The Seventeen Series Short Story Collection (Seventeen Series Short Stories #1-3)

by AD Starrling

  Soul is a lucky bastard.

  He turned, entered the lobby, and headed up carpeted stairs to the second floor.

  He’d asked several detectives in the Downtown and Charlestown stations about Soul earlier that morning. A couple of them had come across the private investigator in the past and reported he was an efficient and level-headed guy. Which made Reid all the more curious about the man.

  Why had he been flat-out drunk and alone on that dock?

  There was more to Lucas Soul than met the eye.

  He found the office at the end of a corridor. The frosted glass in the top half of the door boasted the name of the PI firm in simple yet elegant writing. A pair of chairs framed a small side table with a stack of magazines next to it. Reid took a seat and picked the top one. It was last month’s copy of The Economist.

  An hour and several mind-numbingly boring business articles later, Reid sighed and rose to his feet. Soul had obviously decided to have a protracted lie-in. Either that or he was on a dock somewhere, getting drunk.

  A phone rang on the floor above. The low hubbub of conversation rose from the office at the other end of the hall.

  Reid removed his wallet from his jacket, slipped a small lock pick set out, and went to work on the door of Poseidon Security. He was inside in less than a minute.

  The office was large and brightly lit. Two desks were set at a slight angle next to the tall windows overlooking the sunny street outside. Both had slick computers sitting atop them and ergonomic chairs. Filing cabinets and bookcases lined the wall to the left. Facing them across the way was an eclectic collection of different-sized canvas paintings in gold-colored frames.

  Two internal doors opened off the space. One led to a bathroom and a fire exit, the other a comfortable sitting room with a pull-out sofa bed and a kitchenette. Reid strolled back to the main area and studied the desks.

  The one to the right looked vacant.

  He turned and took the seat behind the left desk. A pair of full metal trays sat next to the computer. He flicked through the paperwork. Most of it comprised requests for surveillance work for attorneys and employee checks for investment banks. Reid cocked an eyebrow at the names of the companies. No wonder Soul could afford an office in Bay Village.

  He started to go through the drawers. A voice made him freeze ten seconds later.

  ‘You know, this is technically breaking and entering.’

  Reid looked up slowly.

  Soul was leaning in the open doorway of his office. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and was holding a paper coffee cup in his hand. There was a small dressing on his forehead.

  Reid narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t heard the guy come in. ‘What are you, a cat?’

  Soul’s lips twitched. ‘I bumped into Jennifer on the way here.’

  ‘Jennifer?’ Reid pushed back from the desk and rose to his feet. ‘Is that the accountant?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Reid rubbed the back of his head, feeling awkward at being caught in the act. His hand stilled. ‘Hang on a minute. That was an hour ago!’

  Soul gazed at him blankly. ‘I know. I stayed out for lunch.’

  Reid scowled. ‘You mean you deliberately made me wait?’

  Soul shrugged, walked in, and closed the door.

  ‘You trying to avoid me or something?’ Reid said in a belligerent tone.

  Soul raised an eyebrow. ‘Can you blame me?’

  Reid hesitated. The guy wasn’t exactly in the wrong.

  Soul took a sip of his coffee. ‘So, what can I do for you, Detective Hasley?’

  Reis stared, nonplussed, at the man facing him across the room.

  Why am I here, exactly? What the hell was I hoping to achieve by turning up at this guy’s place, uninvited, and going through his stuff?

  Soul waited silently for his reply, his posture relaxed.

  Reid glanced at the empty desk. ‘Do you have a partner?’

  Something shifted in Soul’s eyes then.

  ‘I did,’ he replied quietly.

  The words that left Reid’s mouth next astounded him as much as they seemed to surprise Soul. ‘You looking for a replacement?’

  Soul drew a breath in sharply. His eyes darkened.

  Though shock still reverberated through him, Reid detected a flash of pain and anger in the blue depths.

  Soul recovered his composure and adopted a nonchalant air. ‘You propositioning me, officer?’

  Reid grimaced. ‘Sorry, you’re not my type.’

  Soul’s lips twitched again.

  ‘So, will you think about it?’ said Reid.

  Soul sobered. ‘Are you serious?’

  Reid’s heart thudded against his ribs. He still had no idea why he’d said what he’d just said. He hadn’t realized he’d started to grow weary of the homicide unit until he’d seen the empty desk in Soul’s office.

  There was also the mystery of how Soul had survived that bullet. That was what had drawn Reid to come and meet the man again. Lucas Soul was an anomaly in this world. Although his records showed his life to be a straightforward existence, Reid sensed it was too good to be true. It was as if he had reinvented himself to hide his true nature.

  Reid was convinced the reality would be beyond anything he had ever experienced. Fate had placed Soul in his path for a reason. He was determined to find out why.

  Soul sighed.

  ‘What?’ said Reid.

  ‘I don’t like that look on your face.’

  Reid blinked. ‘Why?’

  ‘I sense you’re about to become a pain in my ass.’

  The apartment block was located in Fenway, less than half a mile from the home of the Boston Red Sox. Reid stood across the street from the building and studied its upper levels. Two were completely dark. Lights were on behind the windows of a single apartment on the tenth floor.

  Four weeks had passed since the fatal shootout in South Boston. Internal Affairs had cleared Reid of any wrongdoing and he had returned to active duty over a fortnight ago, following a positive report from the psychiatrist.

  Though he was happy to be back on the job, Reid had been unable to shake his single-minded wish to become Soul’s business partner. He had spoken to Brooks and Lockett briefly about his intentions to leave Boston PD and had looked into the necessary certification procedure to become a private detective in the State of Massachusetts.

  There was only one problem. Convincing Soul to agree to his proposal had proven impossible so far. Reid wasn’t sure why the man was so adamant he didn’t need a partner when it was clear from the paperwork he’d seen at the office that he did.

  Something told him it had to do with Soul’s presence on that dock.

  In the last four weeks, he had visited the PI at his office and various other places where he hung out. The last time had been four days ago, when he walked into the guy’s favorite Italian restaurant in South End.

  Soul looked up from his beer when Reid slid into the booth seat opposite him. He narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re turning into a stalker.’

  Reid shrugged and took a menu from the holder next to the napkin stand. A waitress came to the table with a carafe of water and slipped her order pad out of the front pocket of her uniform.

  ‘I’ve have the usual please,’ said Soul.

  ‘Classic pizza, hold the pepperoni, and a side salad?’ said the waitress with a smile.

  Soul nodded.

  Reid stared. ‘What’s your problem with pepperoni?’

  Soul gave him a cold look. The waitress eyed Reid questioningly.

  ‘I’ll have your Meat Lovers pizza and a beer. No salad.’

  The restaurant was busy and the hubbub of conversation washed over them after the waitress left. They looked silently at each other.

  ‘The answer’s still no,’ said Soul.

  Reid frowned. ‘I’ve seen your caseload. You need a partner.’

  Soul leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. ‘I’ll manage.’

 
Reid raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ll lose clients.’

  Soul did not respond to the bait.

  Reid looked around the restaurant. ‘This is a nice place.’

  Soul remained mute.

  ‘So was that Chinese last week and the Mexican the week before that,’ said Reid. ‘That coffee place wasn’t too shabby either.’

  Soul grunted. ‘You’re picking up the tab for this one.’

  They’d spent the rest of the evening talking sports, politics, and world affairs, like they had on the previous occasions Reid had shadowed Soul. By the end of the night, the PI’s decision about a possible partnership remained unchanged.

  That had been Friday just gone. Reid continued to stare at the building across the street, a half-smile playing on his lips. Was he pushing his luck coming here?

  He crossed the road presently and entered the lobby of the apartment block. He took the lift to the tenth floor and strolled down a carpeted corridor to a door in the middle of the passage. There was a call box next to it. He pressed the buzzer.

  A voice came through the intercom seconds later. ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s me,’ said Reid.

  Silence travelled through the speaker. It was followed by a loud sigh.

  Locks turned on the inside of the door a moment later. Soul opened it with a tumbler in hand and subjected him to an exasperated stare. He was barefoot and dressed in dark sweatpants and a T-shirt.

  ‘This is unusual and cruel punishment,’ he said sullenly.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Reid walked past him and entered the apartment. ‘I’m just a friend visiting another friend.’

  ‘Come on in,’ said Soul sarcastically. ‘And last I checked, we weren’t friends.’

  ‘That’s cold, man.’

  Reid headed down a hallway to a large, elegantly furnished living room. A fireplace dominated the wall to the right. A beautiful painting took pride of place above the mantelpiece.

  ‘Nice.’

  Reid sat down in a leather chair. He glanced from Soul to the bottle of whisky on the coffee table.

  Soul rolled his eyes, walked over to a drinks cabinet, and returned with a tumbler full of ice. He poured in a generous amount of whisky, handed it to Reid, and topped his own glass.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Reid took a sip of the whisky and watched Soul sit on the couch. He paused and stared into the glass. ‘This is nice.’

  ‘It should be,’ Soul muttered. ‘It’s a fifty-year-old Macallan.’

  The TV in the corner of the room was on mute. It was showing a rerun of It’s a Wonderful Life.

  ‘Mind if I smoke?’

  ‘Yes, I do, actually,’ said Soul.

  Reid paused, the packet of Pall Mall already halfway out of his jacket pocket.

  He slipped it back inside and frowned faintly. ‘This could be a deal breaker.’

  Soul looked toward the heavens. ‘Oh please, let it be.’

  A comfortable silence fell across the room.

  ‘So, is the answer still no?’ said Reid.

  Soul sighed. ‘Has anyone told you you’re a stubborn bastard?’

  ‘Yes. My soon-to-be-ex-wife.’

  Soul’s gaze flicked to the wedding ring on Reid’s finger. ‘You got kids?’

  ‘Two,’ said Reid. He took another sip of the whisky and allowed himself a small smile. ‘Sophie is five going on fifteen. Spencer is three.’

  The expression that flashed through Soul’s eyes made him pause. Though brief, what he glimpsed spoke of infinite loneliness and yearning on a scale he had never before seen.

  ‘How old are you?’ he said.

  Soul stiffened slightly.

  ‘You’ve seen my file,’ he said in a level voice.

  Reid studied him for silent seconds. ‘I don’t believe you’re thirty-four.’

  ‘And why is that?’

  Reid hesitated.

  ‘Your eyes,’ he said quietly. ‘They’re…older than your years.’

  Soul stared at him, his face unreadable once more.

  Reid felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. His instincts told him he was on the right track. ‘You look like someone who’s lived through a lifetime of experiences, most of them painful.’

  Soul broke contact with his intent gaze and looked down into his glass.

  Reid thought back to everything he had seen and knew about the man. There was something else, something he only registered at that very moment. The eerie feeling gripping him intensified.

  ‘Your head,’ he muttered.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Your wound. It’s gone.’ Reid stared at the unblemished skin above Soul’s eyes. ‘There’s no scar.’

  Soul downed his glass and refilled it.

  Reid gazed at the man on the couch, his pulse thrumming rapidly in his ears. Curiosity won out over apprehension.

  ‘What are you?’

  Soul dropped his head back on the couch and stared at the ceiling.

  A wild thought ran through Reid’s mind. He tensed. ‘You’re not a werewolf, are you?’

  Soul looked at him then. ‘What would you do if I was?’

  Reid scratched his cheek. ‘Well, I’d make sure I always carried a silver bullet and a stake with me, just in case you went on a rampage.’

  Lines furrowed Soul’s smooth brow. ‘Okay, I get the silver bullet, but why the stake?’

  ‘Backup.’

  Soul laughed.

  Reid grinned and relaxed in the chair. ‘You’re warming to me.’

  ‘You really are a stubborn son of a bitch, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’ Reid paused. ‘So, is that a yes?’

  Soul shook his head and muttered something under his breath. ‘Will you give up if I say no?’

  ‘No,’ Reid said bluntly. ‘We’ll be having pizza every Friday night until you agree to my demand. Chinese and Mexican give me acid, so you’re safe there.’

  Soul sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

  ‘So, what are you?’ Reid said.

  Soul grimaced. ‘That’s a rather personal question.’

  Reid stared. ‘Okay. Why were you drunk that day at the dock?’

  Soul narrowed his eyes. ‘Another personal question.’

  ‘Sheesh,’ Reid muttered. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘What about the accountant? You got a thing going on with her?’

  Soul looked genuinely surprised for the first time that evening. ‘Who, Jennifer?’

  Reid sighed. ‘No, the Hunchback of Notre-Dame. Of course, Jennifer. She’s gorgeous and she’s got the hots for you.’

  Soul raised an eyebrow. ‘She does?’

  Reid frowned. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’

  Soul hesitated. ‘I don’t…do relationships.’

  Reid snorted. ‘What are you, a monk?’

  ‘No!’ Soul rocked the glass from side to side and watched the movement of the amber liquid inside. ‘Let’s just say bad things happen to the people who hang around me.’

  Reid registered the indirect warning. ‘I’m a big boy. I know how to look after myself.’

  Soul studied him for a while. He took another gulp of his whisky, put the glass down on the table, and leaned forward with his elbows on his thighs. He stared at the floor between his feet.

  ‘Three months,’ he said brusquely.

  Reid blinked.

  Soul looked up. ‘I’ll give you a three-month trial. You’ll have to quit the Homicide Unit.’

  ‘Not a problem. And make it six months.’

  Soul frowned. ‘Four.’

  ‘Five,’ Reid countered. ‘And we’ll change the name of the agency. I don’t like fish.’

  ‘Poseidon was the Greek god of the sea, not a fish,’ Soul said coldly. ‘And who said anything about changing the name of the agency? This is going to be a trial period!’

  Reid shrugged. ‘I’ll grow on you. I think the Hasley and Soul Agency sounds nice.’

  Soul scowled. ‘W
hy not Soul and Hasley?’

  ‘Better to go alphabetical. And how much is the rent in Bay Village?’

  Soul hesitated. ‘I was thinking of moving.’

  Reid nodded. ‘Good idea. Rent’s gotta be cheaper elsewhere.’ He looked down at his glass. ‘So, you got anything else in this joint apart from whisky? I’m kinda hungry.’

  * * *

  THE END

  Afterword

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  Reviews are vital for an author. They can increase exposure for my books, invite other readers to discover my stories, and have an impact on the quality of marketing I can access to promote my work. I do not have the funds to take out full page ads in newspapers or put up posters on the subway, unlike major publishers. But I have something else which is more powerful than money.

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  The Seventeen Series Short Story Collection (#1-3)

  Thank you!

  About the Author

  AD Starrling is the author of the multi-award winning thriller series Seventeen. Combining action, adventure, science, and a dose of the supernatural, each book is an explosive, adrenaline-fueled read.

  When she’s not busy writing and reading, AD can be found looking up exciting international locations and cool science and technology to put in her books, eating Thai food, being tortured by her back therapists, drooling over gadgets, working part-time as a doctor on a Neonatal Intensive Care unit somewhere in the UK, reading manga, and watching action and sci-fi flicks. She has occasionally been accused of committing art with a charcoal stick and some drawing paper.

  Find out more about AD on her website www.adstarrling.com where you can sign up for her awesome newsletter and never miss her latest release. You’ll also get a chance to read advance copies of her forthcoming novels, have access to sneak previews of her work, participate in exclusive giveaways, and get special promotional offers.