Maliki (Guardian Defenders Book 2)

by Kris Michaels

  "You got it." He made it to his SUV before his phone chirped. He lifted the phone to his ear. "Well that took you longer than anticipated."

  "Fuck you, man, I was in the middle of the evening training run." Joseph's voice floated back to him. "Seriously, you're gone not even twenty-four hours, and you're in trouble?"

  "Not like that. Stumbled upon a kid that was gut shot."

  "Where the fuck was that?"

  "Outside a roadhouse tavern where I stopped for dinner in Paintville, Virginia. The kid was the owner's girl. Anyway, the cops now have my name. No doubt they'll eventually run me through the system."

  "No doubt. I've called it in. Cyber already has your name tagged as crimson. Anyone trying to find anything about you will run into a brick wall a hundred feet thick."

  "Thanks. Sorry to be a pain in the ass already. I'll talk to you later." He lifted himself into the confines of the SUV.

  "No worries. Hey, Mal?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Did the kid make it?"

  "I performed CPR on her before first responders arrived. She had a heartbeat when she left."

  "I'll get us a status on her. What's her name?"

  "Shauna Cochran."

  "Roger that. I'll have updates sent to your phone."

  "Appreciate it."

  "No worries, take it easy up there, doesn't sound like a very safe environment."

  Mal turned on the vehicle and leaned back into the bucket seat. "See, that's the thing. This should be nothing more than a bedroom community. Things are... off here."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Fuck man, I don't know. I've been gone for years, and I never really haunted this place, so... I'm probably tired."

  "Then go get some sleep, my man."

  "Will do. Give Ember a hug for me."

  "Fuck you, I'll hug her for myself." Joseph disconnected the call.

  He chuckled and put his phone on the center console before edging out of the parking lot. He needed a shower and eight hours of sleep.

  Chapter 3

  "Hey, Poet? Got a second?"

  Deputy Sheriff Poet Campbell stopped two feet away from the break room door. She drew a breath, plastered a smile on her very tired face and turned around. "Yeah, whatcha got?"

  "Just an update. Shauna Cochran made it out of surgery early this morning. She's in critical condition, but she's hanging on. Granger has the bullet, and it’s been secured as evidence." Faye Burnside, the midnight-shift dispatcher, leaned over the counter as she spoke. The county seat was here in Paintville and their people worked the county's 911 system for fire and police emergencies. They also dispatched for the local ambulance company, which brought in more money and allowed the deputies and dispatchers to be trained in Charlottesville when new classes became available. The Sheriff's Department provided court security, too, but that was work for the junior deputies. She'd done her time on courthouse duty and thankfully only had to enter those boring hallowed halls when she was testifying or getting a warrant. Thank God they didn't have a county jail. She'd heard horror stories from her friends about that detail.

  The demographics of Pleasant County showcased the haves and have nots with very few people residing in between the two classes. Pleasant County was the home of citizens who were affluent beyond imagination and the private security employed by the owners of the estates in this county alone could form a small army. Pleasant County was exactly that… pleasant… usually. Unfortunately, something had shifted in the county and the petty crimes they were used to handling had escalated to kids getting capped in the parking lot of their parents' business.

  "The sheriff been in yet?"

  "Oh, yeah. He isn't a happy camper."

  "That's why I'm here. Figured he'd want answers. We need to talk to Shauna as soon as she regains consciousness."

  "Granger said he told the docs and the nurses. He said Daryl and Jennie are holding up as well as can be expected. Anyway, Granger told me to tell you the sheriff is at home now getting some sleep. Said he'd be in about noon."

  "Good. I'm expecting a witness to come in this morning. Dr. Maliki Blue. When he shows up, give me a call, please?"

  "I'm off shift as of six, but Sharon is on duty. I'll let her know."

  Poet glanced at the clock. She'd managed four hours of sleep last night and needed coffee. She opened the break room door, hit the brew button on the coffee pot, and opened the blinds to let in the morning sun. She sauntered back to the coffee pot and poured a cup from the carafe while holding it precariously under the stream of coffee the machine was spitting out.

  Drawing a deep breath of the wonderful aroma, she wandered back to the window to look at traffic on the street. Movement to her right caught her attention. A runner. She watched as the man pounded down the highway that split the town in two. Damn, what fantastic form. His strides were even, fluid and fast. She loved to run and admired great form. This guy had it. In spades. His pace was eating up the distance. Fuck, his build was superb. She took a sip of her coffee and admired the man as he came closer. Dear heavens... look at those legs. Oh, hell, the shoulders. Mmmm hmmm. If there was a god, that runner was single. Single and straight. Single, straight and liked redheads. Wowzers, he was delicious. She blinked as the man came close enough for her to distinguish his facial features. Well, hello... That blond hair and full, darker, red-blond beard was one she recognized. Dr. Maliki Blue. Dayummm. Yum being the operative word. He was gorgeous. He flew past the office, his form still impeccable, and his pace blistering fast. She shifted as he ran and tracked him as far as she could see. He didn't slow down, so the fly by wasn't for effect. The man was stunning. If she said he wasn’t, she’d be lying. He exuded masculinity and confidence. The very things that attracted her to a man and, that man… well, he was extremely attractive, even if he had been evasive last night. Why couldn’t she find someone like that around here? Because men like him don’t exist in podunk towns like this.

  She chuckled at her wayward thoughts, headed to the office area, and dropped into her chair. She took a drink of coffee and glanced out the window again. That man could run. It had been over fifteen years since she'd separated from the Air Force, but she'd kept up her physical training. Not that the Air Force was as stringent as the other services, but she'd always worked out and the Air Force had cemented the habit. Hell, her Security Forces training had given her a Basic Law Enforcement Officer Standards and Training certificate and she used that to launch into her career as Deputy Sheriff. For her, the service had been a starting point, not a career. This, what she did now, was what she was made to do. She loved dealing with people, working the issues and, yes, even the challenges of the darker side of her business, including three deaths, two of which were still open due to suspicious circumstances, and now a shooting.

  Something disturbing was brewing in the county. She could feel it, but she couldn't put her finger on what was going on, and the inability to provide concrete evidence for her belief had caused problems for her at work. She'd tried everything she could to get the sheriff to bring in the big guns from the state crime lab, but because she had no evidence, nothing to go on, he'd denied her requests. Repeatedly. Damn it.

  She grabbed her laptop from her bag and docked it at her desk. She had reports to finish, for both the fire she'd responded to and the shooting last night. As senior deputy, she responded to serious calls even when she wasn't on duty, particularly when they happened in her backyard. Taking one more bracing sip of caffeine, she called up the forms she needed and started typing.

  "What are your thoughts about the shooting?"

  Poet jumped. "Shit, Sheriff, I didn't hear you come in." She drew a calming breath and hit save on her computer.

  Sheriff James Watson made a sound somewhere between acknowledgement and disgruntlement. The man was tall, dark, handsome, and single. A much sought-after commodity in the county from what she'd heard, but she didn't find him attractive. His arrogance and superior attitude nudged any physical attribute
s into the ‘nil’ column.

  He lowered into the chair beside her desk and sipped his coffee. "Your thoughts?"

  Poet grabbed her own coffee and drank the ice-cold liquid, scrunching her nose in distaste. "We've had contact with Shauna in the past, nothing major. When she was underage, she attended keggers that we've busted. She's had a couple speeding tickets, but basically, she's not one of the youth we worry about."

  "Typical kid shit. What happened? How did she end up behind her dad's place fighting for her life?"

  "I don't know. I keep going back to the fact that she was gut shot. Gut shot and if I had to guess, I'd say whoever did it meant for the girl to suffer. This was a vicious attack. We need to talk to Shauna. Granger has the bullets the surgeon was able to retrieve and has informed the hospital staff of our desire to speak with her. I was going through the photos of the crime scene and the notes that Dobson has in the system. It looks like Shauna stumbled forward about ten feet after she was shot. The gravel obscured any footprints, but we have a blood trail. There were tire tracks right beside her blood trail, but again, because of the thick gravel, there was nothing we could distinguish other than an approximate width of the tire. Shorty's doesn't have a surveillance system. We have some cameras we can access. The bank's ATM, the security feed outside this building and the ones outside the courthouse. Even if we did see vehicles moving at that time, there is absolutely no way we can tie the vehicles on the road to the shooting. As soon as Dobson comes in for his shift at three, I'll work through the crime scene with him again. Granger and I will do the same about noon when he comes in."

  "How did Granger happen to be there? Wasn't he supposed to be off?"

  "Housman needed the night off so he traded with Granger." It wasn't unusual for the deputies to work out any scheduling conflicts between themselves.

  The sheriff grunted in acknowledgement. "The initial report indicated a Good Samaritan on scene?"

  "Yeah, Doctor Blue. He's probably the reason Shauna's still alive. He had dinner at Shorty's and when he was leaving, he heard her. He called us and provided emergency assistance. He's coming in today to sign his statement. I couldn't get it done because of the fire at the Ogden estate." She flipped through her briefcase and tossed the man's driver's license to her boss. Big Jim lifted the piece of laminate and did a double take and frowned. "It can't be..."

  "What?"

  "I know this guy, but not as Maliki Blue. This is Boswell's kid."

  "Boswell as in Harrison Boswell, the owner of half the county?"

  "Close to it, but yeah. We're about the same age. He's a couple years younger, I think. I went to public school. He was at boarding school, but I'd see him every summer. He was okay, for a royal. Never pulled any of that entitled shit, even though his old man owned about everything in those days. I haven't seen him in... fuck, over ten or fifteen years, maybe longer."

  "Maybe Doctor Blue is this guy's doppelganger?"

  "No... Mal... shit... I think that's what his friends used to call him. Short for Maliki, maybe?"

  "So, you think Doctor Blue is actually a Boswell?"

  "Don't know. Did he say why he was in town?"

  She slowly shook her head from side to side. "As a matter of fact, he was pretty evasive on that point. But he did say he currently works for Guardian Security."

  His coffee cup froze halfway to his mouth. "Guardian?" He shifted his eyes to her.

  "Yeah. I had to ask him if he was employed as something other than a doctor. He spoke like a cop. A highly trained one."

  "But he's a doctor?"

  "That's what he said."

  "Get his statement and cut him loose."

  "That's the plan." She extended her hand for the license, but Jim held it, staring at it intently. Finally, he stood up and dropped the driver's license back on the desk.

  She picked up the license as she said, "I'll up-channel the reports to the BCI as soon as we get them completed."

  "No. Let's keep this in house."

  “We have the bullet in evidence. I can send it to the state crime lab to see if they have any other crimes with matching ballistics. We've got limited resources and experience; they could do this better than we could. Are you sure–"

  "Do I need to repeat myself, Deputy Campbell? Do not contact the Bureau of Criminal Investigations."

  She blinked, taken aback at the sharpness in his voice. "Ah, yes sir."

  "In house, Poet. Everything stays in this house."

  "Yes, sir. I understand." She didn't, though, not in the slightest. Jim was usually a pretty easy-going boss, even though he was an arrogant ass. He was only ten years or so older than her, one of the youngest sheriffs in county history. He was connected to the families in Paintville and had an excellent rapport with the affluent population in the area. Why he wouldn't let any of the major crimes go up the chain was baffling, and quite frankly, concerning.

  She drew a breath and decided to tread where angels feared to go. "Jim, have you heard anything back from the state about the links to the films we found?" The pay-by-the-minute phone they'd found at one of the death scenes was beaten to hell, but she and another deputy were able to get it to activate for a few minutes. There were no calls, no pictures, no texts, no contacts list, on the smartphone, but the internet browser had several links saved. Poet managed to take a picture of the links before the phone died. Four links. All to snuff films. Horrible, unbelievable, and unquestionably real footage of young women being killed.

  "I forwarded the links to them. That is out of our hands, and we'll probably never know. We have enough to worry about without that shit. Drop it." Jim dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling. "Damn... Look, I'm sorry for that. I didn't get much sleep last night. Just don't call BCI. I don't want them up the department's ass. Did you see the disaster over in Pope County when the BCI took over a simple assault case? No, you wouldn't have because it’s being kept on the down low." He sighed and rubbed his face. "Let's see if we can take care of our own problems first. Okay?"

  "Sure." She nodded her head north and south even though her brain was doing the 'what the actual fuck' audio loop in her head. The BCI was made for exactly these types of situations. They provided expertise, resources, and oversight for major crimes. All they had to do was request the assistance. She had no idea there was an investigation or a mess in Pope County, but that wasn't unusual. What was unusual was the sheriff's reluctance to ask for help. Again. This case should be an automatic call to the BCI. It fit every parameter.

  "What about the fire at the Ogden estate?" Jim shoved his hands in his pockets.

  "Really strange. One of his classic cars was engulfed in flames in the garage. The caretaker was baffled, but Ogden's private security had it extinguished and called off the fire department right before I got there. I've got the report almost done. I got statements from the caretaker and the security guard with the extinguisher before I went back to help Dobson at the scene of the shooting. It was a long night."

  "Yeah, well, that's why we get paid the big bucks, right?"

  Poet snorted; the extra seven hundred and fifty dollars a month was not why she worked her ass off. She loved what she did. Period. "Yeah, right. If you say so. I'll let you know if we come up with anything else on that one. I’m sure the insurance company will be looking for our report."

  "Thanks. I'll be heading over to the hospital as soon as we get word Shauna is awake."

  Again, she sent him a confused look. "What? You?" He never performed actual police work.

  "Why not? I know Daryl and Jennie. I'll handle the interview with Shauna. This is personal, and last time I checked, I still wore the sheriff's badge in this office. I think I can handle a victim interview."

  "Damn, sorry, I didn't mean to..." They weren’t sure what happened to Shauna in that parking lot, and she could be involved in something shady, but Poet backpedaled because he probably could do the interview without assistance, and he was her boss.

  He lifted his co
ffee cup in a salute. "Save it. Maybe it's time I get my ass from behind my desk a little more if my deputies are questioning my abilities. Check in with me after you talk to Dobson and Granger. Let me know where we stand."

  "Roger that, sir." Poet watched him leave. Well, damn. Why did she feel like Alice after a tumble down a rabbit hole? Since he'd been elected, Jim had done nothing but the politically correct hand shaking, luncheons, and meetings with the county officials. She'd seen him at maybe three callouts, and all of them were photo ops. She narrowed her eyes and stared down the hall where Jim had disappeared. How was he going to use this to advance his career? That had to be why he was inserting himself and not calling in the state.

  She leaned back in her chair and returned her attention to her laptop. How many brick walls was she going to run into before Jim allowed her to ask for help? She minimized the report she was working on and clicked on the folder icon at the bottom left. Three dead women over the course of a year. The first one was an apparent drug overdose and had been closed, but Poet still had the case file on her computer. She didn't buy it. The young woman attended junior college, part time, two counties over, but lived in Pleasant county. By all accounts, she wasn't the type to do drugs. Studious, serious and not a partier, according to their initial interviews. But the fact that she'd been missing for over a week and had numerous track marks in between her toes and enough H in her system to kill an elephant put a cover on the file as far as the medical examiner was concerned. It also seemed to appease the sheriff and all other entities involved. She didn’t like it. She kept mentally tripping over those damn films, but lacking any evidence linking the women’s deaths to each other, much less the films, there was little she could do. One in particular tugged at her. The rock formation in the background, seen only for a few seconds, seemed so familiar, but she couldn't place it.

  She glanced at her watch and clicked on the second and then third folder. Until Granger or Dr. Blue showed up, she would fall back into the cases and try to find something she'd overlooked.