by Liliana Hart
Coil took a long drink and then stretched out his legs, crossing his snakeskin boots. His plaid shirt was pressed, and his jeans were new. He was freshly shaved, and his hair was still damp at the collar.
“I had a couple of things to wrap up at the office. Yesterday wasn’t exactly a normal day,” he said, tipping his water toward Hank. “So I figured I’d get up and then swing back by the house to pick up Shelly and the kids for church.”
“Hank, are you back here?” Agatha called out from the other side of the fence.
He grinned at the sound of her voice. Suddenly his private sanctuary wasn’t so private anymore. But it didn’t bother him like it normally would.
“Yep, come on back,” he called out, but she was already opening the gate.
She was wearing a pair of hot-pink nylon jogging shorts with lime-green trim and a lime-green racerback tank that proclaimed her love of cake. Hank had never noticed how long her legs were before. He looked away quickly and took a drink of his own water.
“I was finishing up my run and saw Coil’s truck out front. Everything okay?”
“Everything is good. I just had to review some stuff at the office and thought I’d stop by and get a firsthand glimpse of what retired life is like.” Coil looked around and grinned. “I’ve got to say, it doesn’t seem too bad. Though those pajama pants have to go.”
Agatha snickered and grabbed a water from the fridge, taking a seat in one of the other cushioned wicker chairs.
“I’ve got to tell you,” she said. “I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this whole thing. I didn’t sleep at all last night.”
“I think we’re all a bit shell shocked,” Coil said. “It’s not every day you have to arrest a cop you’ve mentored and trained. And I can say for sure it’s something I never want to do again.”
“It’ll take a while for the community to recover too,” Hank said. “Kim and Tyler were loved by a lot of people around here.”
“You know,” Coil said. “I’ve been thinking maybe you two have something special. Nicole Green’s murder isn’t the only cold case around here.
Hank got caught in Agatha’s gaze. Had her eyes always been that pretty shade of bluish green? “What do you think, Aggie?”
“I think you call me Aggie to annoy me. And I think I have to finish this book before I do much else.” She paused and took another sip of water. “But I’m open to the suggestion. What about you, Coil?” Agatha asked. “How are you doing through all this?”
Coil shook his head and it was impossible to miss the myriad of emotions that crossed his face—sadness and anger being the most prominent.
“I think this was my fault. I was so fixed on it being her daddy that the real murderer not only got away with it, but he came to work right under my nose. How arrogant is that? Maybe what happened in Austin messed me up more than I thought. Or maybe I’m not the cop I thought I was.”
Hank understood how Coil was feeling. When you were in charge, the responsibility lay with you. It was a heavy burden to bear.
“You did your job,” Hank said. “Sometimes the facts we’re given is all we have to work with. It throws a wrench in the works when the people we trust lie and alter the facts. You can’t know everyone’s deepest secrets or their pain. Look how many people suffered loss because of this.
“We can only take the facts known to us and do the best we can to piece them together until the puzzle is complete. You didn’t have all the pieces of the puzzle. And thank goodness you didn’t try to force the pieces to point to Walter Green.
“It would’ve been easy to do that, and an innocent man would be in prison. Despite what your heart wanted you did the right thing.”
“I failed to serve justice.”
“No, my friend,” Hank said. “Justice was slow, but it was indeed served.”
Bonus Book - A Tisket A Casket
Get Full Cozy With Box Set 1
A Harley and Davidson Mystery Box Set 1
FREE for KU Readers
Contains:
A Farmer’s Slaughter
A Tisket A Casket
I Saw Mommy Killing Santa Claus
Get Your Murder Running
Prologue
October 29, 2010
Orange flames danced through the attic with viciousness—devouring without prejudice—the monster growing in power as it was fed. Plumes of black smoke swirled into the night sky, and the flames hissed as powerful streams of water tried to destroy the destroyer.
Red lights flashed through the streets, a disorienting symphony of sounds and color. Everyone watched as the battle raged on, wondering who would come out the victor.
The Rio Chino Fire Department was proud of its history—145 years of serving the public and battling the monsters that threatened their community.
The house was old, nothing more than kindling for the flames that ate it alive. They’d been called soon enough to save some of the structure, but it was the fire department’s own demons that threatened to end the tradition of brotherhood under fire.
Fire Chief Kip Grogan was a thirty-year vet with less than a year until a full and well-earned retirement. His silver shock of thinning hair and round red cheeks made Kip easily identifiable on any fire scene. Tonight though, he was fighting more than fire.
“Lester, get some spray on the southwest corner. It’s trying to hop houses,” Kip ordered over the radio.
“Trying to, sir, but Gage isn’t cooperating.”
“Gauge, what gauge? Everything’s at full pump and pressure. Pour water where I told you.”
“No, it’s Gage, Gage McCoy. This is his house, and he’s not letting us suppress it.”
“Why not?” Kip yelled over the radio and the sirens that wailed along the small suburban street.
“Said he lost it in his divorce and hopes it burns to the ground,” Lester said.
“I don’t care what he says,” Kip said. “Arrest him.”
“Except that I’m not a cop, and he is,” Lester said. “And he’s armed.”
The roar of the hoses fighting the fire was deafening, but Kip felt the chill cross over his skin—that internal warning that told him something was about to go very, very wrong. The sound of rushing water came to a halt and there was nothing but the crackle of flames and the crash of wood as the house came down.
“What’s going on?” he yelled again, but there was no answer.
He kicked open the doors of the command center truck where he’d been giving orders and was greeted with the sight of 1754 Constantine Drive fully engulfed in flames. His men stood watching. Helpless.
It didn’t take long for Kip to assess the situation and understand why everything had come to a halt. A man stood, silhouetted by flame and shadow, a rifle in his hands.
He and Gage McCoy had gone through trainings together. They’d been friends. But he also knew the job changed a man. Divorce changed a man too, and Gage had gone through a doozy. But friend or no, Gage was putting lives at stake, and he was turning his back on the oath he’d promised to uphold. Well, Gage wasn’t going to destroy the reputation of what he’d helped build over the last thirty years.
“Tony.”
“Yes, Chief?”
“Get my gun,” Kip ordered.
“The cops are on their way,” Tony said.
Tony Fletcher was Kip’s second in command, and he could hear the plea in his voice.
“Give it to me or get out of my command center,” Kip said, challenging him. “The cops will be too late.”
Kip watched as Tony reluctantly unlocked the diamond-plated metal cabin that also served as a bench seat inside the truck, and Kip held out his hand for the .45 caliber pistol, the weight familiar as he curled his fingers around the butt.
“No one is going to interfere in one of my operations,” Kip said. “Not even Gage McCoy.” His only thoughts were of his men, of taking out the threat before the threat took them all out.
Kip hefted his bulk out of
the truck and headed for cover. He needed to be closer to make the shot. But he didn’t move fast enough once his chest tightened like a vice grip. The sound of a rifle firing echoed from outside and rung in the back of the command post. Kip clutched his chest and fell face-first from the back of the truck and into a puddle of backwashed water.
Chapter One
Present Day…Friday
There was something about the Friday Night Lights. The smell of turf and hot dogs, the sound of an excited crowd, and the cheers of the pep squad. Fall and football went hand in hand, but Hammerin’ Hank Davidson wondered if Texas had gotten the memo that the temperature was supposed to be cooler in October. Since he’d moved to the Lone Star State the year before, he’d started sweating in places he didn’t know it was possible to sweat.
He was still adjusting to retired life. After twenty-six years working for the Philadelphia Police Department, adjusting to civilian life hadn’t been easy. He’d been trained by the FBI to do a job that most people didn’t have the aptitude for, and if he was being honest, regular life was kind of…boring.
What he needed was to find something exciting to replace that life. He’d tried a few things that hadn’t stuck, but he wasn’t giving up yet. He hadn’t met many new friends since his retirement. Being an introvert didn’t make finding friends easy, but he’d taken an immediate liking to Nick Dewey.
They’d met at Cabela’s while Hank was looking for a hobby to save him from his boredom. What he’d really wanted was a Harley-Davidson, but he had no idea how to ride, and part of him didn’t want to be the cliché of having a midlife crisis. Fortunately, Nick had taken pity on him and introduced him to the world of hunting. He’d also introduced him to the world of high school football.
“I can’t believe this stadium cost seventy-two million dollars,” Hank said.
He ran his fingers through his graying hair before tugging on his ball cap, and then he leaned in closer to hear Nick’s response. It was hard to combat the dueling bands and frenzied fans.
“I’d like to say Katy High School is one of a kind, but stadiums like this one aren’t uncommon here in Texas. Friday night football is as much a religion to some as church is on Sundays.”
Hank didn’t have a dog in this particular fight. He was just along for the ride. But Nick was a Beacon City High School alum, so they’d made the trek to Katy to watch the two teams duke it out on their way to the 777 Ranch to do some hunting.
He hated to break it to Nick, but he was pretty sure hunting wasn’t going to be his new retirement hobby either. He had nothing against the sport, but sitting in a deer stand for hours wasn’t exactly his idea of exciting. No, he hadn’t felt the rush of excitement for a good six months. Not since he’d solved a cold case with mystery writer Agatha Harley. But she’d been busy writing books, and he’d been busy trying to be retired.
Hank was in a horde of thousands, but never in his life had he ever felt so alone. He didn’t want to retire. But he knew his life depended on it. He was still at the top of his game, but time is counted differently in the world of malicious murderers and cagey cons. He smiled and hoped it would pass.
“Yikes,” Nick said. “We’re getting our hats handed to us this year. What do you say we head out at half? We’ve still got another three hours before we get to the ranch.”
“Fine with me,” Hank said, slightly disappointed. It was a heck of a game, and he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the Beacon City quarterback. The kid was incredible. He was a man among boys.
“Who’s the QB?” he asked.
“Cole McCoy,” Nick said. “Sad story, but the kid seems to have turned out okay.”
“What do you mean sad?” Hank asked.
“His dad, Gage, was a high school All-American football player. He ended up at SMU and played there, but wasn’t good enough to make it to the pros, so he joined the police service at Rio Chino. Married his high-school sweetheart and a few years later Cole was born.”
“I must be missing the sad part,” Hank said.
Nick smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s a tough conversation to tell in a stadium.”
“Okay, but you got me interested.”
“We got a long drive. I’ll tell you then.”
“Deal, but I’m still not seeing the bad in being a stud QB with an All-American dad. I bet his mom is something incredible too.” Hank said.
“She was,” Nick whispered. “You ready to go? It’s almost the half.”
Hank sighed and nodded. He really wasn’t looking forward to hunting. Nick told him the only difference in hunting and police work was that one animal required a warning before shooting and the other animal required a taxidermist. The thought of killing an animal and then having it mounted on his mantel for the next twenty years didn’t really sit well with him.
“I’m going to hit the head on the way out,” Hank told Nick. “Three hours is a long time.”
Nick nodded. “I’ll meet you in front of the concession stand.”
Everybody seemed to have the same idea as they had and decided to leave their seats before the half ended. The crowd swelled, and Hank felt swallowed up by them. He had to breathe deeply a couple of times to keep his claustrophobia in check, and at the same time, he was searching the crowd, looking for signs of threats. Just because he was retired didn’t mean he could stop the habits of twenty-six years of policing.
He looked around and found himself lost in the crowd. He couldn’t see where their seats had been or where the restrooms or concessions were. It was nothing but wall-to-wall people. He was six feet two inches and two hundred and forty pounds. He should’ve had the advantage in any crowd. But this was Texas, and he was considered “average” in size. It’s true what they said, everything was bigger in Texas.
“Hank!”
He stopped and looked around, and then he decided to head toward the home end zone.
“Hank!”
He stopped again, sure he heard his name this time. Who in the world would know him here other than Nick? And that definitely wasn’t Nick’s voice. He scanned the crowd and finally spotted her. There was Agatha Harley, looking like a beacon in the middle of the crowd.
He didn’t want to seem too eager to get to her, but he might have shoved a couple of people out of the way a little harder than necessary.
“Aggie,” he said, enjoying the way her nose crinkled as soon as he called her by her nickname. “What brings you here?” He reached in to give her a hug, but it turned awkward. Neither of them knew what to do with their hands.
“My goddaughter is in the band,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “I needed a break, so figured I’d drive down to watch her perform.”
She was a tall woman, around five foot ten, and it always amazed him she was close to forty years old because she looked so much younger. She had that fresh-faced, girl-next-door look about her.
She wasn’t flashy, and she wasn’t the type of woman you’d do more than glance over in a crowd, but she was worth a second look. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. A dark fringe of lashes framed her bluish-green eyes, and there was a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a TCU baseball-style shirt.
“Does that mean you’re finished with your book?” he asked.
She’d pretty much buried herself inside her house since they’d closed the cold case they’d been working. The only time he saw her was if he happened to see her on her morning run.
All of Agatha’s mysteries were based on real-life cases, and a lot of them were cold cases she’d helped solve. She was brilliant, and he’d enjoyed every second of the time they’d worked together.
“Actually, I decided not to write the book about our case.”
“Are you serious?” he asked. “After everything we went through.”
“When I sat down to write it, I couldn’t,” she said, shrugging. “It was a little too cl
ose to home. A little too personal. I knew Nicole Green. And I knew her killer. It seemed best to leave it unwritten and let it rest.”
“What about your contract?” he asked.
“I’ve always got parts of stories and ideas written down. I just decided to pull out one of those and finish it. It’s not what I wanted, but I’m satisfied with it. It’s nice to finally come up for air and join the real world again.”
“It’s a shame we had to come to another town to see each other. I figured you’d stop by and say hi every once in a while,” Hank let slip.
He hadn’t meant to say that, but he’d been disappointed after they’d worked the case together that there hadn’t been any other cases to work. Or that she’d seemed interested in. He understood she had to work, but it almost felt as if she’d been avoiding him for the past several months.
“I haven’t even seen my own reflection in the last six months,” she said, rolling her eyes and crinkling her nose. “Deadlines aren’t for wimps. I get to take a short break and then I have to jump into the next one. I don’t suppose you have any ideas for the plot of my next book, do you?” She grinned at him, but he could see the exhaustion in the bags under her eyes.
“I might have an old case or two you could find of interest.”
“Maybe you know of something more recent,” she said. “Writing stories about closed cases isn’t quite as exciting as the ones I can help solve.”
“I can imagine,” he said, raising a brow. “Once you’ve tasted the victory of bringing justice to victims it’s hard to go back.”
“I knew you’d understand.” She slapped him on the shoulder. “Maybe we can get the band back together, huh?”
“I’m actually here with a friend who mentioned something about a man who could be innocent serving time over in Huntsville for killing his wife in a fire.”
A light lit in Agatha’s eyes and she nodded. “Must be the Gage McCoy case,” she said. “There are always rumblings about his innocence. That would be perfect.”
