Drop Dead (Tess Skye Book 1)

by D. N. Erikson

  “Funny, I didn’t think of you at all.” I don’t get up.

  “Didn’t expect our reunion to be quite like this, though.”

  “More balloons and cake, maybe?”

  “Witty as ever.” She drums her fingers on the bars. Tap. Tap. Tap. “So, murder, huh?”

  “If you’re looking for a confession, you’re in the wrong place.” I finally rise from the bench to get closer. Stare her down nose-to-nose.

  That’s when the memory hits me like a bolt of electricity.

  This is Stella Reynolds.

  She’s the one who sent Javy and I out into the Groves.

  “Everything okay?”

  I press my cheeks against the bars. Her eyes are those of an apex political predator, always looking for the next move, the next rung on the ladder.

  “Don’t you worry about me, Captain.”

  “You say that like it’s an insult.”

  I shrug. “It’s all in the delivery.”

  “The evidence against you is staggering.” Captain Reynolds brushes a nonexistent piece of lint from her suit. “Slam dunk.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “You’re best off just confessing. I can get you a deal.”

  “Must’ve forgot you’re the District Attorney, too,” I say. “And can actually make deals.”

  “I guess cop tricks don’t work on ex-cops,” she says. “But it was worth a shot.”

  “Our opinions differ there,” I shoot back.

  “So I’ll have to start with what we have.” Captain Reynolds opens the manilla folder with a showman’s flair and holds up the first photo on the stack. “That’s Gene Suthers.”

  Sure enough, it’s the old man from my memory. And the Tire Kingdom. Although I never actually saw him there—just heard him.

  He’s dead in the photo.

  But then, I already knew that, thanks to Alvie and Frank’s banter in the garage.

  I recognize the scene, as well: it’s Great Reveal Memorial Park. He’s lying next to the fountain.

  “No clever retorts?”

  I want to shoot back tell me something I don’t already know. But instead, I maintain what I hope is a neutral expression and say, “Not really.”

  “As you can see, Mr. Suthers is having a subpar day.”

  “Is there a question somewhere in there?”

  “Just a statement of observation.” The woman peels off the first photo to reveal another. “Here’s where your involvement begins.”

  She holds it up.

  This snapshot is of the Tire Kingdom. Two yellow crime scene cones. Frank’s dead body, and a .22.

  “Still waiting for that question,” I say.

  “Let’s begin with the weapon. Recognize it?”

  “It’s a .22.”

  “Glad involuntary early retirement hasn’t dulled your detective skills.” She thumbs through the folder and removes a report. “But perhaps some skills fade faster than others.”

  “As fond as I am of riddles, still not seeing where I fit into all this.”

  Reynolds clears her throat and dons a pair of stylish designer reading glasses. “Prints found on this weapon are a match to those of former Ragnarok Police Detective Theresa Skye.” She takes off the glasses. “Your prints are still on file. To rule you out from crime scenes.”

  “And?”

  “And it was found at the site of a man’s murder.”

  “It was self-defense.”

  “So you admit you were involved in Frank Jackson’s demise.” Her eyes glint with satisfaction. She might not smile, but every fiber in her odious being exudes glee. Or some sharklike approximation of it, at least.

  Shit. Should’ve kept my mouth shut. But I play it cool and say, “What’s there to admit?”

  “Why don’t you tell me what happened?” Captain Reynolds peers at me through the bars, hunting for weakness.

  I match her gaze with a stony, blank stare. “You have the gun. It’ll match the bullet in that asshole’s head.” I pause. “And my DNA will be in the vomit.”

  “Building quite the case against yourself.”

  “Like I said, self-defense.” I shrug. “And I’m not telling you anything your detectives won’t find out in a few hours.”

  “Is that why your friend Finnegan was caught with the gun that killed Alvin Dalton? The second man found dead at the scene?” She shows me a photo of Alvie’s corpse.

  “So what if he still had the gun?”

  Admittedly, none of this is looking good.

  “Does keeping the murder weapon sound like the actions of a man who killed in self-defense?”

  “These two assholes had just tried to kill us. Maybe there was a third asshole around the corner.”

  “I’ll tell you what I think.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “You and Finnegan get in an argument with these two men. Maybe it’s over money, maybe it’s over some magical side hustle. Either way, things escalate. You kill the one, he kills the other. Then you need to get rid of evidence. You’re fleeing, and you get caught.”

  I glare through the bars, calculating whether I can grab her throat at this distance.

  “Well?” Reynolds says.

  Before I can answer, a voice comes from around the corner. “Interrogation Room 1 is ready, Captain Reynolds.”

  An officer appears and glances between us, sensing the tension.

  “Thanks.” She unlocks the cell and watches me step out of the cage. “You can take things from here.”

  Captain Reynolds shoots me a knowing glance, as if to say we’re not finished yet.

  Then she vanishes around a corner.

  Nine

  The new officer leads me into a cramped interrogation room. He gestures for me to sit down. The rusty chair digs into my legs as I do. Then he leaves.

  I’m surrounded by cinderblock walls and linoleum flooring. Flat fluorescent lights flicker in the particle board ceiling above a flaking metal table. The lights buzz in, out, in, out, like they’re thinking about leaving this world for good.

  I don’t blame them.

  I can only remember three hours of my life, but this might be the most depressing place I’ve ever been. Which is really saying something.

  Sweat—or maybe blood—crawls down my cheek. I slide the chair’s legs back and forth against the floor as I wait.

  Finally, the door creaks open, hinges crying out for oil, and a voice like velvet-dipped whiskey lights up the space. “Still getting in trouble, I see.”

  I recognize the voice from my memory.

  Relief washes over my aching body as I turn to find Detective Javy Diaz. Tall, lean like a knife, jet black hair glimmering even in the dimness. Skin so clear a cover girl would kill for it. The flickering light makes the badge hanging from his belt loop shimmer. His lip is upturned into something like a smile. But he’s not happy.

  Whether that’s because of me or what’s happened to me remains to be seen.

  My relief subsides into caution. I straighten in the chair and wait for him to say something else. When nothing comes, I finally say, “Javy?”

  No answer for a long time. A camera light in the corner flickers off. We’re alone. “This isn’t how I thought we’d be meeting today.”

  “Guess I’m late for the Silver Stallion.”

  Javy checks his phone. “Still got a couple minutes to spare.”

  He sits down on the opposite side of the table. He pushes a bottle of water toward me. I can smell his woody-scented aftershave. He exudes a languid, cowboy cool that suggests he’s done this a million times. And a million and one doesn’t bother him in the least.

  Except there is a disturbance in his demeanor. I can sense it.

  “Do you still have it?”

  “Have what?”

  “The cameras are off.”

  “I don’t know where it is.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Come on Tess, now’s not the time.”

  “Uh.”

&nb
sp; His face falls. “Please tell me you have the serum hidden away somewhere.”

  I plaster a fake smile across my face and say, “I have it?”

  “Fuck.” Javy’s voice booms inside the tight space. He tosses a manilla file on the pitted table. Maybe it’s the same one that Captain Reynolds was using to give me the third degree a few minutes ago. Veins pulse in his forearms as he grips the table.

  “That for me?”

  “Murder one. Breaking and entering. Trespassing. Arson.”

  Guess this file is new. “Arson?”

  “The motel, Tess.”

  Damn. Almost forgot about that. It’s been an eventful day.

  I try to swallow, but my mouth is suddenly bone dry. My temple throbs as the world spins. I grab the bottle of water and down half of it, stalling for time as much as anything else.

  Javy looks on from across the table, bearing the expression of a man who’s lived a hundred lives and seen it all before.

  Finally, after wiping my chin, I say, “They know I was at the motel?”

  “Your prints are all over it.”

  I finally gather myself and tap the folder. “Think I might’ve jaywalked earlier, too. Probably should get that in here.”

  “This is serious.”

  “It was all self-defense.”

  “Give me something to work with, here, Tess.”

  “I don’t have anything.”

  He’s about to reply, but the click-clack of devilish heels echoing down the hallway makes him hold his tongue. A few seconds later, the door bangs open.

  “Detective Diaz, I’d suggest stepping away from this PR grenade immediately.” Captain Stella Reynolds’s tone suggests that it is anything but a suggestion. She steps inside the doorway, flooding the interrogation room with her offensive floral perfume. “Because this is not your case.”

  “Just catching up with an old friend,” he says.

  “Seems we need to have a chat about protocol later.” She clears her throat. “Dismissed.”

  Javy doesn’t get up from the table.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “You’re in the doorway, ma’am.”

  Captain Reynolds draws in a huffy breath and says, “Fine. You sit there for a moment. Take Miss Skye back to her cell, Detective Price.”

  Detective Price…?

  Captain Reynolds steps aside and a well-dressed blond man glides into the cramped room, trench coat flowing around him.

  The vampire warlock whose neck I slashed open this morning.

  Carter Price.

  He should be dead.

  But he’s very much alive.

  Without so much as a scratch.

  “Nice to see you again, Tess.” He gives me an evil smile, as if to say miss me?

  I stick my tongue out.

  Captain Reynolds says, “Seeing as how you’re still here, Detective Diaz, if you could please share any pertinent details with Detective Price from your illicit interrogation, that would be fantastic.”

  “If Detective Price is still a complete dirtbag, then I’ll pass,” Javy says.

  I chuckle as Carter bristles.

  “A little professionalism would go a long way, Detective Diaz.” Captain Reynolds smooths a wrinkle out of her expensive suit. “I’m sure there’s paperwork that demands your attention.”

  Then she disappears into the hallway like a swamp wraith.

  Carter peels himself off the interrogation room’s wall and stalks closer to the table. His clothes are slightly different than the ones I almost drowned him in. For one, there isn’t any blood.

  But the top button is still undone, displaying that smooth chest.

  He and Javy face off warily. The tension and disrespect are palpable.

  “Orders are orders, Javy. Our girl here is being transferred.”

  “Only my friends call me that.”

  “Oh, deep down you like me.” Carter reaches into his suit and pulls out a piece of paper. “Besides, the order comes from the top.”

  “Fuck her orders.” Javier swipes at the sheet, and it flutters to the ground.

  “No need to get angry, Diaz. You’re not even supposed to be in here.”

  Javy takes a swing.

  The vampire warlock ducks it and punches him in the gut, sending Javy to the floor.

  Javy reaches for his sidearm.

  The vampire warlock puts his foot on Javy’s throat and presses down.

  “I could kill you right here.”

  “I…think…you’d be surprised…about that.” Javy sounds like he’s choking on a box of nails.

  “Let’s find out.”

  “Stop!” I yell.

  “I don’t take orders from you,” Carter says.

  I dive over the table and punch him in the shoulder. “I’ll go with you.”

  “You don’t say?” Carter doesn’t let up from Javy’s neck. My former partner is turning pale, his eyes starting to close.

  “Just…don’t kill him.”

  Carter waggles his head back and forth, as if weighing my proposition. Then he shrugs. “It is less messy.” Quick as a flash, the vampire warlock cuffs Javy to the table leg. “You stay here.”

  He smiles at this, like he made an amusing joke.

  I edge toward the open doorway. Maybe I can run for help. Find a gun.

  Do something.

  But a strong hand grabs my bad shoulder and grips it tight.

  I bite my lip to keep from screaming.

  “You’re not getting away from me twice, Tess.” His breath is hot against my neck.

  I try to wriggle free, but it’s hopeless. If anything, it feels like he’s actually stronger than this morning. “Going to finish the job you started, then?”

  “Maybe,” he whispers, “once we’re alone.”

  “Every girl’s dream, I suspect.”

  “Oh, you’re funny now.” Carter slinks around the table and then leans into my ear. “But we’ll see what happens when you’re face to face with the man himself.”

  “And who’s that?”

  “Dominic Rillo.”

  Ten

  Instead of marching me through the precinct’s bullpen and out the front door, Carter drags me out the back. Pigeons scatter in the parking lot when he pushes the door’s steel bar open. Relentless sunshine beats down from the endless blue sky.

  Carter’s unbuttoned collar rustles in the slight breeze as we step outside.

  The only car in the lot is a sports car with chrome exhaust. I’m not cuffed, but he doesn’t have to tell me what to do next. There’s no place to run.

  For now.

  I trudge across the lot and lean against the cobalt chassis. “Waste of a good car.”

  “Don’t scratch the paint.” He gestures for me to get in the back.

  “Or what, you’ll kill me?” I get in. The leather is egg-cooking hot against my ass, even with the catsuit between me and the seat.

  The leather-on-leather actually makes things worse.

  “That’s good.” The sports car’s engine growls to life. He peels out of the lot, leaving tire marks behind. “Keep making jokes even when you’re about to die.”

  “Give me another knife and we’ll see who’s gonna die, buddy.”

  We’re nudging past sixty in seconds. Ragnarok’s various small town attractions stream past, melding into a blur as Carter weaves in and out of traffic.

  I lunge into the front seat and clamber for the wheel.

  He grabs my arm and squeezes my wrist so tight I feel the bones grind against each other.

  I let out a little yelp.

  “That one’s free.” He keeps a hold of my wrist, as he presses down on the accelerator.

  “Just one?” I jerk my hand away and shake out my smarting wrist.

  “The knife was a fluke. Don’t get cocky.”

  “Day’s still young.”

  He looks unamused, but doesn’t have a witty retort locked and loaded. I settle into the leather and try to ignore the a
nxiety perforating my stomach. Between not knowing who I am and not knowing what lies in wait at Rillo’s house, I’m not exactly a happy camper.

  But I guess, at the very least, I’ll get some answers soon.

  Hopefully I don’t die shortly thereafter.

  We sit in a thick silence, the engine’s pleasant growl our only soundtrack for miles.

  “Tell me, something, asshole,” I say as the landscape turns from townscape to country bourgeois.

  “Anything for you, Tess.”

  “How did you survive this morning? I mean, if the knife in your neck didn’t get you, the fire should’ve.” I catch his eye in the rearview. “And even if you did survive, to not have a fucking scratch?”

  “Tricks of the trade.” His cold gray eyes glint as he smirks at me. He’s dying to say. But he keeps quiet.

  “Come on.”

  “Let it go, Tess.”

  “Not even as a professional courtesy?”

  “Courtesy?”

  “For kicking your ass.”

  Carter’s fangs snap out. Tires squeal as the car peels around a hilly country corner. We drop from going about eighty to a comfortable sixty-five. “Tell you what.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Let’s play a game.”

  I raise my eyebrow. “You seem like someone who cheats at checkers when you volunteer at nursing homes.”

  “Volunteer work is for suckers.”

  “Shocking take of the month,” I say. “What’s the game, then?”

  “You have a piece of information I want.”

  “Which is?”

  Carter unleashes an exasperated sigh, like he’s annoyed he even has to say it. “Where you hid the serum.”

  “Sure, right.” My thighs are getting sticky from the heat. Catsuits are ill-suited to Ragnarok summers. Presumably I knew this fact when I had my memories. So the real question is why I’m even wearing this thing.

  “And I have a piece of information you want regarding how I survived your little attack.” He meets my gaze in the rearview. “So we can trade.”

  “You have a very loose definition of game.”

  His grip tightens on the wheel. “Do you want to know or not?”