Coming Home (Detective Dahlia Book 1)

by Laurèn Lee

  How was it in a highly populated, bustling city, no one knew a damn thing?

  “Hi, Elle,” she said cautiously while she smoothed her mini skirt over her tights with multiple runs down the legs.

  “Bunny,” I slurred. “I need you.”

  “What can I do for ya?”

  The bartender nodded to her, but she shook her head. Me, on the other hand, I asked for another double.

  “You have to know something. Anything,” I begged.

  Bunny massaged her temples and inadvertently smeared her glitter eyeshadow. “Elle, I’m sorry, boo. I told you. I haven’t been able to dig up anything on him. I’m truly sorry.”

  “Bullshit!” I’d screamed.

  I clenched my empty glass so tightly it shattered in the palm of my hands. Glass fell to the floor intertwined with a stream of my blood. A few patrons gasped, but I just squeezed the glass into my bleeding hand even deeper. I needed to feel the physical pain to try to mask the emotional turmoil inside my heart. It didn’t work.

  Bunny apologized and scurried out of the bar. I hadn’t heard from her again despite my copious apologies in the form of notes I left for her at our spot. Maybe she was just another bridge I’d burned on my path to self-destruction.

  I nudged my laptop to the side of my bed while I planted my feet firmly on the new hardwood floors of my bedroom. My body cracked and creaked while I stretched. While I sat up, disorientation took hold, and I swayed side to side. I gripped my comforter to steady myself as I eyed the wine.

  People said time healed all wounds, but I disagreed. When your wounds were too deep, too thick, there was absolutely nothing you could do. It was like putting a bandaid on a bullet hole—it didn’t do shit.

  I’d never forget the wretched pain slicing into my bones on the day of Zac’s memorial. My entire body felt numb, yet wracked with earth-shattering agony. It was as though a piece of me, or rather, half of my soul was ripped away. As I looked at my brothers and sisters in blue, I couldn’t imagine losing anyone else to the violence of the streets. We laid our lives on the line day in and day out. And for what? Zac lay in a casket, never to hold me in his arms again.

  I knew the day he told me he was going undercover with the Jagged Edges that it wasn’t a good idea. I wanted him to serve and protect the community, but I didn’t want him to get killed either.

  The Jagged Edges were a well-known gang in the city. The Ashford PD had investigated them for years, trying to find any evidence to pin them down for the opioid epidemic in the area. Everyone knew they contributed to the problem, but no one could prove it.

  Zac’s assignment was to infiltrate the gang and try to find that proof. He was undercover for six months before he was murdered. I thought it had to be someone from the gang, but I couldn’t prove it. No one else could find evidence to support that either.

  Luckily, no one from the gang appeared to know Zac’s true identity, because there was no backlash, and his death was kept out of the media, for the most part. The department feared if he was found out, they’d come after me next. But no one ever did. I would have welcomed it, though. I would have given anything to be reunited with Zac in this life or the next.

  The day he was shot happened to be while I was on duty. I was looking into a triple homicide a few blocks away when shots rang out. I knew my crime scene paralleled the Jagged Edges’ territory in town. As soon as I heard the gunfire, I knew in my heart something happened to Zac. Some called it intuition; some called me crazy, but I just knew.

  I left my scene and sped off in the direction of the shooting. My radio buzzed with electricity of other officers reporting to the scene. One of our good friends from the department, Dave, was already there. He saw me coming and told me not to come any closer. I pushed past him and approached my worst nightmare.

  Zac lay on the ground, his civilian clothes soaked in his own blood. Air caught in my lungs as I froze in place. It wasn’t until Zac turned his head to look at me that I fell to my knees. Sirens surrounded us as dozens of officers cleared the area, called for backup and tried to peel me away. I crawled toward Zac as my body shook with wretched sobs.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered. “I love—”

  He never finished his sentence.

  Outside, the breeze ruffled the branches and pushed them against my window. Growing up, I spent many nights with the sheets up to my nose, terrified of the eerie shadows crawling upon my bedroom wall. As an adult, I knew that monsters weren't real, not exactly. But mankind could give the boogeyman a run for his money.

  Crossing my legs, I heaved my laptop back onto my knees. Electricity swirled in my veins as I pulled up Google and swiftly typed "CallieBBY14" into the search space using quotation marks before and after the name.

  Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath before I pressed “Enter,” unsure what results would appear, if any. When I opened my eyes, several search results stared back at me from the smudged computer screen. I gulped and scanned the top few results. The first one pulled from a site called 2Hawt4U. The preview text under the site's URL read, "Chat with me and make all your dreams cum true, xoxo!”

  So, Callie worked as an online sex worker. Dozens of questions clouded my thoughts while I clicked the link to the website. Instantly, raunchy music accompanied by sounds that should only be heard in the privacy of one's bedroom blared through my speakers. Heat flooded my cheeks. I muted the volume and hoped my mom and stepdad didn't hear.

  I navigated to Callie's profile on the site and couldn't help but cringe. I still couldn't believe this was the girl I spent hours with, braiding her hair and sharing bowls of popcorn while we binge-watched Disney movies.

  I scrolled further down the page to find several videos with half-naked thumbnail photos of Callie. Bile rose in my throat, and I couldn't bring myself to watch one.

  I glanced at the clock. The hour hand crept past the number ten, halfway to eleven. Instinctively, I brought my thumb to my lips and nibbled on the quicks of my nails, or what was left of them, anyway.

  It didn't take long for the distinct taste of metal to reach my tongue. Blood trickled out from under my nail bed; I'd gone too far. I reached for a tissue on my nightstand. My hand brushed past an ivory lamp emitting a soft buttery glow, my cell phone charger, Burt's Bees chapstick, and a few dollar bills.

  Upon seeing the money, an idea sprouted inside my mind. Why couldn't I go to the Hens' Den and ask if anyone knew anything about Callie's whereabouts? I was sure they'd be much more apt to talk to another female and one without a badge than the cops.

  I heaved myself out of bed with a rejuvenated sense of purpose. Glancing in the mirror attached to my cherry wood vanity set, I wiped under my eyes to remove the smudged eyeliner. Then, I reached for the lipstick in my purse, dug around for it until I felt the slick plastic against my skin. I parted my lips and slowly dragged the stick across them, creating an illusion of a woman with confidence.

  My breathing quickened as I grabbed my car keys. After one more look in the mirror, I turned to face the door to my bedroom. My next step brought me crashing to my knees as I tripped over the edge of the stool in front of my mirror. Searing pain roared throughout my right kneecap as I rubbed it eagerly.

  "You okay?" Jack called from their bedroom.

  "Fine! I'm fine!”

  I shook my head and tossed my car keys aside, knowing full well that I shouldn't be driving. At least this time, I had enough sense not to get behind the wheel.

  I clicked my ridesharing app. With the touch of a button, Sandy A. was on her way to pick me up. After I snatched one last look in the mirror, I tiptoed down the stairs to the kitchen and opened my parents' liquor cabinet.

  There were a few bottles of top-shelf vodka—my favorite. I turned my head to listen for any sounds from upstairs. How would it look if my mom or stepdad came downstairs to find me rummaging through their alcohol at eleven at night?

  After a minute, and the assurance no one was awake, I popped the top of the Grey
Goose and took a sip. Goosebumps danced down the length of my arms. I squeezed my eyes shut before I took a deep breath, capturing all the oxygen in my lungs. I tipped it once more into my mouth as my phone buzzed.

  My ride had arrived.

  With a final pour of vodka, followed by the burning of my throat, I put the liquor back into the cabinet. Using the back of my sleeve, I wiped my mouth.

  As I stepped outside, a soft breeze rippled through my hair. I strode toward the woman in the car. For the first time in a long time, exhilaration coursed through my veins. Something terrible happened to Callie, and I was going to find out who hurt her.

  Twelve

  "Will you read me a story?" Callie asked.

  "Callie, you've already taken your bath, had a second dessert and called your mom to say goodnight. I think it's time for bed," I said.

  She giggled, her face illuminated beside the fairy lamp on her nightstand. "Please! Pretty please with sugar and raspberries on top?”

  I rolled my eyes as I crossed my arms over my chest. Callie made it nearly impossible to say no to her. With her sparkling eyes and pronounced dimples, not to mention her out-of-this-world manners, I found myself doing whatever she asked of me to an extent.

  We'd already played the globe game several times because it was so hard to tell her no. The globe game consisted of us closing our eyes, spinning the globe and stopping it with our fingers. Wherever we landed, that's where we would travel. Callie always chirped about wanting to see the world, and I empathized with her because so did I.

  "Okay, just one story. But then it's bedtime for real. No more excuses. No more last-minute requests. Understand?”

  "Yes, Elle! I pinky promise," she said with a tone so sugary it hurt my teeth.

  I sighed. Outside, the moon poked out from behind the clouds, its luminous glow blanketing Callie's bedroom floor. Down the street, I imagined my mom watching television while she waited for me to come home from babysitting darling little Callie. However, I didn't mind staying here later because it meant a few extra bucks in my pocket. I was saving up to buy Noah a special birthday gift. I saw a beautiful watch at Macy's. I just had to get it for him.

  I sat beside Callie on her bed. A comforter covered in stars and unicorns was pulled tight to her chin as she eagerly awaited a story. I reached for the book on her nightstand, which we'd read one hundred times, but I supposed one hundred and one couldn't hurt. It was about a mouse and a cookie. Callie adored this one and usually asked for me to read it over and over and over. Tonight, she'd get one read-through, and then it was lights out.

  I opened the book and turned to the first page. I read slowly but surely while showing Callie the pictures so she could follow along. She giggled in between her eyes fluttering open and closed. I knew it wouldn't be long before sleep took hold of the sweet girl before me. We spent most of the evening doing gymnastics in the backyard coupled with learning a new dance from a video she borrowed from the library.

  I actually could have fallen asleep at any moment too. I never knew how kids possessed so much energy. They were like little bolts of lightning prancing around the earth.

  After a few more pages, Callie's eyes closed and did not open. Subtle snores gently rumbled from her, and I couldn't help but smile. I watched a few other kids in the neighborhood, but Callie was undoubtedly my favorite.

  I moved to ease myself from the bed, but as I inched toward its edge, Callie reached out for me.

  "Please don't go," she whispered. "I don't want to be alone. I’m afraid of the dark!”

  The girl knew how to tug at my heartstrings. A smile spread across my face.

  "Okay, Callie girl. I won't leave, but you have to get some sleep, okay?"

  "Uh-huh," she mumbled.

  With Callie nestled underneath her blankets, I lay beside her on top of them. With her tiny fingers interlaced with mine, we fell asleep side by side, utterly content in each other's company.

  Thirteen

  "Where ya headed?" an older woman with reddish-brown hair asked from the front seat.

  I exhaled softly, knowing she could see the address on her phone.

  "The Hens' Den," I replied with a hiccup.

  "Ahhh," Sandy said.

  I caught her glance at me from her rearview mirror. Surely she wanted to get a closer look at her rider who requested to go to the only strip club in town. I looked away, turning toward the shadows blanketing the backseat of the car. Gazing out of the window, cookie-cutter houses passed by in a blur, so similar on the outside while different people and families lived in the inside.

  However, most of the people in Keygate followed the same path: graduated from the local high school, either skipped college or opted for the community college instead of a four-year institution farther away. Many married and popped out a few kids before their twenty-first birthdays. Some of my classmates were already working through divorces according to social media.

  There were outliers, though—the ones like me who chose a different path. And yet, I found my way back to Keygate regardless. In life, it didn't always matter the road you took because you'd end up exactly where you needed to be.

  When I told my mom and dad about my plans to go to school outside Keygate and move, too, they couldn't quite understand.

  "You have everything you need here, Elle," my dad said. "What's out there that you can't get here?”

  Growing up in a small town and knowing nearly every person wasn't the life I wanted to choose for myself. I wanted something more, to be independent and see if I could make it on my own. Not to mention everything that happened with Noah, why would I want to stay in a place with a constant reminder of my heartbreak? I always told myself if I didn't like living away from Keygate, I could always come back. But I couldn't go back in time if I never took the chance.

  Sandy remained quiet the rest of the ride, which I felt eternally grateful for. I wasn't in the mood for talking. Luckily she wasn't either.

  Before long, she slowed down and parked the car just outside the Hens' Den. She put her wrinkled hand on the passenger's side headrest to turn and face me. She'd penciled in her eyebrows and painted her lashes with long, clumpy mascara. She gave a half-smile, which I returned reluctantly.

  "Thanks for the ride," I said meekly.

  "I'm on shift for another couple of hours. Find me in the app if you want me to come back and get ya. Okay?”

  I nodded and exited the car. Sandy used her turn signal to return to the road. I watched her from the corner of my eye until her taillights disappeared in the darkness. In front of me, a burly bouncer with a leather vest and ripped jeans stood at the black door, chipped from years of wear and tear. He looked me up and down with a smirk. I was used to guys like this, and despite his teardrop tattoo and copious chains hanging from his waist, he didn't scare me.

  "ID," he grunted.

  "No problem." I pulled out my ID and handed it to the man. His bald head reflected the grapefruit-colored neon sign above the door. The sign flickered every few seconds while the buzz of the neon hummed like a dozen honey bees swarming my earlobes.

  He studied me and my driver's license before nodding toward my hand. I limply extended my arm for him to push a rubber stamp onto my hand. I winced as he dug the ink into my skin, but I wouldn't let him see my reaction.

  The bouncer moved aside, but not before he pulled a cigarette out of his back pocket and lit it with a match from a book donning the club's signature logo. "'Ave a good night," he said with the cigarette hanging between his chapped lips.

  I pulled the door toward me and stepped inside the Hens' Den.

  Immediately a cloud of cigar smoke billowed out of the door, enveloping me in its bitter wake. Electronic music blared from the outdated sound system. I could feel the bass deep in my chest. Apart from the smoke, the scent of cheap, flowery perfume and even cheaper beer permeated the air. I could barely see except for the lights illuminating the girls on stage.

  The stage was smaller than I'd expect
ed. Although, seeing as how I'd never been to a strip club before, I didn't know what to expect. There was a single metal pole stretching from the ceiling to the wooden floorboards of the stage. An old disco ball hung only feet away from the pole. My eyes scanned the stage. I couldn't help but stare in awe as a woman with bare breasts danced on the pole and swung around it with ease. The woman's burgundy hair reached the small of her back while her stage makeup transformed her into an otherworldly person. I squinted, trying to see if I recognized her, but I couldn't make her out.

  At least a dozen men camped out at high-top tables around the stage. Most of them had a drink in one hand and a cigar in the other while a stack of bills lay scattered on their tables, ready to hand out. A shiver shimmied down my spine. Sure, everyone's gotta make a living, but couldn't these women do something besides dance for these eager men, husbands, and fathers? These girls were someone's daughters, sisters, mothers.

  However, I pushed these thoughts from my clouded mind. Judging the suspended woman with a cheetah G-string wasn't why I came to the Hens' Den.

  "You need something, sweetie?" a shorter woman asked. Her breasts were at least twice the size of mine, and she wore a pleated plaid skirt.

  "Vodka tonic, please," I said. "Make it a double.”

  She winked. Before the server turned away, I glimpsed several bills stuffed into her bra. I assumed these girls brought home more in one night than I did in a whole week on the force.

  Nelly's “Hot in Here” turned on while I seated myself at a booth near the back of the bar where I could scan the crowd from a distance. Did any of these men know Callie? Could her murderer be in the room at this very moment?

  The dancer with the burgundy hair collected her bills from the stage, but not before blowing a kiss to the ogling men who studied her intently.

  The server returned with my cocktail in hand. She wore oversized Ray-Ban eyeglasses, definitely giving off a sexy schoolgirl vibe.

  "Here you go, sugar." She set down my drink with a smile.