Wyatt Case, The Gravedigger’s Brawl
At thirty-eight, he didn’t consider himself old, but he was out of ideas and out of touch with the target audience.
But the moment he’d seen Wyatt Case walk through the door, he’d been intrigued by the man’s aura. Confidence mixed with uncertainty. Intelligence countered by naiveté. Smoking hot swimmer’s body camouflaged by khakis.
The guy was cute as hell. His sandy blond hair was cut short and neat, allowing him to run his fingers through it without mussing it. He had beautiful sea-blue eyes that looked like they could cut glass. He was about the same height as Ash, maybe six feet tall, and had that whole bumbling academic with pent-up sexual frustrations vibe going.
His costume from the gala was still in his office, hanging in a bag on the back of his door. It probably wasn’t appropriately gory for a party called the Gravedigger’s Brawl, but it fit and it would do well enough. He pulled out the Confederate officer’s uniform and turned it around, inspecting it for flaws. It was a perfect replica, worthy to be worn by a museum curator in a city that had once been the capital of the Confederacy.
Roux, Abigail. The Gravedigger's Brawl. Riptide Publishing. Kindle Edition.