Vixen Healed Read online

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2013 Shyla Colt

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-324-8

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Marie Medina

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For Mr. U who inspired the sinfully, sexy , rough edged, Kelly Quinn, M who always inspires me and my family who support and fuel me with their love, and you dear reader. Thanks to the man upstairs who makes this all possible.

  VIXEN HEALED

  Vintage Vixens, 2

  Shyla Colt

  Copyright © 2013

  Prologue

  San Diego, 2002

  “I can’t believe we forgot the champagne. It’s the only thing Dev asked us to bring.” Claire pulled her lightweight, khaki jacket closer as they walked toward the liquor store. She peered up at the sky and marveled at the fat yellow moon that stared back at her. Beautiful.

  “Well, to be fair, we were busy with other things.” She fixed her gaze on her fiancé, who wagged his eyebrows up and down, and she giggled.

  “Shh, someone will hear you.”

  “Who?” He gestured toward the empty sidewalk.

  “Smart ass.”

  “You worry too much, Claire bear. I blame that uptight mother of yours. I’ve gotten sick of hearing how a Reading should act, so, I can only imagine how you feel.”

  “That woman is due to be your Mother-in-Law in March.”

  “I know. Then she can officially extend the speech to me and we can drive her insane together.”

  “You’re horrible.” She attempted a stern frown and failed miserably.

  “You love it.” Campbell winked and nudged her in the ribs.

  “I do.” He was a buffer between the demands her parents placed on her and the guilt trip and berate method they wielded like a sword intent on felling her.

  They entered the store and headed to the back where refrigerated units were lined up.

  “Here we are.” They paused at the champagne section, which had been ransacked. He slid open the glass door and held one of the three remaining bottles up in the air. “Victory!”

  “Okay, conqueror. We’ve got it. Now let’s go.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him down the aisle toward the front.

  “Open the register and give me the money now!” a gruff voice sounded in the store.

  She held her breath as her brain struggled to process what was happening. Was this a prank? Campbell held a finger to his lips and shook his head. She covered her mouth with both hands to contain the whimpers that slipped through her sealed lips. Campbell wrapped an arm around her.

  “Faster, we ain’t got all day!”

  Their position was a double-edged razor blade. It shielded them, but left them blind. Beeps came from the register, the sound of a drawer on a track signaling it was open, then the shuffling of bills. Pow! Thwack. A bullet fired and hit flesh. Her ears rang. She flinched. Their bodies bumped the shelf beside them. Bottles clinked and crashed to the floor. Her stomach dropped into her shoes as clear, colored liquid and glass made a messy puddle on the floor. Campbell pushed her behind him as a set of men clad from head to toe in black appeared at the end of the aisle. Both men were tall and thin with drawn faces. Bones protruded from sweat-dotted skin and dead eyes bore holes into them. One looked meaner than the other. A scowl curled up his lip, and his brow was furrowed.

  “Looks like we have some stowaways,” the one on the left said. His gaze darted around the store. Nervous energy poured off him. He shifted his weight from side to side. “What should we do with them?”

  She glanced down, pressed her face into Campbell’s broad shoulders like a coward, and clenched the material of his pullover to keep her feet under her. Their images would be seared into her mind for as long as she lived … if she lived.

  “The last thing we need is witnesses, but I’m thinking we should take her with us, have a little celebration of our own.”

  “No.”

  Their eyes widened at Campbell’s quietly delivered statement.

  “What did you say to me, boy?” the man on the right asked.

  “I said no. You’ll take her over my dead body. Someone’s already heard that first shot, and the cashier probably tripped an alarm. The police aren’t far behind.”

  “You think you hard, bro?” He cocked the double barrow shotgun. “What about now?”

  Campbell remained silent. Please God, let them go away. A siren screamed in the distance, a prayer answered. The gun holder turned his soulless gaze to his partner.

  “Let’s get out of here, man.”

  They turned to leave, and she leaned against Campbell. Relief spread through every atom of her body. An explosion sounded. She was thrown back five feet. She slammed into the ground. Her head bounced off the floor, and her vision wavered. She struggled to breathe as Campbell’s body weighed her down. Warm wetness spread across her chest. No! No. Adrenaline surged. She forced herself into an upright position, sliding him to the side so she could assess the damage. Red wept from the holes that littered his chest. Do I move him? No, apply pleasure to the wound. She ripped off her jacket and pressed her weight down. He cried out. His body jerked, but she refused to move away.

  “Please hold on for me. Can you hear the sirens? They’re almost here.”

  Tears filled her eyes. All the blood had drained from his face, and his breathing was labored. Pasty, white eyelids fluttered open to reveal hazel-colored eyes laced with pain.

  “You’re okay?” His voice was raspy and weak.

  “Yes, you saved me, baby.” She wanted to touch him, but she didn’t dare remove the hands or the material that kept him from bleeding out. He coughed. Blood oozed out of the corners of his mouth, staining his white teeth.

  “We both know this is it for me.”

  “No—”

  “Please, don’t bullshit me, Claire. We both know that’s not my style. I’m not sorry I saved you. I’d do it again to keep you safe. Don’t spend any time feeling bad about that. I’ve loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you in the seventh grade.” He winced.

  “I love you too.” She sucked in deep breaths. I can’t break down. He needs me to be strong.

  A weak smile spread across his lips. His eyes went unfocused and began to glaze.

  “Stay with me, baby!”

  “Promise me.” His voice was thinner, reedy. She bent in to hear him better.

  “Anything.”

  “Live your life for you. Be happy. We’ll meet again.”

  “Don’t talk like that, please!”

  She removed her hands from his chest and pulled him close, hugging his heavy body to her.

  “Love you, Claire.”

  “Love you too. Oh God!” His chest rose, fell, and stilled.

  “Campbell!”

  Chapter One

  Eight years later

  “You know Charles’ son will be joining us for dinner. The two of you have plenty in common, perhaps you’ll hit off?”

  Claire rolled her eyes. “Mom, how many times do I have to tell you to stop matchmaking? I’m not looking for a boyfriend, and even if I was, our tastes differ greatly.”

  Her mother huffed. “When are you going to grow out of this rebellious stage? The tattoos, Vintage Vixen, and that God aw
ful Roller Derby League.” She could picture her mother’s heart-shaped face, distorted by a wrinkled nose and deep frown. When she was displeased she always looked like she’d smelled something rotten and eaten something bitter at the same time.

  “I guess they do now, because I am. We’ve been over this before. I’m done with hiding who I am because of the standards you and Father choose to live by. The store is successful. The way I dress and the tattoos I have are an expression of who I am. My soul inked and embedded on my skin. I wish I could get you to understand that. I’m happy, and I intend to stay that way.”

  She’d taken Campbell’s words to heart after he died in her arms. Stood up to her parents for the first time in her life, remained on her own, and pursued her dreams. Groomed from the time she was born to bring honor to her family, always present a polished, posh front, and obey her parents, she’d been a weak-willed woman, drowning under the weight of expectations and family tradition. That woman was a thing of the past, and as far as Claire was concerned, she’d stay that way. At first her parents assumed her metamorphosis was a reaction to the robbery, a way to deal with the loss of Campbell. When it continued longer than they deemed appropriate the disagreements started.

  “You can’t be happy, darling. You’re not even thirty, much too young to be a spinster.”

  “Not everyone wants to get married, Mom.”

  “Maybe not, but I am your mother. I remember those elaborate weddings you put on with your Barbie’s, and you’ve always wanted children.”

  “Things change.” Beep. She peered down at the phone number displayed on her screen and frowned. “I have a call on the other line, Mom, I have to go. I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”

  A heavy sighed sounded. “Okay dear, we’ll see you then.”

  They disconnected, and Claire clicked over to the other line.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Claire Reading?” a monotone voice asked.

  “Yes? Who is this?”

  “This is Detective Kelly Quinn, from the San Diego police department. We think we’ve found a link back to the robbery case you were involved in eight years ago. One of our perps fits the description you gave.” Her mind went blank. Visions of a dark-haired man with stormy gray eyes, high cheekbones, and large hands filled her brain. When her world spiraled out of control his strength had anchored her.

  “Ma’am, are you there? Hello.”

  “Yes, yes. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t expect that.”

  “It’s perfectly understandable. It’s been sometime since we last spoke.”

  “I’m glad you found new evidence. He—” Her voice cracked. “My fiancée, Campbell, deserves justice.”

  “I’ll do my best to make sure that happens, Ms. Reading.” The voice was softer now and held more emotion.

  “When should I come down?”

  “When would you be next available?”

  “Can we do it today?”

  “Yes, I’ll be here until eight tonight.”

  “I’ll see you in twenty minutes, Detective.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  The conversation ripped open the wound that had never really healed. She clutched her aching chest, pressed her eyes shut against the tears that threatened to fall, and took deep breaths. Stay calm. I can’t help if I’m a wreck. The last thing I want is the police questioning my accountability. She’d prayed for this day for a long time before giving up hope of ever seeing it come true. It’d hardened her, turned her bitter until her friends snapped her out of it. Dahlia, Devlin, and Judy were more than friends; they were her sisters. If it hadn’t been for them she never would’ve made it out of the black hole that had consumed her life after that horrible night. Maybe after this she could get some real closure.

  ****

  “I’m looking for Detective Quinn.”

  The soft voice in the exterior room caught his ears. He recognized her from the phone call.

  “He’s right through that door, Ma’am.”

  He rose from his desk to greet her.

  The woman who appeared in the doorframe a few moments later was nothing like what he’d expected. He remembered her vaguely from his time on the case. She was a mousy, petite thing, with a slim build, tailored pants, plain pull over sweater, and skin the color of roasted toffee. Her large, brown eyes had been haunted by the horrors she’d witnessed. How that lost waif had turned into this vision of womanly perfection he wasn’t sure. Clad in a form fitting, shiny black dress that cinched in at the waist and flared out around her she could’ve stepped off a movie set from the 1950’s. Her cheeks had a rosy glow, and her full lips were painted red.

  “Detective Quinn?”

  His gaze darted to her left hand. Not married. “Yes, Ms. Reading?”

  She nodded. He moved around his desk and held out his hand. She offered up her own. Her small, French-manicured hand was engulfed. Soft, warm, and delicate it served as a visual reminder of who he was pulling late nights for and fighting to keep safe.

  “Thank you for coming down here so swiftly. I’m not sure if you remember me, but I handled this case with my partner, Detective Morgan, eight years ago.”

  “I remember you, Detective Quinn. You were one of the few to keep fighting with me when everyone else had long given up. Thank you for that. I wasn’t able to fully express myself then. I was much too consumed by grief.” She brought her other hand up to cover the back of his. His pulse jumped.

  “There’s no need to apologize, or thank me. This is my job.” Her compliments, and the compassion in her eyes, made him uneasy. Her face kept him awake many nights. He’d been one of the first on the scene. I’ll never be able to forget the way she’d looked bathed in blood and tears. When they arrived she had a complete melt down. He broke his personal rule that night, held her close and promised her everything would be all right, swore he’d catch the men who did this, allowing the case to become more than a number.

  Even when he’d been ordered not to dig anymore he’d continued. But it was like Markus Vasquez and his accomplice had disappeared from the country. Given how close they were to Mexico, it was likely they had.

  “Maybe, but you actually care. That’s more than I can say about a lot of others.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Reading.” He removed his hand, grateful to escape the heat that had begun to seep into his skin and penetrate the thick wall he kept his feelings behind. Emotional and police officer were two words that spelled disaster when placed too close together.

  “Call me Claire.”

  “Claire. Please sit.”

  He walked around the desk to sit in his chair facing her.

  ”We brought a man in on a misdemeanor charge and when we ran his prints this came up. Because we lifted his prints from the scene you won’t have to do a line-up, just agree to testify in court.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “Good. A lot of time people get scared, don’t want to face down the perp, and we have to let them walk.”

  “You won’t have to worry about that with me. Detective Quinn, I’m a roller derby girl. I don’t intimidate easily.”

  Fuck. The confident statement was accompanied by a smirk that sent the blood in his body straight to his dick. There was nothing sexier than a strong, capable woman. The fact that she was stunning didn’t hurt either. It’d been a long time since a woman moved him. He was so used to long hours, and self-gratification, so the insta-attraction had him off his game. I’m supposed to be fixing things for her, not trying to get into her pants. I’m ten years her senior, for Christ’s sake. What had once made him feel like a silent protector to a young woman who’d seen too much was in danger of fast becoming a different connection all together.

  He cleared his throat. “That’s good then. Shall we fill out some paperwork and get the ball rolling?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I can think of some very different situations when I’d like to hear her say those two words. Jordan was right. I need to get a life
and get laid. The pain visible in her eyes made him feel like a leech as much as it peaked his curiosity. What would it feel like to love someone so much, after all this time, you still felt their loss so sharp? When he’d decided to follow in the footsteps of his father chances of finding a woman who understood his need to help others no matter the cost were slim to none, so he opted to be a permanent bachelor. He figured it’d be easier on everyone.

  His parents had been the perfect couple. They lived across from one another growing up, dated through high school, and married after college graduation. Still, they’d imploded under the demands that came with being an officer. Late nights, cases his dad couldn’t discuss, and constant absentness, had turned what was once a happy home into a war zone. He slammed the lid on the chest of bad memories, opened his top right desk drawer, and pulled out a manila file folder full of paperwork. He gave a quick rundown of the papers, eager to have the sexy temptation he had a soft spot for out of his office. A woman like this was dangerous. She’d make him want to give things he couldn’t.

  “What happens next?”

  “We hold him on bail and wait for his trial to be scheduled. If you need anything during the waiting period you can contact me.” He pulled a card from the stack on the desk and slid it over to her. “My phone is always on me, but if you do reach my voice mail for some reason, leave a message. I’ll get back to you.”

  She took the slip of paper. “Thank you. Do you need anything else from me?”

  “No, you’re free to go.”

  “Thank you again, Detective Quinn … for everything.”

  Chapter Two

  “You sure you don’t want me to wait for you?” Devlin paused in front of the door, a conflicted look on her face.

  “No, go on home to Jace and Tristan. I know you’re anxious to welcome them to San Diego.” She winked.