Hunt and Prey (Kelsey's Burden Series Book 8)

by Kaylie Hunter

  Benny glared at me. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  I stepped back to retrieve my purse before walking toward the door.

  “Kelsey always leaves a tip for information,” Benny snapped.

  “I’m not Kelsey,” I said, walking out.

  ~*~*~

  I wasn’t surprised to hear one of Mickey’s bodyguards follow me outside. I was surprised that Mickey and his other guard also walked out.

  “Does Kelsey know you’re in danger?” Mickey called out.

  I walked back toward Mickey, stopping only two feet away. “What I choose to share or not share with Kelsey is none of your business. The two of you might have some skewed alliance, but in my book, you’re nothing more than a thug. Besides,” I pulled my phone and opened the audio file I’d copied earlier, “you’ve got your own problems to sort out.”

  Playing the recording, the man known to Evie as Xander Hall threatened someone about a job involving prostitutes and warned to keep everything quiet so Mickey didn’t find out about it. I wasn’t sure how the reference to a dentist office fit in, but I did see the shift in Mickey’s expression when he heard it. When the recording ended, I slid the phone into my pocket.

  I waited, watching him. Watching as his eyes pinned me with rolling emotions that I couldn’t read. Anger? Yes, but it was more than that. It was a challenge of some sort.

  I was so focused on Mickey that I didn’t notice Spence standing next to me until he wrapped an arm around my waist and gently pulled me back two steps away from Mickey.

  Spence’s presence startled Mickey. Mickey glanced around, taking his time to scan the area as his temper visibly settled. He glanced back at Spence, nodded ever so briefly, before looking back at me. Once again, he seemed hard, even cold, but now back in control.

  “By everything I’ve gathered here tonight,” Mickey looked down at me, “you have three problems. One, someone in your building was eliminated. Two, you are the target on another job and the person who’s backing that contract is powerful enough to make Benny nervous. And three, you’re sticking your nose into the dentist office which is already being managed by someone a lot smarter,” he stepped forward, towering his height and broad body over me in an intimidating manner, “and definitely more in control than yourself.” He walked toward his town car and without looking back, he said loud enough for me to hear, “Take Benny’s advice. Get the hell out of Florida.”

  Spence stood beside me as we both watched the town car pull away from the curb and enter traffic.

  I turned to face Spence. “Explain the loan. Why did you borrow money from someone like Mickey?”

  Spence shrugged. “I know exactly who Mickey is, and what he’s capable of if he’s disrespected. But I grew up in the same neighborhood as Mickey. We ran together for years, only splitting apart when he started building his criminal business. We’re not friends anymore, but that doesn’t make him my enemy either.”

  “He’s a thug.”

  “Half the politicians, lawyers, and cops in this city are dirty. The only difference between them and Mickey is that he doesn’t hide who he is.” Spence lightly pushed me toward my car. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll pick up a six pack and you can argue with me at your apartment. I can feel Benny’s creeping eyes on us.”

  I turned toward the window of the barbershop, and sure enough, Benny stood at the window watching us. “I have an errand to run first. I’ll meet you at my place in about an hour.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  CHARLIE

  Sunday, 9:43 p.m.

  I slid into my car, taking a moment to release a long breath before turning the engine over and pulling away from the curb. I pressed the button to activate the Bluetooth for my phone. “Call Tasha.”

  Tasha answered on the second ring. “Medical Examiner’s office, Tasha speaking.”

  “You know you don’t have to answer your cellphone like that, right?”

  “I’ve given the number out to too many colleagues. Everyone calls this number instead of the main office number.”

  “Fair enough. Speaking of work, got any details on the double homicides in my building?”

  “You officially on the cases?”

  “No. But Sergeant Quille green-lit my involvement. He’s using the case to try and drag me back to work.”

  “Good enough for me. I’ve got time of death, but you’re not going to like it.”

  “Hit me. I’m invincible when it comes to bad news today.”

  “Your friend Pauly put up a fight. Whoever killed him was stronger and faster. Likely choked him until he passed out, but then injected him with enough morphine to kill six people.”

  “Morphine? Not heroin?”

  “Well, technically heroin is a synthetically altered drug made from morphine. I can go into the exact chemicals found in his blood work if you’d like, but I know you’d only yell at me for being nerdy. Therefore, simply put, it’s my opinion based on the chemical analysis that Paul Leenstra had trace heroin amounts in his system, but the drug that caused heart failure was morphine. Another examiner might disagree, though.”

  “I trust your opinion, and thanks for keeping it simple. What’s the time of death?”

  “I couldn’t get a precise time but calculated a window between one and four in the afternoon Saturday.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Science doesn’t lie, my friend.”

  “I went home around seven that night. Pauly wasn’t under the stairwell.”

  “That’s the part you’re not going to like. Roseline’s time of death is the same window as Pauly’s. And his DNA was found in her apartment, so Detective Gibson’s theory is that Pauly killed Roseline, then got his hands on some morphine and overdosed.”

  “How does he explain the strangulation?”

  “He had a couple of theories. Said it could be unrelated, happened earlier in the day. Or the more entertaining theory was that they had an erotic asphyxiation game going that got out of hand. Pauly passed out, and when he came to, he went berserk and killed Roseline.”

  “That jackass.”

  “Pauly?”

  “No. Gibson.”

  “Oh, yes. That makes more sense.” She giggled. “There’s not enough science to prove Gibson right or wrong, though.”

  “Where in Roseline’s apartment did they find Pauly’s DNA?”

  “Bathroom mostly. Looks like he showered. No blood trace in the drain.”

  “If you pulled DNA from my shower, you’d find Pauly’s there, too. He was harmless, but when he’d gone too long without a shower, he’d stink up our lobby.”

  Tasha hesitated before speaking. “Pauly also had Roseline’s blood on his left hand and on the lower left front of his shirt.”

  “Like he leaned over to check on her after she was already bleeding?”

  “Can’t say, but it’s possible. Wasn’t enough blood to convince me he’d done the deed. But Charlie,” she paused, taking a deep breath before she continued, “Pauly could’ve done this. I can’t prove he didn’t.”

  “Just because your science can’t prove Pauly innocent, doesn’t make him guilty.” I hung up by pressing the phone button on my steering column as I turned right into the parking lot at the police station. I slammed the car door shut as I stomped across the parking lot.

  When I walked through the door, the front desk officer read the expression on my face and buzzed me into the inner offices without so much as a hello. I stormed past the patrol center and jogged up the stairs to the second floor, ignoring the pain in my knee as it threatened to buckle.

  I found the detectives’ room vacant, but heard voices coming from the breakroom. Upon entering, I ignored everyone else and zeroed in on Gibson.

  “What are we so happy about, Gibson?” I said as I walked into the center of the room and silenced their laughter. “The fact that you’re pinning a double murder on an innocent dead man who can’t defend himself? Or the fact that you managed to break the world’s recor
d at doing the shittiest police work ever?”

  Several of the younger officers cleared out in a hurry. A few senior cops stayed, but moved away from the center of the argument.

  “The evidence lines up. Pauly did it,” Gibson said, defending himself.

  “There’s not enough evidence to prove his guilt or innocence. You just don’t want to work this case because it’s not high profile enough for you. Admit it—you’re nothing but a ladder climbing jackass!”

  “I interviewed the neighbors. You said yourself that Roseline often fed Pauly. She let him in her apartment, and he killed her.”

  “I also said, repeatedly, ‘Pauly was harmless!’ Did you miss that part?”

  He stepped back half a step, before shrugging and saying, “We both know you can’t predict what someone will do given the right circumstances.”

  I stepped forward, inches from Gibson’s face. “But you can gauge what it would take to push someone over that edge. You think I didn’t test him? A homeless man—sleeping in my building? You think I’d allow an unstable and violent man to roam around in my building? Shower in my apartment?”

  I stepped back, kicking a chair across the room.

  “Pauly didn’t do this!” I pointed a finger at him. “You either pull your head from your ass and prove it—or I will. But I promise you, you’re not going to like the consequences to your career if you don’t take this seriously.”

  “Are you threatening me?” Gibson asked, squaring his shoulders as he tried looking less nervous than he was.

  “You bet your ass I’m threatening you.”

  I turned to leave, but Quille was standing in the doorway. He stepped back into the hall and off to the side to let me pass before following me down the hall. “Thanks.”

  “For what?” I snapped, walking at a brisk pace back to the main room.

  “Saving me from having to call Gibson into my office for a lecture.”

  I glanced over at him, seeing he was struggling to keep up. I slowed my steps. “You’re not mad at me for threatening him?”

  Quille chuckled. “You didn’t threaten to harm him, only to tank his career as a detective. We both know he did a shit-show job on this case. Now,” he tugged at my elbow to stop me, “when are you coming back to work?”

  “Can’t right now. I’ve got myself involved in something that needs to be sorted first.” I pointed to my bruised face.

  “I noticed.” He sighed. “The gossip in the breakroom is you got into a fight in an alley near Sunset beach access. What happened?”

  “I got my ass kicked is what happened. I’m not sure who the guy was or what he was after. I’d noticed him following me, and when I led him into a trap, he took off. I gave chase until he caught me off guard. That’s all I know at the moment, but I’m working on figuring it out.”

  “Could be related to a case. We need to report it.”

  “It’s more likely related to something I did or didn’t do that I wouldn’t want IA to know about. I’m handling it. Until I figure it out though, wearing a badge has to stay on hold.” I turned and looked behind us to make sure no one had followed us. “Got a minute?”

  He glanced at his watch. “I promised my wife I’d be home for dinner three hours ago. I’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight, so yeah, I’ve got time.”

  I walked into Quille’s office and over to the credenza, sitting on top of it like I always did. Quille’s guest chairs were positioned so your back would face the full-glass wall. The seating arrangement wasn’t to my taste, and Quille learned years ago not to press the issue. I liked to think he kept the top of the credenza on this side cleared of pictures and files just for me.

  Skipping any idle chitchat, I said, “I had a chat with Benny The Barber.”

  Quille glanced at the bottom drawer of his desk where I knew he kept a bottle of rum. He glanced up at the clock before crossing his arms and leaning against the far wall. “Some days I can’t tell if you’re brave—or stupid.”

  I ignored the comment. “Pauly was collateral damage. The target was Roseline, but if I put those details in a report, IA will be all over my ass to investigate Benny instead of finding Roseline’s killer.”

  “Not to mention he’d put you on his hit list if you documented the conversation,” Quille said as he walked behind his desk and sat.

  “Benny was offered the job, but turned it down. He either doesn’t know who took the job or he’s not willing to tell me.”

  “So… Someone wanted Roseline dead. This was planned.”

  “Planned to kill her, yes. But her brutal death suggests that a professional wasn’t involved. Benny knew I lived in the building. That’s why he wouldn’t take the job. It’s possible the person who wanted her dead, couldn’t find someone willing to take the contract.”

  “It’s possible. It’s also possible there’s an amateur trying to level up to pro on the hitman market. Then you have two other theories to consider. One, the hitman wanted Roseline’s death to look like a rage killing, pointing it toward Pauly as the killer. Or two, the hitman enjoys the kill and lost control.”

  This was the reason I liked bouncing theories off Quille. He had the experience on the job to offer fresh perspectives. “In both scenarios, why move Pauly’s body? Why take the extra risk of moving the body to the first floor and possibly getting caught in the act? What’s the point?”

  “How do you know the body was moved?”

  “Time of death. I went home around seven and left again just before nine. Pauly wasn’t in the lobby either time.”

  “You sure?”

  “I always look under the stairwell for him. I checked in on him. He wasn’t there until I came home again, around four in the morning.”

  “I’m going to send forensics back to Roseline’s apartment and run a blacklight. If Pauly died in that apartment, maybe they missed some evidence that will prove it. Meanwhile, I’ll have Gibson do a deep dive on Roseline’s past. Any skeletons in her closet that you’re aware of?”

  “No. She was illegal, so she kept to herself mostly. Did Gibson interview her next of kin?”

  “Not according to his notes. He notified Pauly’s family, but I didn’t see any family mentioned in the file for Roseline.”

  “All right. I’ll track someone down tomorrow and give the death notification while I’m at it. Maybe someone out there knows her well enough to fill in a few blanks.”

  “What about the guy who followed you? Could he be linked to this case?”

  I hunched my shoulders. “I doubt it. According to Benny, someone tried to hire him for another job. Me.”

  Quille’s eyes narrowed and his face flushed bright red. “Are you telling me there’s a contract on your head?”

  I hunched my shoulders in another maybe. “I’ll get it sorted. I’m pretty sure the guy in the alley was the person who ended up taking the job.”

  “You need to take this seriously! That guy in the alley could’ve killed you.”

  “I know. He’s good.” I leaned back against the wall, looking up at the drop ceiling tiles. “I’m not even sure how long he was following me before I spotted him. I wonder if he knows where I live. I’m guessing he does.”

  “Kid! Quit pretending this is a non-issue!”

  “What do you want me to do about it? I’m not going to run and hide.”

  “Unbelievable. Bad enough you have a contract out on you. But to a guy who can beat you in a street fight? Shit… This is not good.” Quille jerked the bottom drawer of his desk open, pulling out two glasses and the bottle of rum.

  “I’m looking into it. In the meantime, I’ll be ready if he tries to target me again.”

  “Yeah, you do that,” he said, standing to lean over the desk and hand me a glass. “And you might even want to consider giving up this lone wolf act while you’re at it. You don’t have to take this on alone, you know.”

  I smirked as I took a drink of the rum, thinking of a wolf out on some country hilltop. Too country for me
, I thought. “One last thing,” I said, changing the subject. “You know anything about prostitutes and a dentist office?”

  He shook his head before swallowing a shot worth of his drink. “Should I know something about prostitutes and a dentist office?”

  “Guess not,” I said as I slid off the credenza. “Go home to your wife and start sucking up. Might help if you stop by Sandcastle’s diner and pick up a homemade pie.”

  “Kid Harrison,” he said, pointing a finger at me. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I take relationship advice from you.”

  As I walked toward the stairs, I could still hear Quille swearing to himself in his office.

  Chapter Sixteen

  CHARLIE

  Sunday, 10:57 p.m.

  When I left the precinct, I couldn’t stop thinking about pie so I stopped at Sandcastle’s and ordered four specials and a lemon cream pie. As I was leaving, Quille entered. I smirked; he scowled. Neither of us spoke as he moved past me toward the counter.

  Ten minutes later, I opened my apartment door and found Spence sitting at my dining room table. Beast was lying at his feet.

  “This is a no dog building,” I said as I walked over and dumped the food bags.

  Spence uncapped a beer and slid it my way. “Please tell me you bought enough food for both of us. I’m starving.”

  “I bought plenty, but you’ll owe me. I planned on eating leftovers the next few days to avoid going grocery shopping.”

  Spence walked into the kitchen and grabbed silverware.

  I opened two containers and snuck a noodle under the table for Beast.

  “I saw that!”

  I hid my grin by taking a drink of the cold beer.

  “Fill me in while we eat,” Spence said, sliding me a fork.

  I waited until after the third mouthful of food went down before explaining my day. By the time I caught him up, my dinner was three-fourths gone. I opened the pie container and stabbed a forkful.

  Spence smirked as he uncapped another beer. “I saw plates in the cupboard. Would you like me to get you one?”

  “Don’t play Mr. Etiquette with me. Your house has more takeout containers and beer cans lying around than a frat house.”