“You’re worthy. Don’t forget it.”
The hairs at the back of her neck prickled. “Why so serious all of a sudden?”
“I need you to tell me you believe that. You’re worthy of love. You deserve everything good. Tell me, Michaela.”
Tears stung her eyes. She didn’t believe it and couldn’t lie to him. “What are you talking about, you nut. You’re the good one in this odd couple. I’ll see you in a couple hours—”
“Mad Dog,” Angelo called, tapping his watch. “Time to move!”
“I’ve got to go, Hank. Love you.”
She hung up before he could return the sentiment, climbed out of the car and joined the others. They reached the business’s front entrance. The Welcome, Come On In sign hung slightly askew on the door.
“See,” Angelo said, grinning at her as he opened the door, “it’s all good.”
But it wasn’t, they saw a moment later. Micki stood in the center of the wrecked reception area. She turned in a slow circle. Desk drawers hanging open, contents gone. Walls stripped of photos, awards, diplomas. Shelves cleared.
Blackwood had bolted.
“Son of a bitch,” she muttered. “This can’t be happening.”
“How’d she know?” Angelo asked. “You think somebody tipped her?”
Micki looked at him, his stunned expression. “The third queen, Angelo. She knew I was suspicious and must have realized we wouldn’t be able to overcome a third. That it’d be enough for a warrant.” She let out a frustrated breath. “I should have anticipated this.”
“You and me both.” He checked the time. “Let’s get a couple cruisers to her residence, maybe we’re not too—”
“Detective Dare?” She turned to the uniformed officer standing in the doorway to Blackwood’s office. “I think you’d better come see this.”
An envelope on Blackwood’s desk. Micki’s name printed neatly on its front. A chill moved over her. She picked it up, slid out the single sheet of unlined paper.
My condolences.
Better luck next time, Detective.
Angelo came to stand beside her. She handed him the sheet of paper. “We’re too late.”
He muttered an oath and handed it back. “We’ll get her, Dare. Maybe not today, but we’ll get her.”
He was right. Where could Blackwood go that they couldn’t track her? Credit cards, cell phones, social security number, everything left a trail to follow.
Then why did she have this uneasy feeling in the pit of her gut? Like she’d not only been bested, but stripped naked as well?
Chapter Twenty
8:10 P.M.
The smell of the pizza had Micki’s mouth watering. She’d gone all out and gotten the “kitchen sink” pie and a six-pack of Abita Amber, although she didn’t know at this point whether the overindulgence was to celebrate or to lick her wounds.
Major Nichols had lauded her tenacity and instincts. There had been backslapping and high fives from her new colleagues at the Eighth. A BOLO had been issued; subpoenas issued to trace every account number or address that had ever been attached to Dr. Renee Blackwood. The search for Blackwood’s known associates, be they friends, family members, teachers, lovers, colleagues had begun. No one would be missed.
But all that didn’t change the fact that Blackwood had slipped through her fingers. It stung. Bad. Micki was looking forward to kicking back, stuffing herself with pizza, numbing her brain with the brew, and letting Hank talk his magic.
He always had a way of putting things in perspective.
She was later than she had expected. Lights glowed from his front window. Micki climbed out of her vehicle, juggling the six-pack and extra-large pizza box.
“Yo, Hank!” she called, thumping the door with her elbow. “Open up. My hands are full.”
She waited a couple minutes, then tried again.
Still no answer.
Setting down the beer, then the pie, she dug her key out and opened the door. The TV was on; sounded like water running in the kitchen. No wonder he hadn’t heard her.
She collected their dinner, found it a home on the coffee table, then grabbed the television remote. “For the love of God,” she called, hitting the mute button, “you going deaf, old man?”
Silence. Except for the water.
A fully open faucet. Pouring out.
My condolences.
Better luck next time, Detective.
Micki’s heart jumped to her throat. It didn’t mean anything, she told herself. Blackwood had been messing with her head, that’s all.
But she knew. She knew.
Heart in her throat, she ran for the kitchen. And found him sprawled on the floor in front of the sink. Ghostly white, mouth agape, eyes open, blue gaze lifeless.
“No.” The word shuddered past her lips; she sank to her knees beside him. Micki laid her head on his chest. No steady thump of his heart, no warmth. Cool to the touch. Stiff.
Rigor mortis.
She curled her fingers around his big hand as best she could, remembering the comfort she used to take in his doing the same to her. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Rolled down her cheeks.
How would it feel to lose what you hold most dear?
Like this, Micki acknowledged. Grief, an icy river, seeping into her bones, numbing her from the inside out. Splitting her wide. Exposing her for what she now was.
Alone.
She called Angelo. He came right away. Pried her away from Hank so the paramedics could get to him.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I found him this way.”
“No sign of violence. No marks on the body. Looks like natural causes.”
“No. Blackwood killed him.” Her voice sounded hollow, even to her own ears. “She asked me who I held most dear, what I would do without him.”
“Dare, Micki, how—”
“She did it because I found her out.”
He didn’t argue. Not then, not now two days later when the pathologist’s report came back.
Cardiac arrest, it said. A bad ticker.
“This can’t be right,” she said, scanning the report. “They missed something. They had to have.”
Her hands shook. Angelo took the report from her and set it aside. “We’re going to find Blackwood. And when we do, if she had anything to do with Hank’s death, we’ll find out.”
“Not if,” Micki said. “Somehow, Blackwood killed him, and someday I’ll prove it.”
Micki stood at Hank’s family tomb. She was alone now, the other mourners long gone. So many had come to pay their respects. Much of the force had turned out, plus many faces she had never seen, names he had never mentioned. One person after another had shared a story or memory of how Hank had helped them or given them hope.
He had been a truly remarkable human being.
The cold wind stirred against her legs, she shivered and drew her coat closer around her. Hank had been the last of his line. He’d had little—police pension, his house and the Nova. With no wife or kids, the pension ceased. He’d left the house to the Jesuits, but the Nova and this tomb to her. From this point forward their families would be entwined, if only in death.
Micki lifted her gaze. A marble angel crouched above the tomb entrance, wings curved protectively, as if to gather close all who came near.
The way Hank had gathered so many close to him. A guardian angel. As Hank had been to her. The way he had always teased.
Micki shivered again and curved her arms around her middle. No angel to watch over her now. She was on her own.
“You okay, Dare?”
She turned. Angelo. “You came back.”
“Never left. We’re partners, right? Partners don’t leave.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but—”
“No buts. You’re staying, I’m staying.”
“You don’t have to. Really.” She glanced back up at the angel. “I’m fine.”
“I don’t think so.”
She made a choked sound. “Don’t worry, I won’t fall apart.”
“I didn’t mean . . . I know you won’t.” He looked away, then back, his gaze brimming with sympathy. “Hell, Micki, I’m sorry about Hank.”
The simple words struck like a knife to her heart.
What would you do if you lost what mattered most to you?
Now she knew: You die a little bit with them.
He shifted from one leg to the other. “You were right, Dare. Vanderlund, Chablis, then Schaefer. Those crimes weren’t random, weren’t bizarre coincidences. So, maybe you’re right about this, too. So, we’ll get her and we’ll figure it out.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Placating me. Playing along.”
“That’s not what I—”
“Yeah, it is. Hank had a heart attack and just like that—” she snapped her fingers “—I’m alone.”
“You’re not alone.”
Her eyes filled. “No?”
“You’ve got me, partner. You’ve got the force. We’re your family.”
Micki glanced up at the angel, then back at Angelo. “Throw in a gun and a badge and I suppose I can live with that.”
He smiled, held out his arm. “C’mon. The party’s at Shannon’s. Let’s tip a few in honor of Hank.”
Micki nodded. “In honor of Hank,” she repeated. “Count me in.”
About the Author:
Erica Spindler is the New York Times and International Chart bestselling author of thirty-two novels and three eNovellas. Published in twenty-five countries, she has been called “The Master of Addictive Suspense” and “Queen of the Romantic Thriller.”
The Lightkeepers is Erica’s first series, something she’s wanted to do for years. All she was waiting for was the right characters. She found them in Micki Dee Dare, reformed southern belle turned kick ass cop, and Zach “Hollywood” Harris, a charming bad boy with some very cool, save-the-world skills.
Erica splits her writing time between her New Orleans area home, her favorite coffeeshop, and a lakeside writing retreat. She’s married to her college sweetheart, has two sons and the constant companionship of Roxie, the wonder retreiever.
Erica is currently at home in New Orleans, writing Micki and Zach’s next adventure, FALLEN FIVE.
Other Books by this Author:
The Lightkeepers Series
Triple Six
The Final Seven
Stand Alone Titles:
The First Wife
Justice for Sara
Watch Me Die
Blood Vines
Breakneck
Last Known Victim
Copycat
Killer Takes All
See Jane Die
In Silence
Dead Run
Bone Cold
All Fall Down
Cause for Alarm
Shocking Pink
Fortune
Forbidden Fruit
Red
Connect with Erica Spindler Online:
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/EricaSpindler
Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/EricaSpindler
Website: http://www.ericaspindler.com/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/erica.spindler.author
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/ericaspindler
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