Skullduggery {sapphic thriller}

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Desirae sprung up from the floor, whipping out her gun and aiming it our way. I didn't need to turn my head to see whose fingers tore through my hair. Crisp aftershave. Expensive wool-cashmere suit.

"Armed with a Glock instead of a stick of charcoal?"

Hollow voice.

"I'm impressed, Desirae."

Landon yanked me closer to his body, using me as a shield like a fucking coward. I tried to wriggle free from his hold, ready to claw his eyes out when cold metal pressed to the side of my temple. I drew in a sharp breath and stopped struggling.

Across from us, Desirae's gun didn't waver in her hands. "Drop the gun, Landon."

"You don't have a shot," he sneered. "From where I'm standing, it appears the two of you are trespassing with the intention of stealing art. My curator is obviously in danger. I have every right to pull this trigger."

"You have every right to shut the fuck up," Desirae snapped. "Anything you say can and will most definitely be used against you. Now, drop the fucking gun."

His laugh shook my body. "What, am I under arrest?"

"She's FBI, dipshit." The tremble of my voice rattled my body, but as it echoed into the dark warehouse, Landon's fingers loosened around my hair. The cold muzzle slipped away from my head.

Before I could try to pull away, the door behind us ripped open with a bang. A flood of armored cops with the big guns fanned out around us, yelling commands.

Releasing his grip, Landon shoved me away and I stumbled to Desirae's side. She caught my waist with one arm, all while keeping her gun still sighted on Landon. Slowly, he squatted to lower his gun to the floor, but a swift kick from behind knocked him flat. Greg emerged from the sea of officers, all suited up in an FBI tactical vest, taking it upon himself to make the official arrest. Landon's head twisted up from the floor. A calm anger sharpened his green eyes, dead set on me.

"This isn't over," he snarled as the cops brought him up to his feet. Dust and debris marred his pressed navy suit. His once perfect hair now heaped off to the side in an unkempt mess. "Watch your back, Kirby."

His threat sent a chill through me. The officers quickly turned him away and led him back to the stairwell, not caring to be gentle. Desirae didn't lower her gun until Landon was out of sight. My head went dizzy as I finally let out my breath against her.

"Are you okay?" she whispered, tucking my hair around my ear. The softness of her fingertips was a stark contrast to just having been yanked around by Landon.

I wanted nothing more than to melt into her, but I kept my composure. "I don't really know."

I glanced around at the cops as they swarmed the open studio. Their voices felt like television background noise. My eyes followed a path of trampled roses up to the wooden model platform where just an ornate chair sat draped with linen. Petals were strewn everywhere. We had definitely interrupted him. He'd barely begun the set up. Where the caustic vapors of resin had been present with the other tableaus, there were none in the air here. Maybe just old traces of oil paint.

"I'm just trying to make sense of it," I murmured. "To make sense of Landon. It doesn't really feel..."

"Real?"

I tried to picture Landon in his dumb expensive suit posing what would have been Cora's dead body on the model stand, excoriating her, taking the time to get all the flowers right, sewing them into her, then slathering resin all over her body to keep it preserved.

I shook my head. "It doesn't feel right."

Desirae's hand rubbed against my bare shoulder blades. "More information will come out in the next couple hours as they question him." She glimpsed behind us. "And Cora. Thanks to you, she's alive and can hopefully tell us what happened."