Reclaimed (Powell Sanctuary #5)

Chapter 7

7

Aiden

I lick my lips and wipe the bead of sweat from my upper lip with the back of my forearm. The remnants of blueberry pancakes sweetening my tongue bring back the morning in vivid color. Specifically, Isla in a short cherry red silk robe, prancing barefoot around her kitchen while I rouse from the deepest sleep I’ve had in the last four months.

Any man would be lucky to wake up to the scene she gifted me.

I could feel my welcome wearing out. Isla’s shields hummed between us like an invisible force. The reverberation of her late-night vulnerability felt like too much for her to handle in the morning sun so after breakfast, I cleaned up and headed out. The daylight most likely chased all the scary scenarios back into the corners of her mind. We exchanged numbers so I can check her pulse this evening when night arrives again. After her scare, she called her Saturday shift off, so at least she’ll be out of the club until Monday.

“For fuck’s sake, Sutton, you had to pick the hottest damn day all year for this shit,” Silas bitches from my left. He’s holding the other end of the large plank I grip in my hands.

“I’m a cop, not a damn weatherman,” Sutton grunts around the screws held between his lips.

“If I didn’t love my niece so much you’d be on your own, old man,” Silas says.

“Hardly. I would have called in a favor. Aiden isn’t the only Powell in my debt.”

I roll my eyes and glance across the yard with a squint in the blinding sun. Silas isn’t wrong. It’s an uncharacteristically hot day for September in Minnesota. “If you think responding to a call when I had a bullet in my shoulder means I owe you something, you’re a bigger asshole than I thought.”

“I don’t. But I do remember pretending to slap a pair of handcuffs on you when that drunk chick at The Rocks was getting a little too handsy last year. Is that not worthy of a favor?”

My cloud of irritation clears some. “I forgot about that.”

“Clearly,” Sutton snorts. “It’s not every day I fake an arrest.”

“Where was I?” Silas wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead onto his shoulder.

“Where else? On his other side flirting with her friend,” Sutton answers. The sudden whirr of the drill halts the conversation.

The memory is fuzzy. One of hundreds I have with these two. It’s not often I spent time with Sutton, but Silas, Corjan, and I have been frequenting The Rocks together since high school. Sutton tends to spend the most time with Lee, Jack, and even Jude, when he can be coerced into leaving the Sanctuary property where he lives.

Sutton brushes the sawdust away from the newest anchor. Silas and I drop our hands after holding that wooden beam for far too long.

“A few more planks to go, boys, then I owe you both a beer.”

“I call dibs on pushing Nellie first on the swing.” Silas grins at his older brother.

Sutton scowls. “We’ll let her decide.”

“In that case, I’ll be up first. She loves me,” I goad.

Sutton, ever the protective father, turns that glare on me and clenches his jaw.

“Regret asking me for help?”

“Considering it,” Sutton mutters.

Silas and I heft up the next beam overhead.

“Either of you happen to hear anything going on up at XO’s recently?” I flick my gaze over the two of them while I wait for a response.

Sutton and Silas exchange a glance.

“We heard the sheriff made a visit,” Sutton says.

“And I saw you there at the club last week.”

“What do you know?” Silas widens his stance and shifts to face me head on.

“Isla said there’s a potential serial killer targeting dancers.”

“A likely serial killer,” Sutton intones around the silver screws in his mouth.

My fingers tighten around the wood. “Is she, I mean, are the dancers in danger?”

“It’s best everyone stays alert. We don’t have anything to go on. The profiler thinks he’s taking his time choosing and stalking his victim. Nothing suspicious was captured on the security cameras at any of the victim’s clubs, so we don’t have so much as a basic description to go on,” Silas sighs. “Hell, the suspect could be a woman.”

“No fucking way it’s a woman,” Sutton supplies.

“Well we don’t know that, do we, brother?” Silas fires back. “Could be a disgruntled employee.”

“Going around killing random people?”

“Or someone’s vindictive ex-girlfriend.”

“That’s extreme,” Sutton argues.

“All murder is extreme.”

“I still think it’s a man.”

“How’d they die?” A knot sticks in my throat. “Isla said there’s been five of them?”

“Strangulation.” Silas kicks a rock across the grass. “No other injury except one weird mark left on their thumb like a calling card of some sort.”

“What’s it look like?” I ask.

Sutton answers, “A long line, ‘bout two inches long with an X at the end of it.”

“Shit.” My stomach sours at the new information. “What else do you know?”

“Like I said, not much,” Silas answers. “They’re all female entertainers between the ages of twenty-five to thirty-five. They all lived alone, which gave this person ,” he glares at his brother, “ample opportunity to attack. Oh, and they’re all blondes.”

Isla’s a blonde.

Sutton gives a sharp whistle. “Nix the serial killer talk. Nellie’s coming.”

Our heads swivel in the direction of the house to find Sutton’s seven-year-old daughter skipping across the lawn.

“Is my playground done?” She puts her hands on her hips as she surveys the work we’ve done with a squint.

“You’d make a good boss someday, kiddo. We’re almost finished,” Sutton answers.

Silas and I crouch to lift the final beam into place.

“Your daddy has to test it out first,” I announce as Nellie bounces closer. Her purple princess gown twirls around her knees.

“Why can’t I test it out?”

“Because if it breaks, we want it to break on him, not you.” Silas taps her nose as he walks by.

“Daddy’s big butt is going to break it for sure,” she pouts.

Sutton grunts.

I smile.

Silas laughs.

“Nobody’s ass is going to break it,” Sutton grumbles, looking skyward as if he’s sharing a silent prayer with the heavens.

“Damn it,” Nellie shouts.

Silas and I snap our heads in her direction.

“Nell-bell,” Silas chastises. “That’s a bad word.”

“Daddy said he’s too broke for a swear jar, so if he says a bad word I get to say one.” She grins, her pearly white baby teeth sparkling in the sun.

“That’s what you’re teaching her?” Silas replaces his soft expression with a glare for his brother.

“It was Grammy’s idea,” Nellie admits.

I bite back a sudden bark of laughter. Mrs. Stone is an unwavering, unpredictable force, and if she’s Nellie’s current influence, Sutton’s in deep shit.

“Where is Grammy?” Sutton’s tone shifts into one of a doting father. “She’s supposed to be watching you.”

“She’s playing ball with Merit.”

Merit is Sutton’s German shepherd he adopted from the Sanctuary when Nellie was just a toddler.

Sutton stares hard at the house as if he can conjure his mother with sheer willpower. “Of course she is. She still thinks it’s 1992 and kids can come and go as they please and not check in until the streetlights come on.”

Silas fails to disguise his laugh with a cough. “Heli. Copter.” He hacks into his fist.

“If anyone is ever dumb enough to procreate with you, you might understand. Until then, kindly f— eff off.”

I drop my chin to my chest and smile at the grass. This feels strangely normal after the last couple of months of living in my head. I have Isla to thank. If I hadn’t woken up in her presence, primed with those blueberry pancakes, I might not have accepted Sutton’s invitation to come over today.

And I think I have the perfect excuse to have more days just like this one.