Try Dying (Episode Six: The Nightshade Cases)

by Larsen, Patti

  Invigorating. Ray might have to add it to her arsenal. “Gerri might threaten,” Ray whispered, “and Kinsey might pout. But I’ll act.” She lowered her face right above his, Mummy’s coldness seeping between them. “Believe it.”

  He gasped, nodded.

  “Ray?” She backed away at the half-curious, half-concerned sound of Kinsey’s voice, beamed a smile at the blonde and accepted her cup of coffee.

  “He’s awake.” A little too bright, perhaps, but Ray hid her moment of giddiness behind her mug, hazel eyes watching as Kinsey took Jordan’s hand.

  “You’re making a habit of this,” she said in a shaking voice.

  “I don’t mean to.” Jordan sat up, didn’t look at Ray. Afraid of her? She certainly hoped so. She meant every single word. And, unlike Gerri who vaguely doubted, she was certain she could get away with murder.

  The swinging doors slammed open, the detective in question striding through. Ray held back as she stomped to Jordan who was already stuttering an apology.

  “They shot up my car.” She sounded pissed about that fact. More than they’d fired on a busy street in the middle of the afternoon. “My car.” Gerri poked him firmly in the center of his chest.

  “I’m sorry.” Jordan hopped down, rubbing at the spot she jabbed. Ray noted there was a hole in his shirt in that exact location and mentally high-fived Gerri for prodding the still healing bullet wound.

  Those words were going to get old, fast.

  “So,” Gerri said, pacing the floor while Kinsey held back and Jordan watched the detective’s stomping progress with growing unease, “let me get this straight.” She came to a halt, jabbing the air between them with one hand. “Your partner killed a crime boss in New York—”

  “Allegedly.” Jordan shouldn’t have opened his mouth, in Ray’s professional opinion.

  Gerri let it go, but barely. “Allegedly.” So much pending discomfort in that one word. “The two of you ran for LA.” Jordan nodded. “Where nothing happened. Nothing.” Again a nod, all innocence. “Then Vegas.” He seemed willing enough to bob his damned head like an idiot. “Then, Ryan had the bright idea to rip off a street gang here in Silver City.” Jordan exhaled, hands spread. “You’re certain,” Gerri took a step closer, brows tight together, green eyes threatening, “that’s it.”

  “That,” Jordan said, “is it.” He glanced at Kinsey. “I swear.”

  Gerri’s frustration was more troubling than anything. Ray knew the detective’s particular ability could spot a lie from a mile away. But she seemed to doubt her own instincts, and had appeared to trust this idiot when he assured her last time it was just the O’Reilly family.

  What was going on with Gerri?

  “One last time,” the redhead said, grasping Jordan by the arm and dragging him toward her. “Is there anything else I should know?”

  “Nothing.” He licked his lips.

  “We’re going to try this downtown thing again,” Gerri said. “Only this time, we’re not going into a trap set up by the Divinities to get a chance to shoot you.”

  “It was a trap?” Kinsey’s voice vibrated with anxiety. “You’re sure?”

  “The body was from a rival gang, buried two days ago. Dug up and dumped there so I’d be called to the scene.” Gerri’s irritation spiked. “They know we’re friends, Kins. Probably followed me in the hope they’d get to twinkledrawers here.” She pulled on Jordan, making him stumble. “My luck he was in the back of my car when they rolled up.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” Jordan sounded contrite at least.

  “Aside from the six slugs you took to the chest?” Gerri leaned in close. “My car, dude. They trashed my car with armor piercing rounds to get to you.” She spun and left, Jordan in tow. But, when Kinsey tried to follow, Ray rushed forward and blocked her exit.

  “Let him go, sweets,” she said in the gentlest voice she could muster. “He’s still lying.”

  Kinsey sighed, nodded. “I know,” she said. “And I also know you and Gerri are just trying to protect me. I’m a big girl, Ray.” The brunette stepped aside, head down, waited for her friend to run off after Jordan. But, she didn’t. Not immediately. “He’s the first person we’ve met like us who has no idea what he is. Like us.” Kinsey’s jaw worked as she shrugged her tense shoulders. “And yes, there’s a weird, wild attraction to him I can’t explain but that I won’t indulge. Not now. Not after he almost got Gerri killed.” So, she was thinking rationally. Ray felt a great deal better already. “But, I can’t just leave him out in the cold.” Those blue eyes met hers with an appeal Ray couldn’t ignore. “He might be a bad person, but he deserves to know the truth about himself.”

  “We don’t even know the truth yet.” Ray set her coffee aside on the slab, tired all at once.

  “I do,” Kinsey said with such conviction Ray let her go when the blonde finally turned and left.

  But, she didn’t have long to ponder Kinsey’s confidence. Not when Robert came through the swinging doors with a grim, determined expression and a jaw set so tight she feared he might hurt himself.

  “Ray,” he said. “We need to talk. About… that man.”

  And, suddenly, Ray knew Kinsey wasn’t the only one who had to share. “Robert, my love,” she said, draping one arm over his shoulders and leading him back to her office, retrieving her coffee on the way, “I think you’re going to want to sit down for this.”

  ***

  INT. – 9th PRECINCT – AFTERNOON

  Gerri was just grateful they made it to the station in one piece. Jordan didn’t fight her, not even when she slapped on the cuffs. She shouldn’t have been surprised but still chuffed her irritation when Kinsey pulled up beside her in her shiny little convertible. Gerri slammed the back door of the marked unit she’d borrowed from the desk officer’s stable, crankiness emanating from her in waves.

  But, when she caught sight of the grim expression on Kinsey’s face—aimed at Jordan—Gerri actually felt her tension easing. Maybe she was getting it after all. And, if this whole mess was a life lesson for her, Gerri would tolerate it. Right before she kicked Jordan Michaels out into the desert and left him to die.

  They’d see if he could come back from dehydration and exposure.

  “Gerri.” Kinsey tucked in close, voice down, while Jordan watched with a little boy expression on his face. “You can’t book him.”

  “I don’t have a choice.” It was stupid, she knew that. But were else was she going to put him?

  “What name are you going to use? Because Jordan Michaels is dead. Several times dead.” She had a point. “And, if you book him under that name, the Divinities will know where he is.”

  Gerri wasn’t naïve enough to think the department was clean. Jordan’s life would end—again—the moment the gang knew he was in lockup and they were able to get someone close to him.

  “Solitary,” she growled, heading for the door. “John Doe, refuses to give up his name. Easy.”

  For now.

  “We could just drive him out to city limits and let him go.” Jordan perked at that suggestion. Gerri scowled at him before fixing Kinsey with a glare of her own.

  “Not going to happen. Not until I figure out what he’s hiding from me.” Because he was hiding, she was certain of that. She just wished her stupid instincts would stop being so contrary. Of all times for them to stutter and take a day off.

  Kinsey followed them inside, waited by the desk as Gerri filed with the sergeant on duty. And left the anthropologist there when she refused to budge.

  “I’m not leaving,” she said, taking a seat on a bench between a prostitute snapping gum and a large man with a banana peel on his head.

  Gerri just shook her head and stomped to the elevator. By the time she emerged on the fourth floor and the 9th Precinct homicide bullpen, she still had no idea what she was going to tell the captain. Not a freaking clue. And, wouldn’t you know, her favorite person in the whole wide world—who wasn’t presently cooling in a cell—confronted
her as she approached her desk.

  “Meyers.” Jackson slapped a file down on the surface, trouble brewing in his blue eyes. “Where’s the dead guy from the bus accident?”

  “What, no concern over me almost being shot and killed in a drive by, Pierce?” Gerri’s heart thudded with stress as her mind turned over. “I’m hurt.”

  “Answer the question.” Like he was her boss or something.

  “In the morgue,” she shot back.

  “No, he’s not.” Jackson slapped a second file down. “The second guy is gone, too. The one from outside Dr. DanAllart’s apartment. And the dude from the back of your car.” He brushed imaginary lint from her shoulder, making her snarl. “Nice to see you’re all in one piece.”

  Liar. So, her gut was working. Just not with Jordan Michaels. Lovely. Now, if only she had something plausible to tell her partner that didn’t involve a dude dying and coming back to life—

  Saved by the suits. Jackson’s flicker of annoyance and the way he backed off alerted Gerri something was up, in time for her to turn and watch three black-suited men stride across the bullpen to the captain’s door. The one in the lead turned his head, met her eyes.

  Sparks fired inside her at the contact with his pale, amber gaze, a connection she had to fight off a moment later as he looked away. What the hell was that? Her gut compressed, instincts sighing. As bad as Kinsey, damn it. Instant attraction was one thing, but this was something else altogether.

  A swift, sharp knock and the three entered without waiting for confirmation, closing it behind them. The moment they were out of sight, Gerri exhaled, freed from whatever it was held her captive.

  “Feds,” Jackson snarled. “What are they doing here?”

  They were about to find out. The door slammed open again, the giant form of Captain King looming in the entry. “Meyers! Pierce! Get in here.”

  Though Gerri had never felt so nervous as she did in that moment, she was the first to cross the floor and enter the lion’s den.

  ***

  INT. – 9th PRECINCT – AFTERNOON

  Captain King’s scowl set the mood as Gerri entered the office, Jackson on her heels. The three suits watched them enter, waited for Jackson to close the door behind him before flashing badges.

  Feds, her partner was right, FBI, all three of them. Amber eyes studied her carefully and, to Gerri’s relief, the initial wave of attraction she’d felt, the moment of contact, faded into the background as she reached out.

  “Detective Meyers,” she said, a little more gruffly than normal. He shook her offered hand, his skin warm and a little rough, hand large enough to engulf hers. Most men could only challenge her height by a few inches, but he had half a foot on her, not to mention those shoulders.

  She dropped the connection of flesh and continued to shake with the other two agents while Jackson sullied the first with his skin.

  Gerri really needed to find a firm grip on something that wasn’t tall, dark and handsome.

  “Supervisory Special Agent Quinlan Foster,” he said in a voice perfectly balanced between depth and strength. “This is Special Agent Flynn Boyd,” the thin blond with the long nose and prominent Adam’s apple nodded, “and Special Agent Mohit Singh.” East Indian with his dusky skin and thick, curly black hair. Pale, gray eyes were an interesting counterpoint. Both smiled faintly, but dropped the welcoming act as Captain King spoke.

  “These are the detectives assigned to the Beecher case.” The captain sounded about as happy to see the Feds as they appeared to be here.

  “Thank you for taking the time to talk to us.” Foster seemed like a straight shooter, no bullshit, but with a compassionate edge Gerri knew she was lacking. “We’re aware Mr. Beecher was found murdered. We’re looking for his partner,” he offered Gerri his cell phone with a photo of Jordan Michaels on it. “Have you seen this man?”

  Jackson’s scowl deepened as he looked over her shoulder, visible out of the corner of her eye as her heart panicked. Shit. Shit. Now what?

  “That’s the dude who got hit by the bus.” He turned his head, coffee breath on her cheek. “The one that went missing from the morgue.”

  “We’re well aware of Jordan Michael’s ability to fake his own death, Detective.” Foster tucked his phone away crisply in his breast pocket, his focus on Gerri. “He’s become a master of manipulation and deception, often going to great lengths to ensure those who follow him think he’s dead.”

  “To the point,” Singh spoke up, “no one believes it anymore.”

  They had an excuse built in for her? Bless their federali hearts. She could have hugged Foster right then and there, smothered his mouth with hers, thrown him down to the captain’s desk—

  Jesus.

  “We need Michaels,” Foster said while Gerri stuffed down her sudden hunger that had nothing to do with food. “He’s the only witness in a murder investigation in Las Vegas.” The lying little fucker. She’d tear his head off and make sure he never found it. “He’s supposed to be in witness protection, but pulled his dying trick on agents in the city and escaped.”

  That was it. The line in the sand. She asked him and he lied to her face, the weasel. With a smile she was certain had to show her irritation, Gerri gestured to the door.

  “You’ll be happy to know,” she said, “I’ve just booked said perp into custody. You’re welcome to him, gentlemen.” Her gaze met her angry captain’s. “With your permission, sir.”

  Captain King’s surprise didn’t last. It wasn’t often she—or any cop—willingly gave up a case. “Take the agent downstairs, Meyers, while we do up the paperwork.”

  Foster left his two men behind and followed Gerri out the door. Of course he did. He couldn’t send one of his people along. The kind of agent who did his own dirty work. She admired that. And the way he smelled.

  Stairs. They had to take the stairs. She wouldn’t survive in the elevator without pouncing on him. What the hell was wrong with her?

  But, when Jackson tried to join them, Gerri growled in his direction, despite the fact her irritating partner would have been a perfect distraction. “Sit,” she snarled. “Stay.”

  Pierce shot her the finger which she only caught in passing as she turned her back on him and headed for the elevator doors, hoping Foster didn’t see the slight tremor in her hand when she pressed the down button.

  “You and your partner are besties, I take it?” A little fed humor? Gerri shrugged as the doors chimed and slid open.

  “Something like that.” Foster followed her inside. Gerri drew a deep breath, pressing her hands firmly together in front of her, focusing on the job. The job. Not the heat of his body next to her or the scent of his cologne that would drive her slowly crazy unless he let her taste him. That wouldn’t be weird, would it? If she leaned over and licked him? He’d understand.

  She almost panted in gratitude as the doors slipped open again. “After you,” he said, gesturing for her to precede him. Probably a good idea. If she followed him, she’d stare at his wide shoulders inside his suit, at the curve of his butt. This way, he could look at hers.

  She had a mighty fine ass.

  As Gerri passed through the gate when the officer on duty buzzed her through, she was startled to find Foster’s hand on her elbow. She stopped in the concrete corridor, looking up into incredible yellow eyes that smoldered.

  “Detective,” he said. Stopped. Cleared his throat. “Can I buy you a drink later?” Then shook his head and laughed. “This isn’t like me.”

  Gerri laughed, too. Throaty and thick while her gut betrayed her by whispering, Yes. He smiled back, hand lingering on her arm before he let her go. Only then did she realize she’d agreed out loud.

  Someone shouted down the hall, jerking Gerri out of the moment, sending her running with Foster on her heels, to the last cell on the right. Where Kinsey stood, a faint smile hidden behind one hand only Gerri caught, to the sight of Jordan Michaels dangling from the edge of the bunk bed from which he’d hung himself
.

  ***

  INT. – SILVER CITY MORGUE – AFTERNOON

  Kinsey perched on an empty slab, feet swinging, ignoring the wide-eyed stare dominating Robert’s face as he barely breathed in anticipation of what was to come. She was used to it, and so over it by now.

  Gerri sat on the floor, cross-legged, chin on her fists while Ray spun around and around in an office chair, tossing a ball of wadded paper up to the ceiling and catching it again.

  “You’re sure he’s going to come back to life?” Robert swallowed audibly.

  “Any second now.” Gerri exhaled, stretching her long legs out in front of her, resting her weight on the palms of her hands behind her. “Like an annoying virus, he just won’t die.”

  “Technically,” Ray said, bouncing the ball of paper from the light fixture, sending it swinging, “not accurate. He dies quite nicely. He just won’t stay dead.”

  Kinsey snorted.

  “You know, Kins,” Gerri said, “you really need to get better taste in guys at some point. All this dying and coming back to life can’t be good for his manly parts.”

  Ray laughed while Robert looked around at them all with shock and horror.

  “How can you joke at a time like this?” The slim Asian assistant looked ready to crack. Kinsey gently patted his leg, making him jump from the contact.

  “It’ll be okay,” she said. “You get used to it.”

  He hugged himself. “I hope not.”

  Jordan inhaled, turning on his side, coughing and reaching for his throat. Kinsey remained where she was though the pull to go to him was just as strong as ever. She noted Gerri watching her, but with speculation rather than irritation or anger, which made her wonder what changed. Didn’t matter, not really. It wasn’t Gerri’s attitude that needed adjusting. Kinsey realized it was hers.