Blaze (The Stark Affair Book 3) Read online

  Blaze:

  The Stark Affair Book 3

  by

  Skylar Cross

  Copyright 2014 D2Rev Publishing / Skylar Cross

  First edition

  November 15, 2014

  Promotion: Mark My Words Book Publicity (markmywordsbookpublicity.com)

  Cover design: Romantic Book Affairs (designs.romanticbookaffairs.com).

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  All characters depicted in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Acknowledgements

  Special thanks to Morgan Black, Brina Courtney, Rachel Marks, Cathy Yardley, Missy Borucki, Letitia Hasser, Dede Nesbitt, Babel Td, Kayla Ann Bennerotte, LaTashia Outlaw, all the amazing bloggers who promote me, and everyone who reads my books and cheers me on. I so appreciate you.

  Chapter 1

  Sofia

  According to the flashing arrow on my laptop, Colton Stark’s Bentley, with its hidden firefly, is still in his driveway.

  I’m on DiLido Island, parked on the opposite corner from where his street meets the Venetian, in the unmarked car I got from the pool.

  In TV shows and movies, cops always drive indistinct, late-model, American cars.

  In real life, we use whatever is available from the pool of confiscated vehicles. Today I’m in a green 2002 Accord. Rear right door doesn’t quite match the color of the rest of the car, which adds to the non-cop feel.

  My burner phone rings.

  “Hello,” I say.

  “Sofia,” says LaTashia, “I need a report. You haven’t told me what you’ve learned from Colton Stark.”

  I take a deep breath. “So far, not much. He hates his dead father. Doesn’t get along with that Jasper guy.”

  “We know all that, Sofia. Don’t you have anything new?”

  Shit.

  “There may be some evidence.”

  “What evidence?”

  “I don’t know yet. Something about a flash drive.”

  Don’t know why I said that. I just needed to say something and I had a flash of Colton making innuendo about a flash drive.

  “Well, find it, Sofia. And don’t let him get to you.”

  I feel a sting from the soreness in my pussy. “It’s all under control, Lieutenant. I told you before. He’s not my type.”

  “I hope so.”

  Damn, does she know? Can she tell? Is it that obvious that I’ve been fucked senseless?

  Or am I being watched 24/7? Shit, what if LaTashia is the informant herself? What if all this is to set me up to be the informant?

  “I’m still on the job, Lieutenant. I can handle it.”

  I see an old Toyota Corolla directly in front of me across the causeway. The flashing light on my laptop shows the Bentley still in his driveway.

  But fuck, that’s Colton Stark behind the wheel! I know that outline!

  I’m wearing a black beret and dark sunglasses, but I slink down in the seat anyway. He doesn’t seem to notice me as he turns left onto the Venetian.

  I start my engine. I’m about to follow when I see a light blue Buick pull out from its spot and coast behind him.

  I turn right, following the light blue Buick across the Venetian.

  “Lieutenant, I think I’m onto something,” I say. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Just be careful, Sofia. Make sure you know what you’re doing.”

  I click off.

  We cross into the city proper to 2nd Avenue. Our little parade takes a right, heading north.

  You know you’ve crossed the line into the inner city when the buildings turn sharply from white concrete with glittering glass to multi-colored murals.

  The Toyota Corolla turns into a low grouping of stores with a parking lot in front.

  It’s an old plaza from the 1970s, never renovated. Been here a thousand times over the years responding to incidents. Not too far from my dad’s house, actually. One big block of concrete with the names of the stores in lights. A charter school next door with a big colorful mural painted on it.

  Colton Stark parks and walks into the store marked Asian Spa. The blue Buick is in a parking spot not far from the Corolla.

  Hmm.

  I drive past, turn around, and pull over in front of the cemetery across the street. There I sit and wait, watching and observing.

  Asian Spa? Really, Colton? Asian Spa? A tentacle of anger rips into me as I picture some tramp giving Colton Stark a happy ending massage.

  No, Colton Stark is the last man on Earth who needs to pay for a happy ending massage. Especially after the release he had yesterday.

  Inside me.

  Deep inside me.

  Thrusting, pounding, assailing my inner walls into a frenzy.

  Leading me into a toe-curling orgasm as he grunts and spews a stream of delicious, white, salty elixir deep inside me.

  I shake my head, snapping myself back into the present.

  No, there’s something else. He’s doing something else here.

  But what?

  The guys in the Buick are eating donuts.

  Shit, now I’m hungry as well as horny. Next to the Asian spa is a pawn shop and a dollar store. Maybe, while I wait, I’ll go into the dollar store and grab something.

  No, I need to sit here, and wait and watch.

  And think.

  About an Asian Spa in an inner-city neighborhood.

  Doesn’t add up.

  A plump Latina woman with two screaming kids emerges from the dollar store pushing a shopping cart full of items. Looks like she may have bought the entire store. She begins loading it all into a ten-year old gray minivan.

  The guys in the blue Buick continue munching on their donuts.

  From my vantage point across the street, I can see the space between the strip mall and the school next door.

  I see a tall man walking with a briefcase from behind the mall to the school. Something strikes me about him. Looks about fifty, maybe sixty. Goatee and glasses. Dressed in ratty college professor clothes. Badly-fitting corduroys. He knocks on a side door, it opens, and he disappears inside.

  I get a strong sense of sexual energy from him.

  What the fuck was that? Must be low blood sugar.

  I look over at the guys in the Buick. They’re talking, throwing back the donuts, and watching the door to the Asian Spa.

  Hmm, wonder if they sit in the same spot every day. If they do, they probably can’t see the space between the two buildings from their angle.

  Whatever. Watch and gather info, Sofia.

  At eleven-thirty, the tall college professor-like guy emerges from the door to the charter school and crosses the space between the two buildings and disappears in back of the mall.

  Who is that guy? Looks way out of place.

  And what was that sexual energy I sensed from him?

  Then it hits me.

  My pussy may have solved a mystery that my brain was having trouble with. Good girl.

  Oh my God. Oh my God. I think I know. I think I’ve figured this out. Holy shit. No, it couldn’t be. Could it?

  Five minutes later, Colton Stark emerges from the Asian Spa in his light blue shirt and gray pants. He must have everything tailored because it all fits his frame so perfectly.

  His gorgeous muscular frame. With that tribal tattoo. And those hard abs.


  I shake my head.

  He gets in his car, starts it up, and drives away. The blue Buick follows him.

  I stay parked, waiting for the college professor to emerge. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t.

  Could that have been Colton Stark in a disguise?

  Yes. My pussy doesn’t lie.

  I wait another ten minutes, then decide to take action.

  First thing I do is walk around the entire strip mall from the left side, crossing the back of it along the concrete wall.

  I walk out front, past the Asian spa, past the pawn shop, and into the dollar store.

  Nothing but shoppers.

  I walk across the parking lot, continuously scanning the faces of everyone I see. Everybody looks like they belong.

  I walk over to the charter school.

  It’s a two-story cinderblock building that used to be offices, I remember. It was all-white back then. The new mural painting makes it distinctly Wynwood now. I look at the cartoon kids.

  One is a black boy in a baker hat holding a loaf of bread. Another is a Latino boy in a chef’s hat holding a plate of food. A little white girl with blonde hair builds a table with hammer and nails. An Asian girl in coveralls is bent over a car’s engine under its hood. All of them are smiling at me.

  I walk back along 2nd Avenue to the front entrance. The sign says Bright Eyes Academy.

  I open the door and walk inside.

  The inside is old Art Deco-style with lots of glass blocks. A big round concrete stairwell leads up to a corridor on the second floor. Directly ahead of me is a round desk built into the wall. Several stacks of brochures are on top of it. To my right is a hallway with doors to rooms on the left, glass block on the right facing the street.

  There is a security guard in a brown uniform seated at the desk. He rises when I walk in.

  He’s out of shape. Bad comb-over with a big moustache. Revolver on his right hip.

  “May I help you, miss?” he says.

  “Yes,” I say. “My boy is four years old and I’m looking for a good school.”

  “I’m just security. Let me have you speak with Eduardo the director.” He picks up a phone. “Eduardo, there is someone here. Okay.” He replaces the receiver. “He’ll be right down.”

  “Thank you.”

  Eduardo. That was the name Colton said into his phone outside the gym. Same Eduardo? What was the other name he said? Carmelita.

  I look at the brochures while I wait.

  Entrepreneurism For Kids. Grow Your Own Business. Lemonade Stand Day. This school is very capitalism-focused, I see. Not geared toward going to college, but rather hands-on business skills. Strong emphasis on basic math. Other classes include marketing & advertising, customer service, and bookkeeping & accounting.

  Along the wall are pictures of graduates. One is a young man standing in front of a gas station smiling into the camera. Another is a girl standing in front of an office door that reads AudioMix. A much younger girl who looks about twelve holds out a tray of cupcakes. She’s biting down on a stack of hundred-dollar bills.

  “Hello,” says a bright-eyed young man as he reaches the bottom step. Twenty-one, I’d guess. Good-looking in a young lean way. Will be irresistible in ten years. “My name is Eduardo, director of Bright Eyes Academy.”

  Seems a little young to be in charge. “You’re the director?”

  “Yes, I know I look like I’m barely out of grammar school myself but I’m the co-founder of this academy.”

  He’s wearing tan chinos with a plaid shirt. On the shirt is a pin. It’s an eagle’s talons. I get a flash of Colton Stark’s chest tattoo. An eagle’s talons holding a document with a quote by... what was the name?... Milton Friedman.

  I shake his hand. “Hello Eduardo, my name is Michelle. I have a four-year old and I’m looking for a charter school. I thought I’d come by and see what you have to offer.”

  “Oh, wonderful. We are a complete K through twelve school. Small classrooms. Lots of individual attention.”

  “What’s the difference between going here or to a public school?”

  “Our philosophy is based on free-market capitalism.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course. The United States is the strongest nation in the world because of capitalism. The industrial revolution created more wealth than the world had ever known. It was the foundation of the lives we all live today. Here we teach kids that the backbone of life is work. So while we do teach English, science, math, and history, we also prepare kids to start their own businesses because we believe we’re all entrepreneurs. What do you do?”

  “I’m an insurance investigator.”

  “Then you are an entrepreneur too.”

  “No, I work for a company.”

  “But the company may fire you at any time, sí? I’m willing to bet you are a skilled insurance investigator. So you could easily take those skills and offer them somewhere else. Or start your own insurance investigation company. My point is that whether you’re a butcher, a baker, or a candlestick-maker you are self-employed. You are only as good as your skills. We are all freelancers whether we know it or not.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say, squinting my eyes and folding my arms. “What about going to college?”

  “We have nothing against college. It’s necessary if you want to be a doctor, lawyer, scientist, architect, or engineer. If your kid knows for sure that’s what he or she wants to do, then Bright Eyes Academy is not the best option. We focus on inner-city kids who are trapped in a school system geared toward college that is only going to be a waste of time and money for them when they could be learning real-world skills like bookkeeping, sales and marketing, and negotiation. Stuff they’re actually going to use in their life instead of biology or algebra.”

  I nod and smile. “You’ve given this pitch before.”

  He smiles back. “Would you like to sit in on a class?” he says.

  “Yes,” I say, a germ of an idea forming in my head. “But not now. How is tomorrow morning at ten?”

  “Hmm, tomorrow we are preparing for Lemonade Stand Day which is on Thursday. Which is actually a perfect way to get introduced to our faculty and students. Would you be able to attend on Thursday at ten in the morning?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Great. Let me get your information.”

  I give him a fake address and one of my alias phone numbers.

  Then I walk back to my car.

  What the fuck is going on here? Is this a front for something more sinister? It feels real. But is it real?

  Was that Colton Stark I saw in disguise? I know it was. What is he doing here? I could bust into the Asian Spa, flash my badge, and get answers. But that’s a last resort. That would also alert him to my presence.

  No, I need something more subtle.

  Like dinner.

  Tomorrow night.

  At Colton Stark’s house.

  Chapter 2

  Colton

  The last thing I need this morning is to see was Jasper’s Rolls-Royce parked in front of my house.

  Yet there it is.

  Shit.

  The gate opens and I drive in. Jasper and Hector get out of the Rolls, following me into the driveway.

  “Nice car,” says Jasper as he throws a look of disgust at the Toyota. “A little pretentious, don’t you think, Colton?”

  “What do you want, Jasper?”

  He puts his cigar in his mouth, letting it hang from his teeth. “Get inside.”

  I laugh. “Get inside? Was that a command?”

  “Yes it was.”

  The look on his face tells me he’s serious. The look on Hector’s face is even more chilling.

  Hm, better play along for now.

  We walk into the living room of house. Hector stands guard at the door. Jasper drifts over to the two-story wall of glass, looking out at the city across the water.

  “Nice view,” says Jasper. “Not as nice as mine, but not terrible. I like your se
nse of style, too. Very masculine with the muted colors and sparse decor.”

  Hector stares at me, moving about as much as a totem pole. I wonder if he even needs to breathe.

  “Did you come here to talk about interior design, Jasper?” I say as I sit down on my white sofa.

  He turns and faces me, his beady eyes narrow in their sunken sockets. I picture him on one of the sleaze trips to South America that Tommy Nero told me about. I feel another wretch in my stomach.

  “You weren’t at the meeting on Monday,” Jasper says. “The one I invited to you with my friend from Colombia.”

  I try to sound civil, like I don’t want to beat his head in with a bat.

  “I had an... engagement.”

  “With one of your tarts, likely. Colton, it’s time you and I had a talk.”

  “Another one? Jeez, aren’t we all talked out lately, Jasper?”

  He sits across from me, my glass coffee table between us.

  “I know what you’re up to, Colton.”

  I lean forward and smile.

  “Then tell me what I’m up to.”

  “You’ve been stealing from me, Colton.”

  Shit, did he find it?

  “Oh, really?” I say.

  “You thought I’d never find your fancy program that only a genius hacker could find? An algorithm that moves money around in the company in such small amounts that normally nobody would pay any attention to it. Self-correcting, as well. Acts like a human being.”

  Yep, he found it.

  I smile and sit back. “What can I say, Jasper? I was inspired by the best criminal in Miami. I tell you what. I’ll pay it all back. Every penny. Easy. Oh, how about... hmmm... let’s see... with my 49 percent of Stark Worldwide? All yours. There. Done. The money I’ve taken doesn’t even come to one tenth of one percent of that.”

  Jasper sits back and laughs. “Colton, Colton... it’s not about the money. Do you really think piddly amounts of money matter to me anymore? I’m beyond that. In fact, I’m somewhat proud of you. This is a new side of you I rather like.”