by Aiden Bates
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Buried Passions
(Never Too Late Book 1)
Aiden Bates
Important information…
This book, “Buried Passion” is the first book in the Never Too Late Series. However, this book and every other book in the series (more books coming soon!) can be read as a stand-alone. Thus, it is not required to read the first book to understand the second (as so on). Each book can be read by itself.
Table of Contents
Important information…
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
Bonus Chapter Sixteen
Preview Chapter (Never Too Late Book 2): Adrenaline Rush
The story may be over but
Chapter One
Ryan stared at himself in the mirror and contorted his face until it looked neutral. He'd gone into the state police to help people, and by and large he did that. He knew that he helped people. He'd personally brought down human trafficking rings, busted up kiddie porn networks, and taken down abusive retirement homes. He was proud of the work he'd done and he didn't regret becoming a cop.
He had not become a cop to play politics. He had not become a cop, of any sort, to prance around in some kind of dog and pony show for the press. That wasn't him, it couldn't ever have been him, and he railed against a system that could force him to play those kinds of games in order to get their good work done.
It wasn't so much that he objected to a diverse hiring policy on the part of the state police. On the contrary, Ryan had benefited from diversity policies, and he firmly believed that the Commonwealth had benefitted as well. His Vietnamese background, and command of the language, had helped him solve cases other officers couldn't. His omega status had opened doors that would have remained closed for betas or alphas.
And sure, the Cold Case Squad deserved some criticism for its makeup. Everyone on that squad was a male alpha. That was ridiculous, right there. There should absolutely be some women on that squad. Having a squad made up entirely of alphas meant that there were fewer alphas on other teams throughout the rest of the force, and if the higher-ups thought that an all-alpha squad got them out of criticism for homophobia then they needed to be drug tested a little more thoroughly.
Did that make it appropriate for the press to sit there screaming about how the Staties' Cold Case Squad was an "exclusively alpha domain, unwilling to work on cases not of interest to alphas"? Not so much.
Did that make it appropriate for the top brass to now assign a random omega from a different unit—Ryan—to bring "diversity and inclusion" to the squad's latest case? No. Hell, no.
He'd already gotten a heads up about his likely reception from one of the crime scene techs who’d worked on the latest break in the case, the one that brought him into the case in the first place. "They really don't want you there, Ryan," Trina had told him, speaking in Vietnamese even though they were alone. "They think you'll screw everything up."
Ryan had to admit that in some respects, the Cold Case Squad probably weren't far off the mark. Ryan hadn't worked on any cold cases personally, but he knew enough to understand that they were investigated differently from current cases. At the same time, there was no way that a clutch of alphas weren't going to just barrel through something like this. They were going to have to work very carefully to make sure that whoever had killed Jane Doe 1975 faced justice.
Satisfied with his appearance at last, he forced himself to leave the safety of the men's room and head up the stairs toward Suite 47: Cold Case Investigations.
Cold Case Investigations didn't look all that different, on the surface, than any of the other departments that Ryan had to work with during the course of a day. There was a bullpen of desks. There were small conference rooms. The walls in this department were a light gray, in contrast with the taupe in Abused Persons, and someone had helpfully pinned up a sad-looking cartoonish turkey in honor of the upcoming holiday.
The main difference between Cold Case and the other departments was the overwhelming scent of alpha. There were five desks in the bullpen, and all of them were occupied by alphas. Each one had a different scent, and each scent alone could have had Ryan's mouth watering. Taken all together, Ryan had to fight to stay on his feet.
You can do this. They all think you can't. Prove them wrong. He squared his shoulders, finished walking into the small room, and held his head up.
The department didn't only consist of the five detectives, of course. They had two administrative personnel, both women, whose desks lurked on the periphery of the huge main room. One of those admins stood up and walked over to Ryan, blocking his ingress. "Can I help you, Officer?"
Ryan looked her over. She wore a suit and sensible shoes. Her graying hair had been restrained in a severe bun, and her lip curled just a little bit at the sight of him. Did her contempt come from his size? His race? His hair? Did she not like purple ties? "I have an appointment with Lt. Devlin."
The admin scoffed. Ryan could see, out of the corner of his eye, all of the detectives watching the confrontation. On the one hand, that made them witnesses. On the other hand, since they were all sitting there and smirking instead of helping, they were all complicit. It wasn't like they didn't know who he was or why he was here. What a great way to kick off this investigation.
"I'm pretty sure we aren't bringing on any rookies, but why don't you try Human Resources? There might be some openings in Field Services. I'm sure the hat would look just adorable on you."
One of the detectives snickered openly. He was pale, with graying black hair. Ryan's knuckles itched, but he kept his cool. He probably couldn't take on five alphas, and he certainly couldn't afford to lose his job. He needed to grit his teeth and stick it out until this case was over; then he could go back to Abused Persons and far away from these jerks. "I'm not any happier about this than any of you are." He met the trollish woman's eyes squarely. "I've got my orders, just like everyone else, and I mean to follow them. So go and tell Lt. Devlin that Detective Ryan Tran is here for his appointment, or go and find someone who will." He twisted his lips into a thin, predatory smile. "Please."
There had been a time, in the bad old days before Ryan had seen much of a future for himself, when he'd have done more. He might have shouted. He might have broken something. He might have cleared the troll's desk, just to make a point, or he might have just taken off and taken it out on her car. Now he just held her gaze and ignored the tension radiating off of his alleged colleagues.
As he'd expected, the troll looked down and away. "I'll let him know you're here, Detective." She walked around him and over toward one of the smaller rooms, one with a closed door. He didn't think it was his imagination that she seemed to be moving exceptionally quickly.
Lt. Devlin emerged from the office right away. He was a tall man, another alpha, with white hair and an orange tan that Ryan tried not to
look at too closely. The commanding officer walked right up to Ryan and offered his hand. "Detective Tran—Ryan. It's good to see you again." Devlin smelled like cucumber, and smiled like a politician. "Men, let's all meet up in the big conference room."
Ryan followed Lt. Devlin through a blue door. He kept his pace even and calm, resisting the urge to rush up to Devlin and rely on him for protection. That protection wouldn't be forthcoming, and it would most likely come with strings attached. That wasn't a game Ryan was interested in playing, and certainly not with a guy old enough to be his father. He accepted the seat at Devlin's right hand, though, when the commander gestured to it, and watched as his temporary colleagues filed in around him.
Devlin cleared his throat. "All right. Now that we're all here, we can actually start working on the case instead of hoping that maybe, hopefully, we'll get somewhere because some ancient Irish god somewhere somehow is smiling on us and wants us to be happy." He rolled his eyes. "Ryan, how much do you know about the case?"
Ryan let his eyes flit from alpha to alpha. Great. Another test. He didn't linger too long with the gray-haired man, because there wasn't much point. If he'd been laughing at Ryan earlier, he wouldn't listen to him now. The others watched him with that same sense of apathy, though, and that was at least not dismissal. "In the fall of 1976, a young man by the name of James Townsend was found bludgeoned to death in front of the Kildare Tap House on East Broadway," he recited. "The family had to have a closed-casket funeral. The young man's girlfriend was nowhere to be found. Her family didn't report her missing at the time.
"Three days ago, crews laying down fiber optic cable near the high school came across what they thought might have been an old powder magazine from the fortification of Dorchester Heights. They found a skeleton, dressed in clothing appropriate to a teen-aged girl from the 1970s." He folded his hands on top of the table and tilted his head to the side. "Have I missed anything?"
Gray Hair snorted. "So he can read a report. Big deal."
"That's enough out of you, Nenci." Devlin glared at Gray Hair. "We have a job to do and we're going to do it."
Another detective, this one with rich golden-brown skin and a dark red tie, cleared his throat. Ryan shifted, just a little bit, in his seat. Devlin didn't smell bad, and Nenci smelled like banana nut bread, which wasn't exactly appetizing, but Red Tie smelled incredible. Just his crisp anise scent was enough to distract Ryan; how did these other guys work with him at all? "Sorry, sir." He frowned. "I'm just having trouble seeing where someone from Abused Persons is going to be of any use on this case."
Devlin shrugged. "It came from a lot higher up than me. Make it work."
Ryan's temper flared, but he struggled to keep it in check. "We could start with the fact that the Kildare Tap House was two doors down from the offices of O’Neal & Sons, Plumbers." He unfolded his hands and pulled on his earlobe. "James Townsend was a kid from Roxbury who had been dating Maureen O'Neal. The O'Neals were pulled out of school when the busing crisis began and were being kept in parochial school as soon as financial arrangements could be made. As far as I know, the body hasn't been identified positively as Maureen O'Neal, but hair found with the skeleton is consistent with Maureen O'Neal's hairstyle at the time of her disappearance." He put his hand down and closed his eyes. He wasn't going to think about the poor girl's fate, not now. "It wouldn't be the first time that I've seen a kid killed for dating the wrong guy."
One of the other men, an overly tall young alpha with mid-length brown hair who smelled of popcorn, shook his head. "You can't start out an investigation with that kind of assumption. That might work in your department, but we can't think like that in Cold Cases. They run completely different from any other investigation than you've ever worked, and that's why you can't come in from outside and expect to be part of the team just like that." He snapped his fingers.
A guy wearing different shades of blue—blue trousers, a blue dress shirt, and even a blue scarf—gave the other two such disappointed looks that Ryan would have laughed if he weren't so irritated. "Oh my God, you two. Robles," he said, gesturing at Red Tie, "he didn't ask to get assigned to this. Ozzy, stop being a dick. The guy will have some valuable insights. Just because he doesn't have experience doing what we do doesn't mean that he doesn't kick ass in his own way." He grimaced over at Ryan. "Er, you do kick ass, right?"
Ryan glared. "As a matter of fact, I kind of do. Yeah."
"Sorry. I just don't think it's going to work, sticking an omega with a bunch of alphas and expecting there to not be problems." This objection came from a muscular detective with long hair tied back in a ponytail, and a scent like ginger.
Ryan seethed while Devlin cringed. "Sounds like someone's going back for another round of sensitivity training, Tessaro." The commander gave his subordinate a big thumbs up. "Look, this is something we can't get out of. We need to show a willingness to work with others from outside our department. We've been over this."
Ryan tuned out the squabbling for a moment while the alphas spoke as though he wasn't there. He'd give anything to hunt down a rapist right now, instead of sitting around listening to these guys puff themselves up about their own importance and place in the world. After a few minutes, he decided that enough was enough.
He put his fingers in his mouth and whistled, a piercing sound designed to make everyone stop what they were doing and take notice. Then, as everyone turned to gape at him and his audacity, he rose to his feet. "I'm sorry. I hate to be presumptuous. Maybe it's just because my usual customers are the living, but I can't help but feel like we're wasting time on something that none of us can change. The fact is, we have two dead kids, killed at about the same time, and it's our job to get some justice for them. That’s what we do here, right?"
Nenci glowered, but the rest of the detectives nodded. A few even looked down, chagrined. "Sorry," Devlin told him, nodding. "You're right." He cleared his throat and shuffled some paper. "Obviously, Detective Tran will be one of the leads in this case. The whole reason he's here for this investigation is for him to work on the Townsend case, so he kind of has to be there. I want you to work with him, Robles."
Red Tie pressed a hand to his chest. "Me? Why me?"
"Because I think it will be good for you to learn more about other investigative techniques, and because I think that you would benefit the most by opening your mind up to some new ideas. Also, some of the other guys are working on other cases." Devlin stood up. "The rest of you are dismissed. I'll expect a status report in a couple of days."
Ryan looked over at Robles. Robles looked away. Off to a great start, Ryan thought with a massive eye roll. Awesome.
***
Nick grabbed the case box and brought it back into the conference room. He knew he'd gotten off on the wrong foot with the new guy, Ryan. Most of him felt badly about that. Devlin had told him that Ryan hadn't put in for a transfer or anything; the poor guy had just been assigned to the case because it made the department look more diverse.
He tried to remember to have faith in the system. Whatever the reasons that top brass had sent this detective to them for this case, he still had the rank of a detective. He had, according to Devlin, an impressive track record in Abused Persons. He probably wouldn't be a complete liability. He might even have some skills that Nick would be able to use.
Oh, I'll bet he's got some skills. Ryan's sandalwood scent had bypassed every higher function Nick possessed. As soon as Ryan stepped over that line and into the squad room, a flip had switched in Nick's brain. He hoped they could resolve the case quickly; otherwise it was going to be a long spate of cold showers for Nick as he struggled to keep himself under control.
Nick bit his lip. It was inappropriate to think like that about a colleague. "Here we are," he said. He gestured to the office supplies on the table. Doris must have brought them in while he was off getting the case file. Nick wondered if she and Ryan had gone another few rounds while he was gone. "You're probably wondering why we need so man
y binders."
"I'm sure you're going to tell me." Only the tiniest quirk of Ryan's lips betrayed his sense of humor.
Nick smirked. "You're right. Townsend's body was initially dealt with by Boston PD. They kicked it up to the State because of the whole… you know. The thing." Nick waved at the flag and cringed, just a little. Anyone who'd grown up in Massachusetts remembered that picture, with the anti-busing guy trying to spear the lawyer with a flag. No one wanted to talk about it, and no one wanted to admit that it had happened in their solidly blue state, but there it was.
Ryan nodded, fussing with his tie. Then he swallowed. "Because the victim was black, and dead, in South Boston in the 1970s." His well-sculpted jaw clenched, and then it relaxed again. "We can't discount that, if we're going to solve the case."
Nick frowned. "We don't start out with a hypothesis and then work to prove it. I get that that's how it works in hot cases, because everything's more immediate, but that's not the way you work on a cold case. You work from the outside in." He reached out and grabbed a binder.
Ryan's answering glare would have made paint peel from the walls, if Nick hadn't gotten in the way. "Believe it or not, I have collected evidence before. I'm just saying, it would be downright astonishing if the killings didn't happen because of race." He picked up the file. "Her family never reported her missing, but she had no prior history of running away."
