 3

  “I see. Do you ever see your step-sibling?” As far as she remembered, Tristan was the only son in the Cadreinth family.

  “Sometimes. His name’s Rhys. He’s about ten years old now. Good kid.”

  “You get along with him?”

  “Sure. Actually, he’s the one who sought me out when he heard I was back in town. Rhys told me the old man is sick, and he thought it would be best if I patched things up. Dad never apologized to me or my mom. I have no interest in crawling to him first.”

  “So you’re a bit vindictive after all?”

  Tristan grimaced. “I guess I hold my grudges a long time.”

  “That explains why you live in this house. Didn’t your family live in that mansion in Rose Hill?”

  “Just my dad and Rhys. And dad’s new girlfriend.”

  “Wait, what happened to Rhys’ mom?”

  “My dad married her, but they got divorced two years later. Then my dad went through his middle-age streak like Hugh Hefner. Parties in the house with a bunch of call girls every weekend. That Rose Hill house was nicknamed ‘Playboy Mansion’ for a while. But Dad has quieted down now. Perhaps because he has a health problem.”

  “No chance of making peace with your old man then?”

  Tristan gave her a withering look. “Don’t you have a bigger problem to worry about?”

  She harrumphed. “Okay, what’s going to happen now?”

  “Well, once we get forensic evidence that bastard is terrorizing you, we’ll nail him for violating the restraining order. I won’t make it easy for him to slime his way out of this one.”

  A small measure of relief washed over her. “Thank you, Tristan.”

  He only grinned wide.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I never thought I’d hear those words from you. It makes me happy.”

  Molly rolled her eyes. Oh brother!

  Chapter Four

  The sound of explosions jarred Molly from a deep sleep. They were rapid and loud and startled her to the bones. For a moment, she thought she was in a war zone. It was unmistakably the sound of gunfire accompanied by breaking glass. Molly snatched the bathrobe she’d borrowed from Tristan and jumped off the bed, striding out of the guestroom. Tristan halted her in the hallway; a gun was in his hand.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  “You stay here.”

  “No way! I don’t want to be alone.”

  “Just for a minute. It seems we took a hit.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think it was a drive-by shooting.”

  Her blood ran cold. Had David gone mad this time? First, he’d sent her a mutilated rabbit as a present. Now he’d gone full gangster on Tristan’s house. He must have been watching them the whole time. He knew where she was and who she was with. An unpleasant knot twisted in her gut. She felt nauseous. How far would he go to terrorize her?

  Tristan moved towards the living room, Molly unconsciously shadowing his footsteps.

  He turned on the light.

  It was a mess.

  The picture window was totally shattered. Bullets had penetrated the glass and destroyed the picture frames and sofa. The living room walls were full of holes, like Swiss cheese.

  Surprisingly, Tristan took the whole thing very calmly. His face didn’t show any anger or anything; he only had a focused look.

  “Wait—” Molly tugged his arm when he was about to step toward the front door. “It’s not safe. What if he’s still out there?”

  “I highly doubt it. The perp doesn’t usually stick around in a drive-by shooting.”

  Tristan slunk off like a ghost, taking cover behind the bookshelves and assessing the situation before he turned the key and tugged the front door open. Only silence greeted them. His house was situated on an acre of land, secluded from his neighbors. It appeared the commotion hadn’t attracted their attention. Yet.

  Tristan closed the door and locked it. He examined one of the bullet holes and pried it with his pinky finger. “Is David a gun collector?”

  “I know he owns a gun, but he isn’t a collector.”

  “Not a gun enthusiast of any kind?”

  “I don’t think so. He had bodyguards, so he doesn’t actually need a gun.”

  “How about his bodyguards? Are they former military?”

  “I’m not sure. David hires a top notch security company in LA, and his bodyguards change depending on the occasion. Why do you ask?”

  “This bullet is from a 7.62mm round from an AK-47. I’d recognize that sound anywhere. It’s very distinct, more so than the M-16 the Army issued.”

  “I don’t know anything about weapons.” Molly inspected the damage closely. “What kind of gun is capable of making so many holes so quickly?”

  “It’s not a handgun. Bullet holes like this are caused by a rifle used in the military. Soviet made. Kalashnikov. Come with me.” Tristan grabbed her hand and pulled her into the kitchen, making her go into the pantry. “This is the safest place in the house. Bullets can’t reach this wall in case he comes again. You stay here until I get back. I won’t be long.” He gave her his gun. “Shoot anyone that isn’t me. Just aim and pull the trigger. Easy peasy.”

  “What? You’re crazy! I can’t do this!”

  “Molly, I need to—” Tristan made a fluttery gesture, “—you know?”

  He needed to shift. She got it. “Do I really need a gun?”

  “Yes. I’ll find this son of a bitch and nab him. In the meantime, I don’t want you alone without protection. Understood?”

  “Y-yeah.”

  “Good. I’ll be right back.” He pecked a kiss on her lips before locking her in the pantry.

  She was dazed despite the dire situation. The worry was replaced with bewilderment. She should be worried that her ex wanted her dead, and yet she was more focused on Tristan becoming kissie-freely with her. What was she to him? He’d made her aware of his feelings toward her, but was he really sincere considering their thorny past? She was completely confused.

  From her hiding place, she could hear as Tristan exited the kitchen through the back door and went into the garden. A second later, something gigantic reverberated and lurched into the air.

  The waiting for him felt like forever. The gun was heavy in her hand. She couldn’t hold it for very long. She was sure she wouldn’t be able to pull the trigger either if David came to confront her. That man had practically brainwashed her over the last ten years to become submissive in his presence. She had come a long way toward reclaiming her independence, but face to face, she didn’t think she’d have the courage to shoot him—or anyone for that matter.

  The kitchen door creaked open. Molly’s heart beat fast. Her hands trembled so badly she almost dropped the gun on the floor.

  “Molly? It’s me.”

  She heard Tristan’s voice muffled through the door. A wave of relief washed over her. Her knees weakened, and before she realized it, she slumped on the floor, the gun in her lap.

  Heavy footsteps approached the pantry and the door opened. Tristan’s tall frame filled the opening. “You okay? Anyone coming?”

  Molly quickly averted her eyes. Tristan was buck-naked. She’d forgotten that dragons were too comfortable strutting around in their birthday suits, especially after shifting. They ruined their clothes if they didn’t take them off before transforming into their alter-beasts.

  “No,” she answered. She’d seen plenty of people swathed in practically next to nothing in California, but the sight of Tristan without a thread on his body made her self-conscious.

  Tristan noticed her discomfort and closed the door. “I get it. I’ll get dressed,” he announced.

  A couple of minutes later, Tristan reappeared behind the door. He was half-dressed, but bare-chested still with a shirt in his hand. At least he had his pants on.

  The first thing she did was give him his gun back. She didn’t feel comfortable holding it, let alone shooting someone with it.


  “Did you find him?” Molly asked.

  Tristan shook his head. “He’s quite sly. I swear if I catch him, I’ll twist and break his neck.”

  “Sorry.”

  “What for?”

  “Causing you so much trouble.”

  “Hey, hey, it’s my job, okay?” He tugged her face up to meet his eyes. “Besides, let me make it up to you for my past; I won’t be at peace until I do that.”

  Outside, police sirens bleared loudly. Someone called out to Tristan and asked him if he was okay.

  “That’s my neighbor,” said Tristan. He shoved his gun into the back of his jeans and eyed Molly critically from head to toe. “You better change your clothes. I don’t think it’s safe for you to spend the night here anymore.”

  “W-where should I go?” Molly disliked the idea of being alone again, not with David graduated from stalker to a full-blown psycho.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll figure out some place safe.”

  Molly went to the guestroom and changed from her pajamas into jeans and a sweater while Tristan talked to his neighbor. More vehicles with sirens pulled up to the driveway. When she emerged from the bedroom, she saw a couple uniformed cops inspecting the damage in the living room. One of them saw her and tipped his head.

  “Evening, ma’am,” he said.

  “Good evening.”

  “Have you been injured in anyway?”

  She shook her head. “I’m fine. I’m very lucky.”

  “Some luck you have, ma’am. Whoever did this means business.”

  “I suppose this kind of thing doesn’t happen often in Oak Hollow.”

  “No, ma’am. Lately, the worst felony we’ve had is bear-on-bear violence.”

  Molly couldn’t help but smile, thinking how absurd that would sound to mundane people, especially when the officer said it with a straight face.

  Tristan came in with a uniformed cop and introduced him as his partner. His name was Raffe Esposito—tall, dark, and werewolf.

  “I did a background check on David Castle, and that guy is quite a character,” Raffe said. “Besides the restraining order, he has a few complaints against him and a DUI. Charges against him never seem to stick; the vics withdraw the charges or settle out of court. The records were sealed.”

  “He’s had some altercations with a few people over the years, but his lawyer was able to keep them under wraps. But yes, he has quite a temper,” Molly said. Wait, why am I explaining his behavior? She realized that David still had a fervent impact on her. It wasn’t easy to shed the influence of a person that had shaped who she was over the past decade.

  “I talked to his assistant named Doug just to get a feel for what he’s up to. She said David Castle is currently working in his studio in Paris. I’ve checked his travel records and found he left the country five days ago. Any chance he might have paid someone to do his dirty his work for him?”

  “He certainly has connections.” Why hadn’t she thought about that possibility? David wasn’t stupid. He had too much at stake to just carelessly terrorize his old flame. Sending a bloody package. Doing a drive-by shooting.

  “Can you think of someone who might work for him?”

  Molly tried to recollect. “Years ago, he was close to Eddy James. I don’t know whose close in his inner circle. I left David fourteen months ago.”

  “Eddy James. Now why is that name familiar?” said Tristan, thinking hard.

  Raffe snapped his fingers. “That’s the guy who was linked with the Hollywood Madam scandal. It was all over the news a couple months ago. James is Ira Bergstein’s partner in Nevada. James invested in Bergstein’s legal brothel, but the place never opened due to Bergstein’s embezzlement. Don’t you watch TV?”

  Tristan gave Raffe an annoyed look. “I don’t own one. I read books—books that have a lot of text and no pictures. Unlike you.”

  Raffe ignored Tristan’s dig. “There’s another thing that’s been bugging me. I discussed this with my partner here. We think that you must have been bugged or your stalker put some tracking device on you so he was able to follow you from your house to Detective Cadreinth’s home. Maybe we can take a look at your bags?”

  “And I think you should turn off your phone too. Or better yet, get a new number,” added Tristan.

  “But I just changed the number recently.” Molly gave Tristan her cell phone.

  “I personally think it’s been compromised.” Tristan removed the SIM card and gave the phone back to Molly. He held the chip in his hand, and suddenly flames burst out from his palm, burning the card to ashes.

  Whoa. She hadn’t seen that kind of trick in a long time. Living among the mundane had made her forget that she wasn’t completely human. She had no special powers, in contrast to a full-blooded dragon like Tristan.

  She gave her handbag to Detective Esposito, who proceeded to dump the contents on the kitchen table. The werewolf examined every crevice of her bag and unzipped every compartment. When he didn’t find anything suspicious, he began scrutinizing every item on the table. Brush, lipsticks, mirror, pressed powder, keys. Wallet. Loose change. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Did you bring any other bags from California?” Raffe asked.

  “Yes. But I left the rest in my house. I only brought my purse and an overnight bag with me.”

  “We have an electronic sweeper back in the precinct that can detect bugs and such. I’d like to take these things with me if you don’t mind. You can take some absolutely essential items and clothes with you. I’m sure Tristan can lend you a suitcase or something.”

  Tristan nodded. “I have a couple in the closet.”

  “I understand,” said Molly. “Can I take my wallet and the lipstick?”

  “I suggest you leave them until I can verify they’re clean. You can take your driver’s license and your cards, but leave the wallet and lipstick for the time being. Spying gadgets are very sophisticated these days; they’re small enough to be inserted in a lipstick tube or wallet.”

  “Oh, okay. I’ll just take the ID and the cash then.”

  “Tristan needs to take you to a safe place so you can have some rest tonight.” Raffe turned to his partner. “Leave everything to me. I’ll lock up your house when we’ve finished. Just come by to the precinct tomorrow morning. I imagine Captain will want to discuss this case with you.”

  Tristan gave him a slight nod. He handed Raffe a key to his house and motioned Molly to follow him. She unpacked her bag and selected a change of clothes. Tristan lent her a suitcase and added a few sundry items.

  Twenty-minutes later, Molly was seated on a hotel bed near the Cheekawet Hot Springs resort. They’d checked in under aliases—a preemptive measure in case the stalker tried to follow Molly’s trail.

  Tristan only rented one room with a double bed; Molly didn’t raise any questions. She felt much safer with him close by. She took off her shoes and slipped under the covers in her jeans. If someone shot at their window again, she wouldn’t be running around in her underwear.

  Tristan dimmed the light. “Good night,” he said.

  He sat on the bed and spread out his guns and ammo. She didn’t know he was carrying that much firepower in his backpack instead of clothes. He dismantled and reassembled his weapons, cleaning each one to perfection with a clean rag. His expression was solemn—dangerous, even. She guessed any man would be pissed if someone shot his home full of holes.

  Tristan Cadreinth was ready for war.

  Chapter Five

  Tristan couldn’t sleep a wink that night. The drive-by shooting incident had torn open the psychological wounds he’d tried to forget over the past few years. The sound of a rifle cutting through the night jarred his nerves. He thought he was back in Afghanistan again.

  He’d lost his sergeant in an IED explosion minutes before an ambush. His charred remains demoralized the unit instantaneously.

  Tristan himself had miraculously come out of the stealth attack practically unharmed, other than a few scraps
on his limbs. But he was a dragon, and he had a remarkable healing ability. Unlike his comrades, he recovered in a matter of minutes. Black-hearted rage consumed him afterward. He let go of the reins of his beast and hunted down each and every soul responsible for the assault. He’d slain them without mercy.

  When the dust settled, he’d found himself standing in the midst of a scorched landscape, naked, without weapons or any form of communication. Everything had burned to cinders. He was then forced to hike back to the Forward Operating Base and tell them the bad news. There were inquiries and investigations. He came out as a hero and received a medal. He didn’t feel like he deserved it; he couldn’t save anyone.

  For a year and a half after the incident, he was plagued by the nightmare. It had always started with the sound of an explosion, followed by the barrage of gunfire and quickly followed by the screams of anguish. He always awoke from the dream, shaking, his body covered in perspiration.

  The mental trauma got better with time, especially after he’d been discharged from the Army. He had no problem adjusting to civilian life and became a cop—trying to bring justice one at the time for those who no longer had a voice. His job became a sacrosanct mission. And slowly, the old wound healed.

  What had happened last night changed everything.

  Tristan glanced at Molly’s sleeping form.

  The pain in his heart stirred.

  It can’t happen again.

  No.

  He wouldn’t allow anyone to take what was precious to him anymore. He finally had the chance to make up for his past to the woman of his dreams. And no one would stand in the way of his future with Molly.

  The sun peeked through the blinds. Tristan checked his wristwatch. Six AM. He decided to get off the bed. He washed his face, brushed his teeth and made some coffee. As the coffee brewed, he sat by Molly’s bedside, watching her sleeping soundly. The morning light fell on her face, and her sun-dappled skin radiated a golden glow. He’d never noticed how long her lashes were, how smooth her skin was, and how deliciously red her lips were even without lipstick.