Page 2 of Ice Cold Liar (Ice Breaker Cold Case #14)

Chapter One

The first time that Ebenezer “Eb” Jones saw Naomi Romano…she was dancing in a fountain. In Vegas. Her pale blue dress had been utterly drenched as it clung to her like a second skin. Her long, dark hair had been wet, trailing over her shoulders, and utter delight had lit her face as she laughed.

She’d been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

The second time that Eb saw Naomi…she’d been standing at a small chapel.

Not Vegas this time. Baton Rouge. And she’d been wearing a white dress.

Long and made of satin. Her hair had been carefully styled around her head.

She’d clutched blood-red roses. Her face had been solemn as she repeated her vows…

and married his former CIA partner, Hudson Wyatt.

She’d still been the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

The third time Eb saw Naomi? Well, she’d been in Baton Rouge once more.

Not in a chapel, but at a graveside. Wearing all black.

A dress that skated over her curves. Black heels.

Her hands had been fisted in front of her.

No tears had slid down her cheeks. She’d stared straight at the gleaming casket.

A casket surrounded by so many flowers. Roses.

Carnations. Orchids. Lilies. Her husband had been in that casket.

She’d watched, expressionless, during the entire graveside service. Ice cold.

Whispers had surrounded her. Judging eyes.

His hard gaze had been on her the whole time, but she’d never once looked his way. Had she even known he was there? She’d seemed oblivious to everyone. Utterly lost in her own world. But, even then, surrounded by the mourners, with her eyes completely dry, he’d looked at her and thought?—

Still the most fucking beautiful woman… Even though he’d understood then that beauty could hide the very worst evil in the world.

Murderer.

Despite all the suspicions, the DA had recently dropped the charges against her.

They’d bought her story about a home invasion gone wrong.

About her husband being caught by surprise while she’d been out during the night.

But Eb had seen all the holes in her story. He knew Naomi for exactly what she was.

A killer.

And now, for the fourth time, he had his eyes on her.

He’d been trailing Naomi as she left her place in Baton Rouge and darted across town in an old, blue, pickup truck.

One that bounced and weaved down the dark road because the shocks on it must be worn to hell and back.

He’d been curious about her destination initially, but as she’d continued her trek into the night, the curiosity had turned to unease.

She’d stopped in front of a sprawling, rundown bar.

One that had a graveled parking lot lined with motorcycles of every type.

High-end rides. Some tricked out with modifications that must have cost thousands.

Others looked like barely sputtering, scarred-up bikes.

The bald bulb near the entrance to the bar cast faint illumination over those motorcycles, and he saw the club colors on them.

Not like he’d needed the colors to know he was staring at an outlaw motorcycle club.

But why was Naomi paying a visit to this location? You had to be looking for trouble to visit a place like this bar.

Naomi exited her truck, and she walked straight toward the bikes near the entrance.

Her hands went to her hips. She stared hard at the bikes.

Particularly the big Harley right beside the bar’s entrance.

A fancy, gleaming ride that Eb knew cost far, far too much money to be left outside of a dump like this one.

He slid from his own car, shutting the door with the softest of sounds. Music drifted in the air. Loud and hard. Voices rose and fell. A drunk guy stumbled from the entrance of the bar and barely gave Naomi a second glance.

She kept right on staring at the motorcycles. Then her head swung toward the bar’s entrance.

And then back to the line of motorcycles.

A smile spread across her lips. One easily seen thanks to that bare bulb. That smile of hers was absolutely diabolical.

Eb tensed and hurried from the shadows.

But he didn’t hurry fast enough. Naomi lifted one booted heel—black boots. She wore faded jeans, a black shirt, and kick-ass boots—and she drove one of those kick-ass boots straight into the side of the big, expensive Harley.

Nothing happened.

Her smile dimmed.

Then she kicked it again.

Again.

And—

He grabbed her arm. Hauled her away from the motorcycles and toward him before she could cause some serious chaos. “What in the hell are you doing?”

She blinked. Tilted back her head so all of that long, thick hair tumbled over her back, and she locked the deepest, darkest eyes in the world on him.

Fuck me, she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

Even knowing what she was, even knowing what she’d done, the sight of her was like a punch straight to the?—

There was a screech behind her. A groan. Ragged. Metallic. Then…

Crash. A long and loud crash and another screech as the expensive Harley toppled and slammed into the ride beside it. Together, the two motorcycles hit the graveled lot.

Naomi glanced over her shoulder. “Dammit.” A sigh of disappointment. “I was hoping that one falling bike would send them all knocking down.”

No such luck. The big Harley and the gleaming ride near it were the only two that had fallen.

“ Ivan!” A frantic roar from the open door of the bar. “Hey! Hey! Some prick just knocked down Ivan’s ride!”

I didn’t do it. She did. But, clearly, he was about to take the blame. Probably what he deserved for stepping in and trying to stop her. Had he not already learned that no good deed went unpunished in this world?

“In the movies, one toppling bike would create a domino effect and take down all the others. It would have been dramatic and beautiful at the same time.” Another despondent sigh from Naomi. “Oh, well, at least I got his attention…”

His attention? “What the hell are you doing, Naomi?” Eb breathed.

Her gaze returned to his. Her gorgeous smile stretched her full lips, and he was pretty sure savage glee filled her face.

“Getting back what belongs to me. Desperate times call for desperate measures, isn’t that the saying?

I’m desperate, and I don’t care what I have to do in order to achieve my end goal. ” Grim intent filled every low word.

Yep, this lady is not the sweet ray of sunshine I originally believed her to be. Hell, no. She wasn’t sunshine. She was a short walk straight to hell.

Naomi slowly blinked as she studied him. Then she inched a bit closer. “Ebenezer Jones.” A shake of her head. “Of all the biker bars in the world…are you really sure you want to be at this one right now? With me?”

No, he did not want to be there. He wanted to be back home in South Carolina, sitting on a beach and laughing his ass off with his twin brother. He wanted to be listening to the soothing sounds of waves hitting the shore. He wanted to be playing poker with his ex-partner, Hudson.

But he couldn’t.

Because Hudson was cold in the ground. Courtesy of the lovely Naomi. And Eb was there to get his pound of flesh from her.

Footsteps thundered behind him as men erupted from the bar. Lots of angry shouts thickened the air. Colorful cursing.

“You should probably run,” Naomi advised.

Eb’s jaw locked. This night was about to get really shitty. As if it had not already been shitty enough. But, for the record, “I never run.”

One delicate eyebrow quirked. “I’ll remember that about you.”

“What in the hell is happening here?” A bellow. Then a hard hand grabbed Eb’s shoulder and wheeled him around. “Asshole, you just made the worst mistake of your life!”

Eb found himself staring straight into angry, glinting eyes. A tall guy, wide, too. But not with muscle. Mostly fat. Thin hair. Big neck. Lots of tats stretching out beneath the dirty t-shirt that he wore.

The big bastard raised his fist and got ready to take a swing at Eb.

“ He didn’t make a mistake,” Naomi declared, her voice very loud and clear for all to hear. Then, after making that blasting statement, she was there, ducking in front of Eb. Putting herself between him and the bastard with the beefy fist.

The guy let go of Eb, but he kept his fist raised.

He will not fucking hit her.

Eb would not allow that. Naomi would go down for her crimes. But no one would hit her.

“I’m the one who not-so-accidentally knocked down your bike, Ivan. Took quite a bit of effort, I must confess. But after several hard kicks, I did succeed in sending that precious Harley of yours slamming into the ground.”

“Uh, Naomi?” Eb cleared his throat. “Maybe you should back away right now.” Because the crowd was closing in. A very pissed crowd. Eb noted the tattoos they wore. Tigers. Stars. Medals. Skulls. They were in trouble. Big trouble. The name Ivan had rung unfortunate bells for him.

Ivan leaned his big, glaring face toward Naomi. “You want to die?”

Hell. Eb had to step in or else he’d be watching a murder scene up close and personally. He reached for the gun he’d tucked beneath his shirt after exiting his ride?—

“No, I don’t want to die. I want Henry back, you jerk! And if I have to wreck every single motorcycle here, if I have to wreck your bar, if I have to wreck your life in order to get him, I’ll do it!” A passionate declaration. Sightly unhinged, but passionate.

Eb’s mouth tightened. Who the fuck is Henry?

Ivan glared at her. Glared long and hard and then he…laughed. Heaving, wild bursts of laughter rang from him.

Naomi did not laugh back. Her hands fisted at her sides.

Ivan’s fingers rose and curled under her chin. “Pretty little killer…”

Oh, yeah. He knows exactly who—what—she is. They were on the same page. Nice to know.

“I will give you thirty seconds to get out of here,” Ivan offered. “If you don’t flee, I guarantee you will be meeting your husband again by dawn.”