DRAINED

by Suzanne Ferrell

  A light snore came from him. She didn’t mind the sound. Its simple rhythm reassured her he was okay. It was the first time in her life that a man looked right sleeping in her bed. Like he belonged there.

  She turned out the bathroom light and padded across the wood floors to the bed. When she laid down, his arm came around her shoulders and he pulled her up against him, her head resting on his shoulder, her hand over his heart. Its steady beat and the warmth of his body easing her towards sleep.

  He moved, leaning down to kiss her on the top of her head.

  “Thank you,” he murmured.

  “For what?” she whispered back.

  “For this. For being there with me tonight. For being there with me through all this.”

  Tilting her head so she could see his face in the dim light peeking through the plantation shutters she’d closed twenty-four hours earlier. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than by your side.”

  “I love you,” he whispered, staring intently into her eyes. “I have for years.”

  “I know,” she whispered, lifting the corners of her mouth. “I love you, too. And thank you.”

  “For what?” he repeated her question back to her.

  “For taking my concerns seriously at lunch. For taking me with you. For including me. For loving me enough to give me the time to heal. The time for my heart to catch up with yours. For this.”

  Tilting his head closer, he claimed her lips in a soft, promising kiss. Slowly pulling back so their lips clung just a few seconds longer. “We need some sleep. I’m thinking later today I’ll have to face the music.”

  “Captain Stedaman?”

  “Two o’clock this afternoon.”

  * * *

  “Jeffers, my office. Now,” Captain Stedaman said standing in his doorway.

  Aaron looked up from where he sat talking with Jaylon and Ramos. Both appeared as exhausted as he felt on only five hours of sleep, although he’d gotten more sleep than he’d expected thanks to Brianna’s warm body snuggled in the blankets beside him.

  “Looks like I’m about to have my butt handed to me,” he said, standing.

  “You think he’ll fire you?” Jaylon asked. “Because I’m not breaking in a new partner. Just got used to your strange ways.”

  “Probably wants to. And the new partner would have to break you in,” Aaron marched to the captain’s office, closing the door behind him. His father always told him it was best to take a reprimand immediately, rather than let it hang over your head. The worry was often worse than the actual punishment.

  He stopped in front of the captain’s desk where the older man sat studying a thick stack of papers in front of him. His boss didn’t look up, didn’t offer him a seat. Not a good sign.

  “I should ask for your shield and weapon, Jeffers.”

  Yeah, he was pissed.

  Aaron wisely kept his mouth shut.

  Finally, Stedaman put the paper down and leaned back in his office chair. “You broke all kinds of protocols on this one. I guess I should be happy it took you three years to do so since the last fuck up of yours.”

  The captain had delivered the same chewing out when the sex trafficking ring and arrests hit the news. The FBI and the Edgars family just got stuff done, especially with Brianna and the other women’s lives at risk. Things had progressed so fast last time, he’d had very little chance to keep his boss informed.

  “I brought you, Jaylon and our forensics people in from the moment we found the first body,” he said, defending his actions on that score at least.

  “It’s the we that I’m having problems with, Detective.”

  Shit. Not even a last name this time.

  Again, Aaron chose to stay silent.

  “Not only did you involve a civilian in Ms. Matthews.” Stedaman held up a hand to prevent him from interrupting, even though Aaron wasn’t about to do that. “Yes, I know, she was very helpful in the investigation and stayed out of the actual takedown of our serial killer, but she was still a civilian. Then, you bring in an FBI profiler without consulting me first.”

  “Sir, I meant to only speak with Special Agent Smith by phone, I had no idea he would just show up. Although having his insights so quickly, did help us move our case along.”

  “Then there’s the matter of the safehouse and the private security people.” This time Stedaman paused and waited for Aaron’s explanation.

  “Honestly, sir, when I called my friend about using his safehouse, it was more in thoughts of getting Ms. Nowak into a safe environment so she could recuperate from the pneumonia. It wasn’t until later that I realized she’d be a material witness. The security team, was actually Matt Edgars, whom you’ve met and his wife, a trained nurse.”

  Stedaman rubbed both his hands over his face and Aaron relaxed slightly.

  “Okay, this case is going to be one big mess forensically. I doubt we’ll be ready to take it trial before the end of the year, if then. You’re going to be assigned to it and nothing else until after the trial.” He sat forward and pointed a finger at him. “And no more going off script for any reason, got me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Aaron left the room, realizing he’d escaped with his job intact. Then he paused and stared at the white board full of cases listed below each officer’s name. Under his was just one word. Serial.

  And he had to wonder. When this was all over, would he be glad he still had that job?

  Epilogue

  The trial started one year to the day that they found Art’s body.

  Paula and Brianna testified early, setting the table leading up to finding Art and the subsequent investigation. Aaron was glad they were done early and could stay away from the courthouse for the rest of the testimony from all the other witnesses. It was grueling to hear about how each person was murdered and where their bodies were found—at least the one’s they could identify.

  Some of the bodies and body parts in the cold room turned out to be from runaways on the missing and exploited children database. Those Ramos and her team were able to match. It was the older people whose families had given up on them long ago that still remained unidentified, and probably would forever.

  All in all, Armbruster was charged with eighteen counts of murder and two of assault with intent to kill, for his actions against Dr. Greenly and Kirk F, both of whom testified to what they endured at the killer’s hands. For Kirk F’s testimony, his Nana, Brianna, Paula all sat in the seats to give him support, as well as Frank Castello, his wife, Jake Carlisle, and Katie and Matt Edgars.

  Today, they’d all been present for the final sentencing. Armbruster received eighteen life sentences without any chance of parole. The monster had been stopped forever.

  “How did the fallout with the area blood banks go?” Jake asked him. They’d all gathered for pizza and drinks at Castello’s safehouse, which was now Paula’s home.

  The former Deputy U.S. Marshal and Brianna had discussed changing the townhome from a safehouse into a steppingstone residence for women coming out of the secure shelter. A place for them to find independence and security while finishing school or starting into the workforce—something many of them had never done. Paula was to be the live-in manager of the house that could hold four single women or two families, depending on the number of children the women had. She would live rent free as part of her salary, which the Edgars Security and Investigations Group were now paying. The first residents—two single women—were to move in next week.

  “At first the state wanted to do an in-depth investigation, but the only actual blood they could identify as being part of Armbruster’s scheme were the five bags from Kyle and three from Art. They traced the lot numbers of two used bags from Art to patients and they were notified,” Aaron said, as Brianna slipped into the spot on the sofa beside him.

  She’d asked him to move into her place a month after Armbruster’s arrest, and she wore a diamond engagement ring now. His life was pretty good these days, except for th
e unsettled feeling he had about being a cop. In one of their late-night talks, he’d confessed to Brianna that his anger over Kirk F’s kidnapping had him wanting to shoot Armbruster between the eyes when he stormed the building with the others. Protocol had kept him in check. Being called on the carpet for more minor steps over the protocol line ate at him.

  “It was a good thing they were able to reassure the recipients that Art’s blood, while obtained illegally was tested and found free of HIV and Hepatitis like blood they’d receive from anyone else,” Katie said.

  “Yeah, but it’s still got the ick factor attached to it,” Paula said, slipping Stanley a piece of pizza crust and Kirk F high-fived her.

  The pair were like sister and brother these days, with Nana giving Paula cooking lessons. They’d decided she could do a weekly cooking class for the women as part of living in the home, while Brianna would come to teach them basic life math, like balancing a budget, writing checks and paying bills—skills women in abusive relationships never had a chance to learn.

  “When you consider that in the U.S. alone thirty-six thousand units of just red blood cells are needed, that means thirteen-million, one hundred and forty thousand in a year; seven thousand units of platelets daily or two million, five-hundred fifty-five thousand a year; and ten thousand units of plasma a day or three-hundred sixty thousand units per annuum; we should actually consider ourselves lucky that only two of Armbruster’s ill-gotten blood bags were used, that we know of,” Brianna said.

  Everyone stared at her.

  Aaron grinned. “It’s her math thing.”

  Brianna grinned back.

  “Well, y’all need to change the subject from blood or I’m taking my pies and going home,” Nana announced from her spot in the bit leather chair.

  Everyone laughed and the men all protested that she couldn’t take the two cherry pies home.

  “So, how are things with your captain?” Jake asked, turning the topic to something less gruesome, but more serious for Aaron.

  “I’ll know on Monday if I’m off desk duty or not,” he said, toying with the beer bottle on the table beside him.

  “Nothing like giving him the whole weekend to stew over it,” Brianna muttered beside him, and he squeezed her shoulder. He learned one thing in the months they’d been living together, she might fuss at him for the occasional sock in the bathroom floor or the empty toilet paper roll, but she’d always have his back against the rest of the world, especially his boss.

  “How about we give you something else to consider,” Castello said, one leg crossed over his knee and his wife, Sydney sitting beside him beamed like she knew what was under every present beneath a Christmas tree.

  Aaron narrowed his eyes the older man’s direction. “Okay, what?”

  “You know we’ve opened up our private investigation and security business,” Jake said. “We could use a man like you to do investigations for us, capable of seeing the whole picture, work to solve a problem, not to just meet protocols. You’d have to work within the law, of course, but otherwise you could run a team of people you choose and with skill sets you’d need, depending on the case.”

  “You’d be perfect for that,” Brianna said, staring intently at him.

  “I’d have to think on it,” he said, even though his pulse had picked up a little steam at the possibility of a new venture.

  Jake nodded. “Of course you do. I’d expect nothing less from you. Just remember, you’d also have the computer skills of Luke and Abby at your fingertips, the manpower of all the Edgars team at your beck and call, and access to my FBI contacts like Carson Smith.”

  “In other words, you won’t be out there with your ass naked in the wind,” Castello said, then turned to Nana, “Sorry, for the language, ma’am.”

  She simply smiled. “I’ve heard worse in my time, Frank.” Then she turned to her left and focused on Kirk F, “That don’t mean I want to hear it out of you.”

  As everyone laughed, including Kirk F, Aaron relaxed and pulled Brianna just a little closer. Life was all about change. When he’d met Brianna for lunch that Wednesday last year, who knew he’d be getting married to the woman he loved and consider leaving his career as a cop? Or that he’d be offered a job to use the skills and experience he’d developed over a lifetime to really make a difference with people who would always have his back?

  Who knew what the future would hold for them?

  Brianna laid her hand on his thigh, the hand with his ring on it. No matter what he decided, with her by his side, he could face any problem.

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  DRAINED

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  Coming Soon

  TRACKED

  We’re going back to pre-World War II and the Neptune’s Five spy chasers.

  TRACKED is book #2 in the Edgars prequel series. If you haven’t read book #1, SHANGHAIED, turn the page for a sneak peek.

  SHANGHAIED

  Norfolk, VA

  January, 1941

  “Two, to the back of the head, execution style,” the detective said, squatting by the body lying on the wet, pothole-riddled cobblestone pavement of the alley. “Who found him?”

  “The guy in black over there. Says he’ll only talk to you.”

  The young police officer nodded in Zach Edgars’ direction, two buildings down and next to one of the two police cruisers, where he watched both the murder scene and the crowd gathering in the misty night—close enough to hear their conversation, far enough away not to attract too much attention. The brim of his fisherman’s hat pulled low over his eyes to keep his face hidden from any onlookers, he stepped further back to blend into the surrounding shadows as best he could.

  The detective stood, cracked his neck from one side to the other, then shoved his hands into his pants pocket. With a nod to the medical examiner’s group to begin their processing of the body, he headed toward the cruisers, his open trench coat flapping in the wind as he walked. He came to a stop in front of Zach.

  “Detective Ford. What’s your name?” the policeman asked, slipping a toothpick into the corner of his mouth.

  “Zach Edgars,” he said, opening his hand so the other man could see his official credentials without announcing to everyone who he really worked for.

  Ford arched a brow, but only nodded. Good. The guy got the picture that this was neither the place nor time for him to discuss the Office of Naval Intelligence’s interest in the man currently face down in the alley.

  “You have anything to do with our vic getting dead?” Ford asked.

  Zach shook his head. “Was on my way to meet with him and found him just like you see him.”

  “Any chance you want to tell me what you two were going to discuss in a dark alley, late at night?” The detective eyed Zach up and down. “And why a Navy Captain is dressed like a dock worker?”

  Again, Zach shook his head. “Best I can tell you at the moment is it’s classified.”

  “Claaasssifiiied…” Ford repeated, drawing out the word, frustration apparent in his voice. He moved to the side, so he could keep an eye on both Zach and the group gathered where the body lay. One man had a camera, taking pictures of the crime scene with big flashes of light from the bulb in the dark night. “This guy got a name? We didn’t find a wallet on him.”

  “Goes by the name Mackerel Mike.”

  “Mackerel Mike? Because he’s so short?”

  “Be my guess,” Zach said, acknowledging the reason for the dead man’s nickname. “Worked on a fishing boat when the weather’s good. Hung out on the pier when it wasn’t.” He didn’t mention that most nights Mackerel Mike could be found hanging out in the bars on
that pier. The last thing he needed was Ford’s investigation crashing into his.

  Ford gnawed on the toothpick a little before speaking. “So, you think him ending up dead in this alley has something to do with your classified meeting?”

  “Looks more like he got jumped and robbed. You said there was no wallet on him.” Zach’s stomach did a little flip, the weight of the dead man’s wallet suddenly feeling like a brick in his hip pocket. It went against everything he’d learned growing up to lie and steer this cop in the wrong direction, but it was imperative no one come down to the pier asking questions about Mackerel Mike—at least not until he knew more about the spies’ nest.

  “Guess we’ll just chalk it up as a drunk getting mugged. Wrong place, wrong time, huh?”

  “Guess so,” Zach agreed, happy to have the case closed as fast as the detective.

  “Am I gonna find more of these mugged drunks lying around in dark alleys?” Ford asked, piercing Zach with a narrow-eyed look.

  The man wasn’t a fool.

  “Not if I can help it.”

  “Then I guess we’re done here.” Ford gave him a nod of the head and sauntered back to his crime scene.

  Zach slipped further into the shadows, watching the small crowd for anyone looking out of place, even though he suspected that whoever executed Mike was long gone. In his line of work, he’d learned two things—the smallest detail could be the lynchpin to solving a case and trust no one.

  And yet, he’d trusted Mike, a man he’d met working on the docks near the Naval Academy in Annapolis. One of the poorer students, Zach had to help pay his way. His experience as a stevedore gave him a unique perspective about ships and how they were run, both commercially and militarily. Mackerel Mike had been one of the many different characters he’d met back then. So, when he’d gotten a note a month ago that he wanted to meet to talk, Zach hadn’t been sure what the old man wanted, but agreed to meet him anyways.