by Rick Murcer
“The future is not set, there is no fate but what we make ourselves.”
It took two to make the kind of destiny she desired, but would he ever be ready?
They’d talked twice since Manny’s wife was killed, once at the funeral and once a few months ago when she’d called under the guise of needing some help. He’d been gracious both times, but the call seemed to surprise him. He was an amazing profiler, and she hadn’t been able to hide her true intent, even if she had tried. She wanted to hear his voice, to gauge his healing, and to offer herself as a friend.
Chloe shook her head slowly.
A friend, my ass. More like a lover, now wasn’t it?
Manny hadn’t bitten. But she’d detected something in his voice, something he hadn’t been able to hide completely, but it had disappeared as guilt filtered into his words. He’d made an excuse and hung up.
She pulled back her red hair and sighed. She hadn’t gotten this man thing right so far; maybe being an old maid wasn’t such a bad thing.
“Been waiting long?”
Chloe jumped, whirled, and reached for her gun. “Funny, Max. I almost shot your skinny butt.”
Tucker stood a few feet in front of Josh Corner, who was speaking to the pilot of the FBI’s Gulfstream G-V jet.
“I prefer slender butt. I could see you were deep in thought. So I thought I’d exact my first taste of revenge after those pictures of Josh and I sitting on Argyle in the St. Thomas police station circulated through the department’s intranet. You wouldn’t know anything about that, I suppose?”
“I’m shocked you’d think such a thing. It must’ve been one of the other agents.”
“Ah, well, there were only three Feds present, and two of us were sitting on that sick bitch.”
“Really? I could’ve sworn . . .”
Josh interrupted her. Saved by the bell.
“We need to get loaded. There are a couple storms brewing in the area, so we need to get to Miami before they’re a problem. And that picture thing, Agent Franson, will be dealt with when we find the culprit.”
“I’ll help you best I can, but I got to say, I especially liked the one of the ceiling Max took out with two well-placed shots.”
“Uh-huh. Paybacks, agent, paybacks.”
Just then, Chloe’s cell rang. She knitted her brow together. The picture of her mother was displayed on the screen, and Haley Rose Franson only called her on special occasions . . . or to tell her bad news.
“Hello, Mum.”
“Chloe girl, I hate to bother you, but I must.”
The tone in her mother’s voice got her attention. “What’s wrong?”
She glanced at Josh and Max. They stopped moving to the gate and waited.
“I really don’t know how to say it any other way, darling, and I’m so sorry to tell it to you this way, but Kathryn O’Malley was killed last night.”
Chloe was speechless. Kathryn had been her cousin’s best friend all through school. The two young women had been like twin sisters for the last ten years. It was Meav, her cousin, who helped her mother run the B&B.
She felt her heart break. “Wha . . . what happened?”
The silence on the other end was maddening. Then her mother finally spoke, emotion causing her voice to soften.
“Oh, Chloe, it was terrible. She was murdered in her apartment, and the constable who came to let us know said it was one of the worst things he’d ever seen. I told him I didn’t want to know anymore. The look on his face was all I cared to see,” said her mother, not bothering to mask her tears.
Murdered? In Galway? It was almost too hard to believe.
“How totally awful. I’m so sorry. Do they know who did it?”
“Not yet, but they’re still working their investigation. It looks like someone was waiting for her when she got home from the pub.”
Chloe cocked her head. Premeditated? Her angst rose.
Haley Rose grew even more solemn. “Listen. It looks like a wake will be out of the question. They have all that fancy science stuff to do and the body . . . anyway the funeral will be within the week. I know you were planning to come home next month, so maybe . . .”
“I’ll be there, Mum. No problem with that. I’m so sorry for Meav. Tell her I’m thinking of her.”
“I will. I love you and I’ll wait to hear from you. Goodbye, darlin’.”
The line went dead.
Josh placed his bag on the concourse floor. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Yes, there is. A shitload of it. My cousin’s best friend was murdered. I’ll tell you more on the plane. Galway has a murder or two a year, but this seems . . . out of place.”
As the words escaped her mouth, Chloe’s pulse quickened. Kathryn’s murder sounded more than out of place. It sounded evil.
Chapter-9
Manny and the rest of the Lansing party stood on the curb outside Miami International Airport. They were waiting for their ride to the hotel, then to Carousel’s headquarters where they would meet with Miami Homicide, Carousel’s security staff, and Josh Corner’s FBI crew.
Jen wiggled close to Manny. “So, Dad. Sophie doesn’t seem to care for the landing thing too much,” she whispered.
He smiled at his daughter and nodded. “You figured that out, huh?”
His daughter rolled her eyes. “Pretty obvious.” She gave him a half-smile that once again reminded him of Louise. But the pain of those reminders was subsiding daily, and he was grateful for both the reminders and the reduced pain.
“So filling the puke bag gave it away?” he asked.
Sophie stepped between Manny and Jen wearing a pale scowl that could have sent small children scurrying for the safety of their mothers’ arms.
“I’m right here, you smartasses. That’s what I get for eating fast-food grease for breakfast.”
Alex wrapped his arm around Sophie’s shoulder. “You sure it was that bumpy landing?”
“What the hell does that mean, Lard Ass?”
“Wow. That hurt. I was just expressing my concern.”
Sophie pushed his arm away and stood closer to Manny. “Concern, my ass. I saw you laughing. Your time’s coming . . . and you didn’t answer the question.”
“I know that first big bump was bad and the second one, well, was really scary . . .”
“Stop it before I cuff you to the next moving taxi. I swear, I’ll do it.”
“Damn. Touchy. Anyway, I was just wondering if it was morning sickness, you know?”
Sophie’s mouth fell open.
Over the course of their years together, Manny had seen her truly surprised only a few times. Alex’s remark had added to the total.
Sophie recovered like only she could. “As cool as that might be, that ain’t it. And if it was, you’d never get to see the baby. I have standards.”
Alex laughed. “Yeah. I’ve seen some of those standards. It’s not pretty.”
“That’s it. I’m kicking your butt up over your shoulders. Jen, hold my bag.”
“Okay, you two. You can kill each other on the cruise, but here comes the shuttle,” said Manny.
The trip to the hotel was a quick one. Once they’d checked in and gotten settled, Manny told Jen she could order room service for lunch, but not before he made her promise not to leave the room. She pouted for a brief moment, then truth dawned on her like a Florida sunrise.
“Room service? Really? Wait till I tell Morgan, she’s going to flip.”
“Yeah, well, keep it under a million bucks.”
Ten minutes later, he met Alex and Sophie in the lobby, and two miles after that, they were in front of one of the most beautiful high rises he’d ever seen. Talk about “spare no expense.”
After going through security, Manny stepped through the huge, ornate glass doors of Carousel’s corporate headquarters and stopped on a dime. He’d always known there was money in the cruise business, but he hadn’t realized just how much. The front lobby was a complete replica of the Ocean Du
chess’s atrium.
Sophie and Alex came up beside him, wearing identical looks of awe.
The blue, green, and red lights bordering the glass elevator cars reflected on the polished marble floor, making the lobby look more like the Vegas strip than an office building. There were three sets of spiral staircases, all designed with rich, mahogany railings and thick marble steps, each leading to a different area of the building. The ebony baby grand piano doing a slow spin in the middle of the floor as the pianist played a Duke Ellington classic was the finishing touch.
“Shit. I’m quitting the force and gettin’ a job here,” marveled Sophie.
“That’s two of us,” said Alex. “Do they serve daiquiris too?”
“Come on, you two. We’ll drool some more later.”
Just as they headed for the receptionist’s desk, two women wearing security badges approached the Lansing trio.
The woman on the left was Hispanic and carried herself like people in authority do. Her dark eyes and long, black hair would cause most men to do a double take. Manny and Alex were no exceptions.
She smiled and thrust out her hand. “Detective Williams. Glad to meet you. I hope you had a good flight. I’m Destina Flores, and this is my top assistant, Ruby Hayes.”
Manny shook her hand and then turned to Ruby. He read her tight smile in a flash. The woman was stressed. “Nice to meet you both; this is Alex Downs and Sophie Lee.”
She nodded. “Glad you all could make it. The Feds will be here soon, and there are two Miami Homicide detectives already seated in the conference room.”
Destina motioned for them to follow her. She took three steps, then paused, turning back to him. Manny watched the tantalizing smile form on her bronze face. It was the kind of smile that sometimes made him uneasy.
Destina told Ruby to go ahead to the conference room, her eyes never leaving Manny. She folded her arms in the universal sign that said “show me something.”
“So?” asked Destina.
Sophie rolled her eyes and muttered. “Here we go again.”
“You really want me to profile you?” asked Manny.
“Sure. I’m curious.”
Manny shrugged. “You’re ultra-organized. You hate mistakes, but hate surprises even more. Your demand for excellence causes you to be hard on your help. The way Ruby watched you when you introduced yourself makes me believe she isn’t comfortable in her position. She was hoping we met with your approval. If not, someone is going to pay,” Manny grinned. “No worries for Ruby . . . we know what we’re doing.”
Destina released an uncomfortable laugh.
“You had two broken fingers on your left hand that didn’t heal properly, probably when you were a kid. I know that because your wedding ring is loose, but in no danger of slipping over the crooked knuckle. The accent you try to bury is Cuban. You were probably born in Miami, but your parents were definitely refugees. That might explain why you wear designer clothes and expensive jewelry. Compensation for not having a lot of nice things as a child.
“You work out four to five times a week, more of a runner, some weights, and you go somewhere private. You glanced away from me, just for millisecond, when I shook your hand. I think you really don’t like men looking at you, even though you’re a beautiful woman. That makes me believe you had some traumatic experience, probably in your teens.”
The atmosphere around the four people was vibrating, and Manny knew he’d hit some buttons. But there was one more thing.
“Anything else, Detective?” Destina asked, lips drawn in a tight line.
“Yeah, one more.” He reached into his holster and tossed his Glock .40 at Destina. Alex and Sophie backed away. Destina snatched it in midair and had the weapon in firing position in less than three seconds.
“You’re an expert shot. The calluses on your trigger finger say you spend a lot of time at the range.”
Destina stared at Manny, her grin a little more comfortable. “I suppose you know my bra size, too.”
“Well . . . ah . . .”
Sophie nudged him. “Tell her. You’ve never missed.”
“Another time,” said Manny, face turning red.
“Yes, another time, Detective,” said Destina.
The doors slid open behind them, and Josh Corner, Max Tucker, and Chloe Franson walked through them.
Manny’s heart leapt at seeing his friends, but almost jumped through his throat when he saw Chloe. She was more stunning than he’d wanted to remember. Far more.
Immediately, his mind began to quiver with doubt, more guilt, and thoughts of an almost-dead infatuation that had returned to life. He swallowed hard and fought off the emotion bent on bringing them together. He steeled his will, just like all of those times before. He’d compartmentalize for a few days, then she’d get her next assignment and would leave. That would be that.
I can do that, right?
Sophie helped rescue the moment in her own special way. She rushed up to the three, never taking her eyes off Josh. “Hi, Max. Hey, Chloe. Josh, great to see you. I gotta show you something.”
“Sophie. It’s great to see you, but it scares me when you want to show me something.”
“You’ll love it . . . them.” Without waiting for him to respond, she opened her jacket and thrust out her newly enhanced breasts. “What do you think of these girls?”
Manny watched as Josh’s eyes grew large. He stood still, slack-jawed. Chloe covered her mouth and snickered as Max began a belly laugh that seemed to bring Josh out of his Sophie-induced coma.
“Ah well, very nice, Sophie. Thanks for sharing, but shouldn’t we get into the meeting?”
“I guess you’re right, but if you want to touch them later, just let me know. They feel real natural.” She batted her eyes. “Oh, and by the way, I’m separated.”
Josh raised his eyebrows. “You’re always full of surprises, but I think you’re a little too bashful. You need to come out of your shell.”
“What? I’m . . . oh, I get it. You’re messing with me. That’s so cute.”
Destina frowned and looked at Manny. “Is she always like this?”
He smiled. “You don’t want to know the answer to that.”
At that point, Ruby Hayes hurried up to Destina, gave the Feds an odd look, and whispered intently into her boss’s ear. Destina stiffened.
Manny immediately hated the feeling her expression birthed.
Destina puffed her cheeks and blew out a breath. “It seems we have lost another member of our staff.”
Chapter-10
The pale-skinned sergeant detective stroked his light stubble and sighed. Steve Shannon had been sent to Kathryn O’Malley’s apartment in southwest Galway from the Mill Street Station. And it was early. No time for coffee, tea, or breakfast . . . just get his arse over there now. The dispatcher said it was ugly. If she only knew.
His partner, Paddie Harris, was canvassing the building and the rest of neighborhood with three constables. Shannon was alone with his thoughts for now. Not always a bad thing, but it was this morning. No one needed this kind of alone.
He’d been a constable and then worked his way up to detective sergeant in just over eight years, a good progression by any account. He’d arrested more than a few drunken students from the university, caught a few purse-snatchers, and even solved a string of burglaries that had plagued the Central District of Galway. He’d also played second fiddle on fifteen murder investigations, discovering he had a knack, if not the stomach, for interpreting the details of a scene. But Shannon reasoned blood and bodies were like anything else—you get used to them eventually. He was half right. He could never have imagined, even in his wildest nightmares, what had gone on in this apartment—and he getting used to such carnage was as unlikely as a Catholic turning Protestant.
Disturbing horror movies from Hollywood depicted some very disquieting scenes, but Hollywood would be hard-pressed to match what he’d just witnessed. People didn’t do that to one another. Wild anim
als did it to other wild animals, but humans were civilized, controlled their primordial urges, and possessed a certain mercy. Whoever did this to poor Kathryn hadn’t sorted that out. Something told Shannon this person never would.
The CSIs had finished the processing, but not without their own expressions of disgust. The major topic of concern for the CSIs was just how little forensic evidence was actually found in the bedroom and the rest of the house. No pools of blood, no signs of a struggle, nothing out of the ordinary, except in Kathryn’s room. Shannon thought that made up for the lack of terrible in the rest of the apartment.
The killer had known how to protect himself, and that made Shannon even more uncomfortable.
Murderers that knew how police procedures worked were almost always serial killers.
He moved to the doorway of Kathryn’s bedroom and watched as the two assistants placed her in the blue body bag, then zipped it up quickly as if moving faster would keep the Devil’s work inside, never to be released on the world again. He recognized the one assistant on the left, Mary Wiggins, from Oranmore. They’d gone out a time or two. Nothing serious, but she was a witty woman, if not all that attractive.
Mary flipped her short, brunette hair out of her eyes and let out a long breath. “We’re finished here, Detective. The room’s all yours.”
He scanned the purple ceiling, then looked back to her. “Any thoughts, Mary?”
She frowned and stepped close to him. “Thoughts? You mean other than whoever did this should have his balls hung from a flagpole and be burned at the stake? You hearing me? Are you listening?”
He kept his gaze steady. “How about something other than your personal sense of justice?”
Mary never blinked, her blue eyes raging. He could see tears fighting to free themselves as she gritted her teeth. “This piece of shit bit this young woman so deep that he hit bone in twelve places. He even hit a freaking artery. I’ve never seen flesh stripped from a person’s body like this before. He filleted her with his teeth . . . and let’s not talk about the postmortem sex.” She wrapped her arms around her chest and leaned inches from his face. “I think he’s done this before, that he’s had practice, and he enjoyed every second of it. And if you don’t get this bastard soon, he’ll do it again.”
