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  Someone had been in here.

  Alert, he let himself in, shining the light down the stairs. “Hello?”

  No one answered, but then again he hadn’t expected anyone to advertise the fact that they’d gone against his command to stay out of there.

  Edward was beginning to smell bad.

  Bending down, Cooper tried not to inhale as he looked over the body. Because of the cellar’s icy temps, decomposition had begun slowly, but it had begun. “Your bruises are surfacing,” he murmured, especially the long, dark bruise now accompanying the gash on the forehead. There was another bruise just below the Adam’s apple. Cooper knew if he unbuttoned Edward’s shirt, he’d see another across his chest.

  The lines of the stairs, where he’d hit them face-first.

  “Were you pushed?” he wondered out loud. “Or was it a terrible accident?”

  And who’d moved him from the bottom of the stairs to his current spot?

  And how had he gotten the hole in his damn chest?

  Questions he really had no right to ask, but the cop in him just wouldn’t let it rest. With a sigh, he rose, looking around.

  There was no clue as to who’d come in here, or why, but at least the body didn’t appear to have been moved.

  He thought of Breanne asleep in the honeymoon suite, trusting him to keep her safe. He wasn’t exactly sure when it had happened, but he trusted her, too.

  Almost as unnerving as the dead body at his feet. “Hang tight, Edward,” he said, and made his way back upstairs, to the warm woman waiting there for him.

  Okay, so she wasn’t waiting so much as snoring lightly into his pillow.

  But he’d take that.

  He’d take her.

  She let out a soft “Mmm” when he slipped back into the bed, sleepily moving into his arms. “Cooper?” she whispered groggily.

  Who the hell did she think it was? “Yeah,” he said, tucking her beneath him, making himself at home between her thighs. “Me.”

  And then he set out to show her . . .

  Twenty-two

  Life is like a boner: long and hard.

  —Breanne Mooreland’s journal entry

  The next morning—Cooper’s second in the middle of his so-called vacation—was a mixed blessing for him. He’d slept all night with an incredibly hot, sexy woman, and nothing beat that.

  But unfortunately, it was still dumping snow. And by dumping, he meant huge, fat snowman-sized flakes that accumulated in a blink of an eye. Not a good day for going outside, but it was a great day for being in bed with that hot, sexy woman. They had a whole basket of condoms left, in some extremely inventive colors and flavors.

  But he was alone in the bed.

  Damn bad luck for him.

  He rolled off the mattress and stepped on an empty, lime-green condom packet.

  And then a wily watermelon one.

  Yeah, he thought with a grin . . . last night had been something. To his delight, Breanne had turned out to be a sensual, earthy, passionate lover. He couldn’t believe she’d doubted herself. Kissing, licking, touching every single one of those doubts away had been his pleasure.

  There’d be no more nights, though. Today they’d shovel out, then ride a snowmobile for help.

  And go their separate ways, just as she wished.

  Telling himself he was good with that, he hit the shower, then made his way down the stairs, noting there was still no electricity.

  Dante appeared out of nowhere, dressed in black, oversized jeans and a football jersey, hat low on his head. “If you’re hungry,” he said, “Shelly’s put together what she can for breakfast.”

  “Still no generator?”

  Dante lifted a shoulder. “Patrick’s on it.”

  “He’s been on it a long time.”

  “To tell you the truth, Patrick’s not all that great at his job.”

  Gee, Cooper thought, there’s a news flash. “Then why does the owner keep him?”

  “The owner doesn’t know. Patrick was hired by Edward.”

  “And Edward never noticed that Patrick the fix-it guy isn’t any good at fixing stuff?”

  Dante lifted his shoulder again.

  “Come on, Dante. By all accounts, Edward was a tough boss. Why would he keep Patrick on here?”

  “Edward’s sister made him hire Patrick,” Dante admitted.

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s Patrick’s mom.”

  Yesterday, when a very dead Edward had been discovered, Patrick had had little reaction. No reaction, actually.

  And yet Edward had been Patrick’s uncle? An uncle who’d given him a livelihood? “How does Patrick feel about his uncle’s death?”

  “Why don’t you ask him?”

  “Did Edward give Patrick as hard a time as he did the women?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sounds like the guy had some management issues.”

  Dante let out a hard laugh.

  “And maybe some social issues.”

  “If you mean he was an asshole, you’re dead-on.” Dante’s gaze never wavered. “No pun intended.”

  “We need to get him out of here,” Cooper said. “You knew that. We need to get through to town.”

  “The generator—”

  “Forget the generator. I saw the snowmobiles. If we all put in some effort, we can dig out. Two of us can ride until we get reception, or into town to report Edward’s death.”

  Dante just looked at him.

  “It has to be reported sooner or later,” Cooper said.

  “That’s not what I’m hesitating over,” Dante said.

  “Then what?”

  “The shoveling-out part.”

  “How hard can it be?”

  Dante shook his head. “Spoken like someone who’s never had to spend hours digging out his car. That snow is some heavy shit, man.”

  “Don’t you have a snowblower?”

  “Sure. But Patrick was a bonehead and left it under the eaves of the shed, which has unloaded about two tons of snow onto it since the storm began. That should take all day alone to shovel out—if it’s not crushed, that is.”

  “You’re exaggerating.”

  “You think so?” Dante’s smile was grim. “I’ll be happy to prove a cop wrong.”

  Cooper sighed. “I don’t know what your beef is with cops, but—”

  “Just go eat,” Dante said. “Then we’ll start.”

  “We’ll get Patrick to help, too.”

  Dante nodded. “Sure. But just so you know, he’s not much better at shoveling than he is at fixing stuff.”

  “Great.” Cooper started to walk away, then turned back. “Hey, did you stay up late last night?”

  Dante’s expression closed. “Why?”

  “I heard something, around midnight. Just wondering if you heard it, too.”

  Dante slowly shook his head. “Didn’t hear a thing.” With that, he turned and vanished.

  Cooper stood there watching, thinking . . . but I never told you what I heard.

  The lack of electricity wasn’t nearly as disconcerting in the light of day—even though that light of day was so muted as to be nearly inconsequential. Cooper passed the foyer and stopped short. A huge mountain of snow stood in front of the open door.

  Then the mountain began to move, turning into the outline of a man as he shook the snow off like a great big dog.

  Powdery white flakes flew through the foyer, landing on every surface, including Cooper. That wasn’t what sucked the air from Cooper’s lungs, though; the shocking wind whipping through the open door did that.

  “Bloody hell.” Patrick looked around at the mess he’d just made. “Lariana will be killing me for this.” Undeterred by the prospect, he stomped his feet, and more snow fell off him. He wore some sort of head-to-toe snowsuit, which still had snow stuck to every inch, his ever-present tool belt rattling as he stomped. “Sticky shit,” he said conversationally in his Scottish brogue.

  Cooper shivered. It