by Maren Smith
“Marshall.” She came up off the couch seconds before their hands touched. Throwing her arms around his shoulders, she clung to him. Which was, apparently, all he needed to lose every stitch of calm and patience he’d been carefully holding on to since that first phone call nearly eight hours before.
“What the hell is going on?” he growled, turning all that fury not just onto Detective Nequest, but the two men now entering the room to join them. “You could not have been more cryptic if you’d tried. Do you have any idea the thoughts you put into my head with that shit you told me this morning? At first, I thought she was dead! Then I thought she must be in some kind of serious—”
“You have no idea the serious trouble your cousin is in,” Nequest snapped back, as only a man with a ton of responsibilities and no sleep to fuel him could. Marshall knew the sound of that when he heard it; he knew how heavy that burden could feel. He shut his mouth, frowning as Grace trembled in his arms, and even went so far as to accept a seat on the couch when Nequest wearily gestured for him to sit. “I’m pretty sure Ohio has its own news and God knows this never went national. Why should it? It’s not like the guy was the president, right?”
“God forbid,” agreed the older of the two new detectives, the one now quietly closing the office door again. The glass in the door was cloudy. No one could make out more than a shadow of those passing by on the other side, but he drew the shade for added privacy anyway. He looked to his companion.
Shrugging one shoulder, knowing some kind of input was expected of him, the younger added, “I voted for the other guy.”
Nequest gave him the most vocal ‘oh for fuck’s sake’ look Marshall had yet seen. It was starting to feel like he was back in the conference, trying to bring order to a room full of the twins, Kade, and screw-ups.
Almost out of habit, Marshall brought the focus back to the target topic he desired. “I feel like we’re all starting in the middle of the conversation. Can we back it up to the beginning?”
Detective Nequest combed both hands through his short brown hair. “Yeah, we can do that. Two months ago, there was a murder.”
“I can almost guarantee Grace had nothing to do with it.” Marshall’s thoughts made incredible leaps, branching out in all directions in search of even a half-assed guess that would make the puzzle-piece that was his cousin fit. He couldn’t find one.
“She didn’t shoot the guy, no,” the younger detective agreed. “But she did walk in on the guy who did. Fortunately for her, the shooter was interrupted again almost immediately, this time by a guy named Harvey Cabena. Followed by another guy named Winston Ollington.”
“I’m sorry,” Marshall said, fighting hard not to feel stupid and yet still not finding a connection. “Who are you, again?”
“Alex Fahey,” the younger detective said.
“Captain Martin Quill,” the older supplied.
Neither offered to shake his hand. Probably because he was still holding Grace. She was still shaking and he wasn’t about to let go first.
“I’m not quite making the connection,” Marshall confessed.
“We didn’t, either,” Nequest said. “See, nobody saw our shooter then. He must have used a silencer, since Grace, Harvey and Winston were all on the stairs between garage levels within seconds of Denton Walding’s assassination.”
For the first time, her voice half muffled against his chest, Grace spoke up. “I didn’t even feel him, Marshall. Usually I can feel it when someone’s around me, especially when they’re trying to be quiet. But I didn’t feel anything.”
That would have meant more to Marshall if only he weren’t already stuck on a different problem. “Denton Walding… why does that name ring a bell?”
“Probably because you read the papers or watch the news,” Captain Quill answered dryly.
“Like I said,” Nequest said, in a tone that matched, “he wasn’t the president, but I’m sure he’s probably sold to a few.” Circling around his desk, the detective gave Marshall a ‘come hither’ look and sat down. A quick dip into a lower desk drawer produced a thick manila file. Out of that file came a small handful of pictures, one of which Nequest dropped face-up on the desk in the corner nearest Marshall.
The only difference between gazing on that photo and watching a murder mystery on late-night television was that Marshall knew without a doubt that was a dead man sitting behind the wheel of that grey sedan, head thrown back against the collage of brains, blood and bone flecks that splattered the headrest behind him. Indeed, it splattered the entire backseat area, including the rear and side windows. He was glad Grace couldn’t see this.
“That’s Denton,” Nequest explained. “He was found within a half hour or so of when it happened. The first unit arrived on the scene twenty minutes after that. It was a week before we knew where exactly the sniper clipped him from.”
“There was zero evidence left at the scene,” Captain Quill added.
“We found shit,” Fahey reinforced.
Marshall’s mind began leaping again. “If you found nothing, no one saw or heard anyone or anything, then how do you know Grace was even there when the shooter was?”
“Because,” Nequest said grimly, producing another picture, “three weeks after Denton, Harvey Cabena was found in his bed with a pillow over his face, shot through the left eye at point-blank range.”
The sinking, dropping, spreading ice-roots sensation came back with a vengeance when he dropped a third photo on his desk in front of Marshall. This was even more gruesome than the first two.
“This is Winston Ollington,” the detective said bluntly. “He was decapitated when his convertible slammed into the back of a semi on the I-235. His brake lines had been cut. He’d been going almost ninety when it happened.”
“Sheared away the entire upper half of the car,” Fahey said helpfully. “Popped his head clean off. We found it in the backseat of the car behind him.”
“The man didn’t have so much as a single speeding ticket,” Nequest said, snapping an exasperated look to his companion. Fahey only shrugged, as if saying ‘only trying to help’. “His accelerator had been tampered with too.”
“And now he’s after Grace,” Marshall said, finally making that heart-stopping connection.
Nequest’s jaw worked, clenching and releasing twice before he forced himself to agree. “We believe so, yes.”
“And you have no idea who this murderer is.” Softly though he said it, it was no less a statement of fact.
“Oh, no,” the detective disagreed. “We know exactly who he is.” He dropped the last picture on the corner of the desk, allowing Marshall a long look at the grainy black and white photo taken by what looked to be a home security camera. “His name is Carmen ‘The Bulldog’ Massino, and he’s about as bad as they come. The kind of bad that doesn’t take chances when it comes to witnesses and getting caught.”
“And he’s after Grace,” Marshall repeated, a tiny drop of anger at last falling in amongst the sea of cold constricting his gut.
“We can stop him,” Nequest said. “We’ve got his face on camera and a laundry list of crimes that will, if he pleads out, put him in prison for the rest of his life.”
“And if he doesn’t plead?” Marshall challenged.
Nequest flexed his fingers before he clasped them. The look on his face was nothing but determination, with only hints of exhaustion creeping in around the edges. “Then he goes straight to death row and I’m happy to drive the bus that takes him there.”
Marshall looked from Nequest to Fahey, and then to his captain. Something wasn’t adding up. “Why was I called?” he asked, suspicions deepening.
“Your cousin,” Nequest said, although to his credit, he did try to soften his reproach with a tight smile. “She won’t cooperate.”
Against his chest, Grace sighed. She raised her head. “They want to put me in witness protection. They want me to sever ties with everyone I know. I have to leave everything—my friends, my job, my
apartment.”
Fahey shrugged when Marshall looked at all three of them again. “It’s the safest thing for her.”
“Marshall,” Grace whispered, her hands sliding up his chest to ‘see’ his face. Her fingertips barely caressed the line of his jaw, assuring herself that he was looking at her and taking her seriously. “Carmen the Bulldog? A name could not get any more mafia if it tried.” In that moment, Marshall knew her objection before she could whisper it. His mind had just reached the same conclusion. “They won’t put me in a safehouse here because they say the mafia has police on their payroll. If they have police, they can get to me in witness protection too.”
“You’re not going into witness protection,” Marshall said, putting that entire argument to bed with the tone of a man unaccustomed not to being obeyed.
Nequest frowned. “You’re supposed to be helping us.”
“I intend to,” Marshall shot back. “I’m going to take over, at least where your protection and my cousin are concerned. Witness protection?” He tried not to scoff. “My home is witness protection. I am an expert at preserving the anonymity of my guests’ identities. I have done it for years.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Fahey laughed. “You own a hotel? Is your hotel a fortress, because it would almost have to be to keep out a guy like Massino.”
“Funny you should say that.” Marshall both tsked and winked at the look of confusion and uncertainty that made the younger detective retreat half a step.
“Mr. Leaf,” both Nequest and his captain said in the same hardening tone.
“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” Captain Quill said.
“You have no idea who I am or what I do for a living.” Marshall’s iceberg stare had the same withering effect here as it did at the Castle. In fact, the only ones who stood up to it without flinching were Grace, because she couldn’t see it, and Nequest. “In my ‘house’, anonymity is key.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Fahey snapped, turning to the captain as if for clarity.
“It means, I’m taking Grace home with me,” Marshall said, staring him coldly into submission before turning the full force of his glare on the police captain, and then finally on Detective Nequest.
“This is a horrible idea,” Nequest tried to warn him.
“Your objection has been noted,” Marshall replied. “Now kindly send someone to fetch her things. I’m taking my cousin to the Castle.”
Taming Terri
Alyssa Hart and Rayanna Jamison
Chapter 1
Throwing the ball as hard as she could, Terri O’Connell watched with a smile as her K-9 companion Champ leapt to his feet and took off in chase of it. It was their day off and starting the morning with exercise was not her preference, but Champ needed it, and if she was honest with herself, she could stand to shed a pound or two. Her cell phone chimed in her pocket, and she smiled to herself. The obnoxious ringtone was the one she reserved for Nick. Nicholas Caruso was her partner and best friend. At the station, he was the one man who treated her like she deserved to be part of their unit, and she loved him for it.
She looked at the message and froze, frowning in confusion. Why would the captain need to see me on my day off? Dread filled her stomach as she went over every mistake she had ever made at work, which was a short list, if you could even call it a list. Champ nudged her hand with the tip of his wet nose.
“Sorry, boy, playtime is over. We’ve got to go see the boss.”
Champ groaned, and she laughed. Either he had perfect timing or he understood every word she said to him. She believed the latter, but Nick always teased her about it, so she kept the conversations with her pup to a minimum when he was around.
The two jogged to the car and headed home to freshen up. Terri needed to look her best to face the captain, plus she wasn’t a fan of Nick seeing her out of sorts either.
“You wanted to see us, sir?” Terri asked, more timidly than she planned. Why did this man intimidate her so much? Captain Blackwell of the Garfield Heights Police Department wasn’t mean, but no one would call him friendly either. He was all business and built like a brick wall. At 6’4”, he dwarfed all of the officers in the precinct.
“Where’s Nick?” The captain ignored the question, looking past her for her partner. She tried not to let it annoy her too much. It made sense that whatever it was, he would want to speak to them both at once, but the slight felt like the same blatant sexism she dealt with daily.
“I’m here, Cap.” She jumped at the sound of Nick’s voice and held back the urge to elbow him in the gut. He loved to make her jump, even kept score.
“Seventy-one,” he whispered as he slipped between her and the door to take a seat across the desk from their boss. He set his coffee mug down in front of himself and her purple travel cup in front of the other empty seat. Terri sighed. At least he had a few redeeming qualities. Champ stayed by her side and sat when she sat. She absentmindedly reached her hand out to rest on his head. His presence kept her calm and helped her focus. She couldn’t imagine life without him.
“I’ve got an assignment from Granger for the three of you,” the captain announced, setting a file in front of them. Granger was a small town, about thirty minutes south of Garfield Heights. The precinct there did not have the resources to employ their own K-9 unit. “Grace Barnes. She is the key witness in a high priority case involving the assassination of Denton Walding. Harvey Cabena and Winston Ollington were the only two other witnesses, and they have since been killed. Apprehending Carmen “The Butcher” Massino is imperative to ensuring the safety of the only remaining witness. Ms. Barnes is currently hiding out near Granger.” He pulled an information packet out of the back of the file folder and set it on top.
Terri reached out and took it, staring at the photo of the stone castle on the front. It didn’t seem like the most inconspicuous place to hide out, but it was definitely an impressive piece of architecture.
“What is this place?” she asked thumbing through the papers, just as Nick hissed through his teeth beside her.
“It’s a sex resort of some sort. Dungeons, whips, and chains. All that kinky shit.”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise, and she stumbled to gather her thoughts, but her next question had gone right out of her head as soon as Captain Blackwell said whips and chains.
“Why would Ms. Barnes hide there?” Nick recovered more quickly than she and took over the line of questions. She eyed him incredulously, waiting for her knight in faded blue denim to take over and protest, to tell Cap where to shove it and that they were absolutely not about to go undercover at some sort of kinky sex resort. No way, no how. To her utter horror, Nick did nothing of the sort. He didn’t even look the tiniest bit upset or apprehensive about the assignment as he waited for the captain to answer.
“The resort, if that’s what we are calling it, is owned by Grace’s cousin, Marshall Leaf. He seems to think he can protect her better than witness protection, so here we are, giving up our own officers to cover their asses.”
Incredulous, Terri spaced out and stopped listening to the conversation. This had to be some sort of nightmare. Nick loved to prank her. Had he somehow gotten the captain to go along with this epic falsehood and help him? That had to be it, didn’t it? It had to be, because a kinky BDSM sex resort in rural Ohio… That couldn’t be a real thing… could it? How? Aren’t there laws against this kind of thing?
“Earth to T,” Nick whispered, nudging her arm.
“Sorry, I just can’t even believe this is for real.”
“Believe it, O’Connell,” the captain blustered, smirking at her in a way that made her sick to her stomach. “The district attorney wants the bomb squad present, but Leaf will only allow it if you remain inconspicuous as to not interfere with the other guests. You, Nick, and Champ need to get in there and blend in somehow. I don’t care how and, quite frankly, I would rather not know, but your mission is to keep the girl safe. Lea
f will give you access to the entire building. Your job is to make sure that no outside weapons enter the premises. With vacationers coming and going every day, Champ is going to be very busy, and you two need to stay on top of it all.”
“Champ can handle it,” Terri assured, reaching down to give her buddy a scratch behind the ears without taking her eyes off the paperwork in front of her.
“It’s not Champ I’m worried about; it’s the two of you. You especially. Don’t mess this up, O’Connell.”
Irritated at the unfair attitude, she glanced at Nick again, waiting for him to stick up for her like he usually did. Nick didn’t so much as send a sympathetic glance in her direction as his attention bounced between the captain and the info packet sitting in his lap. She scowled. What was with him today?
“How are we supposed to blend in? We know nothing about a place like this, and a dog is not exactly inconspicuous,” Nick questioned, staring intently at the captain.
“Damned if I know,” the captain bristled. “That’s your job.” He turned away from them, looking as if he was already finished with the conversation. “Fill out the paperwork and fax it to Leaf tonight,” he instructed, gesturing to the file folder in Nick’s lap, “and then be ready to leave tomorrow morning.” With that, Captain Blackwell nodded smartly and exited the room, yelling across the station as he left. Terri turned to Nick and pinned him with an accusatory glare. How could he possibly be this calm? Going along with this ridiculous assignment like it wasn’t the most asinine offensive job that they had ever been handed. “What the hell, Nick?”
Nick just shrugged, tapping the thick folder against his leg as he sipped his coffee. “Looks like we better get reading. We have less than twenty-four hours to come up with a plan.”