by V. K. Powell
Table of Contents
Synopsis
What Reviewers Say About VK Powell’s Fiction
By the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
About the Author
Books Available From Bold Strokes Books
Synopsis
Reclusive forensic artist Macy Sheridan agrees to work one final case she hopes will solve the mystery that's haunted her for years. The only things blocking her from achieving her goal are a perfect facial reconstruction and Detective Leigh Monroe, a woman who reminds her of the past and challenges her future.
Leigh Monroe has lost her lover, her livelihood, and her home, but she chooses to look on the bright side. What else could go wrong? Then she meets rude, solitary Macy Sheridan. But Leigh discovers that Macy's façade is a mask, yet as real and untouchable as the forensic reconstructions she so meticulously creates.
What Reviewers Say About VK Powell’s Fiction
To Protect and Serve
“If you like cop novels, or even television cop shows with women as full partners with male officers…this is the book for you. It’s got drama, excitement, conflict, and even some fairly hot lesbian sex. The writer is a retired cop, so she really writes from a place of authenticity. As a result, you have a realistic quality to the writing that puts me in mind of early Joseph Wambaugh.”—Teresa DeCrescenzo, Lesbian News
“To Protect and Serve drew me in from the very first page with characters that captivated in their complexity. Powell writes with authority using the lingo and capturing the thoughts of the law enforcers who make the ultimate sacrifice in the fight against crime. What’s more impressive is the command this debut author has of portraying a full gamut of emotion, from angst to elation, through dialogue and narrative. The images are vivid, the action is believable, and the police procedurals are authentic…VK Powell had me invested in the story of these women, heart, mind, body and soul. Along with danger and tension, Powell’s well-developed erotic scenes sizzle and sate.”—Story Circle Book Reviews
Suspect Passions
“From the first chapter of Suspect Passions Powell builds erotic scenes which sear the page. She definitely takes her readers for a walk on the wild side! Her characters, however, are also women we care about. They are bright, witty, and strong. The combination of great sex and great characters make Suspect Passions a must read.”—Just About Write
Fever
“VK Powell has given her fans an exciting read. The plot of Fever is filled with twists, turns, and ‘seat of your pants’ danger…Fever gives readers both great characters and erotic scenes along with insight into life in the African bush.”—Just About Write
Justifiable Risk
“This story takes some unusual twists and at one point, I was convinced that I knew ‘who did it’ only to find out that I was wrong. VK Powell knows crime drama, she kept me guessing until the end, and I was not disappointed at the outcome. And that’s not to slight VK Powell’s knack for romance.… Readers who appreciate mysteries with a touch of drama and intense erotic moments will enjoy Justifiable Risk.”—Queer Magazine
Exit Wounds
“Powell’s prose is no-nonsense and all business. It gets in and gets the job done, a few well-placed phrases sparkling in your memory and some trenchant observations about life in general and a cop’s life in particular sticking to your psyche long after they’ve gone. After five books, Powell knows what her audience wants, and she delivers those goods with solid assurance. But be careful you don’t get hooked. You only get six hits, then the supply’s gone, and you’ll be jonesin’ for the next installment. It never pays to be at the mercy of a cop.”—Out in Print
“Fascinating and complicated characters materialize, morph, and sometimes disappear testing the passionate yet nascent love of the book’s focal pair. I was so totally glued to and amazed by the intricate layers that continued to materialize like an active volcano…dangerous and deadly until the last mystery is revealed. This book goes into my super special category. Please don’t miss it.”—Rainbow Book Reviews
About Face
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By the Author
To Protect and Serve
Suspect Passions
Fever
Justifiable Risk
Haunting Whispers
Exit Wounds
About Face
About Face
© 2014 By VK Powell. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-122-2
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: August 2014
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Shelley Thrasher
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
Acknowledgments
To Len Barot and all the other wonderful folks at Bold Strokes Books—thank you for making this process so amazingly enjoyable and painless and for turning out a quality product every time.
My deepest gratitude to Dr. Shelley Thrasher for your guidance, suggestions, and kindness. You help me view my work through fresh eyes. Working with you is a learning experience and a pleasure.
For BSB sister author, D. Jackson Leigh, and friends Jenny Harmon and Joanie Bassler—thank you for taking time out of your busy lives to provide priceless feedback. This book is so much better for your efforts. I am truly grateful.
To all the readers who support and encourage my writing, thank you for buying my work, visiting my website (www.vkpowellauthor.com), sending e-mails, and showing up for signings. You make my “job” so much fun!
Chapter One
“Holy crap.” Macy Sheridan ignored the insistent pounding on her front door, hoping the uninvited guest would take the hint. She considered hiding, but if she moved, the squeaky floors would give her away. More pounding. She clutched the hem of her baggy sweatshirt tighter, braced for the inevitable sales pitch mingled with cold air, and opened the door. “What?”
A cop stood on the porch, his right hand cocked toward the weapon on his hip as if she posed a serious threat, his left shoving a Greensboro Police badge toward her. “Ma’am, I’m Detective Shaver—”
“I don’t care if you’re Sherlock Holmes, the original or the latest movie incarnation. Get off my property.”
“I’m looking for Macy Sheridan, forensic artist. Is that you?”
“Are my parents injured or dead?”
The dete
ctive’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know.”
“Then I don’t need to hear anything you have to say, and you’re still trespassing.” She tried to shut him out, but his expensive-looking shoe blocked the door.
“I called but didn’t get an answer, and you don’t have a machine.” As if the statement justified his unwelcome presence.
“Is that a crime now?”
“Ms. Sheridan, please. I’ve been lost on back roads around Belews Lake all morning. This street isn’t even on Google Maps.” He shrugged like a fumbling football player waiting for the coach’s disapproval. “I know you don’t want to be bothered, but if you don’t hear me out today, I’ll keep coming back until you do. We need your help—again.”
“I don’t do that any more.” She forced the words between teeth so tightly clenched her jaws hurt. The distance she’d tried to establish over the last six months vanished in winter’s last gasp of frigid air and a wave of bad memories.
“Will you at least listen to me?” The detective stuffed his hands into the pockets of his heavy coat. “Won’t take long. Promise.” He looked like a young John Travolta—ebony hair, dimpled chin, and a smile that had probably broken hearts.
Her instincts screamed run, but Detective Shaver seemed as dedicated to his profession as she’d once been to hers. If she turned him away, he’d certainly come back until she heard his pitch. “Fine. Talk fast.”
He peered around her into the small cottage. “Mind if I come in? It’s brutal out here.”
“Yes, I mind. Say your spiel and leave. You won’t change my decision.”
Flipping up his collar against another gust of wind, he said, “We’ve recovered a human skeleton and would like you to do a facial reconstruction for identification purposes. According to the forensic anthropologist, it’s a female, probably in her teens at time of death. We found the remains in the Patterson Street area, near the railroad tracks…”
Patterson Street. Macy didn’t hear anything else. Her heartbeat stuttered and she breathed in shallow gasps. The walls of the small room crowded in on her, and she stumbled backward. Detective Shaver reached for her just as she slammed the door. “Go away!” She clung to the doorknob and breathed deeply as if into a paper bag. I’m okay. Just breathe.
She slid into the past as easily as an addict succumbs to his poison of choice. She was running down the dark, deserted street searching and praying while music from the bar pounded ominously in the background. Years of waiting and wondering swallowed her again, and the outcome was the same—failure and guilt covered with a thick layer of loss.
The unwelcome feelings permeated her senses and then slowly ebbed with each breath. When she looked around the cottage, everything was as it had been. The worn sofa and two club chairs formed a horseshoe seating area and stood exactly two feet apart, the coffee table eighteen inches from each. Pillows on the sofa guarded their respective corners like sentries. Books in the built-in shelves lined up flush with the edges. Heavy window curtains were open only six inches. The butcher-block countertops in her compact kitchen were clear of unnecessary appliances and clutter. The meticulously organized space reassured her and centered her in the moment.
Looking toward the closed door that led into her studio, she cursed Detective Shaver. She’d finally decided to leave all that unpleasantness behind, but his intrusion had only caused a minor blip on her radar. Life was the same in her little corner of the world. She was in control. So, why was that door still closed?
She walked toward her studio as if on death row. Rubbing the heel of her palm against her chest, she tried to breathe normally. It’s just an art studio. She repeated the mantra as she reached for the knob with a shaking hand. When she could no longer see the handle through her tears, she turned away. Maybe another day.
*
“Jesus effing Christ.” Nathan Shaver threw his briefcase into the chair across from Leigh and sat on the corner of his desk that butted up against hers. The small Youth Division office buzzed around them with the morning case shuffle and bitching about yesterday’s investigative dead ends. “Women. I’ll never understand them. Can you help me with that?” He looked at her as if she held the answers to all his ambiguous universal questions.
“No.”
“Is that every woman’s favorite word?”
“Pretty much a staple.” She couldn’t talk to Nate in his frustrated mood. Best to let him vent and offer an opinion when he really wanted to hear it. After six years as partners in the Youth Division, they agreed on many things, especially their confusion about women. They were as close as male and female work partners could be who weren’t sleeping together, and they respected each other’s personal space—bonus.
“I guess the forensic artist turned you down?”
“Duh. I spent hours lost in East Jesus. I’ve never seen so many farm implements and tractor mailboxes. When I finally found the place, she made me stand on the porch and then slammed the door in my face. About froze my nuts off, not that I’ve needed them lately.”
“Tell me again why you’re doing the dirty work on a case that’s not child-related?”
“I owed Sergeant Rickard in Crimes Against Persons a favor. He’s dealt with Ms. Sheridan before but didn’t bother to give me a heads-up about her charming personality.” He leaned in and whispered, “But damn is she hot…or could be with the right clothes and some makeup. Looked like she’d seen a ghost when I told her what I wanted. Seemed like a bit of an overreaction.”
“Hasn’t she worked with the CAP guys for years?”
“Seven, to be exact, so I’m not sure what could’ve freaked her out. She’s seen everything. I’m surprised we’ve never met her, and I’d remember a piece—”
“I get your point.” Nate wasn’t usually as bad as the other guys about objectifying women, but this one had obviously wound him up. “We don’t have much use for forensic artists in our division. And that type of work requires specific equipment we don’t have. Besides, she works on contract, probably from home or a studio somewhere.”
“I guess. Rumor is she’s become a hermit.”
“Nobody really wants to be a hermit. It’s not natural.”
“Well, she did a great imitation. But you’re probably right, because she’s got a For Rent sign at the top of her driveway. But it is at Belews Lake. I couldn’t even get a cell signal out there. You still looking for a place?”
The mention of house hunting reminded Leigh of her most recent disappointment—the failure of a three-year relationship with the woman she’d thought was the one. How could she have been so wrong? She’d sold her house, not her brightest decision, put most of her furniture in storage, and moved into Gayle’s condo the first year and spent the next two flying back and forth to see her in Canada. “Yeah, I still need a place, but not sure I want to be at Belews Lake.”
“If you ever go, definitely take your weapon and drop some bread crumbs. It’s freaking Deliverance out there.” Nathan slapped her on the back just as her phone rang. “You can always move in with me. We could trade castoffs.” He winked as if the statement actually made sense.
“Detective Monroe.”
“Leigh, it’s Captain Howard. I need to see you in my office.”
Anita Howard, commanding officer of the Youth Division, had trained Leigh as a rookie cop, was her sergeant in the field for three years, and had helped her secure a detective position in child crimes. Howard was the closest thing to a mother figure Leigh had ever known.
“Yes, ma’am, I’ll be right there.” It was the call she’d been expecting for a month. “It’s time, Nate.”
“Don’t worry. Howard’s fair. She’ll treat you right. If you need backup, I’m here.”
The guys had dubbed the hallway to Captain Howard’s office the chute. Nobody liked to march that stretch of carpet lined with decorated detectives’ photographs on both walls. The sergeant was usually behind you, and some form of discipline waited at the end. Today the walk seemed agonizi
ngly slow. Captain Howard’s secretary waved her toward the boss’s open door. “She’s waiting.”
Under any other circumstances, Leigh would’ve loved to hear those words about Anita Howard. Though nothing personal had ever passed between them, she believed Howard cared about her and her career. Leigh squared her shoulders and stepped forward. “Captain.”
Anita Howard greeted her at the threshold, her hand outstretched. She was the same height as Leigh, with a slight desk-riding bulge pushing at the waistband of her pants. The pinstripes of her suit followed her ramrod posture and seemed to point to her topknot of gray hair. When this woman was in the room, no one doubted who was in charge. She was the first African-American woman promoted to captain in the agency, and she’d earned the rank at every level. “Wanna sit?”
“I’d prefer to stand.” Howard’s office wasn’t a typical commander’s shrine. She didn’t have any plaques, awards, or diplomas to flaunt her accomplishments, just a single framed photograph of her parents and one of her partner on top of a credenza.
Howard retrieved her reading glasses from the desk and put them on. “Sit. This could take awhile, and I prefer eye contact during a conversation.”
Leigh positioned herself directly in front of the captain and met the stare that had always calmed and reassured her. “I guess Internal Affairs has finished its investigation?”
Captain Howard nodded. “And the State Bureau of Investigation finished the criminal part as well. I won’t beat around the bush. It’s not all good.”
Leigh shifted as sweat stung her armpits and the backs of her legs.
