Afterburn: A Kenzie Gilmore Thriller

by BIBA PEARCE

  “We did that ourselves,” Nora confirmed. “I remember taking several streets and walking up and down, asking if anyone had seen Angie. The others helped. We even had a photo of her, but no one had seen a thing. It was as if she was never there.”

  “How can that be?” Kenzie muttered. “How can she disappear like that?”

  “It’s a mystery. And after all these years, no one ever found her body?”

  Kenzie gripped her mug. “No. Not that we know of.”

  “It’s most bizarre. It’s almost as if…as if…” She paused, her gaze faltering.

  “As if what?” prompted Reid.

  “Well, as if she left on her own accord.”

  Kenzie opened her mouth to refute that claim when Nora held up a hand. “I’m sorry, Kenzie, Angie would never have left on her own volition. It’s just that there was no trace of her. There were no reports of a kidnapping, no struggles or screams, nothing. It was like she walked out of that market square, climbed into a car, and drove away.”

  “Did they put out an alert at the airport?” Reid asked.

  “I believe so, but that was some time after she disappeared. If someone had picked her up and driven her straight to the airport, she could have gotten away before anyone noticed.”

  “Her name didn’t appear on any passenger lists,” Kenzie insisted.

  “That doesn’t mean anything,” Reid muttered.

  It was true. False passports were possible to get hold of. If she’d left by boat, she may not even have needed one.

  Kenzie shook her head. “I can’t see her running away. Why would she do that? Why would she leave me? Leave her husband?” She looked at Nora. “She was happy, wasn’t she?” Was there something she wasn’t aware of, something her father hadn’t told her?

  “Yes, dear. Your parents were thrilled. In fact, they were celebrating because they’d just found out about the baby.”

  “The baby?” Kenzie went cold. “What baby?”

  “Oh, I assumed you knew.” Nora’s hand fluttered to her mouth. “Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you, Kenzie. Your mother was expecting.”

  Dead Heat: Chapter 3

  “She was pregnant!” Kenzie exploded once they got back to Reid’s car. “How did I not know this?”

  “I’m surprised Captain Reynolds didn’t tell you,” Reid said. He could understand her father not wanting to mention it, not after her mother had gone missing. It would have been too raw, too painful.

  If Kenzie’s father hadn’t told her, he’d wanted to leave it that way. As the years passed, he probably thought it best if she didn’t know. It would lessen the heartache from losing a little sister or brother, along with her mother.

  “He didn’t say a word. How could he keep this from me?” Her chest rose and fell as she ranted. Heat emanated off her.

  “They probably didn’t want to upset you,” he said reasonably, but that was no excuse. She’d deserved to know.

  “Maybe he didn’t know,” she blurted. “Captain Reynolds, I mean. Perhaps my father didn’t tell him.”

  “It’s possible, although unlikely. They were partners, right?” Partners usually knew everything about each other’s lives.

  Her face fell. “If Larry and Nora knew, Vic must have known. He was like a brother to my father.”

  “On the other hand, none of the police reports mentioned it,” Reid pointed out.

  “Hmm.” She paused as he backed out of the driveway. “Don’t you think that’s strange?”

  He frowned as he sped down the street. “Yeah. If your father had told the police she was pregnant, the report would have shown she had no reason to run away. Wasn’t that the theory they eventually came to?”

  Kenzie bit her lip. “It was a ridiculous theory. They were happy. You heard Nora say as much. They were expecting a baby. Why on earth would she run away?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know, Kenzie, but we need to speak to Captain Reynolds.”

  She gave an eager nod. “Agreed.”

  The sun was a thin, orange slit on the horizon when they got back to Miami. The dense cloud cover prevented it from putting on a show, but the sea below shimmered with a peachy glow. It still hadn’t rained, but it would. Soon.

  Reid dropped Kenzie off, then drove back to the Glades. He was almost home when his phone rang.

  He glanced at the screen. Lieutenant Pérez. Now what did he want?

  “LT, how’s it going?”

  Pérez worked for the Miami PD and used to be Reid’s boss. They’d always had a mutual respect, and Reid might say they were becoming friends.

  “I’m in the neighborhood. Wanna meet at Smiley’s for a drink?”

  “Sure.” He was only going home to an empty cabin.

  “See you in ten.”

  Reid passed his house and drove on to a small village deeper in the swamp. If you could even call it a village. It had a bar, a motel, and a convenience store, along with a couple of fishing companies and a gator farm. The local community were not the friendliest types, and it had taken Reid six months for them to accept him. He wasn’t sure if they knew he was a cop, or had been a cop, but no one had said anything about it.

  He drank at Smiley’s, minded his own business, and bought a few supplies at the store from time to time. That was about it.

  He’d just sat down at the bar when Pérez walked in. A few locals glanced up, then went back to their beers. Rock n roll music played in the background, and four rowdy men were competing at darts in the corner. They’d probably be beating each other up by the end of the night. It was that kind of place.

  “Hey, how you doing?” Pérez shook his hand.

  “Good to see you,” Reid said. “What can I get you?”

  “Bud Light. I’m watching my weight.”

  Reid chuckled. “Fair enough.” He ordered, then turned to Pérez. “What brings you out this way?”

  “I had an errand to run. Nothing important. Thought I’d check in and find out what you’re doing with yourself.”

  “You mean am I bored yet?”

  Pérez shrugged, but his eyes twinkled. “There’s a job at Miami PD if you want it.”

  “I told you, I’m not coming back.”

  “I know, but I had this feeling you were going to change your mind.”

  Reid shrugged. “Hasn’t happened yet.”

  The barman put their drinks down and Reid paid.

  “Fine, have it your way.” Pérez glanced around. “This place gets worse every time I come here.”

  “Yep. There are fights every night. The cops don’t even venture out here anymore.”

  A leggy blonde stalked past and gave Reid the once over. He didn’t respond, and she kept walking.

  “Why do you come here?”

  “It’s close. I can walk home if I have to.”

  “Quite a walk.”

  “It sobers me up.”

  Pérez laughed. “So, what are you going to do now? Give airboat tours?”

  “Maybe. I haven’t decided yet. I’m working a case for Kenzie Gilmore at the Herald.”

  “Investigation work?”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t say what. It was best that Pérez didn’t know he had that file. Maria, manager of archives at the station, wouldn’t tell. He’d gotten her husband off a DUI charge a couple of years back. She owed him.

  “I see how this is going. Private dick, eh?”

  He shrugged. “What do you want, LT? I know you didn’t come all this way to see how I was doing.”

  Pérez reached for his beer. “We’re having trouble finding qualified detectives to work cases,” he admitted. “Jonny’s good, but he’s young and now that Ortega’s on suspension, we’re a man down. We need someone with experience to run the department. We need you, Reid.”

  “How’s his nose?” Reid asked. The last time he’d been at the Miami PD, he’d punched his fellow detective, Xavier Ortega in the face, and broken the lying shit’s nose.

  Pérez rolled
his eyes. “Fine, thankfully. You’re lucky he didn’t sue you.”

  “It was his fault,” began Reid, getting riled.

  Pérez lifted a hand. “Yeah, I know. Let’s not go there. He’s off for six months. Lesson learned.”

  Except it wouldn’t bring Bianca back. Ortega blew her cover and the cartelman had executed her before they could get to her. Before he could get to her.

  He took an angry pull on his bottle.

  “I take that as a no?”

  Reid almost felt sorry for Pérez. He was doing his best under difficult circumstances. Crime rates were skyrocketing, the drug gangs were regrouping after last month’s bust, but they’d be back. Domestic violence was out of control. And as Lieutenant, Pérez had the public to answer to, quotas to live up to. No matter how you tried, you couldn’t make those stats look pretty.

  “Look, I wish I could help you out, but–” He broke off as a bottle smashed behind them. They spun around to find a man clutching his head. Blood dripped through his fingers onto the floor.

  “Here we go,” muttered Reid.

  “Bastard,” growled the injured man, launching himself at his attacker. The two men went sprawling backwards into a table. The occupants scrambled out of the way, but not before their drinks went flying.

  “Hey!” The barman leaped over the bar.

  The overweight bouncer lumbered over. He tried to wrestle one of the men off, but they flung him aside like he was nothing more than an irritating mosquito.

  Reid glanced at Pérez, who nodded.

  They got up to break up the fight. Reid took the guy with the head wound, still bleeding profusely, and tried to pull him off the other guy. He got an elbow in the eye for his efforts. He grunted, then got the guy in a headlock.

  “Easy,” he growled, wrestling him into submission.

  Pérez helped the guy on the floor to his feet. Both were panting.

  “Okay, calm down you two,” Pérez snapped. The brawling men stood down, catching their breath.

  Reid released his guy. Freaking hell, his eye stung. He blinked several times to clear it. The injured guy was bleeding all over the floor.

  “Here, hold this against your head.” Reid reached over and grabbed his drink napkin from the bar.

  The man did as instructed. The blood had left a dirty, red smudge down his cheek. He was a mess.

  “You need a doctor?” Reid asked.

  The man shook his head.

  “Okay, then. You’d better get out of here. Go home and get washed up.”

  “Yeah.” The man stumbled out of the bar, shooting a last penetrating look at his adversary.

  “What the hell you do that for?” Pérez asked the guy who’d smashed the bottle on the other guy’s head. “He could have pressed charges.”

  “Bastard deserved it,” was all he said before he too stormed out of the bar.

  “I’m going to call it a night.” Reid grimaced at his shirt. It was smeared with the injured man’s blood, sweat, and God knows what else. Plus, he wanted to ice his eye.

  Pérez went back to the bar and drained his beer. “Yeah, good idea. We’ll pick this up another time.”

  Reid hoped not. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep saying no.

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  About the Author

  Biba Pearce is a British crime writer and author of the Kenzie Gilmore series and the DCI Rob Miller series.

  Biba grew up in post-apartheid Southern Africa. As a child, she lived on the wild eastern coast and explored the sub-tropical forests and surfed in shark-infested waters.

  Now a full-time writer, Biba lives in leafy Surrey and when she isn’t writing, can be found walking through the countryside or kayaking on the river Thames.

  Visit her at bibapearce.com and join her mailing list to be notified about new releases, updates and special subscriber-only deals.