Blood Moon Dragon (Dragon Investigators Book 2) Read online

“I have the job I mentioned, then a break before the next job at two. I’ll install the alarm for you and drop you at my place so you can soak in the hot tub.”

  Cassie swallowed. “Thank you. You and your family have been kind to me.”

  “You’re Emma’s friend.” Hone pulled up in her driveway. “I’ll unload the paint for you, then be off after I check your bruising.”

  Cassie slumped in the seat on hearing his determination. Emma had warned her about Hone and his cousins. None of them wanted anything permanent. Her lusty dreams had to cease. As did the neediness to have the same love and happiness as Emma. Big girl panties along with a dose of reality. She sucked in a breath to shore up her restraint. “Fine. Let’s get this done.”

  Chapter Seven

  Chuckling, Hone let her lead the way to the front door. An itchiness between his shoulder blades told him they were under scrutiny. Again. He hated the idea of leaving Cassie alone, yet he sensed she intended to stay, no matter what his argument.

  “Where do you want the tins of paint?”

  “The lounge, please. The words on the walls there make me grit my teeth.”

  Hone checked his watch. “I have ten minutes before it’s time to leave. Anything else before I go? After I check your ribs.”

  “Humph.”

  Hone suppressed his smile at her harsh exhalation. He set down the box of painting equipment. “Show me your war wounds.”

  “I stubbed my toe.”

  “Cassie.” He remained stern, fighting his instinct to laugh.

  She avoided his gaze, instead focusing on her feet. “You’re not going to go away, are you?”

  “In ten minutes.”

  She bared her straight white teeth at him. Then a chuckle escaped, a surrender, her hands darting to her blouse buttons. “I am glad I didn’t go with my first instinct to wear a dress.”

  “I like your dresses.” Hone made a sweeping gesture to indicate her clothing. “The one with the cats wearing glasses.”

  “You noticed them?”

  “It told me you have a sense of humor. I enjoy that in a woman.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes grew as wide as her mouth.

  “Clock’s ticking, babe.”

  Her breasts rose and fell with her gusty sigh, and his taniwha perked up for the first time since his flight-exhausted slumber. The faintest rumble of a purr vibrated through Hone’s mind.

  With trembling fingers, she unfastened the top two buttons of her pale blue blouse. Hone’s gaze drifted to her bra and her creamy curves pushing against the restraint.

  “Hey.” She clicked her fingers under his nose.

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t look.”

  “You’re in first-aid mode.”

  Hone spotted the red mark above her left breast. No broken skin. He prodded the area with light fingers, watching her expression the entire time. She winced.

  “How sore are you? Honestly.”

  “I tensed once I knew I was going to crash. My neck and back are okay, but I have general aches and pains. Nothing too major.”

  Hone wanted to pull her into his arms, hold her. Just hold her against him until his racing pulse slowed, until the trembling of his knees ceased, until his taniwha stopped struggling for freedom. “Tell me if that changes. I’m serious about the hot tub. That will help.” Fighting his taniwha, his need to touch, his urge to protect, he stepped back and watched her refasten her blouse.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I’d better go. I’ll be back in two hours. Pace yourself, okay?”

  “I will.”

  Hone hesitated, biting back his words of caution, the urge to say more when he had no right. His hands clenched at his sides, and he forced himself to turn away since he didn’t do permanent. No women. Cassie was out of bounds.

  “See you later.”

  Cassie didn’t breathe properly until the rumble of Hone’s vehicle faded. Her skin tingled at the spot he’d touched and the memory of his masculine scent lingered. She shook her head, the resulting jolt of pain jogging her brain back to sensible. It was easy to see Hone Taniwha and his cousin Manu were charming players. Rogues. Men of the most dangerous kind. Emma was right. She should stay far, far away from both of them.

  Forcing her mind to practicalities, she plucked her phone from her bag and checked her email. As promised, Kevin had sent a contract plus details of her concert slots. The segment before the main act at each venue. Five, perhaps six songs, a little chat with the audience and an encore if she had time. Six songs, she decided. Two covers, two Katie-Jo songs and two new ones. She’d adapt them to make them fit.

  While she considered her song choice—always the most important part of preparing for a concert—she spread out the sheets and taped the skirting boards. Crap. She hadn’t considered a ladder. Perhaps Jack would have one she could borrow.

  Half an hour later, with the low skirting boards taped, she began painting, taking satisfaction in covering the rude graffiti. The roller meant the work went quickly, and she hummed different songs while she narrowed down her choice of cover songs.

  A thump froze her mid-stroke. Crap. She’d forgotten to lock the door after Hone left. Stupid. Basic security if she was on her own.

  The knock repeated. “Hello? Anyone home?”

  An unfamiliar voice. Cassie frowned as she placed her paint-splattered roller in the pan, tension simmering in her belly.

  “Coming!” Cassie couldn’t see through the door and opened it cautiously with Emma’s and Hone’s warnings ringing in her ears. “Hello?”

  A man dressed in an open-necked white shirt with black trousers turned and acknowledged her presence. “Hi, I’m Matthew Jamieson, your neighbor. I thought I’d pop in and say hello.” He extended his hand, his boyish face wreathed in a polite smile.

  Cassie relaxed and accepted his hand, approving of the solid yet non-bruising handshake, his business casual attire. “Cassie Miller-Pope. I was intending to drop by and say hello. Do you have time for a cup of tea?”

  “Not today, I’m afraid. I’m on my way to a meeting and later, I must pick up my son. It’s my week to have him.” His blue eyes crinkled at the corners, his sandy-blond hair and clean shaven cheeks giving him the boy-next-door vibe.

  Cassie bit back a burst of humor. Funny. He was the boy next-door. “Have you lived here long?”

  “Almost two years. It’s a smallholding. We grow Christmas trees.”

  “That’s cool. I noticed the pine trees. I guess it will be quieter for you now that Christmas is over.”

  “These trees aren’t big enough for harvesting yet. My family owns other farms. One in Pukekohe and another in Waiuku. We were busy there in December. It’s a relief to have a quiet month. Well, I’d better head off to get to my meeting on time.” He extracted a card from his wallet. “These are my numbers if you want to get hold of me for any reason.”

  “Thanks. I arrived to find the place vandalized. I don’t suppose you’ve noticed any people loitering around the house?”

  “That’s terrible. I’m sorry to hear that. I haven’t noticed anyone, but I’ll keep an eye out and pass the word to my employees to do the same.”

  “Thanks. Have you met the people who live at the farm farther up this road? The Pattersons, from memory?”

  “A young business couple own the farm now. They run alpacas and both of them work. They have a family member who lives in the village and keeps an eye on their stock during the week. Are you planning to stay here full time?”

  “Undecided at the moment,” Cassie said. “I’m here for a month, but it depends on my work.”

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m a personal assistant.” The fib rolled smoothly off her tongue since she’d repeated it often. It was a good way of keeping her anonymity, and she was glad of the white lie since it let her live a relatively normal life when she was away from the stage.

  “Is that an American accent I hear?”

  “It is,” Cassie
said. “Although I was born in New Zealand.”

  Matthew’s watch peeped—an alarm of some type. He pushed a button, and the noise ceased. “Sorry, I have to go. Nice to meet you, Cassie. I’ll probably see you around. I’ll let you get back to your painting.”

  “How did you know I was painting?”

  “Apart from the smell?” He grinned. “You have paint on your nose and one cheek.”

  Cassie groaned and slapped her hand to her face. “I’m mortified.”

  He chuckled. “Don’t worry. Paint looks good on you.” And with a wink, he strode to his navy-blue sedan and drove away.

  Well. Cute. He hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring. He could be her possible fling. He’d seemed personable…

  Matt tapped the driver’s wheel as he drove toward Auckland. So, the mysterious C Miller-Pope was the one of the women he’d seen earlier. Good. Easier for him to scare, and if she was here short-term things might not be as grim as he’d suspected. She’d responded to his subtle flirting. Another plus.

  The land had been let go since the old guy died, and Matthew had increased his property line into her plot, planted his weed and enclosed the crop by several rows of pine. She might not notice or be aware of the official boundaries of her land.

  Herbert had said he’d run a woman off the road. Cassie, judging from Herbert’s description. He’d continue with the same tactics. At best, it might scare her away and at worst, his men had an excuse to loiter since he’d promised to watch for trespassers.

  Yes, things might work out, despite his fears. The crops would grow to maturity, they’d shift the drugs, and his bank account would grow by a healthy amount—enough to secret his son from New Zealand.

  Yeah, nothing like risk to raise the adrenaline.

  Chapter Eight

  Cassie groaned as she slipped into the warm, bubbling water. The hot tub—an excellent idea. Far from the messy bachelor pad she’d expected, Hone’s place in Papakura was a house. Rented from a school friend who’d met a woman and moved to the nearby country town of Sloan, Hone had told her. Native trees, punga, karaka and manuka gave the property a sense of privacy from the nearby neighbors and provided a screen for the deck without limiting exposure to the sun. Birds sang from the trees, and somewhere in the distance a lawnmower droned busily.

  Hone had said she’d have privacy and didn’t need to wear a swimsuit. Not that she’d gone with his teasing, punctuated with a sly wink, suggestion.

  Her tummy did a funny shimmy as her mind fixed on the sexy rogue. If only he were a keeper. Manu had confirmed he and his cousin weren’t relationship material. The little voice at the back of her mind tempted her to ignore Emma, her negative-Nelly friend.

  “I’m not a casual kind of woman,” she muttered, going for the crux of her problem. No matter how much that little voice warbled at her, she preferred a permanent relationship with an end in sight. A man to hold her in good times and bad. She needed snuggling and arguing and make-up sex. Unfortunately, a luxury with her career.

  Huh! Work. Time to concentrate on music and her upcoming slot at the vineyard. She hummed a few bars of one of her more upbeat Katie-Jo songs. Gave a decisive nod. Yes, that one would work. A breakup song as a contrast. She sang a recent hit, penned not long after her split from Kevin. Ah, yes. A reminder of the fickleness of men.

  Her two new songs, of course, and she’d choose two popular covers. If she alternated them with her stuff, that would keep her audience guessing. Perfect.

  Costumes… She frowned. Since she was singing as Katie-Jo, she was stuck with her persona and she hadn’t brought stage clothes with her. Dang it. She’d have to buy a blonde wig, the necessary makeup and clothes. Two sets of clothes.

  And musicians. That one was trickier. A, she wasn’t acquainted with the local musicians and B, if she hired someone, she’d jeopardize her identity. She tapped her chin, pondering alternatives. Huh, the obvious solution. Play her guitar and do a stripped-down, unplugged version of the songs.

  Her skin had started to prune by the time she clambered from the tub. She grabbed her phone to text Emma.

  Need an emergency shopping trip. When can you help?

  Her phone remained silent, so she retreated indoors out of the sun, donned the spare set of clothes she’d grabbed—one of her vintage dresses—and picked up her guitar. She worked through her mental list of six songs.

  A thump on the door came midway through her he-did-me-wrong song. Her fingers paused on the strings, a burst of fear tensing every muscle in her body. Should she answer?

  “Hone, you home?” a familiar voice called.

  Her alarm dissipated immediately. Cassie set her guitar aside and answered the door. “Hone isn’t here.”

  Manu straightened from his sprawl against the wall, not blinking at her presence. “Did he say when he’d be back?”

  “A few hours. He didn’t give a specific time.”

  “I’ll wait.” Manu strode forward, reminding her of a bulldozer with his powerful build and flexing muscles, displayed to perfection in a plain black T-shirt.

  Cassie retreated before he mowed her down, or worse, stood on her bare toes.

  “Want a cold drink? Hone will have beer.”

  “Ah, sure.” Cassie followed him to the kitchen. She supposed it was okay for Manu to make himself comfortable. Hone had told her to help herself to anything in the fridge. “Did Hone know you were coming?”

  Manu paused, bottle of beer in hand. “Nope. Do I make you nervous?”

  “Of course not.”

  He handed her a beer and ambled past her into the lounge, just off the deck. “Hone must have a new guitar. He didn’t tell me.”

  “It’s mine.”

  “You play?” He cocked his head, studying her as if she’d grown an extra head.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Nothing. Play me a song.” His chin lifted in challenge as if he suspected she’d refuse. She would’ve bet he was aiming for innocent. He missed by a mile, and since she’d played for thousands of people in packed-out arenas, singing for one person—no problem.

  Cassie set down her drink, picked up her guitar and settled. She glanced at Manu, who now smirked, shrugged inwardly and started playing her first Katie-Jo hit.

  “She sings as well,” Manu said as she began crooning the first verse. It was a song that started slow and swelled with emotion. She reached the end and played the final soft notes.

  “Wow,” Manu said. “That was incredible, though I didn’t recognize the song. The girl has talent.”

  “Thanks. The song was big in the States.” She didn’t mention it was her own—a song she’d written and her breakout single. “You probably know this one.” She broke out into an old Beatles tune.

  Manu flashed her a grin and joined in, their voices melding well. She clapped once they finished.

  “Wait, let me get Hone’s guitar. He won’t mind.” He disappeared and returned with a guitar. Seconds later, he settled beside her on the brown leather couch. “What about this one?”

  One song flowed into another, and Cassie couldn’t remember having such a fun jam session.

  They finished the next song, and Manu wrapped an arm around her shoulders, hugging her close.

  “Well.” Hone stood inside the room, his arms folded across his chest. His gaze fired salvos of anger. “This is cozy.”

  Cassie jumped, gave an eep of fright at his unexpected appearance. Manu’s arm tightened fractionally before he released her and stood.

  “I stopped by to see if you could help me with work stuff.” Manu paused as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t because she was present.

  Hone folded his arms over his chest. “I have a phone.”

  “I tried to ring you. I figured you were in a blind spot, and I’d catch you here.”

  “So you made yourself at home.”

  Hone’s flat tone had Cassie frowning. What was with him? All they’d done was play music together.

/>   Manu lifted his chin. “Yeah. I didn’t think you’d mind, not after our discussion last night. Plus you have rules, remember?” The strange emphasis on his words raised curiosity as to the content of their chat.

  Hone prowled closer, tension broadcast in his tight jaw and rigid shoulders. “I mind.”

  Manu’s quick scrutiny lurked with devilment, like a child intent on skullduggery. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m entitled.”

  “You understood my position,” Hone snapped.

  “Snooze and you lose.”

  Hone sucked in a breath, and somehow, he swelled, his face and arms changing color.

  Cassie blinked. Was that red?

  “Cuz, your temper is on display.”

  Hone roared and sprang at Manu. They grappled. Fists swung. Hone growled. The coffee table tipped over, clipped by a foot.

  Cassie jumped to her feet, rescued her guitar, squeezed against the wall. She gawked at the pair, heart misfiring at the fierceness of their clash, the fury pulsing in the air, the lash of danger.

  A chair went flying. A big chair.

  They weren’t mucking around.

  “Stop it,” she shouted.

  They ignored her entreaty.

  Hone punched Manu, grazed his jaw. Manu toppled and hit the floor. Hone sprang at his cousin, growling like an enraged dog.

  Blood. There was blood. She swallowed, spied her handbag beside the couch and scooped it up. Handbag and guitar in hand, she retreated, not understanding the cause, the fierce fighting, the brutality.

  Cassie strode out the door and left them to their bloody war.

  Chapter Nine

  “Hone. Stand down. Stand down, damn it.”

  The growl of temper in Manu, the compulsion from a leader pierced Hone’s rage. The human part of him wrested back control. With a harsh breath, he straightened, released his grip. Manu’s nose spurted blood. He suffered aches himself, his cheekbone smarting where his cousin had struck a lucky blow. He shook the sluggishness from his brain. The coffee table sat on its side and several bottles littered the floor. The scent of beer accompanied the coppery tang of blood. A chair—no, make that two—required repairs.