by Teagan Kade
I bring my coffee to my lips, but it’s already finished. Force of habit. “Finish up. We’ll canvas the hotel, see what nasty surprises we can pull out of the woodwork.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
HUNTER
The various characters we speak to at the hotel are straight out of a B-grade noir film. Oddly, none of them remember Rachel, or ‘Ruby,’ until Grace calls to me a room three doors down.
In the doorway is a young, skinny twenty-something with her hair in braids and a stick of chewing gun poking out the top of her bra. I look past her into the room—silk sheets in disarray, baby wipes by the bed—it’s clear she’s a working girl.
Grace introduces me. “Lexie, this is Detective Beckett.”
I dip my head. “Ma’am,” a Wrightworth force of habit.
“You said you knew Ruby?”
Lexie talks too fast, her eyes hyper. “Oh, yeah. Ruby was great. She was new, but the all the girls like her, you know? She used to bring us chocolates and those fancy donuts from the shop around the corner, crazy-nuts, crabnuts?”
“Cronuts,” I correct, Grace giving me a curious glance.
“Yeah, that’s it! Cronuts. Freaking delicious.”
Grace gets back on track. “You’re saying she looked out for you?”
“Shit, yeah. We all did. You have to around here. Guys come in, try to swindle the new girl. We can’t have that shit. Pay to play or get the fuck out. That’s our motto.”
“No one else seems to remember her.”
Lexie pokes her head out. “Nah. These bitches are new now, too. Turnover and all that.”
“Are you aware she was murdered?” says Grace.
Lexie’s eyes go wide. “Murdered. Jesus Christ. At the hotel?”
“We’re not sure. When was the last time she was here?”
Lexie shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe a few days ago?”
“Can you be any more specific?”
“She’s dead?”
“Yes.”
“When was she here, Lexie? It’s real important you help us out,” I say.
Lexie shakes her head. It’s so fried from whatever she’s taking I doubt we can even trust what she says. “I can’t think.” She slaps herself in the face. “Fuck.”
“It’s okay,” says Grace, a reassuring grip on her shoulder. She hands over her card. “If you or any of the other girls remember anything, call me, okay?”
Lexie nods, staring at the card as we leave.
“Let’s check the room one more time,” I suggest.
Grace nods and we head back in to Room 202. I move to the window, Grace back to the dresser, both of us startled when a dark figure runs out from the bathroom into the hallway.
“Stop!” Grace yells, drawing her piece. She dashes out. I run after her, the figure already turning the corner at the end of the hall.
Grace swings down the stairs, jumping a full flight and landing, gaining on the perp as he blows out the front of the hotel.
Grace’s through. I come out, squinting against the light. It’s lunchtime, busy on the streets, but I spot him in dark clothes making for an alley.
“There!” I shout to Grace.
She takes off while I head down an alley to my left, hoping to cut the perp off. I see someone flicker between buildings up ahead, my legs pounding, burning in the chase. It’s like being back on the field all over again, the hundred-yard mark looming.
I make the corner and almost take Grace out, both of us running with weapons drawn as the perp clears a fence at the end of the alley and makes right.
I put my hands together when we hit the fence, boost Grace over the top before hauling myself over.
Grace goes to run right, but stops. I turn left, but whoever they are, our mystery runner is nowhere to be seen.
Grace spins around. There are no doors. “Where did he go?”
I have no idea.
I hit the wall with the flat of my palm. “Damn it!”
We spend the afternoon checking the neighborhood, but without a visual it’s like trying to find a black cat in a coal mine.
He, she… They could be anyone, anywhere.
CHAPTER NINE
GRACE
The blasting we receive from the Captain does seem a little unwarranted.
“Why the fuck are you two wasting so much time?” he says, hand running through what’s left of his hair. “I mean, this ain’t the Zodiac Killer. How’s it not this fucking boyfriend you brought in?”
I want to please the Captain, but Rachel deserves to have this done by the book, every possibility examined. More than that, I want the truth. “It doesn’t add up. I mean, why would he wait around inside the apartment for us to show up? Besides, the Coroner has confirmed she was killed somewhere else.”
“Does it matter? You bring this guy in, he confesses to beating her, buying her drugs. He has motive, opportunity, admitted to breaking the back door. His prints are all over the place.”
“He was kind of living there with her,” I add.
That really pisses him off. “Mary Immaculate, Savior of Saints, I don’t have fucking time for this, Siddell. This is a slam dunk. Put the ball in the basket already. There are fifty more fucking cases ready to go. You’re still out there looking for the killer, at a hotel ten fucking miles away from where she was found. It’s a waste of time.”
The Captain’s under a lot of pressure, I get it, but this is uncharacteristic. He loves to exercise his lungs, yes, but tying up a case so quickly? It’s unusual for a former DA.
“We found drugs, in the hotel,” Hunter pipes in, looking particularly sexy for a reason I can’t quite place.
Because he’s actually competent? my head suggests.
Competency is one thing. Getting things done in this kind of climate is quite another.
The Captain bellows, “Drugs? So fucking what, Beckett? Half of NYC is on something. You found a bit of H, good on you. Shall I call the DEA? Your Narco buds back in the City of Angels?”
Beckett shuts up. I kind of feel sorry for him.
“What do you suggest we do, Cap?” I query.
“Close it,” he barks, “and quickly.”
CHAPTER TEN
HUNTER
I’m surprised to find Grace’s office is relatively spartan. There’s a framed photo of a man I assume to be her father near her monitor, but apart from that it’s just stacks of neatly ordered case files. “Homey,” I state, trying to keep my eyes off the hypnotic dip of her cleavage.
“Trust me,” she replies, “the last thing I want to associate this office with is home.”
I notice a pillow in the corner. “What’s that for then?”
“Muffling my screams of frustration.”
I’m thinking it could be used to muffle screams of a different kind. “Funny, thought you might have used it as a silencer.”
She leans back in her chair. It squeaks with protest. “Wow, you’re really coming out of your shell, aren’t you, Big Boy?”
“I suppose I’m getting into the swing of things.”
“Tell me, what are you doing, right now?”
Her golden eyes glint with possibility—cat eyes.
I check my cell, the message I received earlier still on screen. “I’ve got something to do, but after that, no idea. I’ll go home, I guess. There’s leftover Chinese with my name on it.”
She screws up her face and rocks forward, that sweet, sweet valley on show, the hint of black lace below. “Hello, salmonella. You want to really ‘get into the swing of things,’ you need to eat out, see the city a bit instead of moping around your apartment. Jesus, it’s so sad it’s almost bringing a tear to my eye.”
“What makes you think I’m staying in an apartment?”
“You don’t strike me as the St. Regis type, sorry.”
“So, you’re taking me out?”
She throws her hands up. “Sure, after your pedicure, peep show—whatever it is you’re off to. Eight?”
�
�That’ll work. I’m paying, though.”
She raises a finger of warning. “No way. I’m not into that chivalrous bullshit. Just try opening the door for me, I dare you.”
I can’t tell whether she’s serious or not. “O-kay, where are we going then?”
She smiles, lips rolling together. “Let’s see… A big, growing boy like you… Something moist, juicy, and tender, I think.” I don’t know if she realizes she’s spreading her legs as she says it. Whatever she’s doing, I’m about five seconds away from a full on, conversation-ender of an erection.
“There’s only one thing that will do,” she continues.
“And that is?” I ask.
Her eyes light up. “Barbeque.”
*
It’s not hard to recognize Cayden amongst the other players coming out of the stadium gate, a sports bag slung over his shoulder.
A small crowd of fans and autograph-seekers crowds in. Cayden looks up from a shirt he’s signing and sees me, a smile growing on his face.
He saunters over. “Well, well, if it isn’t my hobo of a brother.”
We embrace. I have to admit I’m a touch jealous of how fit he’s become. We were all units in college, but what I’m looking at is a demolition ball with legs.
He holds me away by the shoulders. “You’re looking good. No relapse?”
I shake my head. “Fit as the proverbial fiddle thanks to the fifty fucking medications I’m on.” I look past him. “And look at you, hitting the big league here. The fucking Giants. Who would have thought it?”
Cayden turns and points out various players. “The guy with the crazy hair is Odell Beckham Junior, nose tackle Damon Harrison…” Damon gives him a wave. “I can introduce you if you want?”
I stand back. “No, it’s all good. I’m just happy to see a Beckett kicking ass out there.”
“And you?” says Cayden, dropping his bag. “Detective, hey. I bet our old career advisor would flip the fuck out if he knew that.”
I smile at the memory. “Test said I was going to be a masseuse.”
Cayden turns around, pointing at his back. “Hey, you can put those skills to use on me any time you like, bro.”
I roll my eyes. “And let your teammates wallow they didn’t get to give you a happy ending? Come on.”
“I shouldn’t complain. Indy’s got magic fingers, after all.”
I roll my eyes and pretend to gag.
Cay punches me in the chest. “I’ve missed you, you cheeky fucker. Drink?”
I slip my hands into my pockets. “I’ve got to be somewhere, actually.”
He grins, smacking his lips. “Already? Damn, you work fast, but you always did.”
“It’s my partner.”
Cayden steps back. “Oh, shit, so you are coming out of the closet.”
“She is a detective.”
Cayden nods approvingly. I notice he’s sporting a silver hair or two, but I guess a gaggle of kids will do that to you. “Tell me more.”
“There’s nothing to tell. We’re working together on a case. That’s all.”
Cayden spins on the spot laughing. “And she’s working on your old man, right? ’That’s all,’” he mocks. “Listen to you. You’ll be tapping that ass to kingdom come before the sun’s down.”
I take a moment to appreciate the visual of Grace’s backside, the firm, tight buns that seem to defy gravity whenever she walks. “She’s… not like the others.”
Cayden clues in on it immediately. “So she’s playing hard to get. We had rules for that, brother, guidelines.
“She’s not playing,” I laugh. “That high-school crap ain’t going to fly this time. I’m pretty sure she can breathe fire, probably bite my clean dick off if it got too close.”
“Sounds like fun if you ask me. Fifty shades of freak.”
Fun—I could imagine a few adult activities that would fall into that category, but trying to bed my own partner is a guaranteed way to fuck up damn near everything I’ve been working for. I can’t let it happen… tempting as those curves may be.
Something starts to buzz, Cayden withdrawing his cell and grunting down at the screen. “Indy needs me. Raincheck?”
I take his hand. “Of course.”
Cayden picks up his bag, walking off towards the 1966 Fastback parked in the corner. “And I want details. Fuck knows I need someone to live through vicariously.”
*
We’re at a happening joint called Mighty Quinn’s in what Grace tells me is Second Avenue, an “extravaganza of slow-cooked barbeque perfection,” I am told.
I have to admit. The place does smell amazing—smoky and succulent. I look around. “Not really what I pictured for a first date.”
Grace chokes on a forkful of pulled pork. “You think this is a date? Oh, man. The day I date a guy like you…”
I lift an eyebrow in curiosity. “And what am I, precisely?”
“A stiff, do-what-you’re-told type.”
My god. If only she only knew the shit I used to get up to. “You don’t think I can break rules when I need to?”
She pauses. “No, I don’t. I’ve heard they scrub that right out of recruits over California way, harden them up for the big, bad West Coast world.”
The only thing ‘hardening up’ is my cock considering all the ways I could prove her wrong. “I’m full of surprises. You wait.”
She resumes eating. “Oh, I’m waiting, but I have to admit, the way you took down Doyle’s buddy, fucking tackling Chris through a god-damn door—that was special. You’re not Chuck Norris under there, are you?”
I reach up to my face. “No beard, sorry.”
“Not yet.”
My plate arrives.
I dig in.
This brisket blows my mind, just the right amount of smokiness and spice, a sprinkling of salt. There were some folks in Wrightworth who knew how to BBQ, but this… this is next level.
I tap my hand against the table, what looks to be reclaimed wood. “Nice place.”
“I don’t know if you guessed it, Beckett, but I’m not into fine dining.”
“No,” I joke, “I would never have guessed.” I lay on the sarcasm thicker than I need to, consider whether I should inform her of the streak of sauce on her cheek.
She points to a guy behind the counter at the grill. “See that dude with the hat back to front?”
“I do.”
“He’s the pit master, turned me into a brisket believer.”
“Pit master?”
“Damn straight. We dated for, I don’t know, a day.”
And there’s the green-eyed monster again, crouched on his haunches. “Is that your usual timeframe?”
She shrugs. “What can I say? I’m too over the top for most guys. I simply swallow up their masculinity with my awesomeness. They can’t take it. Give me a bad boy and I’ll break him right back down to a baby.”
“You are confident, I’ll give you that.”
“Don’t confuse confidence for simply being the best, Beckett, and make no mistake, I am the best.”
I’m starting to believe. “How many cases have you solved?”
“One-hundred-and-two—almost a case every two weeks. And that is fucking impressive.”
I have to agree. “It is. What’s your secret?”
She taps her head. “I told you, but it’s different for guys. Your dick and your brain are one and the same. You can’t separate them.”
“What makes you think I have a brain?” I offer.
She points to my forehead, the tip of her finger swirling in the air. “Oh, I bet it’s buried in there somewhere, or do I have to fish in your pants for a while first?”
The latter does sound appealing. I think about how her lips might taste, the sensation of her hair running over my thighs as she goes down on me. My ex wasn’t into it at all, as vanilla as they come.
Sense returns.
She’s your fucking partner, dipshit. How do you think that is going to end?
<
br /> I snap out of it. “This whole… partner thing. It’s new to me.”
“What, no one to boss around?”
“Something like that.”
“I can put a cat up a tree if you like, make you feel right at home.”
I give her the bird, certain I’m going too far. Instead, she smiles, nodding. “That’s more like it. Attitude. Maybe you’ve got a set of balls tucked away after all.”
“You think we should tie this up like the Captain said? Seems premature.”
Her smile widens. “I hate things that end prematurely.”
My cock gives a twitch. I clear my throat. “He seemed pretty adamant.”
“Did you notice he said ‘H’ when you told him you found drugs, for heroin?”
“And...”
“We never told him what we found. Don’t you find that odd?”
I play devil’s advocate. “Maybe he was assuming. I mean, heroin would be the likely answer. He could have called down to the lock-up.”
She doesn’t seem convinced. “Maybe. I don’t know. Everything’s a bit off, if you ask me.”
“You want to ask him, don’t you? That’s not going to end well.”
Her face says it all.
I read it. “Now? What makes you think he’ll be around?”
“He’s got an overbearing wife and two stepkids he can’t stand. He’ll be there alright.”
It’s full-on with this girl. I give in. “Okay, but I’m driving.”
*
The station is quiet after-hours. There are a couple of unscrupulous individuals waiting to be booked in, a guy who’s holding what’s left of his nose together.
“One of yours?” I ask Grace, failing to contain my smile.
She spins while walking, mirroring the same smile. “He wouldn’t be conscious if he was one of mine.”
She arrives at the desk and smiles up to the officer behind it. “The Cap in?”
The officer shakes his head, pointing though us. “Headed home a while ago… thank fuck.”
There goes that idea. It seems the Captain’s reputation really proceeds him around here.