Dead To You
Heather Wynter
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2020 by Heather Wynter
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Published by Willowlake Media
www.willowlakemedia.com
ISBN: 978-1-952217-04-3
For Madi,
Unconditional.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Also by Heather Wynter
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About the Author
Chapter One
Greer Lange ran down the grimy alley, her feet slamming the pavement in unison with her heartbeat. The fall rain reflected the lights in twisted prisms, and the puddles splashed beneath her heels. Her breathing was steady. Years of training had kept her endurance high and her senses keen. She reached the end of the alley and turned left, no time to worry about who or what might be in her way.
She barely missed smashing into a young couple, the man shouting at her as she ran past. She didn’t give him a second thought. Her target was still on the move, and they were about to lose him.
Where’s Sean, she wondered, or have I lost him too?
But there was no more time to think about it. She spotted the man called Stooper ducking into an alley across the street. Greer ran into the street, a car honking and skidding on the wet pavement to avoid hitting her.
“You crazy bitch!”
His words rang in the back of her head. Maybe I am crazy, she thought. But that was all she had the time or inclination to think about before running into that alley. It was dark and isolated, and Greer knew right away that she was running into an ambush.
But there was no time to wait for Sean. She charged into the alley. It was narrow and dark, and the smell hit her before she noticed the garbage cans and other debris on each side. The metal trash can lid came whirling from out in front of her. It hit her hard and sent her reeling back, her feet flying out from under her.
Greer’s back hit the concrete, the slime of the garbage sticking to her, her head ringing with pain from front to back.
Stooper threw a hard kick into her side, his foot landing hard in her belly. A second kick did even more damage and felt like he might have bruised a kidney. She watched his leg retreat as he prepared to kick her again, and she grabbed his ankle. A hard pull and a twist of her body pulled Stooper over her, his other foot tripping over her as she managed to bring him to the ground with her. He kicked her arm, and she lost her grip. Stooper pushed himself up and started running back in the direction they’d come.
Greer struggled to her feet, slipping in the grime and straining to breathe. She heard footsteps running up behind her and turned, knowing she didn’t have enough left to take on another accomplice.
“Greer!” Sean ran up from the other side of the alley. He’d have been perfectly positioned to intercept Stooper if he’d kept running and not stopped to take Greer on, then double-back. But there was no purpose in worrying about that.
She pointed at the street where Stooper had fled, and Sean was quick to jump into the chase. Greer pedaled after him, but she had to let him take the lead.
Damn it, she thought, I should have known better!
Greer focused on Sean, who was following a line of pursuit down the street, too far away for her to track. Her lungs strained and her heart pounded, but she had to keep running. She kept her eyes on Sean, who seemed to have a bead on Stooper.
Greer got closer, and Sean got closer, both closing in on their prey.
The bus blasted its horn, loud even in that New York night. Greer’s stomach turned as she anticipated the horrible possibility. The screech of the bus’s big tires ended with the thump of contact. People around the accident gasped, one woman screamed, and Sean, just a few steps ahead of her, stopped to look.
She arrived, gasping and straining and leaning against Sean for support before focusing on the body lying on the street in front of the bus.
Stooper lay face up, eyes open, blood trickling out of his mouth, chest motionless, one leg bent awkwardly, clearly broken but seeming to inspire no pain at all.
“Shit!” Sean said, then turned to Greer to add, “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault,” she said.
Police and ambulance sirens were soft in the distance and getting louder fast as they neared. She looked at that bent and battered corpse, caring nothing for the soul who had inhabited it. The distinctive scar across his right cheek was instantly familiar, telling Greer what she needed to know.
She’d finally found the man who’d shot her husband, but now he would never be able to tell her why he’d done it or who else was involved. Her three-year quest for justice for her late husband had come to a dead end.
Forty minutes later, New York Police Department detective Bernie Morrison leaned back in his creaky wooden chair, the desk in front of him cluttered with paperwork, an old landline telephone, pens, and an off-brand desktop computer. Big and black with short graying hair, he was a striking contrast to Greer, who was just over five and a half feet tall, pale and compact, her red hair and green eyes revealing her Scotch-Irish heritage. Black-Irish Sean Callahan sat next to her, tall and athletic, a single lock of black hair hanging over his blue eyes.
“You were chasing him?”
“That’s right,” Greer said, her voice steady.
“Stole your purse, did he?”
“Killed her husband, actually.”
Morrison’s cocky smile faded, his eyes shifting from Greer to Sean. “And who are you?”
Sean pulled out a business card and dropped it on the desk. “Sean Callahan, private investigations.”
Morrison’s eyes glanced at the card then back to Sean before turning again to Greer. “Uh-huh.”
Greer had no doubts about the implication, but she didn’t care. Her disappointment and frustration were uppermost in her mind and heart, and some New York cop’s snotty notions about what the two of them did in their private time were of no interest to her.
So she explained, “I’ve hired Mr. Callahan to help me find the men who killed my husband.”
“Your husband,” Morrison said. “Lange?”
“Yes, Spencer Lange,” she corrected him. “Shot to death in Tribeca three years ago.”
“Tribeca,” he repeated. “That’s not my beat. You live there?”
“Used to,” she said. “Moved to Colorado. Denver.”
“Maybe you’re more efficient over here than Tribeca,” Sean said. “She gave the
m eyewitness descriptions that very night, but they couldn’t find the shooter.”
“So Sean had to find him,” Greer said. “Stooper’s been in and out of the state, going underground. But that tells us he was hiding from somebody, and it wasn’t us.”
“Accomplices,” Morrison said.
She nodded. “I think it’s the mob, or maybe mob-related.”
“This punk Stooper,” Sean said, “he was a low-rent hood, did some time for a stickup in Yonkers about five years ago. But our trail more or less ends there. We feel like he’s mobbed up.”
Morrison shrugged. “Actually, Daniel Spolter is his name … I’ll look into it, but I don’t think he’ll lead you anywhere.”
“And why is that?” Sean snapped.
Morrison leaned forward, his big, round body straining the chair beneath him. “Because we’re undermanned and overworked as it is, pal. You don’t need me to tell you how things are. Your Husband’s death was, what, three years ago? That’s a cold case, and we’ve got actual living people to protect and serve here. Second, if you two are right about the guy—”
“I saw it happen,” Greer said. “It’s the same man, same scar.”
“All right then,” Morrison said. “There you go—justice has been served. Go back to Colorado or wherever and forget about New York.” Reading Greer’s shocked, indignant expression, he went on, “He’s dead, and your husband’s been avenged. Be happy.”
“But we have every reason to think there are other people involved,” she said.
“All the more reason to drop it,” Morrison answered. “If there are others involved, then they’re bad people, and you don’t want them to involve themselves with you. Look what they did to your husband.”
“Then think of what they could be doing to other people,” Sean said, “the living people you’re sworn to serve and protect.”
“Don’t get snippy with me,” Morrison said. “I don’t need some private dick coming here and telling me how to do my job. So unless you two would like to spend some time behind bars while I work out manslaughter charges—”
“Manslaughter?” Greer asked.
“Your friend here threw the kid in front of the bus … to impress you … for obvious reasons.”
Greer looked him up and down, disgust rising hot in her blood. “What kind of cop are you?”
“You don’t wanna know, lady.”
A mean silence passed while Greer and Morrison stared each other down. Sean finally said, “All right, Greer, let’s get outta here.”
“But Sean, I—”
“Let’s not waste any more of the detective’s time.” Sean held her gaze, a tense silence between them. She realized that if a man as contentious and ready to fight as Sean was backing down, then backing down might be the right thing to do. And getting smashed in the face in a blind alley was a good reminder that she was getting too ready to charge into territory she didn’t entirely understand, and how dangerous that practice could be.
“Okay, all right,” Greer said, standing up from the little chair. Sean did the same. The detective didn’t even bother standing up. “Thanks for your time and trouble,” she added.
Morrison nodded. “Enjoy the rest of your stay in New York.”
Greer walked with Sean out onto the streets of the lower east side. Cars rolled by, and pedestrians walked past them in both directions, oblivious to their surroundings. Nobody cares, she thought. Not about anything or anyone.
Sean sighed. “At least we know the shooter’s out. And y’know, Morrison could be right.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“I know, but he could be right about that too.” That comment grabbed Greer’s attention, but he was quick to explain. “It was three years ago, the shooting. Whoever ordered it could be dead or in prison for something else.” A strained tension settled between them. One car honked at another as they drove by. “I know it’s not easy to accept,” Sean went on, “and you’ve been at this a long time. But maybe … maybe it’s time to let it go. I mean, nothing’s going to bring him back. And the shooter, he’s … he’s paid the price. There’s really nothing more we can do.”
Greer shook her head. It was a bitter feeling, settling sour on the back of her tongue.
“Look,” said Sean. “I know how it is. It’s happened to me before. You get on a case, and it … it becomes an obsession. But the hard fact is that not every case gets solved to complete satisfaction. Actually, none of them bring complete satisfaction—there’s just a feeling of resolve.”
“Well, I don’t know if I’ll ever be resolved, but I guess you’re right. Spencer’s gone, and the past is the past.”
“There you go,” Sean said. “It’s time to move on. And really, you should be glad we got as far as we did. I knew I’d track that little rat bastard down.”
“Yeah, I … thanks for the good work, Sean. You’ve been great through all this. You’re as good as everybody said.” Sean shrugged with a modest smile, and Greer felt she had to say, “And I know you have other clients, and … y’know, with us …”
“Don’t think twice about it. Two people thrown into peril, the body chemicals get going. It’s nobody’s fault. Tell you the truth, it was the best night of my life, but it was unprofessional, and I shouldn’t have let things go there.”
She smiled. “It’s just … I don’t just fall into bed like that …”
“No, of course not.”
“And we … we live separate lives.”
“Greer, you don’t owe me any explanations.” He placed his hands on her upper arms and drew her close for a little kiss on the forehead. “Let me see you back to your hotel.” He raised his hand to flag down a cab.
“I guess this is … goodbye.”
Sean nodded with a soft smile. “We can stay in touch, just in case you ever need me.” She was glad to hear it, and it was easy to return his smile with one of her own. “You’re going back to Colorado then?”
Greer shrugged and looked around. “No point in hanging around here. You?”
“South America, actually.”
“Really?”
“Peru, looking for somebody’s deadbeat husband. Prick’s backpacking around with the expats while his wife and children go hungry.” The cab pulled up and stopped, and Sean said to the driver, “Waldorf Astoria.” He opened the back door and waited while she climbed in. He leaned over and gave her a warm nod. “Good luck, Greer.”
“Oh,” she said, brows raised on her pale forehead, “I thought you were going to see me back to the hotel.”
He smiled. “I should go.”
Chapter Two
Sean Callahan had the heavy feeling that he’d never see Greer Lange again. He’d been waiting a long time for the end of her investigation, which presented a certain professional and ethical question, if not an actual conflict. And they’d both been burned by the one time they’d allowed themselves to step over that line.
He decided then that he would go to her after the case was over, and it finally seemed to be. But he did have a case in Peru, and that needed his immediate attention. And, as with every case, he had no way of knowing what would happen, whether he’d ever return, or where he’d be called upon to go next.
Sean walked away from the gravesite, turning to see Greer standing with the others who would remain in her life. She’d find love with one of them, of that he was certain. Probably that accountant, he couldn’t help thinking. And if it was not one of the men currently in her life, he didn’t doubt she’d find somebody new. She was a gorgeous redhead with the face of an angel and a body that could stop a clock. She was brave, she was evolving, and she was ready to throw herself into situations that would have the toughest men running for the hills. There was so much power in that silhouette, small in the distance of the cemetery hill.
Well, she’ll be facing new challenges now, and she’ll rise to them. She’ll never have to face danger the way she did in New York. Few enough people do even once in their lives.
And whatever else comes at her, she’ll be more than ready. I’ve taught her well.
But his pride and affection were bittersweet. Sean knew that when he turned his back, he would be walking away from her for the last time.
Good luck, sweet Greer, he thought. Have a beautiful life.
Sean did what he knew he had to do—turn to leave that brave and beautiful woman behind forever. He had to return to his own world, one of ugliness and vileness and depravity, where the scum of the earth did their very best to do their very worst. A deadbeat dad who ran off to Peru, child predators on the run, murderers and rapists and hoods and thieves. Sean was already beleaguered, feeling the full weight of his thirty-five years on his shoulders. He’d been a PI for five of them, and they’d been the most challenging and the most dangerous of his life. But they hadn’t done much to brighten his worldview.
It was for people like Greer to do that, but more and more, such people were fleeting, disappearing from his life to leave only the criminal, only the vicious dog to be beaten down and caged, even put down if necessary.
But Sean also knew there was little more he could do to make a living or contribute to society, which had little enough purpose for an ex-Marine whose only two marketable skills were stalking and killing.
He climbed into his rental car to drive back to the airport. Rental to rental, Sean was painfully aware of his rootless life. No family, he had to remind himself, no love, no real connections at all since the folks died. Well, that’s probably for the best. I can’t be weighed down by a woman who can’t keep up, who’ll get us both killed. And what am I going to do, sell cars in some suburb somewhere? Not that I wouldn’t mind slowing down or even getting off this crazy ride, but … we all have our limits.
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