Red Handed: True Colors #3 Read online

  Red Handed

  True Colors #3

  Shea Phoenix

  Copyright © 2018 by Shea Phoenix

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  For those who got a second chance at forever…

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  9. Two weeks later

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  13. Mason & Tyler’s Blurb

  Blurb

  Blurb

  Five years ago Rowan ghosted Eli right after the best day and night of their lives. Eli has tracked him down, searching for a missing omega. Since Rowan has a talent for vanishing into thin air, he’s the key to finding the missing Scot Cameron. But that’s not all that Eli wants from him. They’ll never get those five years back, but they still have a chance at forever, if they can put aside the past- most of the past anyway.

  1

  When he stood in the doorway, those intense eyes piercing me- my mind flickered back to the last night we spent together, five long years ago, and I shivered. His eyes devoured me exactly the same way they had that night, just before he began planting loving kisses all over my body.

  But there was no chance kissing me head to toe was on his mind now.

  His face was shrewd, his eyes quick and intelligent and dazzlingly green with long lashes, more brilliant in person than memory. Those eyes danced with amusement as he locked his gaze on me. The slender, beautiful boy I knew was now a handsome man. His old uniform of t-shirt and jeans changed to snug slacks and button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbow exposing meaty forearms. His dark hair was shorter at the sides but still long on top, raked back. Somehow he had leveled-up from Greek-god to Greek-god’s sexy older brother.

  I always wondered if he would ever come and find me. Especially as his reputation grew- he could find anyone if the price was right or if he took a special interest in the case. But until now he hadn’t come looking for me. Now that he found me what was he going to do with me?

  I still partly hoped it was loving kisses, but if I was him I would want revenge. Revenge would be easy, now, here. All he had to do was tell everybody in my shop who I really was. I’d be finished.

  “Mr. Woods?” he spoke loudly, confidently and every eye was on him as he closed the door behind him. That deep, toe-curling voice flirted with my belly. A smile lifted his lips, “I’m not looking for Fate or a match or a wedding planner, just Rowan Woods, or whatever you’d like to be called.”

  “Call me Rowan.” I replied, controlling my voice as my stomach tried to escape my body. Nope, definitely not here to drag his lips all over me.

  But not revenge either, at least not yet.

  “Rowan then,” his voice was rougher than I remembered, a pang of guilt swept through me thinking that was my fault. “Can we talk in private?”

  I nodded and stood straight, I learned to be strong as a kid in the east side slums and I summoned all that old fake confidence now- I needed it. Eli wasn’t going to send me back to being the little child omega nobody. I wasn’t going to show him how nervous I was, how flustered I was. And there wouldn’t be any more ridiculous pangs of conscience.

  This was my place of business.

  Rowan’s place of business, and both of us refused to be flustered. Tom Jenkins had hurt him, but that was a long time ago, Rowan hadn’t done anything to him. Rowan Woods didn’t have anything to apologize for; Tom might, but he was not here, this was Rowan’s business. Rowan's life.

  So why was Eli Stone in Rowan’s shop? If he found me here it would have been just as easy to find where I lived. If he wasn’t here for revenge, then he was here for something else. On a job? Did someone hire him to find out my secret extra-curricular activity? He wouldn’t understand at all. Not unless I explained, but even if I did explain… No, that would be Tom explaining. Rowan had no explanations.

  Rowan was a rock.

  Rowan had no fucks to give.

  Zero.

  But Rowan knows better than to trust Tom. Tom is not a rock.

  Not at all.

  2

  As I followed Rowan down the hallway I thought of what my partner Webb had said this morning, as he looked over my notes and schedule: “Give me murderers or thieves or rapists any day.”

  I agreed with him.

  Normally I’d rather walk into a crack house than this place. But when I drove by yesterday- to see what I was in store for it was just before they closed up for the day and when I saw Tom through the cracked open door, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It took all the strength I had to stop from running up the steps and through the door and … that’s what stopped me. I had no idea what to do next, but I knew I had to wait. I had to think. He had vanished into thin air, without a trace five years ago. I couldn’t risk that happening again. Me rushing at him, taking him in my arms… that would probably get me arrested. Instead, I followed him home, made sure he was safe and spent a sleepless night in my car thinking about that red jacket. That ridiculous furry thing and of how Tom had looked all wrapped up in it, with nothing underneath.

  In the morning I checked in at my office and tried to focus on work. Focus on the job that lead me to my mate after all these years. The missing omega, Scot Cameron, but couldn’t.

  When Webb came in, late as usual, I tried to focus on how to get rid of him as my partner. My accountant was sure Webb had embezzled funds, but until he had hard, courtroom evidence I had to pretend our partnership was fine. I should have been up all night thinking about anything other than Tom Jenkins, but it was all unimportant compared to Tom.

  I spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon watching young omega’s walk in and out of Tom- Rowan’s- shop. They were usually followed by nervous parents, all looking for a match and a wedding planner. Apparently Rowan could find your match then plan the wedding, or probably plan the wedding then find the match if you wanted. A match that wouldn’t clash with the colors and designs for your perfect wedding.

  When the door cracked open, I was struck by how little he had changed from the last day we spent together. I imagined him in that red fur coat- he had looked so ridiculous in it, but carried himself so well that no one but me saw how ridiculous it was that Tom Jenkins, the little omega from the east side was dressed like a Rockstar, like he was rich enough not to care how he dressed. But I knew the fur overcoat covered raggedy third-hand clothes as Tom walked out of that poker room with almost ten thousand dollars in stolen cash.

  Me they searched, me they nearly tortured. It was the kid who walked out of the bathroom, screaming about someone stealing his jacket that had saved me from torture. I loved Tom in that jacket and made him wear it afterwards, when we were alone.

  He no longer needed that red jacket to hide behind, in the last five years he cultivated a subtler talent for transformation. Above the door was an elegant carved wooden sign announcing “Fate with the help of Rowan Woods”, lined with gold. The new name covered him up, and just like the red coat, he carried himself so well nobody knew what was underneath.

  Nobody but me.

  He’d been the toughest omega I had ever known. No one intimidated or frightened him- not alpha’s five years older, not the gangsters with their threats, not the pimps with their lies, onl
y me. Occasionally if I kissed him or did something romantic, he would tremble or quiver, maybe it wasn’t fear, but it was the only time I ever saw him rattled or tongue-tied.

  I smiled at the memory and enjoyed his familiar scent perfuming the air- warm skin and honey. That was a lifetime ago and we both had come far in the world. Five years had passed since the day we robbed that underground poker room. Five years since I had promised Tom I would protect him forever, when I promised to love him forever, when we both gave up our virginity, making love on that fur-lined jacket, above a broken bed and squeaky, tattered mattress. The night we both promised we would marry and share our lives forever.

  The night Tom ran away, vanishing from my life along with the jacket and the $10,000 we had to start our new life together.

  He had come a long way, I hoped he wouldn’t make me ruin all his hard work.

  But if I had to ruin Rowan to save Scot Cameron’s life, then I would have to do it. Even if Rowan was destroyed- Tom would still be there, underneath.

  I watched as Tom hardened his face against me, against the past. No, this was Rowan’s face. He was wrapping himself in it. After five years it was hard to know who’s eyes looked at me and what they were thinking.

  He pressed back against the door frame to let me pass, my hip grazed past his belly despite us both sucking in a breath. He ignored it and strode toward his desk as I followed. When he turned to face me, he wore a fierce, guarded look. Of course it wouldn’t be easy. He was going to guard the secrets of his desk, of his business, of his new life as if they were his children.

  That word -children- stung. I had imagined children with him, their faces were blurry now, but I could still see them. I needed to focus on Scot and why I was here, I needed some of his secrets. A life depended on me finding them out, this was no time to live in the past. I spent last night revisiting it, today I had to forget it and snap out of my daydream.

  I looked around the room to get my bearings. It was a small room, or at least it seemed small. It would have been a good size if not for the desk sitting in the middle of it, an enormous, beautiful desk- as big as a bed. That was not going to help me focus.

  It was dark walnut and completely impossible unless the room was built around it. It was surreal enough already just to be standing here, alone with him, now I felt like I was in an MC Escher sketch.

  “Cozy,” I said.

  “I’d have cut a hole through the wall to fit this desk. But it comes apart in three pieces. When I bought it I wasn’t sure it would fit, but I was sure I needed it.”

  I yanked on a drawer, locked. “The key, please, Tom.”

  “You want to look at my books? My staples and paperclips?”

  “Your books. Your appointments. Your client list.”

  “No. Not without an explanation. Not without a reason I should break my confidentiality. I have plenty of clients who like their secrets and like that I keep them. You’re not a police officer anymore, there’s no warrant for private investigators. If you need my help I might give it to you. Rowan might give it to you, but I need a very good reason and please don’t call me Tom anymore. That’s not who I am. It’s Rowan now. We are old…”

  “Don’t say friends,” I snapped. ‘Friends’ was an insult to what we were to one another. “Rowan Woods sounds like a golf course. I prefer Tom Jenkins.” It sounds like warm skin and soft lips.

  That name threw him off balance. Good. He hadn’t forgotten our past any more than I had. He was tongue-tied, biting his lower lip. His face was the same as that night we gave ourselves to each other. When we finally admitted we loved each other.

  Neither of us had any words that night.

  I was speechless at the slender beauty of his body. But my throat seamed to seal up at the idea that he was mine. All mine and no one else’s.

  Forever.

  Mine to take care of, mine to make happy.

  Mine to wake up next to.

  It was overwhelming.

  If I lingered too long on the memory my throat might close up again.

  But why had he vanished on me when it was just beginning? When it had so much further to go and so much better to get?

  Those questions had to wait, they were unimportant compared to the boy’s life I was here trying to save, but damn it if I didn’t want those answers more than what appointments he had last week.

  Later. Think of the boy, missing, alone, needing my help. Needing me to gain Tom’s trust in order to get his help and find out whatever he knew or didn’t know. Whatever he was guilty of or innocent of.

  I took Slate's note from my inside pocket and slid it over the desk to Rowan. He recognized the handwriting immediately and I watched his eyes dart left to right over the words. “Tom- Rowan I mean. I want your help. I need it. I’m here about Scot Cameron.”

  He couldn’t hide the shudder at the name, nor the stiffening of his spine as he tried to pretend the name meant nothing to him.

  “Scot Cameron?” he frowned. “He was a client, but why-?”

  I really hadn't thought a letter from Slate would do anything, but still I was surprised at Tom’s- Rowan's- lack of cooperation. “I know when you’re lying because you’re terrible at it. There’s a reason I was the poker player. You have no poker face. Let’s pretend those secrets of yours are cards. You’re holding a very nice hand. What is it? Two pair? Three of a kind? A flush? Yes, definitely a flushed face, but what are your cards? Better than a flush? Show me your cards Tom. I fold.”

  “Why are you here about Scot Cameron?” he repeated, a bit more under control but his skin still flushed. Hiding something. Lying. Remembering.

  “There’s no crime in you having an appointment with Scot.”

  “I explained, my clients like their secrets, if I-”

  “You’re lying to me, Tom.” I slapped my hand against the desk.

  3

  I always knew someone would figure out what I was doing, but I never thought it would be Eli. And I certainly never thought Slate would send him my way. Slate didn't know my history with Eli, but that didn't let him off the hook.

  Eli's hands were balled into fists at his side.

  ‘I’d never hurt you.’ He said that once, but had that changed along with the rest? Did he lose that somewhere along with his light-hearted grin and easy laughter? I tried to find an answer in those eyes which seemed so much colder than I remembered.

  No, that at least hadn't changed.

  He’s bluffing.

  The strong bullying the weak was something that he never could help putting a stop to. He might be bullying me now, but it was a bluff. That much I still knew about him. But this must be very important to him to resort to bluffing, to use these bullying tactics- or had I hurt him that much that he couldn’t help it? How much of this was our past and how much whatever his concerns with Scot in the present?

  I remembered how gentle those large, rough hands could be. My skin was growing warm under all these clothes and my pants were getting tighter. As long as I didn’t get tongue-tied or show the effect he had on me, I would be fine. If only my heart would stop pounding in my ears.

  He watched me in silence, his fists still clenched, his jaw tight, then suddenly he let out a deep breath, uncurling his fingers, relaxing his jaw, he said softly, “At first, I suspected Scot Cameron did not come to see you. I figured he used your appointment as an excuse to leave early and then escaped to bond with whatever alpha who had seduced him...”

  He makes it sound like someone tempted or tricked Scot. That’s not what this was, that’s not what I helped. He had it all wrong if that’s what he thought.

  “Scot isn’t that naive or stupid. You should be able to find him.”

  “Should. I agree. His appointment with you was three days ago. He should have returned by now married or bonded with some alpha, making him off limits to anyone else. I followed his tracks, those I could find and they disappear after he left here. He left without a trace. He vanished. It’s not a coinc
idence that his total and complete disappearance without any clue or any word to a friend or any mistakes, intersected with seeing you. You, Rowan or Tom, the only other disappearance out of the hundreds I’ve worked on that left no clue, no trace, no sloppy mistake. You have a unique talent for vanishing. It’s unparalleled. But when you disappeared I knew you would land on your feet. You were tough, you were resourceful, you were a wolf that could hide in sheep’s clothing and mingle with the flock undetected. But you were always a wolf. Scot is neither tough nor resourceful. He’s a lamb through and through.”

  “Vanished? That’s impossible,” This couldn’t have happened. I was careful.

  “No, it’s very possible.” His voice was grim. “I need to find him before it’s too late.”

  There must be some mistake. Scot Cameron must be safe and happy and in love dammit. There was no way I helped some... pimp or worse into using Scot.... I checked it out. I looked into his alpha. I wasn’t reckless in helping Scot and other omegas. I kept them safe.

  I made my choice five years ago- foregoing love for something I thought I needed more. But when others wanted to make a different choice, to risk it all for love, I helped them. I didn’t do it wishing on star or by throwing them blindly into a car with some alpha who turned their head. I researched, I warned the omega of all the risks. I did my homework and gave them the chance at true love and happiness that I had cowardly rejected.

  And Scot had other reasons besides true love. I know he and his alpha loved each other, and I know even if they hadn’t that road would be better than the one Scot was on with Caden Cameron.

  Had something gone wrong? Had something terrible happened to that sweet young omega?