Nature of the Beast

By Stephanie M. Freeman

Everything vanished in the heat of a kiss … One breath and the years spun away. Someone wants to kill Willow Daniels. Can she trust the enigmatic owner of a nightclub or will the secrets that surround him destroy them both?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Independent Publishers Group
• Release date: Mar 17, 2021
• ISBN: 9781736798522

Stephanie M. Freeman

Stephanie M. Freeman-is a preeminent Author whose professional writing career began back in 2012 when her first, Romantic Suspense Novel, Necessary Evil was published by Crimson Romance. Since then, she has explored different writing genres and amassed a loyal group of fans who eagerly await her latest releases. She also received critical acclaim for 2 books written under her pen name, Aracyne Kelly. With numerous bestsellers and multiple five-star reviews of her work, Stephanie M. Freeman continues to push literary boundaries.

Book preview

them.

Chapter One

Murder and marriage proposals were never a good mix over dinner. Being the intended victim or bride to be made black tie affairs even more awkward. Candle wax dripped like blood from the high polished holder sitting at the center of the table. The fine tinkling of crystal wine glasses coupled with the occasional scrape of silverware across the fine china set Willow Daniel’s teeth on edge. Looking out on the Philadelphia skyline normally brought comfort. Tonight, the spectacular view sagged under the weight of dead things and she was among them.

The phone calls and greeting cards were the preamble. Slashed tires and human excrement in expertly wrapped boxes were next. Staying wasn’t an option. Leaving stopped the clock, but never the goal. Fear was a tool, primitive in shape, but always effective. Would there be collateral damage this time. Seattle was relatively peaceful. Philadelphia offered an uneasy peace. Willow stole a glance at her dinner companion as he downed more wine before deliberately dropping his napkin for a segue. Kyle sank to one knee as the dread blossomed in her stomach.

Willow Maria Daniels, will you marry me?

She sat her knife and fork aside and took in a slow breath. No, Kyle. I’m sorry, but no.

Pain instantly bloomed across his face, but he composed himself quicker than she’d expected. Instead of walking out or causing a scene Kyle simply cleared his throat and rescued the napkin. And, of course, that’s when the phone went off in the folds of her black velvet gown.

Not now. Please God, not now.

Kyle took his seat and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with the white linen napkin. His gaze dropped to the table surface as if he could see the phone through the fine white tablecloth.

I don’t believe this. He dropped the napkin back into his lap, before propping his elbows on the table. Well, go on, answer it. It’s not liked this night was important or anything.

That is not fair, and you know it, Kyle. This is my job.

And you were supposed to be off tonight. He contradicted her with a smile that barely concealed his annoyance. They couldn’t call anyone else in. What about Beth? She’s supposed to handle things when you’re off.

Willow reached into her purse and pulled out the blue tooth earpiece. Kyle rolled his eyes and looked away.

This is Willow Daniels. Willow leveled her midnight gaze on the man sitting across from her as Beth Hilditch, her second in command, filled her in.

Hey, we just got the call. There’s another string of fires like the ones in Philly Spokane and Atlanta. It’s home Willow. Governor in Maryland started blowing up our section chiefs’ phone. A puddle jumper or a chopper can get you from Philly quick enough.

Nearest heliport? Willow asked grateful that her voice sounded normal under the weight of his glare.

Penn’s Landing. Already set it up. Beth said in her usual matter of fact tone. You pop ole boy’s bubble yet? He was walking around all day showing everybody that ring.

Call you when I’m in the air.

Willow finished the call and waited for the line to go dead. Her silence made him turn back to her.

So, which is it? The Job or him?

Kyle don’t. she warned.

Don’t what? You just blew off a marriage proposal and answered your phone without missing a beat. I think I deserve an explanation. Which is it? the possessive desperation in his voice was a tactic he used often when they argued.

Willow looked around at the rest of the diners at the party all dressed in their black ties and formal wear. Everyone was so involved in their conversations and their meals oblivious to the war of whispers happening at her table. She dabbed at her mouth and moved to stand. Kyle put a hand on hers.

Willow please. Look, I’m sorry, it’s just… I know you think it’s premature, but we could be great together.

You answered your own question. It couldn’t possibly be him. Harlem Jones is dead. You know that, but you constantly throw him in my face. Willow stared at his hand until he released it.

Might as well be him. You were barely out of high school when he died and still... after all this time… He sat back, sulking as he scrubbed his mouth with the napkin once more.

"Stop it. He was never an issue until you made him one. God, I trust you with a piece of my soul and you cheapen it. I’ll regret that until the day I die. For your information, it was The Job. A club in Shadow Bay, Maryland. Nine dead with no rhyme or reason for the blaze. As lead arson investigator it is my job to—"

And they couldn’t find anyone else. Funny I work for the FBI too and my phone isn’t ringing off the hook. Sarcasm dripped from every word. He raised the delicate crystal flute to summon the waiter.

Why would it? White collar doesn’t involve killing people, Kyle.

So, what are you saying? My job isn’t as important as yours? The sneer he attempted to form dissolved into a glowering mask of rage.

You tell me, numbers on a page versus bodies in the morgue She threw the napkin over a plate of roast beef so rare that the blood mixed with the mashed potatoes, turning them an unappetizing pink.

Willow looked around at the other guests as the stench of undercooked beef made her mouth fill with salt water. She pushed her plate aside wondering how many of them would be sick with E. coli or some other unpleasant form of food poisoning before the evening was over.

I just spent five hundred on that plate. The very least you can do is wait for them to box it for you. His voice broke as he hazarded a glance at her.

"Correction I paid for dinner because you left your wallet in your other suit, remember?" She wanted to feel something, anything, for the man sitting in front of her struggling to keep his emotions in check.

At one point he even resorted to pouting. On any other occasion the expression would have been laughable. Pity and Kyle Endicott never fit together well. She found herself cringing inwardly when some of the men in her unit brushed past him almost knocking him over.

Never once had Willow given him any inclination that she desired a relationship with him. The fact that he even knew who she was still blew her mind. They weren’t even in the same orbit professionally speaking. How he found her in the first place was even more of a mystery.

Beth was the one that looked into Kyle Endicott’s background. White collar crimes involving real estate and brokerage firms wasn’t far from Arson. Add a little insurance fraud and maybe they had a reason to work together. Other than that, his short man’s syndrome coupled with his high-strung ankle biter dog ways placed him permanently in the business associate not even a friend zone.

What little knowledge he had about the burned-out structures yielded more questions than answers. But then he lingered offering to track down any leads concerning landowners and while it was useful back pocket knowledge, it really had nothing to do with the body counts rising in the morgues across the country.

Willow had been clear on several occasions that they were coworkers and nothing more. Kyle’s response was to shower her with flowers and candy for her birthday which she promptly donated to the breakroom. The necklace she returned on the spot grateful for the policy that forbade giving supervisory staff gifts over a certain dollar amount.

Kyle, I’m sorry. She reached for him and he snatched his hand away.

Don’t. Unless you’ve come to your senses and changed your mind.

About what? We’ve only known each other for a couple of months at best. Willows sat back. Her hand instinctively went to the bruise on her side and his gaze followed.

Eleven and a half weeks to be exact. My parents only knew each other for two weeks and their marriage lasted 34 years. He corrected before nodding in her direction. "And That was an accident. You accepted my apology— at least you said you did. That should be the end of it. He gripped her hands. I’m a good man with a good job. We talked about this."

"You mean you talked about this. Willow pulled her hands out of his grasp. And for the record that ‘accident’ could have been avoided. Any first year with the FBI knows how to control a spin out on a rain slick road. She her gown behind her before moving past the table. You know what? I don’t have time for this. Good night Kyle."

Willow made it halfway across the lobby before she felt male fingers bite into the sensitive skin just above her elbow. The stench of his cologne burned her nose as he jerked her to a stop.

"You can and will rethink this. He pressed the black velvet box into her hand Willow tried to drop it. Kyle crushed her hand in his fist. We will talk about this like adults when you get back from your little trip."

Kyle, you’re hurting me. She managed as he tightened his grip.

Kyle pressed a kiss to the back of her head and breathed her in

And you are hurting me. We’ll also set some ground rules about mutual respect. We both have stressful demanding jobs. Work life balance is all you need. I’ll make sure you get plenty of that. I’m sure your father would agree--

Willow turned and punched him. Kyle dropped her arm and staggered backward clutching his nose. Blood oozed through his fingers as partygoers paused to see what was going on.

"My father taught me plenty of things including how to handle my business if a man ever put his hands on me. We’re done Kyle." Willow spun on her heel and walked away.

Chapter Two

Soot and ash seasoned the air with an acrid bite. The flames that engulfed the building and the one beside it could be seen from across Shadow Bay Maryland’s Inner Harbor. Intense heat from the remains drew spectators like moths. Homeless men and women dotted the crowd as they inched closer to the warmth. Others from neighboring businesses rubbed their hands while others stamped their feet to rid themselves of the stinging bite of the cold February night.

Davis continued to stare at the charred remnants of Killer Beaux’s one of the oldest social clubs in Shadow Bay. The minute he’d heard about Ray’s club, Davis shut everything down and rushed over. Ray Meraux was his direct competition, but none of that mattered as the firemen pulled body after body out of the burnt-out structure.

Some of the club’s patrons walked out on their own bathed in soot and blood. Davis stripped out of his coat to cover one woman and she screamed. It wasn’t until the EMT pulled him aside that he realized what was wrong.

Bottle of tequila burst on her. Flames latched on and continued to eat.

Another fireman ushered Davis behind the crime scene tape as more victims were led to ambulances. The media with their satellite trucks wedged in beside the engines setting up shop. Reporters fussed with their clothes and hair then jockeyed for just the right position before their live broadcast.

Davis, aren’t you on the wrong side of the harbor?

He turned to see one of the firemen walking over to him. His blue eyes stood out from the swatches of ash. Davis recognized him—it was his old friend Reggie Layton.

Just coming to see if there was anything I could do to help. Where’s Ray?

Smoke was thick when we got in there. We were on all fours dragging the hose beside us. Layton removed his helmet and shook his head. Near as I can tell he stood up and the toxins and the heat in the air burned his lungs shut. Found him on the second floor near his office… what’s left of it. Didn’t know he was a friend of yours.

Business associate. Davis ran a shaky hand over his finely sculpted goatee then back along his rich mane of dreadlocks.

Translation: you two hated one another, competition and all.

Davis took in a deep breath and tried not to notice the stench of burning flesh and screams that still hung in the air. On the contrary. Some of the best talks we had happened after hours. He was a beast at chess. Ray was planning on retiring and heading back to New Orleans.

Davis, if it’s any comfort, he didn’t suffer. Layton put a hand on Davis’ shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

How can there be any comfort in all of this? I counted nine body bags, Layton. Nine.

Layton put his head down and shook it. Fourteen, actually. We moved some out the back to keep the press in the dark. Something about the nature of the fires, the blocked exits are similar to some fires elsewhere in the country.

That strip club out in Lansdowne and those three clubs out in Cockeysville?

I see you’ve been keeping up on the cross chatter on the dedicated channels. Layton said as he turned so that Davis’ back was to the crowd. That Doc in a Box clinic out in Rosedale too. The spill patterns and the types of nails used match.

---

Davis glanced over his shoulder, but Layton touched his arm

The old man is working on things from his end. He told me to tell anyone that asked to trust the process.

I take it you mean me? Davis snapped.

Layton lifted one shoulder in a weak protest as a fireman a few yards away tossed smoldering pieces of furniture and debris from the building for another to douse with the firehose.

Think that entire message was for you, Davis. Layton leaned in and searched his eyes. "Will also told me to tell you personally not to get involved. Said something about things not going so well the last time you did."

Davis clenched his teeth tighter and looked out across the water. He could just make out the long narrow platform and the red planning hull of his cigarette boat bobbing where he anchored it. Yeah, I died, he mumbled.

What?

Nothing. Just… how long do these things take? You know, the investigations into whether something was an accident or not?

"As long as they take. Someone from arson’s gotta look at things, and since there’s been a rash