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  Dead Eye

  A Tiger’s Eye Mystery

  (Book 1)

  By Alyssa Day

  Dead Eye

  Copyright © 2015 by Alesia Holliday

  EPUB Edition

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, or for foreign rights inquiries, please contact the author.

  Author contact info

  Website:

  alyssaday.com

  Email:

  [email protected]

  Facebook:

  facebook.com/authoralyssaday

  Twitter:

  twitter.com/Alyssa_Day

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Author contact info

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  About Private Eye

  Other SilverHart Authors

  About the Author

  Thank you!

  And in other thanks

  Books by Alyssa

  Chapter One

  A tiger, an alligator, and a redneck walked into my pawnshop.

  I sighed when I realized my life had devolved into the opening line of a tired joke, but I was awfully glad to see the tiger. Maybe now we could finally get things straightened out.

  And to be fair, the alligator didn’t exactly walk, so much as it rolled in on a cart. It had been the unfortunate victim of some really bad taxidermy, and stared out at the world from two mismatched eyes, its mouth open in a half-hearted attempt at ferocity or, more likely, indignation about the sparkly pink scarf wrapped around its neck. It had been wearing a blue plaid scarf the last time I’d seen it. Apparently even stuffed alligators had better wardrobes than I did.

  The redneck, lean and wiry in a desert-camo t-shirt and baggy khaki pants, shuffled in sort of sideways, pushing the rolling cart and casting frequent wary glances back over his shoulder at the tiger.

  Jack Shepherd was the tiger, and he had nothing at all to do with the redneck or the alligator. The pawnshop, however, was a different story. The pawnshop, according to the will my late boss—Jack’s uncle Jeremiah—had left in the top drawer of his ancient desk, now belonged to Jack.

  At least, fifty percent of it did. The other half was mine. I was still trying not to feel guilty about that.

  “Nice to see you again, Jack,” I said, and my voice was almost entirely steady. If he’d been any other man, my hormones might have perked up and taken notice. When I was sixteen, I’d certainly entertained more than a few swoony thoughts about him. Jack was maybe four inches over six feet and seriously hot. Hard muscle in all the right places, wavy bronze hair streaked with gold, and dark green eyes. He looked like trouble walking in blue jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt. Okay, so I noticed. But I knew enough about Jack to know better than to even think in that direction.

  As if I could, anyway.

  Jack walked up and held out his hand like he wanted to shake mine. I ignored it. “Tess? Tess Callahan? When did you grow up?”

  “In the ten years since you’ve bothered to visit.”

  A shadow of pain crossed his face as he slowly lowered his hand, and I felt a twinge of guilt. But only a twinge. Jeremiah had waited and waited for a call from his nephew—for any word at all—but we’d only heard about what Jack was up to from unreliable news reports and shady underground sources. Jeremiah had fretted himself nearly to death, worrying.

  Otis the redneck, still lurking by his alligator, was leaning forward, eager to catch every word so he could spread the news later to his buddies over coffee at Beau’s. His eyes gleamed as he watched the interplay. “Tess don’t shake hands, Mister. She don’t let people touch her.”

  Right. Enough of that.

  “I don’t think so, Otis,” I told him. “I told you last time that I wasn’t taking that decrepit alligator in pawn one more time.”

  “Aw, come on, Tess,” he whined. “One more time, that’s all. I got a hunch about a good one down to the greyhound track. You gave me a hunnerd for Fluffy last time. I’ll take fifty.”

  “Fluffy?” Jack asked. “You named a dead gator Fluffy?”

  Otis glared at him. “Her name was Fluffy when she was alive, Mister, not that it’s any of your business.”

  “When was she alive? About a century ago?” Jack nodded at the dilapidated gator coated in about an inch of dust. “And did she wear the scarf when she was alive too?”

  Otis didn’t even crack a smile. “Maybe you’ll be wearing the scarf, if you don’t shut your mouth, tourist. I’m trying to make a transaction here.”

  Since Otis was at least seventy years old and probably weighed a buck twenty soaking wet, I was betting that Jack didn’t consider him to be much of a threat.

  “Pink’s totally my color,” Jack said, deadpan.

  I blew out a breath. Better to pay Otis, or he’d never leave. I pushed the button on the antique cash register, and the bell pealed and startled both of them. I counted out fifty dollars. “That’s not a tourist, Otis. That’s Jeremiah’s nephew, Jack. Take this and go, please. We’ll write it up later.”

  Otis glanced back and forth between me and Jack, started to speak, but then must have decided not to press his luck. He scurried over to the counter, snatched the money, and then almost ran out of the store.

  “Maybe he’ll win at the track,” Jack said.

  “Never happened before, but there’s always a first time. Kind of like you walking into the pawnshop this decade,” I said, refusing to be engaged in small talk.

  “Yeah. Well, now I’m finally home, and home is looking like the ass-end of a stuffed gator,” he said flatly. “Not exactly the family reunion I’d envisioned.”

  He had a point. No matter what the circumstances, Jack was Jeremiah’s family, and I’d loved Jeremiah. Jack probably had too, in his own way. I needed to shape up and cut him some slack. Plus, according to the terms of Jeremiah’s will, I would be forced to have some interaction with this man. I took a deep breath and tried to smile. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Let’s try again. Welcome to Dead End, Jack. It’s nice to see you. I guess we’re partners.”

  “About that. I don’t want a damned pawnshop, not even half of one. Who do we need to talk to for me to sign it over to you?”

  Jack looked around the shop, and I tried to see the familiar place through his eyes. It was an
old building, but sparkling clean, stuffed with display cases filled with the usual pawnshop staples of jewelry, guns, and not-quite-antiques. Collectibles, we called them when we were being generous. Junk, when we weren’t.

  But Dead End Pawn was also home to the unusual and the bizarre, because Jeremiah’s interest in the supernatural was well known to everybody within at least a five-county radius. If a vampire broke a fang and wanted to sell it, or a witch was hard up for cash and wanted to pawn a minor object of power, Jeremiah was the one they went to see.

  Jeremiah, for more than forty years, and now me.

  But apparently not Jack.

  “I can’t afford to buy you out yet,” I said, standing up to my full five-foot-eight and raising my chin. “And I don’t want to sell. I’m hoping we can work something out.”

  Jack pointed to Fluffy. “Really? Not flush with cash, are you? I can’t say I’m shocked.”

  I felt my face turning red, which I hated, since it clashed with my red hair. “Look. Otis is a special case. He was a friend of Jeremiah’s, and he’s always good for a loan. Not that I need to justify my business decisions to you.”

  He shrugged, which naturally made me notice his broad shoulders, and then he turned to look at the oversized items hanging on the back wall, which made me notice his world-class butt, and I wanted to clutch my head and moan. Just what I did not need. To be interested in Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous—especially when he spent part of his time stalking around in his Bengal tiger form. Dating was off-limits for me until I figured out how to date without actually touching the guy I was seeing, or my research into my nasty little eighteenth-birthday gift paid off.

  The bell on the door jingled, and I saw Mrs. Gonzalez peek in. She was eighty going on a hundred and fifty and kept trying to get me to go out with her grandson. I really didn’t have time for this today.

  “We’re closed,” Jack said gently, smiling at her. “Please come back tomorrow.”

  I could feel my hackles rising at his nerve, but then I glanced at the clock and it was already ten till six and Jack and I really did need to talk.

  “I don’t know you. You could be an axe murderer. Get out of my way and let me see Tess,” she retorted, peering up at him through her curly white bangs.

  Great. Next she’d call the sheriff, and I’d have to deal with him, which would be the cherry on the cake of my freaking life.

  “This is Jeremiah’s nephew,” I said, hurrying over to reassure her. “We need to discuss some things, Mrs. Gonzalez. Would it be okay if we talk tomorrow?”

  She sniffed. “Well, he could have just told me that.”

  “I apologize, ma’am,” Jack said solemnly.

  Mrs. Gonzalez accepted the apology with a queenly nod, backed out of the door, and tottered off.

  I turned around and realized I was standing so close to Jack that I could smell him: the tantalizing scent of green forest with a hint of something sharp and spicy and very, very masculine.

  “Are you smelling me?” He sounded amused. “I thought that was more a cat thing than a human thing.”

  I closed my eyes and prayed for the patron saint of pawnshops and stupid people to open a hole in the floor and swallow me. Unfortunately, nothing happened, which just reminded me that I hadn’t been to church in nearly a month. Needed to add that to the list. It was getting to be a long freaking list.

  “No. Allergies,” I mumbled. “Sniffles.”

  “If you’re allergic to cats, we might have a problem with this conversation,” he drawled, clearly getting more than a little entertainment out of my humiliation.

  Jerk.

  “Can we just get down to business?” I retreated to my safe spot behind the counter. “We need to see Jeremiah’s lawyer, Mr. Chen, and figure out—”

  “I don’t want to figure out anything, and I don’t like lawyers. I told you, I don’t want the pawnshop, not even for the chance to work with a gorgeous redhead with long legs and big blue eyes.” He looked positively predatory when he said it, and I suddenly knew just how a field mouse felt when it saw the shadow of a hawk.

  “I’m not a mouse,” I said firmly. “You can keep your false flattery to yourself. We need to be legal about whatever it is you want to do. If you don’t want half the shop, we need to work out a payment plan, and—”

  “You can give me Fluffy for my share,” he said, cutting me off again, and smiling a slow, dangerous smile that would have made my grandma slap his face or shoot him if she’d seen him aim it at me.

  I, proud of my restraint, did neither of those things. I also didn’t leap over the counter and jump on him, which was pretty impressive, considering how long it had been since I’d had sex. Instead, I took a deep breath and tried to think of how to convince a thick-skulled tiger that we had to go talk to the lawyer.

  A loud thumping noise at the back door interrupted my train of thought, and I jumped about a foot in the air. The roar of someone flooring a truck engine followed. Jack vaulted over the counter in a single leap, not even using his hands, and started to open the door before I could protest.

  “Don’t open it. It might be—” I was afraid to even say it. It couldn’t be.

  “Son of a bitch,” Jack growled. “Tess, someone just dumped a dead body at your back door.”

  “Not again,” I moaned.

  He whirled around. “Not again? What the hell does that mean?”

  My knees gave out and I collapsed back against the counter. “That’s how I found Jeremiah.”

  Chapter Two

  “My uncle was murdered, and I’m just now finding out about it?” Jack stared at me with narrowed eyes that flashed amber at their centers, and I was suddenly aware that I was alone in the shop with a very dangerous shapeshifter who also happened to be a man I didn’t know at all.

  My mouth dried out, and I held up my hand to stop whatever he was going to say. “I thought you knew. Mr. Chen said he was using an investigator to inform you of Jeremiah’s death, and now you’re here, so I thought—”

  “He told me Jeremiah died,” he said flatly. “I assumed he meant of natural causes, or he would’ve told me differently. Do you really think it would’ve taken me a month to make my way here if I’d known otherwise?”

  The pain in his face did a lot to dispel my momentary fear.

  “I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.” I swallowed and forced the words past the lump in my throat. “I loved him, you know? He was like a father to me. When I found him that morning, I kind of fell apart. I had no idea how to reach you, and I was concentrating on keeping things going, taking care of final arrangements, and whatever I could think of to do for him.”

  I took a deep breath. “You can be mad at me if you want, but we need to talk this out later. Right now, we need to call the sheriff.”

  I still didn’t want to see the body. I never wanted to see another body again. But I felt some kind of obligation to whoever it was lying on the back porch of my shop. I slipped around Jack, whose big body was still blocking the doorway, and looked down at the woman curled in a heap on the small square of concrete we used as a landing space when people delivered large items to the store. I scanned the alley almost automatically, even though we’d heard the truck peel away after dropping her. Then I looked back at her, at the…body, and I felt my stomach try to crawl up my spine.

  So much blood. It covered her face and ran down the side of her neck. It was splashed all over her side, and all over her clothes too. I forced myself to look anywhere but at the side of her neck, which had what looked like a bullet hole in it, and I whispered a prayer of thanks that her eyes were closed. I’d seen Jeremiah’s dead, staring eyes, and they still haunted my nightmares.

  She was dressed to party. Her short, sequined skirt was riding up on one hip, and she was wearing a skinny tank top with no jacket, in spite of the cool-for-January weather. Her strappy sandals were scuffed on the sides of the heels.

  Jack’s warm hands settled on my shoulders, an
d I flinched, but almost let myself lean against him just for a second. Just to stop the trembling. I couldn’t take the risk he’d touch my skin, though.

  Most people never saw one murdered body in their entire lives. Now I’d seen two in less than a year. Little colored sparkles started to appear in the edge of my vision, and I wondered distantly if I were about to pass out. There was just so much blood, and it was so red against the dark brown of her skin…

  “Do you know her?”

  “Of course I know her. It’s Dead End. I know everybody. I’ve lived here since the day I was born,” I said, tears clogging my voice. I glanced back down at what I’d been avoiding, a second look at her face.

  “Her name is Chantal Nelson. She works—worked—down at the Pit Stop grocery and bait shop. It’s a gas station too, I guess, for when people can’t make it to the Shell off the highway, but—”

  “Tess.” His voice was gentle. “You’re rambling. You might be in shock. We need to call the police, if there are any police in Dead End these days.”

  “The sheriff. He’s an idiot and a blowhard, but we have to call him. His deputy is smart, she’s Mrs. Gonzalez’s granddaughter, but she knows Chantal, and I…I just need to sit down.” I hated to look weak and stupid, but falling down in a dead faint was bound to be even worse.

  Not that it wasn’t petty to think about whether I looked bad fainting when Chantal was never going to look anything—good or bad—ever again.

  “I just bought a gallon of milk and some Fancy Feast from her a couple of days ago,” I said, like that mattered. But I didn’t really know what mattered. I didn’t have a way to process violent death. I wasn’t a cop or a criminal; I’d never been a soldier, unlike Jack. I’d spent the week after Jeremiah was killed cleaning everything in sight, working myself to exhaustion, doing anything I could think of to make myself so tired that I didn’t even dream during the few hours I’d managed to sleep.

  “That’s stupid,” I said, fumbling in the drawer under the cash register for the phone. “Who cares about milk and cat food? Well, you might, because you’re a cat, and all, but not when Chantal is dead. I don’t…I don’t—”