CHAPTER THIRTEEN
QUASAR PATTERSON WAS a man who appreciated anything female, which was why his gaze was focused on the woman standing within the perimeters of the crime scene tape. He didn’t know her identity, but the one thing he did know was that she was definitely a looker. She was so striking that he felt a scorching sensation in his eyes from staring at her. And he was convinced it had nothing to do with him having run out of a burning mountain cabin in the Shenandoah Valley just a short while ago. He would lay the blame solely at her feet. Even from a distance her facial features were so captivating, so mesmerizingly beautiful, he felt an intense stirring in his gut.
Her skin appeared the color of creamy cocoa with a sensual pair of cheekbones, well-shaped lips, a delicate nose and dark eyes that were either black or brown. From where he was standing he couldn’t be certain. Regardless of their color, her eyes made the entirety of her facial features exquisite.
Long, straight black hair fell to her shoulders, and even from across the yard it looked thick and silky. The kind a man would want to run his fingers through...or better yet, grip while thrusting hard inside her. He usually preferred a woman with bigger breasts but concluded hers were perfect for her size. The lush curves outlined in the dark slacks and short leather jacket she wore were appealing as hell.
He’d first seen her after running from the burning house with his friend Stonewall Courson. He and Stonewall hadn’t thought twice about running into the blazing cabin to save their friend Striker Jennings, and the woman Striker had been hired to protect, Margo Connelly. Striker and Ms. Connelly were being treated by paramedics, and the body of the man who’d tried to kill them lay covered by a white sheet.
“You okay?”
Quasar reluctantly shifted his gaze off the woman to glance at the man who’d joined him. “Yeah, Stonewall, I’m okay. What about you?”
“We’re alive. So are Striker and Ms. Connelly, and that’s all that matters. And that bastard over there is dead,” he said, indicating the would-be assassin. “Good riddance.”
Quasar nodded in agreement and then switched his gaze back to where the woman stood. Three other women had joined her. He recognized Margo Connelly and Detective Joy Ingram, and when the third woman took out a writing pad he concluded she was a federal agent about to take a statement from Ms. Connelly. Federal agents were swarming all over the place. However, Quasar had no idea about the woman who’d caught his eye. Was she a federal agent, as well?
When Stonewall muttered something about it being a pity that such a nice house was burning down, Quasar decided to satisfy his curiosity. “Hey, man, the woman standing over there next to your detective—the one wearing the slacks and leather blazer—who is she?”
Stonewall frowned after glancing over his shoulder. His friend wasn’t all that keen on him referring to Joy Ingram as
