The Good Son: A Suspense Thriller (A Reed & Billie Novel Book 2)

by Dustin Stevens

  “Listen, guys,” Reed said, “we don’t have time for this shit right now. This is our guy, and we’re going after him. You have a problem with that, things are going to get real ugly.”

  The lines sounded cheesy and canned even to his own ears, but that wasn’t the point. The entire situation was ridiculous. He just needed to get past it and on his way to finding Kyle Morgan.

  The men all stood rigid, staring at Billie, nobody saying a word.

  “That’s what I thought,” Reed said. He lowered his fist in a slow outward motion, the move having the effect of an off switch, the hostility bleeding out of Billie. “Now if you’ll excuse us.”

  He took another step forward and said, “Track.”

  Billie shot forward at the sound of the command, her nose just inches from the ground. Her sudden movement caused the officers to peel back, all four of them recoiling from the movement.

  Paying them no heed, Reed walked right through where they had been standing, watching Billie search the area, grabbing the scent within seconds. Still fresh in her nose, she snatched it up outside the driver’s side door and took off at a trot, Reed breaking into a jog to keep up with her.

  In his wake, he could hear the heavy footfalls of Iaconelli and Bishop trying to catch up.

  The path took a long and meandering route, circling a couple of blocks around. There was no attempt at evasive maneuvering or trying to hide his tracks, the trail remaining right in the middle of the sidewalk. It circled away from the car for half a block before turning west a block and then coming back south.

  The sounds of Iaconelli and Bishop grew a little further back as the jog continued on, block after block passing beneath Reed’s shoes. Sweat poured from his body, drenching the front of his shirt, matting his hair to his head. In front of him he could hear Billie panting, see her tongue hanging out, as she pushed forward, never once breaking stride.

  At the end of the third block Billie made a left. A hundred yards further she made another, completing the circle. A couple blocks away Reed could see the lights of the cruisers still flashing, made out the silhouettes of the four men milling about.

  Not until Billie made an unexpected left onto private property did Reed jerk his attention from them. He followed her a few steps up the driveway before whispering, “Heel,” putting as much bass in the command as his lowered tone would allow.

  The word stopped Billie where she stood, causing her to turn and stare back at him. Her tail wagged as she seemed to look on in confusion, trying to determine why she was called to a halt.

  “Just one second,” Reed said, running his gaze over the front of the house, looking for any signs of movement. He drew his weapon and stayed there, waiting until Iaconelli and Bishop appeared around the corner. They came to a stop at the end of the drive, sweating and sputtering, leaning forward and pressing their hands to their knees.

  “What’s going on?” Bishop asked between deep pulls of oxygen. Beside him Iaconelli looked like he might collapse, his face a deep shade of red bordering on purple.

  “Trail just turned,” Reed said. “My guess is, he sat in the car casing the place, waited for the lights to go out, made a loop around the block.”

  Bishop nodded, neither man saying anything.

  “Track,” Reed said, bypassing further conversation. A jolt of renewed energy passed through Billie, her form crouching back into position and rocketing forward.

  As a group, all four stepped off the driveway and into the yard, the ground soft underfoot. Unlike most every other blade of grass in central Ohio it was green and supple, Morgan’s footprints plain before them.

  Reed increased his pace, drawing even with Billie as they made the corner and moved past a waist high hedge along the back of the house onto a square brick patio. At the back of it was a single step rising to meet a back door, which was standing open.

  “Heel,” Reed said, his voice raised just slightly. Beside him Billie came to a stop, staying no more than a few inches away as Reed turned to Iaconelli and Bishop. He motioned to the back door, got a nod of recognition from each, and stepped forward.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  The man lying on the kitchen floor was just beginning to wake. He moaned softly as Reed knelt by his side, his lips busted and puffy. The left side of his face was bleeding, the area around his eye already starting to swell.

  “Sir,” Reed said, holding a hand to the man’s shoulder, trying to force him still. He kept his voice low, nothing more than an urgent whisper. “Sir, is there anybody else in the house?”

  Billie’s muzzle was just inches past his shoulder, her hot breath on his skin. Standing at the man’s feet, both staring down at him, were Iaconelli and Bishop, each with their weapons drawn.

  “This is a waste,” Iaconelli breathed. “The guy’s still out of it. Let Billie track our guy.”

  Reaching out, Reed gripped the man by the chin. He turned his face toward him and leaned in closer, just inches separating the two. “Are you the only one home?”

  The man’s eyelids fluttered as he tried to focus on Reed. “Wife...upstairs...”

  Reed didn’t bother to wait for more. He released the man’s head and pounded straight through the dining room toward the stairs. For the first time all night he didn’t care how much noise he made, his singular focus on getting to the stairs and keeping Kyle Morgan from doing any more harm.

  “Hold!” Reed yelled, sending Billie hurtling forward in front of him. She made it to the front foyer two full seconds before he did, her feet sliding across the polished floor for just a moment before gaining purchase and shooting straight up the stairs.

  Heart pounding, his own breaths coming in quick gasps, Reed hit the corner and headed up the stairs as well, taking them three at a time. The sound of Billie barking, signaling to him that she had cornered their target, caused him to churn his legs even faster.

  Just as important to him as saving whoever was at the top of the stairs was making sure he was there to protect his partner. He had lost Riley because he was across the country at a football game instead of by her side when things went sideways.

  Never, ever, again would he allow that to happen.

  Adrenaline pulsing through his body, Reed made the top of the stairs and turned to his right, Billie’s barking leading the way. With his weapon stretched out parallel to the ground, he inched his way through a doorway into a bedroom, seeing Billie’s black body moving back and forth on the carpet in front of him.

  “Kyle Morgan,” Reed said, hearing Iaconelli and Bishop arrive behind him, stepping forward so all three could enter. “Columbus Police Department.”

  The room was enormous, much larger that it appeared from the street. Plush white carpeting stretched across the floor, a massive four-poster, king-size bed the centerpiece of the room. His and hers dressers with mirrors, a sitting area for reading and a spa-like master bath completed the space.

  All of these details Reed processed and dismissed in a seconds. Instead, his attention was drawn to the area between the bed and the far wall.

  Standing erect in the corner, his shoulders wedged in tight, was a man who Reed presumed to be Kyle Morgan. He had never seen the young man, but he was in his mid-20s, he was in good shape, and he carried a strong resemblance to Amber Morgan. He was taller than Reed expected, at least two inches taller than he was, his arms tanned and muscled. They glistened with sweat in the light of the room.

  In front of him stood a woman who Reed guessed to be the lady of the house. Dressed only in a silk shift, one strap of it torn, she was pulled back in tight against Morgan’s chest, his hand cupped over her mouth. A tendril of blood ran down from one of her nostrils, her eyes wide with terror.

  “Kyle Morgan,” Reed said, nudging closer. He kept his gun extended as he went, almost yelling to be heard over Billie’s barking.

  “Get that damn dog away from me!” Morgan yelled. “And you stay back too! I’ll kill her, you know I will.”

  Just like with t
he officer outside, Reed knew there were two ways he could play it. He could try to negotiate with him, even put his own gun away, try to talk him out of doing something stupid. The woman’s life was the most important thing, and he had to act in a way that would best ensure her safety.

  At the same time, negotiating might not necessarily do that. The acts that Morgan had committed were of such depravity, there might be no reasoning with him. He saw everything through the lens of what he wanted most. He had to believe that was no longer attainable if Reed had any hope of succeeding.

  “Your mother is gone,” Reed said.

  Blood flushed Morgan’s face deep crimson as he clenched the woman tighter. His upper lip curled back in a snarl as he stared at Reed, incredulous. “Don’t you say that. Don’t you dare say that!”

  “She is,” Reed said, wanting to take a step closer but knowing better. “Heel.”

  In front of him Billie stopped pacing, falling silent. In the wake of her barking the room suddenly felt much larger, all attention on Morgan.

  Reed knew the effect would unnerve him. “I’m sorry. We just came from your house, over on 21st Street, with your Silverado in the garage.”

  The last details were thrown in just to show Morgan that he was serious, that he had in fact been there just moments before. They seemed to find their mark, Morgan’s face remaining red but the snarl receding a bit, his gaze flicking between the three men.

  “It’s true,” Bishop said. “We were there too. I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry,” Iaconelli murmured, just barely audible.

  A flicker of anguish passed over Morgan’s face before he composed himself, drawing his mouth into a tight line. He looked up at them, dubious, and gave the woman a quick shake. Beneath his hand she tried to scream, the sound just barely passing through his fingers.

  “No. No, I don’t believe you. My mother is at home, all she needs is a liver, and she’ll be fine.”

  “So, what?” Reed said. “You’re going to kill this woman too? In front of four detectives? You think there’s any chance, even if your mother was alive, that we’d let her get anywhere near that liver?”

  “Or that she’d even want it, knowing what you’ve been doing?” Bishop added.

  An obvious crack formed in Morgan’s façade. His mouth quivered as he tried to formulate a response, fighting to determine if anything at all he was being told was true.

  This was the moment Reed needed to seize. He had to keep Morgan thinking, guessing, far away from rage or wanting to hurt this woman.

  “I get it, I do,” Reed said, nudging just an inch closer.

  “Stop moving!” Morgan screamed, spittle flying from his mouth. It landed on the woman’s shoulder, her body trembling, fresh tears streaming from her eyes. “And you don’t understand a damn thing! None of you! It was my fault, all of it!”

  He gave the woman a shake, lunging an inch forward. “She wouldn’t be sick if it wasn’t for me. She reminded me of it every day of my life! I have to fix it, have to!”

  “But you can’t,” Reed said. “She’s gone. It’s over.”

  In that moment, Reed saw realization finally set in. He watched as Morgan passed through the first few stages of grief within seconds, going from denial to anger in short order. His arms clenched as he drew the woman back toward himself.

  There was no room to get off a shot. The woman was too close to him. Even at such a short range, the risk of hitting her just too great.

  There was only one option.

  “Attack!”

  Billie leapt from the floor to the bed in one bound, from the mattress onto Kyle Morgan in another. Reed’s command still echoed through the room as she slammed into Morgan’s shoulder, knocking both people to the side. All three slammed into the wall and rolled to the floor in a heap, Reed dropping his gun and rushing forward. With both hands, he grabbed the woman and pulled her free, handing her off to Iaconelli behind him.

  By the time he got back to the opposite side of the bed, Billie had Morgan pinned to the floor, teeth gnashing. He lay flat on his stomach with his hands covering his head, wicked gouges torn into the exposed flesh of his arms. Blood dripped from the wounds, spotting the white carpet, painting Billie’s muzzle as she balanced herself on his shoulder blades.

  One time after another she growled into his ear, two even rows of teeth bared.

  “Heel,” Reed said, coming from the side so she could see him in her periphery before laying a hand on her back. He kept it there as the tension ebbed away, her taut muscles relaxing as she stepped back. “Good girl.”

  Moving in to replace her, Reed dropped his knee into the middle of Morgan’s back. Removing a pair of handcuffs from the back of his belt, he jerked Morgan’s wrists down to his waist and cinched them just a little tighter than necessary.

  Morgan didn’t say one word.

  Instead, he wept like a baby.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  The first sliver of sun was just breaking over the treetops, another hot and sticky day on tap. The golden light spilled across the front lawn of the precinct, moving steadily toward the loose gaggle of men standing outside, transforming the world from night into day.

  “Thank you, guys. Seriously,” Reed said, going around the circle and shaking hands one by one. Clearly the night had been just as long and exhausting for the officers, three of the four having shed their black uniform shirts, standing only in thin cotton t-shirts or ribbed tank tops, all of them soaked through with sweat.

  “No worries, any time,” Jacobs said, returning the shake and stepping back a few feet.

  “Like we said before, at any point you have some overtime to throw our way, we greatly appreciate it,” McMichaels added, also shaking Reed’s hand.

  A smile spread across Reed’s face as he raised a hand in farewell to the partners drifting back toward the parking lot. “I’ll remember that. Thanks again, guys.”

  Both men raised their hands in return, taking a few more steps before turning toward the lot.

  “Overtime,” Gilchrist said, drawing Reed’s attention back to the remaining two officers. “I wondered why they seemed so excited when I called and told them we needed a hand with the other members of the support group.”

  “Yup,” Reed said. “You know how tight things have been this summer. McMichaels has his eye on a fishing boat, word is Jacobs might have a new lady friend.”

  Both men snorted at the explanation, smiles soon following.

  “Well, I know you guys need to get home and get some rest,” Reed said, stepping toward Gilchrist and extending a hand. “Thanks for everything these last couple days. I know canvassing and babysitting duties can be a real chore, but they definitely helped us bring this one in.”

  Gilchrist nodded, his palm sweaty as he shook Reed’s hand. “Is it true Morgan bawled as you handcuffed him?”

  Reed flicked a gaze to Greene, an expression on the senior officer’s face that seemed to read, “Kids.”

  The look, the demeanor, the slow shake of Greene’s head almost brought a smile to Reed’s face as he looked back at Gilchrist.

  “Man just found out he lost his mom. That’s tough.”

  Blood colored Gilchrist’s cheeks as he released the grip, breaking eye contact. “Yeah, that’s true. Hadn’t considered that.”

  Whether it was true or not, Reed couldn’t be certain. While Morgan had just lost his mother, a woman he loved enough to kill for, he had also just had the full fury of Billie unleashed on him.

  Once before in training Reed had been hit by her charging full speed, the impact akin to a linebacker teeing off on a defenseless quarterback. He had been wearing protective gear at the time and still ached for days afterwards.

  Given the way she had hit Morgan, and the damage she’d inflicted on his arms, it was a pretty safe bet to say the tears were at least 50% her doing.

  “Detective,” Greene said, stepping forward and shaking his hand, the only one of the four still in full uniform. “You did goo
d work this week. Be glad to help out whenever you need it.”

  “Thank you,” Reed said. “You as well.”

  Like McMichaels and Jacobs before them, Greene and Gilchrist drifted off toward the parking lot. Reed stood on the front steps of the precinct station, the warm sun on his face, his skin already beginning to feel moist, and watched them go. Only once all four were in their vehicles and driving away did he turn for the front door, holding it wide for Billie to pass inside before him.

  Minutes before 7:00 on a Saturday, the precinct was deserted. A couple of desk lamps had been left burning for the night, though otherwise there was no sign of life on the first floor. The glow of morning sunlight passed through the front windows, illuminating desktops, throwing long shadows across the floor as Reed led Billie past the frosted glass door toward Grimes’s office.

  It was the second time this week they arrived to hear voices drifting from the office, the same three men waiting inside. On this occasion Reed bypassed the chair in the hall, knocking once on the door before entering, Billie by his side.

  The two visitor’s chairs were already occupied by Iaconelli and Bishop, both turning to look as he entered. Neither one made any attempt to move, or even stand, merely watching as he strode to the table along the wall next to Grimes’s desk. He leaned back against it, letting his backside rest against the tabletop, and folded his arms across his chest.

  Without being told, Billie lay down flat at his feet.

  The men around the room all looked about the way Reed felt, each working on the backend of a day-long shift. Bishop’s eyes appeared even more hollow than usual, his face especially angular. Beside him Iaconelli had a hand towel around his neck and a bottle of Gatorade in his hand, his shirt damp with sweat.

  Of everyone, Grimes was the only one who appeared remotely ready for a new day. He was dressed in a fresh uniform, brass gleaming, creases sharp, the effect only nominally taking away from the heavy bags that hung under his eyes.