by L B Wyatt
When Veronica got home that evening, she immediately noticed someone in the hallway of her apartment. Her senses were on high-alert and she eased back behind the corner and pulled her gun. She had it in her hand, cocked and ready to kill as soon as she heard heavy footfalls coming her way. Whoever it was knew she was there, she realized. Her instincts took over and just before the culprit rounded the corner, Veronica threw out her arm and caught him under the chin. He made a strangled noise and she took the opportunity to knee him in the stomach, causing him to double over. She finished pushing him to the ground and waited for him to retaliate. But the man was heaving on the floor in the fetal position and suddenly she realized he wasn’t a threat at all.
“Jesus, Covey!” Merritt coughed out and rolled onto his back, still panting from her attack.
She still had her gun pointed at him and it wasn’t until he opened his eyes and lifted his hands to indicate he was harmless that she even thought to lower it.
“Sorry,” she offered, releasing the hammer on the weapon and replacing it at her back. She reached down and helped him to his feet. “I’m not used to getting visitors.”
He swallowed hard, his throat red from her assault. “I can’t imagine why not,” he ground out. Then his eyes went to her side and widened a little. “You’re bleeding,” he pointed out.
Veronica looked down to see her side was oozing blood. Damn it, she thought. She shook her head in anger, realizing she’d probably overdone it when she swung her arm. “Come on,” she ordered, turning and walking to her door. After unlocking and opening it, she threw her keys down on the counter and they clanked loudly in the desolate apartment. She left the door open, allowing Merritt to come inside. He shut it behind them and turned to look about the time she had raised her shirt to see the damage done.
Sure enough, she’d ripped out a stitch. She cursed and grabbed a paper towel to soak up the blood.
“What happened to you?” Merritt demanded.
Veronica glanced up at him to see he had settled into a barstool and looked noticeably uncomfortable that she had tucked her shirt into her bra to examine her wounds.
“Tree branch got me while I was running the other day,” she lied casually.
“I didn’t know tree branches could cut so clean,” he said doubtfully. “Or that a scrape from one would need that many stitches.”
She looked up at him with a raised brow knowing he saw right through her lies. She didn’t care.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I came by to check on you,” he replied simply.
Veronica narrowed her eyes and lowered her shirt. The bleeding had slowed since she’d been holding pressure with the paper towel. She turned and opened her fridge, pulling a beer out for him. It was her last one. Between Quinn’s unwelcomed visits and her own stress, she was out of crappy Guinness. He thanked her for the beverage as she popped the top and slid it in front of him.
“Chief sent you, didn’t he?” she accused.
Merritt took a swig (made an awful face, though he was too polite to tell her the beer tasted like crap) and didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. She knew he wouldn’t just pop in to say hi. She scared the piss out of him and she knew it. She figured she might as well milk him for some information while he was here, though.
“Feds still working on that homicide?”
“Not as hot and heavy, but yeah, they’re still around. That Murphy guys seems to think the killer is still in town. I overheard him saying he thinks he’s going to kill again soon.” Merritt clicked his tongue and rubbed his hand over his mouth, carefully and respectfully placing the dark bottle of beer on the counter.
Interesting, Veronica thought and her mind took a turn. She chewed on the inside of her lip for a moment.
“You doing okay?” Merritt inquired unexpectedly.
“Me?” Veronica snapped out of her trance and shook her head. “I’m great. Aside from fighting with tree branches, of course.”
“You’re still working on the Mason case, aren’t you?” he accused.
“I’m suspended, Merritt. You can go back to the station and assure the chief that I’ve been holed up in my apartment since he kicked me out, thinking real hard about what I did wrong.” Her tone was patronizing and rightly so. She saw his cheeks flush as he looked away for a second.
“You really need to work on your game-face, Merritt. I can read you like a book.” She walked by him and was surprised when he had the balls to reach out and take her by the arm. She glanced down at his hand on her flesh then up into his newly brazen eyes.
“Who did that to you, Covey?” he demanded, nodding to her side. “Was it one of the senator’s bulldogs?”
A slow smile crept over her face and she reached up, pushing his hand away. “Don’t worry about it, Merritt. I can’t have us both suspended. Who would I call when I need updates and information?” she teased. “Lock the door on your way out, K?” she suggested, heading to her bathroom.
Veronica waited until she heard the door shut before she came out to check the locks. She was impressed to see her partner had actually turned the lock in his wake. The beer bottle was still full on the counter. She found herself pouring it out and pouring herself another glass of wine (hell, she’d opened the bottle and she certainly didn’t want to waste it). She settled down after her shower in the living room.
Her side still throbbed, but it had stopped bleeding at least. She cursed inwardly at herself as she stared at the manila envelope temptingly placed on the coffee table before her. Why had she even gotten it out? Most days it was just the driving desire to see if it was still where she left it. But once she saw it safe and sound, she should have locked it back up and left it alone. But she couldn’t. She hated herself for being such a coward.
She took a large gulp of gorgeous, deep colored alcohol and let it settle her quivering nerves. She felt her hand steady a little as she reached out and took the envelope. Without over-thinking it as she usually did, Veronica tore the seal and felt her heart shudder with the sound. It echoed off the quiet apartment walls as the potential for knowledge rested in her palm. Turning the packet over, she was surprised to see a small piece of paper fall out and dance to the floor.
She set her wine glass down and reached for the paper, opening it up to read:
Detective Covey, your past isn’t something I can tell you about. It certainly wasn’t something I wanted to see, but just a touch told me this has been an all-consuming quest for you. Just know that some things are better left in the grave.
With that being said, I know your tenacity, so I had Logan include something extra to help you on your journey. I understand your desire to go it alone and I don’t blame you. If you need my help, though, I’m just a call away.
Sincerely, Brooke
Brooke, Veronica sighed as she said the woman’s name inside her head. The all-powerful psychic. She was employed by Legacy, a Supernatural Bureau of Investigation. Sometimes the police department consulted and used Legacy’s employees when certain cases and situations called for it. Most officers or detectives shied away from associating themselves with Legacy calling it a laughing stock. There was a certain stigma attached to Legacy at the police department. But Veronica had been eager at the opportunity when it came available to work with the bureau. It was just another source of information for her, and while Veronica held the same stigma in her mind about Legacy going into it, having met the employees and worked sidelong with them quickly changed her mind about the whole operation. She had grown to like most of them and even tolerate the ones she’d had her doubts about. Like Brooke—who also happened to be Logan’s wife.
Veronica caught herself staring at the opening of the letter. She didn’t want to think of how they managed to slip the letter into the sealed envelope. They were certainly capable of anything, she knew.
Detective Covey, the note read. A sign of respect even though the two of them had never gotten along. Brooke knew how Veronica fel
t about Logan the moment they first touched, so it spoke volumes about Brooke’s character that she would address this letter with such civility. She didn’t owe Veronica anything.
When Brooke had been kidnapped and Veronica assisted in the rescue, she had good intentions yes, but an ulterior motive as well. Veronica had made a vow to protect the innocent and she found she could uphold that promise while also fulfilling a personal endeavor. Legacy had access to confidential information Veronica could never get her hands on otherwise by pulling off little magic tricks she refused to believe were possible—like slipping notes inside the sealed envelopes and solving cold cases with just a touch of a psychic hand. She found it much easier to turn a blind eye when the trick offered her the advantage.
So it had worked out in her favor, yet guilt was starting to tug a little at her insides. Brooke was a good person. She was sweet and forgiving—traits Veronica had never possessed. Her eyes skimmed back over the letter to see that Brooke had even offered further assistance if Veronica needed it.
Veronica sighed as her morale sank to a new low. She wondered suddenly if her pursuit of the truth was really worth all the bridges she’d burned in the past.
It didn’t matter now, she decided. What was done was done and she had what she’d wanted for so long right in her grip. She spilled the contents of the envelope on the coffee table and collapsed on her knees in front of it.
Before she could look at the first piece of paper, her phone started vibrating on the coffee table. She looked to see the now familiar blocked number pop up. Irritation rubbed at her very core. She looked around the apartment, scanning it suspiciously. Were they watching her? She wouldn’t be surprised at all. If they knew she was in a coffee shop at the exact time to call her, she knew anything was possible. They could have instilled a tracking device within her body for all she knew.
The lack of control is what bothered her most. The invasion of privacy was second. She pushed silent on the phone and turned it off. Her mind wasn’t really even focused when she picked up the missing person report filed with her father’s name on top.
Suddenly it was too much. She had two days until she would find out more about this Barber character. So she shouldn’t be messing with this file just now. She couldn’t dive into this with so many other things on her mind, she reasoned.
Veronica quickly placed the information back in the packet and practically ran it back to the safe. When the lock clicked, she felt her heart still. She backed a step, looking at the cold hard material concealing a truth she had sought her entire life. Why couldn’t she do it? She was, quite literally, the only thing standing in her way now.
For the first time since she could remember, Veronica felt the sting of tears prick her eyes. Her jaw set in anger at the emotions that overwhelmed her. She wouldn’t do it. She refused to give in and cry. It was pointless and weak. She hardened herself to the sensations and turned away from the safe. She needed to focus on finding Amelia and then Veronica could work on solving the mystery of her own past.
Chapter Eleven
There was no turning back now. Veronica checked her reflection in the mirror app on her phone for the sixth time. She had been looking at herself more than the cabby and that was saying something. The middle-aged foreigner had been so focused on darting his eyes in the rear-view at her that Veronica had said something to him about watching the road.
Livi had given Veronica loose instructions on getting her foot in the door for the Barber’s auditions. The most important instruction was to dress to impress. Livi had insisted it was the only way to get noticed. Well, Veronica had done just that. She wasn’t shy by any means, but she also hated flaunting her body in such a demeaning way. She knew it was for a good cause, but the attention she was already drawing was very unwelcomed.
She slanted her heavily decorated eyes at the cabby once more as she felt his gaze on her. Despite the restricted view from the slim mirror, she could tell he was trying to look lower. Her breasts were proudly displayed in the low-cut red satin dress she wore. There was enough cleavage to hide a weapon in them, but she had refrained. Her cold glance caused the driver to slump a little in his seat and return his attention to the task at hand. She had chosen an alternate method of transportation because she wanted no means of this evening to be traced back to her. That included street cameras with her license plate number on them. She silenced her phone as it vibrated with the blocked number. That was call number three so far this evening. She ground her teeth together in rage.
They knew.
She wasn’t stupid. Arc and Aniya knew exactly where she was headed, but she didn’t care. This was her investigation and she didn’t need anyone’s help, least of all from her former employer.
She turned the phone to complete silence and looked out the window as the cab navigated into heavier traffic. She was suddenly thankful for choosing to use the cab; she hated downtown and its confusing one-way streets. Soon, the car was pulling to the curb in front of a grand hotel. Veronica sucked in a deep breath to calm her nerves and pulled some cash from the small black clutch at her side. She tossed the money up front and ignored the long, hard look the driver gave her as she exited the car.
The night air was cool and it blew her hair over her shoulder as she straightened her gown. She never wore her hair loose, but tonight was the exception. She had even curled the ends and smoothed the front, pinning it back in a classic style. She didn’t want to come across as completely slutty. She liked to think her appearance was more elegant than working girl.
The street was busy with people walking around from bars to shops and restaurants to enjoy their Saturday night. Veronica didn’t smile as the eyes on the sidewalk found her—she didn’t want to encourage any interaction. She had a job to do.
The doorman held the door open for her, offering a polite nod of his head. Veronica strolled by the extensive, extravagant lobby and straight to the maitre d to the left of the main entrance. He was a tall, very slim man who looked like he took his job entirely too seriously. Veronica saw the flash of interest on his face as she approached him.
“May I help you, miss?” he asked.
“I hope so.” Veronica tried to make her voice low and as sexy as possible. “I wanted to try something new and little exotic and a friend of mine suggested this restaurant.”
The maitre d had been looking down at his reservation pad when she spoke the words and his head rose as he heard them. She saw the change in his expression as he closed the book and nodded.
“I see,” he said and his beady black eyes slid over her body as his face crinkled in a creepy smile. “Well, then. You came to the right place. We’re always looking for something new and a little exotic as well.”
Veronica forced her face to remain neutral when the sleazebag actually licked his bottom lip. The specific words used were similar to the ones Livi had spoken to Veronica, so she expectantly nodded her head (despite the bile in the back of her throat) and followed the maitre d to the bar.
Soft piano music filtered through the dimly lit area. There were leather arm chairs and sofas on one side of the restaurant with formal dining tables and chairs on the other. In the back was the bar with bottles of alcohol presented stylishly on the wall behind it with LED lights under each shelf, illuminating the area in a tastefully romantic way.
Pit of vipers was right, Veronica thought back on Livi’s words as she walked halfway into the dining room. One quick scan of the room had her on edge. These weren’t just guys off the street. These were prominent, powerful men. Smart men. Men used to getting what they wanted with no consequences or repercussions. How many murderers had their eyes on her right now? Or rapists or both? Her stomach twisted in a knot as every single eye turned in her direction. She parted conversation after conversation as she walked through the room until all that was left was an eerie stillness of wanton curiosity at her arrival and the soft, almost commercial sounds of the piano playing in the background. At least the older gentlema
n on the platform playing the instrument hadn’t turned to gawk. No, he was busy minding his own business behind that shiny baby grand.
Despite her inward discomfort, Veronica remained poised and elegant as she sauntered through the room with nearly every head turned in her direction. Fresh meat was the phrase that flashed through her mind. She was sure that was the exact thought on every dirty mind as she shamelessly paraded her sexuality for all to see and fantasize about.
She focused her attention ahead on the man preparing drinks behind the mahogany bar dressed in a white collared button down shirt, tucked into the waist of black slacks and topped off with a snug-fitting navy blue vest. But then again, she realized, everything on this well-muscled man was snug-fitting. His muscles had muscles and even though they were covered by the professional attire, Veronica could see them all. His eyes fell on her and they were a soft blue, not at all what she was expecting. His hair was shaved close to his head on the sides with the top parted and swept back and coated with product to make it shine. She could see the edge of a tattoo peaking from the left side of his collar as she slipped easily onto the stool.
“Claude, give the lady whatever she desires. On the house.” The maitre d gave her his best slimy smile and she felt his fingertips brush her bare shoulder. Every inch of her fought her instincts that screamed at her to pummel him into the marble floor. She smiled instead, her dark-red lips curving upward in a nearly hypnotizing manner. The maitre d stood in awe for a moment until the bartender’s deep voice finally broke the trance.
“What can I get for you, miss?” he asked.
When Veronica turned her eyes on him, the maitre d lingered for a second longer than necessary but eventually excused himself.
Veronica played with the gold necklace around her neck as if she were nervous and took in a breath. “I’m not sure. What do you recommend?” she asked innocently.
Claude examined her a moment then his face softened into a polite smile. “You’re a red wine kind of woman, aren’t you?” he assumed.
