Etched in Shadow: A Cassie Quinn Mystery

by L. T. Ryan

  I only have one request. Let my secrets stay buried with me. Tell Harris to let it go. Tell Lisa I’m in a better place. It won’t be easy to lie to them, but it’ll be better than the truth. Consider it one last favor from a foolish old man who always tried to do right by you.

  With love,

  David

  Cassie’s confusion over the meaning of David’s letter kept the tears from falling once more. She had expected a final goodbye—maybe even a joke about how he hoped he didn’t see her on the other side. But this letter was nothing like she had expected.

  And it terrified her.

  Before Cassie had a chance to read it a second time, her phone rang from across the room. Jason had promised to text, not call, and it was well past midnight by this point. The only person who might reach out at a time like this would be her sister, but Laura had no reason to think Cassie was still awake.

  When she picked up the phone, it surprised her to see Harris’ name. The last time the detective had called her was to inform her someone had attacked her. Panic filled Cassie as she hit the button to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Cassie.” Harris breathed a sigh of relief tinged with static from a poor connection. “Did I wake you?”

  “No.” She looked back down at the letter. “No, I’m still awake.” She cleared her throat. How would she ever be able to tell Harris what David had left for her? “I was just packing for the trip home tomorrow.” There were muffled voices in the background. “Where are you?”

  “Internet cafe.” She laughed. “Did you know these still exist? Someone at the emergency room recommended this one. They’re only open for another half hour, so I’ve got to be quick.”

  “Emergency room? Are you okay?” Cassie was on high alert now. “What happened?”

  “I was shot.” She rushed on as soon as she heard Cassie’s gasp. “I’m fine. It was in the arm. Honestly, it’s a flesh wound. I wouldn’t have gone to the hospital if Clementine hadn’t made me. So don’t get all worked up.”

  “Who shot you?”

  “Some guy who works for Aguilar.” There was a pause while she waited for a pair of voices to fade into the distance. “Well, he didn’t admit that, obviously. But it wouldn’t have been the first time this week, would it?”

  “Should it concern me you sound so”—she searched for the word—“chipper?”

  “Normally, yes, but I’ve got good news.”

  “Better than the fact that someone shot you?”

  “I know who killed David.”

  Cassie froze. She looked down at the letter, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking. “Who?”

  “At first, I thought it was the guy who attacked me and the witness. But the gun was different, and so was the whole method. The other guy used a police-issued sniper rifle. This guy had a pistol. So, I looked through the flash drive. There’s a lot here. I started with bank transactions. Follow the money, you know?” She was breathless. “I don’t have his name. But I have information on a bank transfer from the night David died.”

  Cassie tried to draw out the explanation to give her time to think. “What does Clementine think about this?”

  “She doesn’t know. She suspended me.”

  “What?” Cassie stood now, almost dropping the letter. “What did you do?”

  “I walked straight up to Aguilar and told him I wasn’t afraid of him. It may have come off more like hey, I’m onto you, and I won’t stop until I take you down.” Harris sighed. “Not my finest hour.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “I met the witness who was with David the night he died. He handed over a flash drive before that guy killed him. Clementine doesn’t know and I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “You don’t trust her?”

  “I need to do this.” For the first time, Harris sounded dead serious. “She’ll pull me off the case, and I’ll be learning everything secondhand. I couldn’t live with that, Cassie. I can barely sleep at night as it is.” She took a deep breath. “David was hiding something from me. I need to know what it is. Are you in?”

  Cassie looked down at the letter in her hands. It had raised more questions than it had answered. Part of her wanted to fulfill David’s request, no matter how much it hurt to walk away from the mystery mounting in the wake of his death. But another part didn’t care. David was dead, and he’d left her and Harris behind to deal with the aftermath. How could he ask her to forget about him? To let the person who’d killed him walk away?

  He should’ve known better when he wrote the letter.

  “I’m in.” She felt a thrill saying it out loud. “Where to?”

  “Pack your winter coat.” Cassie could practically hear Harris smiling through the phone. “We’re going to Chicago.”

  Cassie Quinn returns in Concealed in Shadow! Pre-order your copy now, or read on for a sneak peek:

  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09CDWZNHT/

  Stay up to date with L.T. Ryan. Sign up for my newsletter to be notified when new books are released. As a bonus, you will receive a free digital copy of The First Deception (Jack Noble Prequel) with bonus story The Recruit. Sign up here:

  https://ltryan.com/newsletter/

  The Cassie Quinn Series

  Path of Bones

  Whisper of Bones

  Symphony of Bones

  Etched in Shadow

  Concealed in Shadow

  Concealed in Shadow

  A Cassie Quinn Mystery (Book Five)

  by L.T. Ryan & K.M. Rought

  Copyright © 2021 by L.T. Ryan, K.M. Rought, and Liquid Mind Media, LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Concealed in Shadow: Chapter 1

  Joseph Arthur Zbirak did not consider himself a picky eater. He did, however, take his steak seriously. It needed to be well-seasoned and medium rare. Warm and pink in the middle. Delectably juicy. Anything less than a perfect cut would not enter his mouth under any circumstances.

  So, it was with an apologetic smile and a soft voice that he sent his steak back to the kitchen. Medium rare, he had said, emphasizing the last word, hoping the young woman serving them would relay the message to the cook. She was a bubbly girl, with her dark hair in a ponytail and a smattering of enamel pins attached to her waist apron. Zbirak would give her a hearty tip, regardless of the mistake. It wasn’t her fault, after all.

  “Hope you don’t think I’m going to wait for you,” said the man sitting across from Zbirak. He was a rotund, ruddy-faced individual with a bad comb-over. His mustache was untrimmed, and years of sweat stained the armpits of his shirt. Shoving a third of his burger into his mouth, the man talked around his food, spraying as much as he swallowed. “I never knew you had such delicate sensibilities.”

  Zbirak wanted to glower, but he refrained from taking the bait. Despite sharing the same first name, he and Pisano had nothing in common. Where the other man was fat, rude, and incapable of thinking for himself, Zbirak was lean, quiet, and clever. Genetics had blessed him with an average face and enough brains to know when to take action and when to sit back and bide his time.

  Pisano, however, was all bluff. It had carried him through forty-two years on the police force, but not unscathed. In his youth, his fists sealed the deal when his words failed to do their job. Now it was merely arrogance. For someone who couldn’t throw or take a punch without wheezing, he sure was a cocky son of a bitch.

  “I like what I like.” Zbirak shrugged, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He wouldn’t let this man get under his skin. “And when I make a request, I expect it to be fulfilled.”

  For the first time, Pisano revealed the disquiet Zbirak instilled in him. “Look, it wasn’t my fault.” He shoved the
rest of his burger into his mouth and licked a bit of mustard from his pinky finger. After draining his beer, he dove into his fries, shoving them into his mouth three at a time. He didn’t even make fleeting eye contact. “But I’m taking care of it.”

  “Oh?” Zbirak raised an eyebrow. The return of the server held his inquiry at bay. She set his new plate in front of him. “Thank you.”

  “Please let me know if that’s to your liking, sir.”

  Zbirak took his fork in one hand and his knife in the other, cutting the steak against the grain to reveal a pink center. Juice poured from the opening and pooled beneath the meat, threatening to mix with the heap of mashed potatoes sitting to one side. He looked up at the server and smiled with all his teeth. “It’s perfect. Please thank the chef for me.”

  “Of course.” The woman flicked her ponytail over her shoulder to get it out of the way. “Is there anything else I can do for you, gentleman?”

  “That’ll be all, for now.” Zbirak kept his smile steady and noticed the way it mesmerized her. “My friend and I have some business to attend to. Would it be all right if you gave us some privacy until we’re ready for the check?”

  “Absolutely.” The woman backed away. “Flag me down if you need anything else.”

  Zbirak watched as she retreated before returning to his steak and cutting a healthy portion from one end. It was exactly what he had been craving all day. His mouth watered as he sunk his teeth into that glorious first bite. The restaurant was three stars at best—rustic in an upscale sort of way—but they had a solid menu. Most people would’ve been happy with the cut they’d received, but Zbirak was nothing if not a perfectionist.

  “You got an unhealthy relationship with your meat, pal.” Pisano’s rough voice cut through Zbirak’s moment like a knife through flesh. “Let me know if you need a minute alone.”

  Zbirak scoffed. Of the two of them, he wasn’t the unhealthy one. But Pisano’s barbs were blunt and not worth Zbirak’s time. “Tell me exactly how the problem is being taken care of.”

  “All right, all right. Keeps your pants on.” Pisano wiped his hands on a napkin and threw it back onto the table. He looked Zbirak in the eye for the first time in several minutes. Ah, there was some of his renowned bluster. A man who had failed one too many times took more offense to being called out for his shortcomings than a man with the confidence he would not disappoint a second time. “Would I lie to you?” He laughed, and it was a great guffaw that turned several heads. “I’m stupid, but I’m not that stupid.”

  “Yes, you would.” Zbirak took another bite, but he found he couldn’t enjoy his meal under these conditions. He placed his knife and fork on the table. “And yes, you are.”

  “I don’t like your tone.”

  This time, it was Zbirak’s turn to laugh. It was a quiet chuckle that no one heard but Pisano. He often found humor in the men who knew better than to test hi, but did so because their pride meant more to them than their life. Zbirak leaned forward, though he didn’t relish in being any closer to Pisano than absolutely necessary. “I gave you a job. You failed.”

  “A momentary setback is not a failure.” Even Pisano seemed surprised by his rather insightful retort. “She slipped away for now. We’ll get her back. Just you wait and see.”

  “And how, exactly, did she slip away?”

  Pisano must’ve gotten a sense that Zbirak already had the answer because he didn’t bother lying. “I sent my nephew to grab her, and she got away. Simple as that.”

  “I was very specific in my instructions that you were the one to pick her up. No one else.”

  “I had a prior engagement. Look.” Pisano shifted in his seat. He placed a hand on his side and winced. When he spoke again, there was a strain in his voice. “I didn’t think some random woman would be that hard to nab. She didn’t know we were after her.”

  “Gender has nothing to do with survival instincts.” Zbirak leaned back in his chair, no longer able to maintain his proximity to Pisano’s form. “Society has trained women not to trust anyone, let alone a dim-witted thug such as your nephew. Your police uniform, however, would have lured her into a false sense of security.”

  Pisano burped, but it didn’t appear to relieve any of the pain in his side. Sweat had accumulated along his brow. “I said I’ll take care of it.” He peered over his shoulder. “They got a bathroom in this place?”

  “There’s no need. I did it myself.”

  Pisano turned back to him. “The woman? You found her?”

  “No, your nephew.” Zbirak pushed his plate away. The smell emanating from the sweaty man across the table had ruined his appetite. What a shame. “I took care of him.”

  Pisano groaned, but Zbirak couldn’t decide if it was agony over losing his nephew or the agony in his gut. “My sister is going to kill me.”

  “I assure you, she is not.” Zbirak wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin and tossed it on the table next to his plate. He stood and wrapped one of his large hands around Pisano’s fleshy arm, trying not to recoil at the dampness of the man’s shirt. “Come on, I’ll help you to the bathroom.”

  “How do you know?” Pisano was sweating profusely now. Every word sounded like a struggle.

  Zbirak didn’t answer right away. First, he led Pisano into the men’s bathroom and directed him to the last stall. It was wheelchair accessible, which allowed both men to fit comfortably in there at once. Pisano collapsed to the floor and crawled on his hands and knees until he slumped over the toilet, his nose practically touching the water in the bowl. Zbirak closed the door behind them.

  “I know your sister will not kill you because I already have.”

  Pisano lifted his head enough to look at Zbirak, but the light in his eyes was fading. “Wh-what? Wh-why?”

  “As I said previously,” Zbirak responded, taking a step closer to the man. He didn’t want any of his words to be misinterpreted, even with death looming overhead. “When I make a request, I expect it to be fulfilled.”

  “I’ll find her,” Pisano blustered. “I-I’ll do it. Please.” He coughed, and blood-laced spittle ran down his chin. “Help me.”

  “You’re far beyond help now.” Zbirak tried not to revel in this man’s undoing, but it was difficult. It was not the first time he had considered killing him. “I had a simple request, Joseph. Kill Mrs. Sherman. I sent you because you are a cop. Instead, you employed your nephew, who has as much tact and brains as you do, but without the badge to back it up. He spooked her, and now she’s in the wind. I will find her eventually, but I will waste valuable time and resources to do so.”

  “I-I’m s-sorry.” Pisano’s breaths were wet and gasping. Red blooms filled the toilet water, having dripped from his mouth and nose. “P-please—”

  “Don’t beg.” Zbirak didn’t hide his disdain now. “You should’ve known better, Joseph. The only thing I hate more than having my time wasted is a loose end. Mrs. Sherman is a loose end that my employer expects me to trim. I entrusted that job to you, and you failed. I killed your nephew because you gave him information that was not yours to share. I killed you because you have been a pain in my ass for two decades, and my patience has finally run thin.”

  Pisano was purple in the face. His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for oxygen, but the sound of air moving through his lungs was ostensibly absent. The man only had a few moments left, and he would spend them in excruciating pain. It was a blessing, all things considered. If Zbirak had more time, he would’ve dragged Pisano’s death out for days.

  “You’re a disgusting, arrogant bastard who only made it this far in life because of the handouts you received along the way.” Zbirak wanted to spit on him but resisted. “If you had a modicum of self-awareness, you would’ve come here begging for your life instead of maintaining your mask of false bravado. I may have even considered sparing your life, though the chances would’ve been slim.”

  Pisano’s body had gone still, and the smell emanating from his pants indicated h
e could no longer hear Zbirak’s words. It would take a few hours before anyone realized there was a dead body in the stall, and that would be more than enough time for Zbirak to put distance between himself and the restaurant.

  As he exited the restroom and returned to his seat, Zbirak motioned for the server. “My friend is ill,” he said, rearranging his face into a frown, “so I’m going to take this time to pay for the bill while he is otherwise occupied.”

  “Oh no.” She glanced down at Pisano’s empty plate. “Do you think—”

  “Doubtful.” Zbirak transformed his frown into another brilliant smile. “He’s got a sensitive stomach. I keep telling him he’ll eat himself into an early grave.”

  She followed his cue and laughed at the joke, then pointed to his plate. “Would you like a box for your steak?”

  Zbirak couldn’t stomach the idea of trying to reheat his meal without overcooking it. He’d rather see it go to waste. “Just the check please.”

  The woman took their plates, but when she reached for Pisano’s beer bottle, Zbirak’s hand shot out to stop her. He wrapped his fingers around the neck and smiled up at her. “This can stay.” If the woman thought his actions were strange, her face didn’t betray her. Instead, she bounded away, returning a few moments later with the check. He waited for her to retreat once more before dropping a wad of cash on the table, sliding the beer bottle into the pocket of his jacket, and striding out the front door.

  Once the staff realized Pisano was still in the bathroom, they would send a busboy in to check on him. When the kid discovered the dead body, they would call the police, who would question Zbirak’s server. She’d describe the man at the table as white, with brown hair and a kind smile. He had an average build and was likely in his forties, with no distinguishing features. By then, the kitchen staff would have washed away any evidence of fingerprints from their leftover food. He’d wiped off the lock on the stall and the handle on the door before exiting the bathroom. Not to mention he’d tossed the beer bottle in a dumpster three miles across town. Any traces of the poison he’d slipped into its open mouth while Pisano was distracted would be gone in a matter of days.