by Peyton Bogue
SHARPENED CLAWS
A NOVEL
PEYTON BOGUE
Copyright © 2020 Peyton Bogue
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblances to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
For further inquiries, please address all correspondence to [email protected]
ISBN-13: 9798696262161
Front cover designed by Paweł Czerwiński
Back cover designed by Emma Tamashiro
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America
For those searcing for a glimmer of light at the beginning of a very dark tunnel.
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
PART ONE
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
PART TWO
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
PART THREE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
PART FOUR
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
Acknowledgements
If all else perished,
and he remained,
I would still continue to be;
and if all else remained,
and he were annihilated,
the universe would turn to
a mighty stranger.
Emily Brontë
Wuthering Heights
PART ONE
WEREWOLF
ONE
The New York City air is hot as Sage steps out of his Camaro. A wave of humid heat hits him square in the face, and he recoils in annoyance as the heat caresses the skin of his cheek. His face flushes from the warmth as he closes his car door and tries to hold back a tired sigh.
“That suspect was a dick, Sage,” Kai says harshly as he follows Sage out of the Camaro, scoffing as he shakes his head dramatically. He huffs roughly, then slams the car door and pitches up his voice, mockingly saying, “'Kind of a turn on.' Who says that when they're getting arrested?”
Sage glances at Kai and chuckles weakly, shaking his head as he presses the button on his keys to lock the Camaro. “It's not like he asked for the cuffs, Kai,” he replies sheepishly.
“The guy was an asshole, Sage! That's a form of sexual harassment! Propositioning a police officer!”
Sage brings his hand up to quickly squeeze Kai's shoulder as they step out into the street, saying softly, “It's alright, Kai. I don't care what idiots like that say about me, just as long as I'm allowed to make the arrest when they think they're being slick.”
Sage drops his hand to rest at his side, but Kai still looks angry. “That's cute, Sage.” He scoffs again, then sighs when Sage just eyes him patiently out of the corner of his eye. “Alright, alright. I'll drop it for now. At least I know a douchebag when I see one. You're so self-righteous that you can't even see when an asshole like that is flirting with you.”
“This isn't the first time you've told me that, and it won't be the last,” Sage replies, unable to stop himself from grinning despite his annoyance at the stifling heat.
“It's the truth, Sage. Rhys is making you blind,” Kai says, glancing at him with an accusing lilt of his eyebrows.
Rhys, as brooding, stoic, and grumpy as he is, probably does have an overarching role to play in how Sage has softened—and therefore become more oblivious to flirting—over the years, but it has more to do with their shared love and affection for each other and how Rhys is cold to everyone but Sage, with the minuscule exception of Kai sometimes, than it does with Rhys actually making Sage a nicer person when he was already a pretty generous guy to begin with.
If anything, Sage has been the one to melt some of that hard-exterior that Rhys has been guarding himself with that predates even before they had first met. Rhys is loving and gentle and often overly enthusiastic in how he shows his affections, but he's also the grumpiest and most broody person Sage has ever met. His stoicism only adds more to his allure, and their life together is never dull when Sage is constantly being introduced to new aspects of the mystery that is Rhys Becker.
Sage just chuckles at Kai again, shrugging his shoulders when Kai gives him another grouchy look. “I seem to recall you telling me that he was 'the best thing that ever happened to me,'” he says nonchalantly, but he's got that small, private smile on his face he gets whenever he thinks of Rhys, and Kai looks at him with a smirk, playfully shoving him towards the middle of the street.
“I was drunk at the time, and so were you, smartass. But I said what I said,” Kai responds, nodding his head vehemently, and Sage chuckles once more. “And I'm going to enjoy it immensely when you tell him that some asshole suspect asked you to bend over his—”
Sage grimaces, shaking his head. He will most definitely not be telling Rhys about that.
“I'm not going to tell him that,” Sage replies, wrinkling his nose as he gently cuts Kai off. He shoves Kai in retalliation, giving him a playful stern look. “And neither are you.”
Kai just mimes zipping his lips shut, and they both laugh when Sage rolls his eyes.
The heat of the air grows more stifling as Sage and Kai approach the sidewalk, where thick yellow crime scene tape and ten or so uniformed police officers are keeping the public away from the entrance of an elaborate hotel on the outskirts of Manhattan with a rush of noise and a wave of disconcertment.
“Special Crimes,” Sage says to the officer closest to the yellow tape as he effortlessly shifts from his playful and joking mannerisms from a moment ago into serious and resolute. He shows his badge to the officer and the officer lifts the yellow tape up for him and Kai to walk through.
Behind them, five or six squad cars with their lights blaring reflect off of the glass doors of the entrance to the hotel. There's an ambulance parked in front of the doors, and Sage can see the Coroner's van parked catty-corner to the sidewalk.
Sage beats Kai to the door of the hotel, opening it for him and then stepping in after. The coolness that greets him immediately makes him relax as the frigid air releases some of his pent up irritation. “So, what's wrong with me being happy?” he asks Kai, arching an eyebrow.
“Nothing, Sage,” Kai says, drawing out the syllables of Sage's name dramatically. “I'm happy that you're happy. But I'm on a cleanse right now, and seeing you and Rhys together, acting the way that you do—all in love,” he says emphatically, motioning absently with his hand, “makes me jealous.”
Sage looks at Kai then, puzzled, as he narrows his eyes questioningly. Kai's chiseled face and hollow cheekbones remain impassive as Sage flicks his eyes down to Kai's button down and jeans. His sleeves are pulled up to his elbows, and his earth-brown skin contrasts nicely with the color of the dark shirt pulled taut against his torso. He looks no different than from what Sage is used to, and he knows that Kai has the build of a fit police detective hiding beneath his button down. They both do. With a job like this, constantly running around the greater area o
f New York City, they both need to be in top shape. But Kai definitely doesn't need to lose weight. “A cleanse?” he asks, confused. “From what?”
“Women,” Kai replies with a serious sigh, and Sage bites his lip to stop himself from chuckling, having not expected that reply but knowing that it's completely valid.
Malakai Tate, as charming, playful, and flirty as he is, has always seemed to have a bad track record when it comes to women. It's no surprise to Sage that he's finally taking a break and swearing off of the complicated women in his life for a while, even though Sage has been telling him that since they were in high school together.
“Well, that's good. You can be my date to Laila's engagement party,” Sage says, following Kai deeper into the hotel. Kai probably missed what he was saying, however, because the immediate loud noises of people moving throughout the building that greet them has Sage wincing slightly.
Kai leads them as they walk back towards the women's restroom, where the rest of the detectives from their precinct are moving in and out of somewhat haphazardly.
Sage and Kai walk behind an opaque wall that transitions into a waterfall, and the sight that greets them makes Sage's heart plummet in sympathy. There are forensic markers on the ground and around three of the six sinks in the bathroom, and small red sticky tapes are pointing at spots that Sage assumes is most likely blood. A forensic technician stifles through his forensic case and pulls out a camera, where he begins photographing the reason Sage and Kai have been called to a nice hotel on the edge of Manhattan and Brooklyn at one in the morning.
In the middle of the floor, with her limbs twisted up and her eyes staring forever forward, is a woman, no more than thirty years old, cold and dead on the bathroom tile.
“Emergency services received a call off of her cellphone at 8:32pm tonight. No recording,” Kai says, slipping on a pair of blue latex gloves the forensic technician hands him, before handing a pair over to Sage.
“No one was able to identify the caller?” Sage asks, accepting the gloves with a quick thanks as he snaps them on.
“No,” Kai replies, shaking his head as Sage bends down to get a better look at the woman's injuries. She's very slight, probably close to around five feet tall. She's laying on her back, and her right knee is bent and facing forward while her left leg lies flat against the bathroom tile. Her face isn't damaged or too badly disfigured, but a small blood pool near the top of her head is dirtying up her blond hair, and the skin of her scalp is clearly split open. The blood pool is too small to indicate a cause of death from blood loss, but the blood that surrounds her has clearly been smeared and disturbed, likely from a struggle or the woman's attempt to escape from her attacker. A rash on her throat covers her neck in a band that leads up to her face.
Her purse lays next to her head, undisturbed as it becomes soiled with her blood.
Sage clears his throat. “She's got blunt trauma to the head,” he notes, taking a quick glance around. “Has anyone identified her?"
"There's no wallet in her purse, so we haven't found any identification, and she doesn't have a hotel key," the forensic technician says as he moves from the body to photograph the room. "Jane Doe here doesn't seem to be a hotel guest."
“What do you think, Sage? Robbery/homicide?” Kai asks, tilting his head to the side questioningly.
Sage shakes his head and glances around the victim's body again. She's wearing expensive clothing, Sage notices—a beige peacoat and expensive looking pearls and an equally flagrant black dress. One of her Louboutin heels has fallen off her foot, most likely due to her apparent struggle, but the other remains securely fastened to her small foot, looking impeccable in the surprisingly light and opulent bathroom lighting.
“I don't think this was an attempted robbery. Why would the suspect leave behind a Louis Vuitton bag?” Sage asks, grabbing the woman's purse and holding it up for Kai to see. “Do you know how much these things cost?”
“No, and not every robber would know that it’s a Louis Vuitton,” Kai replies, shrugging as he snaps his glove.
“I knew it was a Louis,” a voice says, and Sage looks up towards the entrance of the bathroom, where a security guard shrugs at them. Sage’s eyes flicker back to Kai, and he smirks. Kai just rolls his eyes.
“Regardless,” Sage says, standing up from where he'd been crouched down, "this is a pretty public place to rob and kill someone.”
“And this is a five-star hotel,” the security guard says, shrugging again.
“Can we get some five-star service, then, and maybe take a look at some security footage?” Kai replies, crossing his arms and facing the security guard. The security gaurd nods quickly, and Kai gives him a sarcastic grin. “Great.”
Kai walks out of the bathroom after the security guard, turning back with a dramatic, petulant look in Sage's direction, and Sage chuckles as he leaves.
He glances down at the victim again and takes in her bruised arms and tousled blonde hair. She's been through hell, Sage can tell, just by the way her eyes are pinched at the corners, even in death. The flash from another techie's camera startles him out of his daze a moment later, and he's up and out of the room a second later, following the sounds of Kai and the security guard.
When Sage enters the lobby, he sees Kai and the security guard huddled behind the guest check-in desk, and Sage walks around the desk to stand by Kai's side, hunching down to get a better look at the video.
The video is grainy at best, but Sage clearly sees the victim stumbling against the walls leading back to the bathroom, where she almost collapses as she disappears behind the waterfall.
“An injured woman walks into a hotel and no one even blinks or stops to ask her if she needs help. You’ve got to love New York City,” Sage scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “So, where's our bad guy?”
“That we don't know, but techies were finally able to identify the victim off of her cellphone records,” another voice says, and both Sage and Kai look up, past the desk, where Lieutenant Mikalina Sinclair leans against the top of the marble countertop and looks up at them with her steely gaze.
“Lieutenant,” Sage and Kai greet her in unison, nodding at her.
“Kaelan, Tate,” she acknowledges back, giving them both a nod.
Mikalina has the face of angel and a personality as grave as a demon. Her long, fiery red hair falls loosely around her shoulders, muting the cream color of her blouse as she tilts her head to the side, glancing at the security footage. She arches a manicured eyebrow at Sage, who just continues to stand stiff and composed. Mikalina grins at his equanimous demeanor.
His friendship with Mikalina revolves around both his and Kai's abilities to solve their cases, but they've all been friends for a few years now, and Mikalina is someone Sage sees equally as his best friend, like Kai, but she's also his boss, so he always acts accordingly and professional whenever she's around, no matter how much both Mikalina and Kai tease him for his overt professionalism.
“Her name is Eliana Kell, and she's not a hotel guest,” Mikalina continues, nodding at the footage that's frozen on the victim's face.
Kai nods, looking up from his phone in his hands. “Google says she's the executive editor of a magazine called Hemera. I think it's some kind of beauty tabloid. She lives in Brooklyn.”
“What's she doing at a hotel in Manhattan?” Sage asks. "Does she have a husband? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?”
“Says here she's got a wife. Captain Lillian Rollins,” Kai reads off, scrolling through an article. “She's some kind of hotshot captain in the Air Force. They're basically a page six power couple.”
Sage gives him a confused look, not understanding the reference, and asks, “So where's Captain Powerful now?”
“No one has been able to track her down,” Mikalina supplies, crossing her arms.
“Looks like we've got our work cut out for us yeah, Sage?” Kai asks, pocketing his phone and giving a nudge to Sage's overly muscular left shoulder.
Sage bite
s back another sigh, his annoyance bubbling up inside of him again. He's already feeling the gnawing of exhaustion begin to tighten at the back of his head as his eyes sting slightly from his tiredness, but he tries to resolutely shake himself and settle in for the long night ahead of them.
“Not tonight, you don't,” Mikalina cuts in before Sage can respond. “Get come rest and head over to Hemera Magazine in the morning to interview Mrs. Kell's coworkers. See if you can dig up anything on the wife, too.”
“Copy that, Lieutenant,” Sage says, not bothering to hide the gratefulness of his tone, and Kai gives her a mock salute. “See you tomorrow, Mik.”
Mikalina gives them a dismissive wave before they both turn around and head out the front doors of the hotel towards Sage's Camaro.
“Man, this night's been long,” Kai says once they're both seated.
Sage presses his keys into the ignition and starts the car, nodding in agreement. “I hate to see someone so young end up like that,” he says, sighing.
Kai echoes his sigh. “Me, too.”
They head back towards the thick of Brooklyn, making idle conversation just to keep the other one awake as the stoplights drag on and their exhaustion continues to grow. Kai's head starts drooping somewhere past the Brooklyn Bridge and Dumbo, and by the time they've reached Atlantic Avenue and Boerum Hill, Kai's eyes are closed, and his breaths are steady and deep.
Sage hates waking him, but they pull into the precinct parking lot, where Kai's car is waiting to take him home back to his place in Park Slope. He looks peaceful, though, and Sage immediately feels bad when he quietly says, “Kai,” and Kai's eyes open quickly, and he shoots up from his place in the passenger seat.
“Sorry, man. I didn't mean to fall asleep on you,” Kai says apologetically, bashfully rubbing at the back of his neck in mild chagrin.