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Authors: Sibel Hodge
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and lock hadn’t been damaged in any way, and there were no other signs of forced entry. That didn’t tell me a great deal, though. It could mean that Carl had opened the door to his attacker, or the back door was already unlocked. Or it could simply mean that whoever had killed him was an expert at picking locks.
The kitchen was tidy, unless you counted the blood stains. There was only one cocktail glass so there were no signs that Carl had been entertaining anyone recently. I grabbed some latex gloves from my rucksack and pulled them on, poking in drawers and cupboards for anything that might help me find out who was responsible. The only slightly interesting thing was a fresh packet of doughnuts in the fridge. They were apple ones, too! Apple was healthy, right? That poster at the hospital said so. Since bad news always gave me an appetite, I thought about scoffing one down but I didn’t have much time. I resisted the urge and turned my attention to the rest of the house instead.
I wandered through the dining room and lounge with a critical eye. The house was rented so I didn’t pay that much attention to the fixtures and fittings.
Nothing had been ransacked. Nothing had been smashed or left in a mess. So far, it didn’t look like a burglary that had gone wrong. The ginormous flat screen TV and expensive stereo system were still in place, and there was a laptop sitting on an elegant mahogany office desk in the corner on full display.
Damn. I won’t have time to look at it before Romeo gets here.
I climbed the soft, carpeted stairs to the bedrooms. There were four in all but it looked like only the master bedroom was in use. A half-empty suitcase was on the floor, filled with shirts, boxers, shorts, and socks. Several suit-carrying bags hung in the wardrobe filled with suits that probably would’ve cost my whole year’s salary. On top of the bedside cabinet was a passport. I opened it and flicked through. It was Carl’s – no great surprise there.
I poked in the en suite bathroom but didn’t find anything odd, unless you counted some Just for Men hair dye. Personally, I thought men got more distinguished when they started going grey. I mean, look at Richard Gere. He looked pretty damn sexy with a head full of grey hair. An image of Brad pinged into my mind. His hair was now turning grey around the temples and sideburns, which just made him look more rugged and manly to me.
I shook my head, clearing it of random, sexy Brad thoughts, and took one last look around the room as Romeo called my name from downstairs.
‘Hi.’ I smiled as I entered the kitchen, but it wobbled a bit on my face.
He looked gorgeous. His dark brown hair had been freshly clippered. His hazel eyes looked bright and sparkly, and his cinnamon skin looked good enough to lick.
Oh, shut up, brain! There’s a dead guy in the kitchen and you’re thinking about skin-licking.
What was wrong with me? Maybe I was turning into a nympho and needed some serious professional help.
Courtesy of a mix of Spanish and English parents, Romeo was searingly hot. And before you get any weird ideas about his name, I think that Posh and Becks actually stole the idea from my Romeo!
Oh! Did I just say my Romeo? He’s not my Romeo right now. We’re on a break. Right, no lusty licking thoughts when we’re on a break. Get a grip, girl!
Romeo was crouched down in front of Carl, examining the death scene. He glanced up at me and smiled. A beautiful smile that revealed his perfect white teeth. ‘Hi, Amber, how’ve you been?’
He stood up, keeping a metre gap between us.
‘Er…I’m OK. How are you?’ I tilted my head, surreptitiously checking him out.
‘I’m good, thanks. Busy with work, you know how it is.’
There was no anger or hurt in his voice. He didn’t seem to be falling apart at the absence of me in his life. It was probably a bit selfish, but part of me wanted him to be missing me.
‘So, how come you ended up in Carl’s kitchen?
The kitchen was tidy, unless you counted the blood stains. There was only one cocktail glass so there were no signs that Carl had been entertaining anyone recently. I grabbed some latex gloves from my rucksack and pulled them on, poking in drawers and cupboards for anything that might help me find out who was responsible. The only slightly interesting thing was a fresh packet of doughnuts in the fridge. They were apple ones, too! Apple was healthy, right? That poster at the hospital said so. Since bad news always gave me an appetite, I thought about scoffing one down but I didn’t have much time. I resisted the urge and turned my attention to the rest of the house instead.
I wandered through the dining room and lounge with a critical eye. The house was rented so I didn’t pay that much attention to the fixtures and fittings.
Nothing had been ransacked. Nothing had been smashed or left in a mess. So far, it didn’t look like a burglary that had gone wrong. The ginormous flat screen TV and expensive stereo system were still in place, and there was a laptop sitting on an elegant mahogany office desk in the corner on full display.
Damn. I won’t have time to look at it before Romeo gets here.
I climbed the soft, carpeted stairs to the bedrooms. There were four in all but it looked like only the master bedroom was in use. A half-empty suitcase was on the floor, filled with shirts, boxers, shorts, and socks. Several suit-carrying bags hung in the wardrobe filled with suits that probably would’ve cost my whole year’s salary. On top of the bedside cabinet was a passport. I opened it and flicked through. It was Carl’s – no great surprise there.
I poked in the en suite bathroom but didn’t find anything odd, unless you counted some Just for Men hair dye. Personally, I thought men got more distinguished when they started going grey. I mean, look at Richard Gere. He looked pretty damn sexy with a head full of grey hair. An image of Brad pinged into my mind. His hair was now turning grey around the temples and sideburns, which just made him look more rugged and manly to me.
I shook my head, clearing it of random, sexy Brad thoughts, and took one last look around the room as Romeo called my name from downstairs.
‘Hi.’ I smiled as I entered the kitchen, but it wobbled a bit on my face.
He looked gorgeous. His dark brown hair had been freshly clippered. His hazel eyes looked bright and sparkly, and his cinnamon skin looked good enough to lick.
Oh, shut up, brain! There’s a dead guy in the kitchen and you’re thinking about skin-licking.
What was wrong with me? Maybe I was turning into a nympho and needed some serious professional help.
Courtesy of a mix of Spanish and English parents, Romeo was searingly hot. And before you get any weird ideas about his name, I think that Posh and Becks actually stole the idea from my Romeo!
Oh! Did I just say my Romeo? He’s not my Romeo right now. We’re on a break. Right, no lusty licking thoughts when we’re on a break. Get a grip, girl!
Romeo was crouched down in front of Carl, examining the death scene. He glanced up at me and smiled. A beautiful smile that revealed his perfect white teeth. ‘Hi, Amber, how’ve you been?’
He stood up, keeping a metre gap between us.
‘Er…I’m OK. How are you?’ I tilted my head, surreptitiously checking him out.
‘I’m good, thanks. Busy with work, you know how it is.’
There was no anger or hurt in his voice. He didn’t seem to be falling apart at the absence of me in his life. It was probably a bit selfish, but part of me wanted him to be missing me.
‘So, how come you ended up in Carl’s kitchen?
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