Damage
The Men of Law
Book 2
The Right of Casey Clipper to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her.
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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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First Published 2016
Copyright © Casey Clipper 2016
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Published by NTJ Publishing
Edited by The Killion Group
Book Cover by Book Cover Master Class
ISBN: 978-0-692-61004-6
Dedicated to every enthusiastic reader of romance novels.
Your love for the genre is unrivaled.
Don’t ever allow anyone to tell you that love is fiction.
Damage
1
Detective Dean Rooney held the bloody palm of the unconscious raven-haired woman.
“Stay with me,” he whispered, his voice cracking. A vivid memory threatened to invade him. He slammed the door shut. Now was not the time for that nightmare to present itself.
The EMTs were taking far too long to work on the woman whose life hung by a thread. Her skin was losing its pink hue, her warmth leaving her hand.
“When are you getting her on the road?” he snapped.
A young man glanced up from the wide knife wound in the woman’s stomach he was packing to stop the loss of more blood. Another man’s gaze slid up from the blood pressure cuff he was using. “Her pressure is too low. We need to get her to the hospital.”
“I’m almost finished,” the first paramedic said, laser-focused on his task.
Dean hadn’t expected to come upon the victim when he’d been called away from his best friend’s wedding. His crisp white button-down Oxford was now soaked in her blood.
“Two minutes max.” The second man placed a stethoscope against her chest. “Her heart rate is slowing.”
The first EMT finished placing the packing gauze inside the wound, stood and tossed his bag to the driver, who rushed out to the vehicle. Another paramedic lowered the waiting gurney, ready to transfer her from the blood-soaked floor.
Dean brushed the victim’s hair back, away from her face. The pain she must be suffering lanced him.
Suddenly the woman’s eyes flipped open, a choked gasp burbling up from her throat.
Dean leaned over so she would see only him. Jade eyes, lined with dark lashes, filled with fear gazed back at him.
“You’re going to be okay,” he said, unsure of the words. She was in dire shape. Too much blood for one person to lose painted the scene like a horror movie. Blood on the walls, the sofa, the coffee table, drenched into the beige carpet, covering the victim, her attacker meant to kill her, not just maim. Who did this to her? Could she give him the name of the person from her death bed? He had to try. “Do you know who hurt you?”
Her lids blinked closed slowly. He was losing her.
“Get her to the hospital!” His own blood boiled with anger at the seemingly lack of urgency around him. Did they not understand the critical condition of the victim? A woman laid on the floor of her living room, dying in his grasp. He’d been a first-hand witness to this before, except a few minutes too late. He did not want to go through this again.
Her eyes came open, the green rapidly fading. A slow hiss came from her dried lips.
“Josie,” he said, gripping her hand tighter. “You need to stay strong. You need to stay alive. Stay alive for me, Josie. Fight for me.”
A tear rolled out the side of her eye, her shaky hand lifting, touching his face. Her limb dropped to the floor, her eyes closing, giving into the pain.
“Detective Rooney, we need to get her on the gurney.” The EMTs surrounded the device and the victim, waiting for him to get out of their way.
He hesitated letting go of her palm for a brief second. He silently prayed he got to hold her hand again, this time, telling her how strong she was to survive.
Dean stood and stepped away from her, allowing the emergency workers to do their jobs. He watched their every choreographed move and followed them out when they placed her into the ambulance. He stared as the van pulled down the street, the lights and siren blaring through the night. And to think, he’d only left the nuptials of his former partner an hour ago.
2
Pissed off, Dean glared down at their person of interest sitting on the curb outside the victim’s home. Dean’s hands were stained with the victim’s blood but he refused to wipe himself clean. He wanted the effect of what had been done to intimidate the man before him. He wasn’t supposed to have come across her in that condition. Chief had originally called and stated she’d been taken to the hospital. Dean would address that mix up with his boss to find the source of misinformation.
“You’re crying.” Dean’s exasperation threatening to explode. His blood pressure spiked, his face turning hot. “Stop it.”
“I didn’t hurt her. I promise. I found her in that condition. I’m the one who called the police.” The man whined, shifting his weight to adjust his shoulders pinned behind his back in cuffs.
The responding officer hadn’t taken kindly to a woman bleeding out from a brutal attack. The mid-thirties man took the brunt of a rough cuffing.
“You’re her ex, correct?” Dean asked.
“Yes, but we’ve remained friends. We were supposed to have dinner this evening. When she didn’t show and I couldn’t reach her, I came over and found her bleeding on the living room floor.” The man sputtered, freely offering up an explanation.
Nick Butler, his partner and lead detective on this case, wrote furiously in his notepad. “You still have a key to her home?”
“Yes,” the man said, shrinking back.
The man had let himself into her house. Interesting.
“She let you keep the key?” Dean was skeptical. Usually when women called it quits in a relationship, they asked for the key to be returned. Unless… “Are you still sleeping with her?”
“What?” The man blinked.
“You still hitting that?” Nick worded the question to get a rise out of the man. Testing his anger. How fast did he fly off the handle if he thought someone disrespected his woman? It would show the man’s temperament with regard to the victim.
“No!” The man straightened. “We’re good friends. That’s all. I was going to tell her tonight that I’ve asked my girlfriend to marry me. I didn’t want Josie to find out through the rumor mill.”
Dean slid Nick a questionable side glance in a silent convo occurring between them, both agreeing to check that alibi. A benefit of working together for many years. Dean may have recently lost his full-time partner, who’d quit the unit, but he worked side by side with Nick on numerous cases.
“Did you see anyone when you pulled up?” Nick asked. “A car that maybe shouldn’t have been here. Someone running from the area. Anything out of the norm?”
“Only that the door was unlocked.” The man sagged, his face dropping.
“I thought it was locked?” Nick asked. “You let yourself in with the key.”
“No, I had the key but didn’t need to use it.” The man grunted as he continued to try to move his arms into a more comfort
able position.
Dean narrowed his eyes. “Does she normally keep the door unlocked in the evenings?”
The man shook his head. “No, she’s always kept her house locked. No matter the time of day.”
“Why?” Nick asked.
“She’s a beautiful, single woman. Tiny. Doesn’t weigh more than a loaf of bread. She’s tough but isn’t stupid about a woman living alone in today’s world.” The man shot a quick glance over his left shoulder at the house as the CSI unit entered and exited the premises.
“There’s so much blood.” The man’s eyes shifted to Dean’s stained shirt. “There’s just so much blood.”
Yeah, the scene in the home resembled a gruesome nightmare or horror movie. Except the blood was all too real and the victim wouldn’t get up and wander off to a dressing room. Dean didn’t know a cop or detective that ever got used to that horrific part of the job. No matter which part of the brain he shoved each brutal case to, it haunted him in some fashion. For a civilian to witness the gore, he could only imagine the nightmares. Though if the man before them had a hand in the attempted homicide, his mindset would be entirely different. Or maybe he didn’t realize how much blood he’d spill when he attacked her.
Nick sighed, disgusted and frustrated. Dean eyed their surroundings, noting the well-manicured lawn, the lush bed of mums that surrounded the covered front porch, the newer row of homes in the neighborhood, and the black Lexus parked in the driveway. Apparently it belonged to the owner, who currently resided in a Pittsburgh hospital, undergoing emergency surgery.
“What does Josie do for a living?” Dean asked. A luxury car owned by a single woman meant she did pretty well for herself.
“She owns a beauty salon, Josie’s, downtown.”
Nick raised a brow. “Her salon must be quite successful.”
In the Pittsburgh area, salons were a dime a dozen. He could walk down a town’s main street and encounter at least three different beauty shops along with pizza joints and churches. Houses of worship and nails were big business in the Steel City.
“She’s the hairdresser for the athletes’ wives and girlfriends in the city as well as many of the corporate wives of the CEOs and presidents of almost every major corporation. She has a contract with the Pittsburgh Film Office, so any movies that film in town she is automatically put on the bid list as a possible hair stylist. Her building is massive. She doesn’t just specialize in hair. She’s developed her business into a full makeover studio. Tanning, massages, spa, you name it, she does it.” The man smiled through his mottled, tear-stained cheeks, seemingly proud.
If this guy hurt their victim, Dean would be surprised. Though, Dean’s judgment lacked as of late. His best friend and former partner just married a woman who’d been robbing jewelry stores and no one on the detective unit would have considered her a suspect. Talk about testing the male bond friendship thing. Dean remained baffled how to properly handle that awkward situation.
Dean looked to Nick. “Is that all for now?”
Nick nodded.
Good, his patience ran thin with the sobbing man. He needed to get out of the wet shirt causing him to shiver. Add in getting called away from his best friend’s wedding, where he’d decided to relax and enjoy himself with a couple drinks, to fuel his short temper. Especially when it involved an attack on a woman.
Dean waved one of the officers over. “Take him to the station.”
“But−” Before he could protest, two officers yanked him off the ground and shoved him into the back of a patrol car.
“What do you think?” Nick asked as they both made their way back into the house.
“I want to say he didn’t do it. That he may actually be responsible for saving her life, if she survives. But I’m also not putting money on his innocence. I’m hoping she lives and we can talk to her.” Dean noted the newly painted decking on the porch. Clearly the victim recently put a few dollars into the outside maintenance of the home. That would take money. Especially if she hired people out to do the jobs. If she owned a business, she wouldn’t have the time to personally invest in the care of maintaining a home.
“We need to find out who’s done the work on her house recently.” Dean pointed out the items that had caught his attention.
“I’ll look for invoices, ask the family, and talk to nosy neighbors who always watch the people next door getting work done.” Nick wrote in his pad again.
Dean and Nick grabbed rubber gloves and slipped them on as they re-entered the split-level style home. It was too late for Dean. His DNA would be everywhere, but he could at least not contaminate other areas he hadn’t ventured to within the home.
They didn’t have to wander far to reach the attack scene. It was upon them immediately. Right in the center of the living room floor. A large pool of blood soaked into the cream carpet. A flash from a camera lit up the room.
Jordan Hayes, a new detective on the team, held up a paper bag. “We have a bloody knife. It was set on the dining room table.”
Odd.
“It was just placed there?” Dean asked. “For us to find?”
“Yup, all laid out for display.”
“Do we have the 911 call?” Nick asked.
Jordan nodded. “Dispatch has it ready.”
“Do we know how the victim is doing?” Dean stepped out of the photographer’s way. The numerous detectives, officers, and the crime scene unit were eerily silent. Most of the men were married, had daughters or sisters, the gruesome scene and the possibility that the young woman wouldn’t make it hitting too close to home. The only voices heard were of Dean, Nick, and Jordan.
“She’s still in surgery,” Jordan answered. “I had a couple guys over there to keep watch on who’s coming and going. Hospital staff and security have also been made aware to look out for anyone suspicious or asking for her. I have the hospital on alert to contact us when she’s out of surgery.”
“Good,” Nick said.
Dean wandered over to a photograph of a lovely woman with long coal black hair, sharp green eyes, and a smile a mile long standing next to an older woman and two younger men, the resemblance between all four uncanny. A family picture of a carefree moment.
“Has anyone been able to get in touch with her family?” His gaze lingered on the woman, so healthy and vibrant in the photo.
“Yeah,” Jordan said, marking the bag. “They’re at the hospital.”
Nick paused his writing. “We need to pay them a visit and ask questions.”
“Yeah, time to pound the pavement.” Dean set the picture back in place. He loathed this part of the job. He’d been in the family’s position once. He’d been on the other side of tragedy, receiving life-shattering news. It was as close to hell as it got.
3
Josie tried to climb out of the heavy darkness that weighed her down like a boulder placed on top of her body. Or maybe crawl. Or claw. Yeah, claw better described her need to pull herself up. Out of the deep fog that wanted to yank her back down into the blackness that threatened to consume her. She pushed against the tempting deep hole that lured her. Her limbs were so heavy, she didn’t have the energy lift them. But she didn’t want to conform to the blackness. She drifted, drowning in sleep. Why was she so tired?
An acute sting hit her nose. A potent scent. Clean and harsh. Bleach.
She became aware of unfamiliar, muted noises, a steady beeping, and murmurs. A throbbing grew in her head, not taking residence, instead assaulting her. She moaned at the pain and tried to lift her hand. She couldn’t. Something pinned down her right arm. She tried her left. A warm hand slid into hers and entangled their fingers.
“Josie.” Her mom’s gentle voice sounded so far away.
“I think she’s in pain.” That was Harry, her younger brother.
“Josie.” David, her other brother and Harry’s twin, sounded closer. “Damn it, wake up.”
“David,” her mom scolded.
“Stop,” she rasped, her throat burning.
She wasn’t in the mood for her family’s typical biting interaction. Especially Harry’s sour attitude.
Finally, she lifted out of the fog, her eyelids fluttering open. Typical, her brothers and mother waking her. While living at home, they had never allowed her to sleep in during the week or weekends. Even living on her own, one of the three always let themselves into her home and woke her at ungodly hours. Harry loved to early morning fish and would often come over to pack a lunch. Mom loved to flea market shop, arriving to drag her along. David loved to run and looked for a partner. All up with the birds activities.
“Get out of my house,” she croaked.
“You’re not at home, sweetheart.” Her mom’s voice laced with sadness.
Josie’s eyes adjusted to the obnoxious, florescent lighting. Where was she?
“You’re in the hospital.” David’s handsome face appeared in front of hers. “You’re going to be okay, sis.”
Okay from what?
“I’m getting the nurse. Let her wake up, damn it.” Harry disappeared behind a neutral-colored curtain.
She peered over to her mom and blinked, surprised by her appearance. Bags darkened under her green eyes, she wore no makeup, her clothes were rumpled, and creases from lack of sleep etched deep into her tired face. Her normally stylish mom usually looked youthful. But today, haggardness aged her.
“Mom?” What was happening?
Her mom brushed at her forehead. “You’ve been in the hospital for two days, honey. You had to have surgery for a knife wound. Do you remember anything?”
As soon as her mother said the words, the evening rushed back to her in a giant, nightmare flash. Her body trembled and a rapid, annoying beeping ramped up its speed.
“Josie,” David took her hand and squeezed, “calm down. You’re safe. We’re all here. Hospital staff is here. The police and security are here. We won’t let anything happen to you.”
Damage: The Men of Law (The Men of Law Series Book 2) Page 1
