by Kayt Miller
Deadhead
Bedhead Book Three
Kayt Miller
Copyright © 2020 by Kayt Miller
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Editor: Hot Tree Editing
Proofreading by: Hot Tree Editing
Formatted by: Kayt Miller
Created with Vellum
Contents
Also by Kayt Miller
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Also by Kayt Miller
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Thank you!
Sneak Peek: Sexy Savior (Releasing December 6, 2020)
Also by Kayt Miller
For more information: www.kaytmiller.com
Bedhead
Redhead
Deadhead
FarmBoy
Game Changer
One of a Kind
The Virginia Chronicles
Our of the Blue: The Flynns Book One
Mick’sology: The Flynns Book Two
Vested Interest: The Flynns Book Three
The Importance of Being Ernie: The Flynns Book Four
The Importance of Being Kennedy’s: The Flynns Book Five
Quirky Girl: The Flynns Book Six
The Art of the Game
Lainie: The Palmer Sisters Book 1
Agatha: The Palmer Sisters Book 2
Sadie: The Palmer Sisters Book 3
Cortland: The Palmer Sisters Book 4
Keely: The Palmer Sisters Book 5
Violet: The Palmer Sisters Book 6
Molly: The Palmer Sisters Book 7
The Portrait Painter
Hopeful Romantic (Coming soon.)
Thanks to Margie Dill (Coming soon.)
Prologue
Gage
I don’t remember a time when I didn’t want to be a cop. When I was little, my brother and I would play that game Cops and Robbers, and I was always the cop while my brother Graham was always the robber. Funny how life works out. Now Graham is always in some kind of trouble, and I’m always bailing him out. Literally and figuratively. Luckily, he lives in Missouri, so I don’t have to witness any of it firsthand, or worse, arrest him.
But there are days, like today, that I wish I did something else. Anything else. Hell, re-upping in the army sounds pretty damn appealing after the shit that went down today. That’s because today I have to arrest a friend. Well, a friend of a friend, I guess you’d say. No, she’s a friend. Believe me, I tried to get out of it. I told the captain I knew the suspect personally, but he didn’t bat an eye. Instead of understanding, he snapped, “You’re the senior uniform on duty, Golden. Get out there and do your goddamn job.”
So one of the rookies and I take off, heading to Tayler and Quinn’s place, with me hoping like hell Quinn won’t be around for this. The second the door swings open and Tayler Sorenson smiles at me, my stomach flips. Then again when she uses her nicest voice and says, “Oh hi, Gage. What’s up?”
Then once more when Luke Green appears behind her. “Hey, man.”
For a second I forget why I’m here. I’m supposed to be in cop mode, but that left me on the ride over, I guess. “Uh, hey.” Yeah, I sound like an idiot. As quickly as I can, I clear my throat and do what I came to do. “Tayler Sorenson?”
She’s still smiling at me. God, this sucks. “Yes.”
“I need to ask you to come with us.”
She laughs. She thinks this is a joke. Man, I wish it were. “Why?” she asks, tilting her head just a little bit. I’d say it’s adorable if any of this was fun.
Apparently the rookie officer, Lance Finch, has had enough of my hemming and hawing. “Tayler Sorenson, we’d like you to come with us. If you come with us willingly, we won’t cuff you.”
I want to cuff him, the jackass. That was unnecessary. I told him in the fucking squad car that I’d handle this–, that I knew Tayler personally, but this guy just has to play bad cop whenever he gets the chance. The guy drives me nuts.
“Cuff her? What the fuck, Gage?” Luke snaps. “What’s going on?”
I get why he’s pissed. Hell, I’m angry about this too, but I’ve got a job to do, and I’m not about to let Finch take the lead on this. Looking at Tayler, I say, “Tayler, where were you last night between the hours of ten and midnight?”
“Here.”
Okay. That’s good. She was home. This is going to be a piece of cake. Please, for the love of God, don’t tell me you were alone.
I look at Luke. “Were you here as well, Mr. Green?”
“No. I was at work.”
Not the answer I wanted, so I shake my head because damn it. “You were alone, Ms. Sorenson?”
“Yes. I was alone until Luke got home.” She looks at Finch, then at me. “What’s going on?”
“Tayler Sorenson,” Finch starts up again, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Kara Becker.”
I want to punch this asshole.
“Murder?” Luke and Tayler say at the same time. “Under arrest?”
I want to give her some advice. If I could, I’d say things like “Don’t say a word” or “Just come with us now and get a good lawyer,” but I can’t. Luckily, Luke says everything I’d say if she were mine. Which she isn’t. Neither is her best friend, Quinn. Sadly.
“Tayler,” Luke says to her, “I’ll call my lawyer. Just go with them. But, babe?” He sounds like he knows what he’s doing. “Say. Nothing.”
“But I didn’t do anything.” Her voice is a little whiny, but I get it. Mine would be too, probably. Besides, suspects always say that, but I want to believe she’s telling the truth. I really do.
Luke repeats, “I know, but promise me you’ll wait for the attorney. I’ll be right behind you. Don’t worry, Tayler.”
I watch as Tayler reaches to her right to retrieve something. When she steps back in front of the opening, she’s got her purse. She’s still in sleepwear, but she’s not wearing shoes.
“Tayler, if you’d like to get dressed.” I look down at her feet. “And put on some shoes. We’ll wait.” Strange. It’s the second time in the last eight hours I’ve asked a woman to get dressed.
Finch makes a grunting noise, but I don’t even look his way. I’m so pis
sed at him that I won’t bother acknowledging him now. I’ll deal with him later.
Chapter One
Gage
Hours earlier.
“Nearest available unit. 10-83 1320 Coconino Road. Apartment 2-1-3.”
I’m in west Ames, so knowing I’m likely the closest, I press my radio button and respond as I hit the gas on my cruiser. “10-4 dispatch. 1320 Concocino Road. Rolling up.”
Finally I’ve got something to do. I’ve driven around for the last three hours hoping for something to happen. No, I’m not hoping for something terrible to happen, just something—anything. I’ll even take this 10-83 ––a welfare check. Something we do a lot of in this town. It happens when parents call us to check on their college kids because they won’t answer their phones or reply to text messages. I guess these kids are too busy. Either that or they’re afraid to talk to their folks. I’d figure the latter to be the case more often than not.
This welfare check is going to be something similar, because 1320 Coconino Road is an apartment complex designed for student living. I looked at that place when I first moved to Ames four years ago. It was brand new then, and while it had a ton of cool amenities, like several pools, a 24-7 fitness center, a dog park, and a social club, I couldn’t picture myself living among a bunch of college students partying all the time. And would they want a cop living above them? Doubtful.
No, at that time, I’d just left the army, and all I wanted was a quiet place to call home. It’s why I bought my small house instead of renting. That and I was ready to put down some roots somewhere. I moved all over the place for four years as a military police officer, or MP, and I didn’t want to do that any longer. Now that I’ve been in this job for four years, I still feel that way most of the time. However, lately I’ve started to get a bit antsy, like I’m ready for the next phase of my life. I want whatever’s supposed to come next.
Pulling into the parking lot of the Social Apartment complex, I park. Grabbing my notebook and pen, I jot down the time—2:37 a.m.—then slide it into my breast pocket. A strange time for a welfare check. Whoever called it in may have tried to reach this resident for a while and just gave up. It happens.
Outside my squad car, I scan the perimeter. It’s the middle of the night, so the lights they’ve got on the parking lot are enough to allow me to see a good distance. Walking past one building, I note the address number. Looking for the one with 1320 on the sign, I see it ahead.
Opening the main door, I step into a spacious area with couches and tables. It’s still pretty nice considering the people who live here. College students can be hard on a place, another reason for me to buy my own. I found a fixer-upper that was dirt cheap. Over the last few years, I’ve almost redone the whole place. All I have left to do is finish the basement and rebuild the garage. The garage isn’t in terrible shape, but I’d like to use it as a workshop, and there’s just not enough room in my current one-car structure.
Taking the steps two-at-a-time, I’m up on the second floor in no time, searching for apartment 213.
Strange. I know this apartment. I’ve been here before.
Raising my hand, I knock lightly at first. Waiting a few seconds, I knock again. “Police,” I say in my normal voice. “Welfare check.” When I get no response, I press the button next to the door and hear the chime. Still nothing. Whoever lives here is either asleep or gone, but I’m going to have to enter the place to be sure. Hearing a squeak behind me, I quickly turn and scan the hallway, expecting to see someone leaving their apartment. It’s the middle of the night, but there’s no such thing for some of these college kids.
I ring the bell again and wait. When I hear nothing from inside, I reach for the knob and turn and am shocked to feel it give. Who leaves their door unlocked these days? Nobody should, that’s for sure. No matter how safe your neighborhood is, lock your damn door.
When it unlatches, I slowly push the door open and repeat, “Police.” I take one step over the threshold, then another into a short hallway. To my right is a small kitchen. I peer inside and see dirty dishes in the sink and what looks like a pan on the stove that’s burned dry. I move closer and see not only burnt, hardened pasta inside, but the burner is still on. “Not good,” I mutter to myself. Lucky the place didn’t burn down. Reaching out, I turn off the stove.
Back in the short hallway, I repeat, “Police. Welfare check.” Walking slowly, I enter a smallish living space. There’s a sofa, chair, television stand, and a small dining table with two chairs. The furniture looks nice. Top of the line. I know because I just replaced my living room furniture, and that shit’s expensive. Yeah, the stuff in this place is way too nice for a student apartment.
When I note the room is clear, I approach a mostly closed door. Looks to be a bedroom. Reaching up, I knock. “Police.” Again, no response.
Since the door isn’t shut all the way, I reach up toward the top and push it open, then freeze for a moment. She’s there. I rush to the form on the floor. The one facedown with blood pooled around her head. Reaching out, I place my fingers on her neck to feel for a pulse. Nothing.
I knew it. I’ve seen bodies before in the service and one other time here in Ames. There are tells like the odor, the deep reddish brown color of the blood on the floor, the body temperature. She’s cold, but rigor hasn’t set in yet and the odor isn’t overwhelming. Not yet.
Reaching for the radio on my shoulder, I press the button. “10-35, 10-78. 1320 Coconino Road, number 2-1-3. Officer needs assistance.”
“10-4. 11-44. 1320 Coconino Road, number 2-1-3. Units responding.”
As soon as the call is in, I stand and back out of the bedroom, making sure I don’t touch anything else. My hand has been on the top of the bedroom door, the front doorknob, and the stove. I’ll have to report that as soon as the others get here.
Stepping out into the hallway, I turn so I’m facing the door across the hall. This is where I’ll wait for the homicide team, which will include the coroner, the detective on duty, and several uniformed officers. We’ll need to knock on all these doors soon so we can start asking questions. The more people we have on hand, the faster that will go.
It’s then that I see movement to my right, followed by the sound of a click—like someone just shut their door. The source of the sound is across the hallway and one over. Walking to that door, I raise my hand and knock. The sound I heard earlier, before I entered the deceased’s apartment, came from this location too. Whoever lives in this place has been watching me. “Police. May I speak to you?”
When there’s no response, I knock again. “Police. Open up.”
I hear the clicking sound again and realize it’s the deadbolt sliding open. Staring down at the knob, I watch it turn slowly. I’m about to knock again because I’m getting impatient when the door begins to open. Begins is the right word for it, because that’s all it does. The thing is open between a quarter to half an inch. My line of sight follows the opening until it meets one eye. One eye that’s peeking out the sliver of an opening.
“Yes?” the voice says so softly it’s barely audible. But it’s enough for me to tell the voice is female. Good thing because I can’t tell from the eyeball peering back at me.
I point to the badge on my chest. “Officer Golden. Ames PD. What’s your name?”
There’s a long pause. Is she trying to figure out what her name is?
“D-Daisy.”
“Daisy? Daisy, what’s your last name?”
“B-Buchanan.”
I reach into my front pocket and retrieve my small notebook and pen, quickly jotting down the name.
“Daisy Buchanan? Can I speak to you for a moment?” The eyeball moves up and down. I’m going to take that as a yes. “Would you mind opening up the door?”
The eyeball moves up and down again.
Okay. I guess she doesn’t want to open the door.
“I’m not dressed.” Her voice is now above a whisper but only slightly.
“Can you g
et dressed so I can speak with you? It’s urgent.”
“I-Is she okay?” The eyeball looks to my left. Toward the open door of the apartment with the deceased.
“I’m not at liberty to say at this time. Can you please get dressed so we can ask you some questions?”
“We?” she squeaks. Why does she sound terrified?
“Yes. We. There’ll be more police here soon.”
“Wh-What?” she says, sounding terrified. “Why?”
“If you’ll get dressed, I’ll be able to tell you more after you answer a few questions.” Which isn’t entirely true. I can’t tell her anything other than her neighbor is dead. She’ll have to find out everything else the same as the rest of the world—in the news.
Without another word, she shuts the door, and I hear the latch click back into place.
Great. Hopefully the detective will have better luck when he gets here.
Chapter Two
Gage
“What the hell’s going on, Gage? Tayler didn’t kill anyone. She can barely kill a spider.”
I knew this was coming. Well, I expected a visit from Quinn Maxwell, at least, since Tayler’s her best friend, but she’s still in England, apparently. With the boyfriend. In her stead, the rest of the women who lived with her on Beedle Drive have cornered me outside of the Ames police station just as I was heading home for the night. Now I’ve got to deal with the rest of her tight-knit group of friends.
