Page 25 of Knotted their Beauty

“Thirty!” Cali shouts before I hear another splash.

“Twenty.” I turn and face them, and I can’t help but smile as Arlo lifts my little girl and tosses her into the water. “It’s late.”

“Twenty-five!” she squeals as she comes up for air and starts doggy-paddling right back to him. “Please, Daddy! Then I promise, I’ll go right to bed when we get back and I won’t complain about what we end up eating!”

With an amused sigh, I shake my head in defeat. “Twenty-five, and not a second more.”

I watch them play for a few moments then turn and head to our towels, plopping down on one at the exact second my phone beeps.

Butler

DB in San Clemente. Same MO. Check it out ASAP.

I roll my eyes and toss my phone back on the towel then scrub my hands over my face.

Looks like he’s going to let me wear my big boy FBI pants now.

I guarantee the only fucking reason he’s putting me on this is because I’m here. If I wasn’t on site, if I was back in LA or on another stop in my tour, he’d just email me the file and make me try to figure shit out without physically seeing the fresh scene. I’d have to wing it even though this is the first time The Orphan has killed anyone since I’ve been assigned this deep dive bullshit.

The fact that I’m currently in the same city is a bit of a game changer.

With an annoyed huff, I grab my phone and start searching news sites to see if the story has hit the press yet, pleased to find it hasn’t before I pull up the police department and make the call.

One that lasts all of two minutes since the chief basically begged for my help.

Apparently this is a little more brutal than what they’re used to in San Clemente. The cop called to the scene passed out as soon as he found the body, and two of their CSI threw up once they arrived. They’re going to need a lot more than me and my shitty attitude if their seasoned professionals are dropping like flies.

Then again, I’m not about to share this with anyone at the local office.

Butler wants The Orphan to be my case, even if it’s just so I don’t solve it and finally retire? So be it. I’ll call in the only two people from my office I trust to help me process the evidence—which is exactly what I’m doing—and I’ll prove that fucker wrong.

Not before Cali’s last twenty-five minutes are up, though.

I won’t go back on our deal, not even for a serial killer.

The local police are all over it, the victim will keep at the coroner’s office if they get that far, they’re holding the scene for me and since I need to get my people out here, it won’t matter how long it takes. I’ll let my daughter play, get her back to the hotel and tucked in for bed, then I’ll head out. That gives Walker and Chandler enough time to get their shit together and meet me at the scene.

Firing off a couple more texts, I start running through my mental checklist, going over the immediate tasks I have to complete, like extending our stay at the hotel, when something hard bounces off my shins and lands at my feet.

I look up just in time to see a dog skid to a stop in front of me, cocking its head to the side briefly before it lowers its chin and takes the frisbee between its teeth then pauses and stares at me.

“Hi…” I say softly as I set my phone down. This dog looks familiar, and almost like it's waiting for me to do something. “Uh… you can have that. Go ahead.”

The dog lifts the toy off the ground, still staring at me but not in a menacing way. No, if anything, it’s like this pooch has the same sense of deja vu going on and it's trying to figure out how we know each other the same way I am.

“He’s not bothering you, is he?”

Pulling my eyes from the dog, I turn and look up, way up, into one of the most beautiful faces I have ever seen, and just blink.

The giant stranger gives me a lopsided grin as he looks me up and down. “Rufus. Is he bothering you?”

I shake my head slowly.

This guy is extremely good looking, with all the tattoos and muscles, the long blond hair and loose fitting shorts hanging low on his hips, and he definitely knows it. Just like he knows I appreciate the way he looks, too.

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

I arch a brow but don’t respond.