Sinclair (Acquisition Series) Read Free

down the narrow hallway, my shoes silent on the threadbare rug.
    “—bust up in here and do whatever you want!”
    I turned the corner into a den area where Mr. Rousseau, Stella, and a young man with blond hair stood under the guard of two deputies. The other deputies ransacked Mr. Rousseau’s desk. Noise from upstairs told me the deputies were destroying things for fun during their ‘search’.
    Just as I’d instructed.
    “Son, don’t make me take you in. Spending the night in a jail cell—”
    “You wouldn’t dare. My mother is—”
    “I don’t give a good goddamn who your mother is. This is an official parish investigation. If you keep interfering, I’ll arrest you. Got me?”
    “That won’t be necessary.” I strolled to the deputy as another crash sounded from upstairs.
    “You.” Mr. Rousseau narrowed his eyes and wrapped his arm around Stella’s waist. She wore a white T-shirt and jeans. A simple ensemble that hugged her curves. It would look even better stained with blood or tears, maybe both.
    The young man bristled. “Don’t look at her.”
    I met his gaze for a moment. He was muscled with a thick neck. Based on his clothes, he played lacrosse. Based on his muscles, he had a penchant for steroids. I gave him a withering glare and turned to Mr. Rousseau. “I have a warrant. Everything is in order, I assure you.”
    “Signed by that snake, Judge Montagnet, no doubt.” Stella scowled.
    A smear of blue paint colored her cheek, and her fingers carried a mix of the same blue and streaks of yellow. I’d visited the small gallery in town and studied the few paintings of hers that hung there. They were dark and brooding. I rather liked them. But her current palette was lighter. I’d work on the colors, pushing her back into darker and darker shades. After all, this was only the first search of many. I intended to turn the screws until Leon Rousseau jumped at every sound and feared I was the monster under his bed.
    “Snake, Ms. Rousseau? It isn’t wise to impugn a judge’s honor, especially one presiding over your father’s case.”
    “We aren’t blind, Mr. Vinemont. I saw you in his chambers before the arraignment.” Her shoulders moved back, her challenge obvious. My gaze flicked to her hardening nipples. She wasn’t wearing a bra. She must have been spending a comfortable day in her house of straw until the big bad wolf came to her door. Now the wolf was inside, and all I wanted to do was eat her up.
    “You’re impugning my honor as well?” I smirked.
    “What do you know about honor?” She threw it back in my face with a quickness that had my blood racing. If I slapped her, would she quiet down or hit me back? I hoped the latter.
    “More than the Rousseaus, apparently.” I surveyed the room. Sketches and paintings lined the back wall near the tall, narrow windows looking out onto the rear yard. A deputy went to one and ripped it down.
    “No.” I kept my voice low, but the deputy glanced at me, seemed to shudder, and placed the drawing on a nearby table. He didn’t touch any more of the art.
    “You can’t do this.” Mr. Rousseau shook his head and leaned on Stella. He was like a parasite, sucking her life away.
    “It’s done.” I gave Stella one more long, appraising look. Her red hair fell in waves down her shoulders. I wanted to mark her alabaster skin with my teeth.
    “I said, stop looking at her.” The young man stepped forward.
    “Dylan, don’t.” A warning note laced through her voice. She was smart. One more step and I would drop Dylan on his ass.
    “And you are?” I walked past Dylan and studied the closest sketch. I already knew who he was, but I might as well ask to be polite. Mother always wanted me to be polite, though not particularly to trash like the Rousseaus. None of them mattered to me, not even Stella. We were a different species.
    “Dylan Devereaux, Leon’s stepson.”
    The sketch appeared to be of a knife, the smooth edge almost glinting on the