Into the Light (The Light #1)

by Aleatha Romig

  I still wasn’t sure if I was the relationship type. This was the first time I’d ever been with anyone as long as I had been with Dylan. That didn’t mean I was ready to become more serious. However, it was becoming increasingly clear that if I didn’t want it to go that way, I’d need distance and a Teflon coating for my heart.

  It didn’t bother me that others warned me about his hard-ass ways. The Dylan Richards I knew wasn’t a tough detective. The one who was getting under my skin was the one who drove across the city to support me at the morgue and brought me fish food. Granted, the fish food was time-released, which allowed me to leave Fred on his own for a few days, but still, when I combined that with his sexier-than-hell grin and the bedroom-blue eyes, my pulse pitter-pattered and my insides tightened. The mere thought of him not only beside me, but inside me, had my mind replaying scenes that were probably illegal in some states.

  I sighed and tried to concentrate on the task at hand.

  The building I’d staked out all morning appeared as empty as it had when I’d arrived. Bernard’s contact had shared the address, saying three different vehicles from there crossed the Canadian border almost every day. The vehicles were driven by different people, but all the passport information included this Gerald Street address. The obvious problem was that the address wasn’t a home. It was some big abandoned building.

  Over the past four hours, with the help of my hot spot, an Internet search, and my imagination, I’d constructed a story of a bustling neighborhood. In 1907 Henry Ford had built an automobile plant not far from where I sat. In the next thirteen years the population of this area had grown to over forty thousand. Five years later Chrysler was founded here. This area had thrived.

  Then, during my lifetime, the latter decades of the twentieth century, Highland Heights experienced the same problems as Detroit and many other cities. Declining population led to loss of tax base. That, along with loss of employment opportunities, created increasing crime. At its peak this city within a city had boasted over fifty thousand residents. Today there were barely ten thousand.

  Unfortunately, the exodus had left an excess of unused and abandoned buildings. Though the cities of Highland Heights and Detroit tried to keep the buildings boarded up or demolished, as long as they stood, they were magnets for illicit use. That the woman I’d seen at the morgue, as well as two more people, had been found dead inside one of them wasn’t hard to believe.

  I knew my imagination was running wild. Spending all my spare time dissecting Tracy Howell’s “compilation theory” was getting to me. Every death and disappearance didn’t have to be related. Though this neighborhood was a melting pot for crimes, so were other areas of the city. High-risk behaviors made areas like this good spots for deaths from self-inflicted causes, such as drug use. Unfortunately, they also made good dumping grounds. There were too many reasons for death among Dr. Howell’s cases to assume that all, or even a large number, of them were related.

  The area needed more places like the building I was sitting behind: a health clinic. Dr. Howell was right. New businesses wouldn’t be willing to set up shop here if it was publicized that just down the street dead bodies kept surfacing.

  The building I watched used to be a school, and the one next to it had once been a fire station. As I sat, I imagined what they were like in their heydays. Instead of being desolate, the area would’ve been filled with people. At one time children had run along the streets and played in the attached lots. Instead of dirt and debris, there had been grass, trees, and playground equipment. As I scanned the area, I knew that Dylan’s concern was warranted. Going purely by the number of abandoned buildings in this neighborhood, it wasn’t safe. However, the way I saw it, it was daylight, and I’d left my trail of bread crumbs. Bernard and Foster knew exactly where I was.

  With each minute of nothing, I considered calling Bernard. His earlier suggestion to use Dylan as an informant might have been a test, but it had pissed me off. Now I wondered whether, if I told him about Dylan’s offer, he’d think the sharing of information went both ways. Shrugging, I decided it could wait until after I received my tour tomorrow morning.

  Therefore, instead of Bernard, I dialed Dr. Howell’s cell phone. I was ready to leave a message when she finally answered on the fourth ring.

  “Hi, Charlotte,” she answered. “I’m surprised you’re calling me at work.”

  Charlotte?

  “OK,” I replied, “I get it, you can’t talk. Did you know another body’s been found in Highland Heights?”

  “Sure did.” Tracy’s upbeat tone combined with the morbid subject made me grin. She was obviously in the presence of someone she didn’t want to include in our conversation.

  “It was found in the same neighborhood as the woman from a week ago,” I said softly, hoping my voice didn’t transcend the phone and reach the unintended listener.

  “Sounds about right. I’ll call you after I get off work. I’m not sure if we can meet for a drink, but I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks, I’ll be waiting for your call.”

  When the phone disconnected, I wondered who Charlotte was—I mean, besides me.

  Unlike with my wasted morning, at least with that brief conversation I’d learned something. The ME’s office had already received the call. Maybe I wouldn’t have to wait until tomorrow for details. Maybe I’d get them this evening from Dr. Howell.

  As I was about to give up on the abandoned building, a late-model black Suburban pulled up and around to the front. It stopped near the neighboring building, the one that looked like an old fire station. Though there were three large garage-type doors, the two men who got out of the SUV walked between the buildings.

  I reached for my camera. While my phone took good pictures, my Nikon was capable of much more. With the two-hundred-millimeter-focal-length lens, the zooming abilities were superb. I pointed and snapped a rapid series of shots. The two men who walked between the buildings were white, average height, wearing dark jeans and white T-shirts. If I were to guess, I’d have put them roughly in their thirties. As I continued to take the photos, the word nondescript came to mind. The driver remained in the vehicle. Seeing him through the windshield, I couldn’t get a great picture, but I saw that he was African-American and wearing a similar white T-shirt. From my angle, I couldn’t make out much more.

  Whatever the men did between the buildings didn’t take long. In less than five minutes, they were out, and the Suburban pulled away, past me and toward Woodward. Ignoring Dylan’s warning, I backed out of my space and pulled out of the parking lot, just in time to watch the Suburban turn right on Woodward. Justifying my decision—the SUV had turned in the direction in which I would need to go to get back to WCJB—I followed.

  Since Woodward Avenue was a main thoroughfare, I wasn’t concerned about the occupants of the SUV questioning my presence. That was, until we turned right onto Glendale Avenue. The hairs on the back of my neck tingled in warning. For a warm late-summer morning, the streets were very quiet. While I waited at a light at Second Avenue, the Suburban turned right. Once the stoplight changed, I followed. I turned just in time to see the black SUV pull into a parking lot behind a white brick building.

  I continued to drive and circled the block.

  Thankfully, wherever Dylan and the rest of the police were wasn’t nearby. Approaching again from the front of the building, I slowed near the corner of Second and Glendale Avenues. During my circle I passed multiple buildings that weren’t only abandoned, but charred remains of what had once been homes. As a matter of fact, I was currently across the street from one. An overgrowth of shrubbery near the intersection hid my location as I pulled to the side of the road.

  Peering about, I didn’t see a single person. Maybe it was the police presence somewhere in the vicinity, but for whatever reason, despite its being almost midday, the neighborhood was deadly still. I turned off the ignition, locked my car, and stepped onto the sidewalk. Weeds brushed my pant legs as I made my
way through the debris littering the street and sidewalk.

  Moving slowly around the overgrowth of bushes, I scanned the front of the building, the one where the SUV had parked. If I were to guess, it was or used to be an office building. Four stories tall, it had many windows in front, all covered interiorly by long white vertical blinds. This building’s surroundings looked different from those of most buildings in the area. Unlike where I stood, there weren’t any overgrown bushes or grass; even the sidewalk in front was clear of weeds and debris. A black chain-link fence surrounded the entire building, yet there didn’t appear to be a lock of any kind on the front gate. Above the front entrance was a blue awning with white letters that simply read “The Light.”

  I snapped more pictures. Rotating from left to right I photographed the entire intersection. On the southwest corner, across Second Avenue from The Light, was a large limestone building surrounded by a rod iron fence. As I zoomed my camera, I made out the words Public Schools of Highland Heights etched in the stone. The trees and bushes as well as ground clutter indicated that, like many others, it was abandoned. Across from the old school was the skeleton of a house, decimated by fire, and on the corner where I stood was another building. The broken windows told me that it too was empty.

  Getting back in my car, I watched the vertical blinds covering the windows on the front side of The Light. I didn’t notice any movement. If the building held people, they were hidden. As I slowly drove toward the intersection, a group of three women walked from the back of The Light, coming from near the parking lot. From that distance I couldn’t make out distinguishing characteristics, but I could tell that they were women.

  What are they doing?

  I watched as they crossed Second Avenue toward the old school and disappeared behind an overgrowth of trees. Reaching for my camera, I waited for more people. When no one else emerged, I laid my camera down and drove forward, crossing the intersection. Driving slowly, I peered in the direction in which they had gone. The iron gate on the far side of the trees was closed. Beyond it was a door, but it had a “Do Not Trespass” sign attached and a chain laced through the handle from the outside.

  Where did the women go?

  They couldn’t have entered that door. If they had, someone would have needed to chain it again from the outside. Even with my active imagination that seemed improbable; besides, the lock looked rusty and old. Stopping my car, I grabbed my camera. Quickly I took pictures of the side of the school. Looking back to The Light building, I noticed more windows, also covered from within. I snapped a few more pictures. The Suburban was still parked in the lot behind the building, along with a half-dozen other cars, none of which were new.

  The wail of sirens in the distance propelled me to leave. Soon I was headed north and then east, back to Woodward Avenue.

  Within ten minutes I was out of Highland Heights and safely into the North End of Detroit. I couldn’t recall for sure, but I didn’t remember having seen any police cars. Honestly, other than the patrons of the health clinic where I’d spent most of my morning, the men in my pictures, and the three women, I hadn’t seen anyone. Hopefully, no one would report my whereabouts to my overprotective boyfriend.

  I shrugged. If they did, he’d need to deal. Then again, I didn’t want to lose my morning tour.

  “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

  Dylan’s raspy voice invaded my dream. I couldn’t remember what I’d been seeing behind my closed eyes, but whatever it had been, I was confident the man above me was better. As I inhaled his musky scent, my lips formed a smile, only for it to morph into a pout.

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  “Then I guess your lovely tour of downtown Highland Heights will need to wait.”

  My eyes sprang open and I started to sit. A laugh rumbled deep in Dylan’s throat as he leaned over me, stopping my upward motion. The vibrations of his chest electrified my bare nipples, making them hard and tight, while my insides fluttered.

  “I don’t think I’ve gotten that quick of a reaction from you this early in the morning, ever. Not even when I was offering something a hell of a lot better than two rat-infested boarded-up houses.”

  This time I laughed. “I think it’s the lovely description that has me enthralled. Who could pass up a tour of rat-infested boarded-up houses in lovely downtown Highland Heights?” I asked, mocking his words. “Besides, that other offer of yours, well . . .” I shrugged. “I’ve had that before.”

  Dylan rolled away, laying his head on the pillow and covering his eyes with his hard bicep. “You’re seriously messing with my self-confidence.”

  I lifted my head and moved toward him. My long hair teased his skin. After a quick kiss on his cheek, I said, “I doubt that. I’ve never known a more—”

  His finger touched my lips and his eyes sparkled. “Stop right there. Let me imagine the rest of the sentence, and just maybe, I might recover.”

  My grin blossomed into a full-out smile. “I’m so glad. I’d hate to be responsible for any of your nonexistent self-esteem issues.”

  Dylan captured my shoulders and pulled me close, flattening my breasts against his chest and sending my hair cascading around my face. We were two people in a tunnel of blonde. “I think,” he teased, “we should skip the tour and work on my nonexistent issues.”

  I pulled away. “As I recall, we worked on your issues last night.”

  “But I have more.”

  Turning slightly, I peeked at the blankets and playfully shook my head at the way they now tented. Kissing his lips, I reminded him, “You’re the one who told me we had to do this early, before . . . what did you say? The idiots came out?”

  “That was me, wasn’t it?”

  “It was, and I want my tour.”

  Dylan looked at the clock, which read half past five. “Sunrise is a little after seven. We don’t want to arrive before sunrise and surprise the rats.”

  My whole body quivered. “Yuck. It’d be all right with me if you quit mentioning those.”

  He poked my side, making me laugh. “You can always change your mind.”

  “Nope,” I squeaked from the tickling. “Stop! You offered me a tour. I want it.”

  “OK. I was thinking that if we drove separately to WCJB, you could leave your car and ride with me to Highland Heights. Then I’ll take you back to the station.” He sighed. “Heck, we’ll probably get you to work before Barney.”

  I slapped his shoulder. “Bernard. What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Last time I checked you needed to go to work too.”

  Dylan threw back the covers, stood, and stretched. Suddenly my eyes found it difficult to make their way up his sculpted body. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy his handsome face, I did. I also liked his shoulders, abs, and everything lower. “Hey,” he said with a laugh. “My eyes are up here.”

  “Umm . . .” I sighed. Slowly I moved my gaze up to his blue smirk and winked.

  “You, Miss Montgomery, happen to be dating a detective. Once I’m in the car, I can log on, and we’re good. I’m officially on duty.”

  “If you get an exciting call, do I get to come along?”

  “And have it end up on WCJB’s evening news? No way.”

  “You’re no fun,” I said, jutting my lower lip out as far as it would go.

  Dylan reached for my hand. “We’ve got a little time. How about you join me in the shower, and I show you how much fun I can be?”

  I shrugged as I stood. “I guess, but I think a police chase would be more exciting.”

  Dylan slapped my behind, and the crack echoed through his bedroom.

  “Ouch!”

  His eyes sparkled. “Don’t forget, I have issues.”

  Tracing my finger teasingly down his chest, I stepped close and kissed his neck. “Detective Richards, we all know that.”

  An hour later we were in Dylan’s unmarked Charger on our way to Highland Heights. I pulled the black case I’d thrown in the bac
kseat up to the front. I opened it, removed my Nikon, and began changing the lens. I wouldn’t need the zooming power of yesterday. Well, unless there was a rat; then I’d be so far out of one of those houses, I would need the two-hundred-millimeter.

  Dylan glanced my way. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

  “It seems rather obvious, but if you’re having problems, I’m changing the lens on my camera.”

  “No. You’re not taking pictures. I’m taking you into a secured crime scene. I’m not losing my job.”

  “It’s not like I’m going to take your picture,” I replied. “Besides, it helps me remember everything. I can go home and study the pictures.”

  “No.”

  “They’ll never end up on one of Bernard’s broadcasts, I promise.” I turned on the screen and scrolled through my pictures from yesterday.

  Dylan looked in my direction and his knuckles blanched as his grip tightened on the steering wheel. “When did you take those?”

  I looked up from the image of the white brick building with the blue awning.

  Shit!

  “Yesterday,” I replied sheepishly.

  “I thought we had a deal. I guess I should take you back to WCJB.”

  “We do have a deal,” I pleaded. “The thing was, when you called, I was kind of already in Highland Heights. I left soon after our conversation.”

  “Jesus, Stella. Why?”

  This time of the morning the traffic hadn’t yet built. I watched the landmarks in New Center as we continued heading north on Woodward Avenue. If he wasn’t turning around, I guessed I could answer him, at least partially. “I was staking out an abandoned building. It was an address from a source. I heard the sirens, but never saw the police cars. So, see, I wasn’t really near you.”