Flaw-Abiding Citizen (The Worst Detective Ever Book 6)

by Christy Barritt

  Flaw Abiding Citzen

  The Worst Detective Ever, Book 6

  Christy Barritt

  Copyright © 2017 by Christy Barritt

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Complete Book List:

  Season 1, Episode 6

  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

  Chapter 37

  Do you ever wonder what Joey Darling’s hit TV show was like?

  Also by Christy Barritt:

  The Worst Detective Ever:

  Squeaky Clean Mysteries:

  The Sierra Files:

  Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries:

  Carolina Moon Series:

  Cape Thomas Series:

  Standalones:

  The Gabby St. Claire Diaries:

  About the Author

  Complete Book List:

  Squeaky Clean Mysteries:

  #1 Hazardous Duty

  #2 Suspicious Minds

  #2.5 It Came Upon a Midnight Crime (a novella)

  #3 Organized Grime

  #4 Dirty Deeds

  #5 The Scum of All Fears

  #6 To Love, Honor, and Perish

  #7 Mucky Streak

  #8 Foul Play

  #9 Broom and Gloom

  #10 Dust and Obey

  #11 Thrill Squeaker

  #11.5 Swept Away (a novella)

  #12 Cunning Attractions

  #13 Clean Getaway

  Squeaky Clean Companion Novella:

  While You Were Sweeping

  The Sierra Files:

  #1 Pounced

  #2 Hunted

  #2.5 Pranced (a Christmas novella)

  #3 Rattled

  #4 Caged (coming soon)

  The Gabby St. Claire Diaries (a Tween Mystery series):

  #1 The Curtain Call Caper

  #2 The Disappearing Dog Dilemma

  #3 The Bungled Bike Burglaries

  The Worst Detective Ever

  #1 Ready to Fumble

  #2 Reign of Error

  #3 Safety in Blunders

  #4 Join the Flub

  #5 Blooper Freak

  #6 Flaw-Abiding Citizen

  Holly Anna Paladin Mysteries:

  #1 Random Acts of Murder

  #2 Random Acts of Deceit

  #3 Random Acts of Malice

  #3.5 Random Acts of Scrooge

  #4 Random Acts of Greed

  #5 Random Acts of Fraud

  Carolina Moon Series:

  Home Before Dark

  Gone By Dark

  Wait Until Dark

  Light the Dark

  Taken by Dark

  Suburban Sleuth Mysteries:

  Death of the Couch Potato’s Wife

  Standalone Romantic-Suspense:

  Keeping Guard

  The Last Target

  Race Against Time

  Ricochet

  Key Witness

  Lifeline

  High-Stakes Holiday Reunion

  Desperate Measures

  Hidden Agenda

  Mountain Hideaway

  Dark Harbor

  Shadow of Suspicion

  The Baby Assignment (coming January 2018)

  Cape Thomas Series:

  Dubiosity

  Disillusioned

  Distorted

  Standalone Romantic Mystery:

  The Good Girl

  Suspense:

  Imperfect

  The Wrecking

  Nonfiction:

  Changed: True Stories of Finding God through Christian Music

  The Novel in Me: The Beginner’s Guide to Writing and Publishing a Novel

  Season 1, Episode 6

  The case of the girl who could. And would. And didn’t stop, despite the challenges.

  Chapter One

  “What exactly do you think you’re going to find at this mysterious and highly questionable address, Joey?” Tough but handsome Detective Jackson Sullivan stole a glance at me as we drove down Highway 12.

  It sounded like the opening to a bad horror movie. A mysterious address. An unassuming girl. A handsome detective.

  Oh, but it got even better. There was also a secluded island, an impending storm, and a whole range of psychopaths who might want to lure me somewhere to exact a twisted plan.

  Welcome to my life.

  A mixture of curiosity, grief, and anticipation mingled inside me as I considered the possibilities concerning the mystery location. The combination left me feeling lightheaded and off balance.

  I glanced at the seagulls fighting against the breeze over the sand dunes outside the truck. They flew overhead, but the wind suspended them in one place, making them appear frozen in midflight.

  I could relate. I was trying to charge ahead but going nowhere.

  Until now. This was my chance to finally find some answers.

  Maybe.

  Only an hour ago, I’d felt on top of the world. Jackson and I had kissed, effectively taking our relationship to the next level. I’d cleared my friend Zane of a murder charge. And now a cryptic clue had been left for me, probably concerning my dad’s disappearance several months ago.

  I licked my lips before answering Jackson’s question. What did I expect to find? Blackbeard’s treasure? The Holy Grail? A Game of Thrones spoiler CD-ROM?

  No, it was something much more valuable to me. I wanted information that would help me chase down answers.

  “This is a clue about my father,” I finally said. “I’m getting closer, Jackson. I can feel it.”

  “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up, Joey.” His voice was laced with compassion as he stole a glance at me.

  “My hopes are all over the place, if that makes you feel any better.”

  “I can’t say it does.” His grip on the steering wheel tightened, and his scruffy jaw hardened.

  I’d always been a sucker for the barely-there-beard look, and Jackson pulled it off better than a GQ model, as far as I was concerned.

  I was glad he was driving. I wasn’t sure I could stay on the road. Or that I could obey the speed limit as a law-abiding citizen. Jackson, on the other hand, was always in control, which made him ideal for emergency situations. That worked out well since I had a lot of those thus-said emergency situations.

  We were riding in Jackson’s immaculately clean truck. Even though he was a detective, he wasn’t dressed like one now. It was his day off, and we’d just come from an outdoor event, so he was we
aring black shorts with a blue T-shirt. It was a nice look. That said, anything was a nice look on him.

  Jackson thought this could be a trap—a trap that would end up like Misery. Only different. Totally different. Okay, he hadn’t said that. It was my projection of a worst-case scenario. It was slightly better than projecting this might be like The Haunting.

  He reached over and grabbed my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine. Warmth spread through me.

  I wished I could relish the moment, but I couldn’t. Not now. Right now, all I could think about at the moment was my dad.

  I didn’t say anything else for the rest of the ride. Jackson didn’t push me. He let me be quiet, for which I was grateful. I had too many thoughts to contend with. Each came at me like a hangry Mike Tyson eyeballing Evander Holyfield’s ear.

  I was getting closer to finding my dad. I could feel it in my gut. In my bones.

  Was this the clue I’d been waiting for since I’d arrived here in North Carolina’s Outer Banks?

  Jackson’s phone rang. I’d programmed it with the Cops theme song, which made me smile whenever I heard it. Except this time, when he finished the call, his gaze darkened, his lips pressed together, and his knuckles became whiter. I’d seen that look before—it was never good.

  “What is it?” My voice sounded high pitched and scratchy as I waited to hear an update.

  “Leonard Shepherd escaped.”

  My stomach dropped. Certainly I hadn’t heard Jackson correctly. “What do you mean Leonard escaped?”

  “That’s all I know right now. One minute he was in his cell at the jail. The next he was gone. Officials are still looking into it.”

  I closed my eyes as we bounced down the road, surprised yet surprisingly not surprised. “I bet another member of the stalker club helped him escape. The one who’s a cop.”

  “We don’t know that’s true. Leonard could have been bluffing when he said that, just trying to mess with our heads.”

  “But what if he wasn’t? What if someone on the police force really is involved?”

  Jackson’s jaw flexed, and I could tell he didn’t like that idea. Of course he didn’t. That would mean one of his colleagues was complicit. Jackson was a loyal kind of guy who wanted to believe the best of his brothers in blue. But I knew there were dirty cops out there. The Untouchables had proven it.

  “I just don’t believe any of my guys would do this,” he muttered.

  As expected.

  I crossed my arms and stared back out the window. I wasn’t up for arguing right now. I wanted only to figure out what was going on. And it seemed like we were never going to get to this address. It was as if someone had hit slow motion on this drive reel, and the journey was hogging more than its fair share of the sixty minutes of air time.

  We finally reached the tri-village area on Hatteras Island, which was located on the southern end of the Outer Banks. This was a more rugged part of the tourist area, a place better known for fishing and boating than suntans and wine tasting.

  We were close now. Really close.

  Once in the village of Salvo, we turned onto a gravel road surrounded by trees. Jackson’s truck rumbled down the lane and farther away from the busy highway and anyone who might hear me scream for help. Scary movies played in a montage in my mind again. This place was secluded, the perfect place for an accident . . . and a psychopath.

  Kathy Bates’s image stained my mind. Since I wasn’t a writer, we should be okay . . . unless my stalker fan club wanted to force me to bring Raven Remington back to life. But they were already trying to do that. They didn’t need to go all Misery crazy on me.

  We finally reached the end of the lane, and I cast those thoughts aside. Kind of.

  “Is there even a house here?” I muttered, leaning toward the windshield.

  When I squinted, I could barely make out a building because of the out-of-control overgrowth. This was like a hobbit house—it blended with nature. Only this building wasn’t designed to blend in. It had just been badly neglected.

  The place was raised from the ground, but only by eight steps or so, if I had to guess. And the siding was beyond weathered. Trees were actually growing on the roof, and stagnant brown water pooled beneath the structure—breeding bins for mosquitoes.

  “Let me check it out first.” Jackson put his truck in park and reached for the gun at his waist.

  “No way. I’m going with you.” I hadn’t come this far to take a back seat. My last five months had been building up to this point. I refused to be a minor character when my name should receive top billing here. I was the one with the most at stake.

  “Joey—” He stopped and then nodded, resignation crossing his features. “Okay, come on. Just be careful.”

  He’d probably realized it was useless to argue. If he didn’t let me go, I would follow him. Sometimes I trailed him like a lost puppy needing a bone. This time I’d be like a shadow—something he couldn’t get rid of, not even with a pat on the head.

  “Stay behind me,” he urged once we were out of the car and our feet crunched on the scattered gravel.

  A shiver of anticipation rushed through me as we slowly moved closer to the house.

  What was I going to find inside?

  I had no idea.

  But I was so desperate for answers about my father. I just needed something—anything—to help me hold on to hope that I’d find him.

  A large gust of wind swept across the landscape, sending a smattering of leaves and other debris against me. A storm had been brewing offshore for several days now. It was expected to skirt around us, but we were still dealing with a lot of ocean surges and overwash.

  Dark clouds danced in and out of the sun whenever the breeze changed, making me want to pull my sunglasses on and off. I kept them on and tried to ignore the slight tremble in my hands.

  Jackson stepped onto the rickety stairs leading to the front door. I cautiously followed behind him. On the fourth step, the wood broke beneath Jackson’s foot. He caught himself on the railing, but it wobbled like it might abandon ship at any time.

  “Be careful,” he said over his shoulder. “I have a feeling this whole place should be condemned.”

  I tested each board before putting my weight on it. The last thing I needed was to injure myself—again. The knot on my forehead was just now starting to go away, as well as my sprained ankle. Long story.

  Finally, we reached a small deck with weathered wooden chairs and a table. Each was littered with dried fish guts, bird droppings, and a layer of green fungus. Stray fishing line was strung like cobwebs between the flimsy boards. A few angler hooks had rusted onto the flimsy railing meant to keep people safe.

  I couldn’t imagine someone living in this place . . . or even visiting, for that matter. But maybe they did. Maybe Kathy Bates type of people.

  I seriously had to get that movie out of my head.

  Jackson pulled a squeaky screen door open and knocked. “Police!”

  I waited, anticipated.

  But there was nothing. No response. No noise. No hint of any movement or life inside.

  He knocked again.

  I waited again.

  And again, nothing.

  Jackson hesitated before twisting the knob.

  I held my breath as I watched.

  The handle turned, and with a nudge, the door slowly opened. I halfway expected bats to fly out. They didn’t.

  Jackson and I exchanged a glance. This was it. The moment of truth, and we both knew it. I would either walk away from here elated or devastated. But I wouldn’t walk away the same.

  I knew what my hopes were on.

  Jackson cautiously stepped inside, and I followed close behind, wanting to put no more distance between us than necessary, as any good shadow would do.

  The stench hit me first. Had something died in this house? I didn’t know on a professional level what the smell of death was, but this was how I imagined it.

  As soon as the thought enter
ed my head, my stomach squeezed, and I froze, unable to move.

  Please don’t let that smell be my father. Not my dad.

  Jackson seemed to read my thoughts. His authoritative hand—yes, hands could be authoritative, trust me on this—reached out to stop me from going any farther.

  “Joey, stay here,” he ordered.

  I wanted to argue, but I couldn’t. Because all I could imagine was finding my dad. Dead.

  It was an image I didn’t want to see—even in my mind. I couldn’t handle the possibility that it could be reality.

  I stayed against the wood-paneled wall right beside the door, tucked out of the way. As I waited, I swatted at flies, my anxiety growing with each buzz in my ears.

  Jackson proceeded around the rest of the house, his gun drawn as he checked every nook and cranny in the dark, smelly home.

  I listened. Waited. Tried not to think of worst-case scenarios.

  Finally, Jackson joined me again near the door.

  I couldn’t read his expression, but I thought he seemed more relaxed. My emotions were on overdrive and dampened my instincts—which weren’t very sharp in the first place.

  According to my alter ego, Raven Remington, indulging in emotions was a good way to get yourself killed when you were out in the field. She had a point. If only I could turn off the way I felt like I could turn off a TV. Life wasn’t that simple though.