Hunt and Prey (Kelsey's Burden Series Book 8)

by Kaylie Hunter

  “But she had taken self-defense classes,” Chambers said, walking over to stand beside me. “She knew the rules. Strike—then run. If her attacker had managed to move between her and the running path, when she ran, she would’ve moved toward the trees. Away from him.”

  I remembered my fight in the truck stop. “Say that’s true. That she struck him, then started to run toward the trees. If he grabbed hold of her while she was in forward motion, she could’ve fallen, taking him with her. But the knife is still in his hand.”

  I pointed for Gibson to move back to the original landing spot. When he was in place, I fell forward, low on his body, with the invisible knife driving upward into the back of his thigh.

  “Now according to the autopsy,” Chambers moved to stand next to us, “when the knife was removed it was dragged with the handle upward.”

  I forced the invisible handle toward Gibson’s head as I scrambled on top of him and shifted so my forearm was braced against the back of his neck.”

  “Okay, that’s not comfortable,” Gibson mumbled from beneath me.

  “Shit, sorry!” I shifted my feet out to both sides of him, stood and stepped over him, into the grass. When Gibson rolled over, I offered him a hand, pulling him up. “Thanks for playing.”

  “I’m not sure I caught everything with my face in the dirt,” he said, wiping the dirt off him, “but happy to help.”

  “What was that last part?” Chambers asked, facing me with a confused expression. “How did you know that’s what the killer did?”

  “That’s the piece that tied into my cases.” I pulled my phone and showed him the picture of bean-bag Bert and Tasha. “Our attacker chokes his victims using his forearm against the back of their necks, applying enough pressure until they pass out.”

  Chambers flipped through the autopsy report until he found the photo of the victim’s back. “Why not just choke her the normal way?”

  “Our current theory is that he’s lacking the hand strength.” I walked over to the boxes, setting the top one with the laptop aside, before opening the second box. I dug around until I found the crime scene photos.

  “Can I help find something?” Gibson asked.

  “I’m looking for the first-on-scene case notes from when the body was found.”

  “The file you want is toward the back,” he said, leaning over to dig through the box. “Here.”

  He offered me the file but I didn’t take it. “Read me the basics.”

  “Terrance Haines reported his girlfriend didn’t come home the night before. He called the police but was told there was nothing they could do. He decided to jog the trail himself and found her body.”

  “Slow it down. When? What time? Give me the breakdown.”

  Gibson flipped a sheet over and reread the brief. “The first time Terrance came to the park was around eleven. He claims he yelled a few times, then went home. He called each of her friends, which they later confirmed, before he called the police. Then around midnight, he returns to the park and walks the entire jogging route, but didn’t find her. He goes home again. By six a.m. he returns for the third time, but this time brings two of his friends. They found her body at 6:25 a.m. and called it in.”

  Chambers scratched his chin while he spoke. “Watkin’s theory was the boyfriend was both building his alibi and building an explanation for his presence in the park if an eyewitness reported seeing him in the area.”

  “Which would be smart,” I said, finding myself liking the theory, “if Terrance really was the killer. But the events and timeline also support a worried fiancé trying to find his missing girlfriend.” I looked back toward the park entrance. “Did she drive here?”

  “No. They lived two blocks away,” Gibson said. “She liked to run every night after her shift at the hospital. Usually around ten. Terrance was finishing some big presentation for work and didn’t notice she hadn't returned until just before eleven.”

  “What month was this?”

  “March.”

  I looked skyward. “In March, the sun goes near dinnertime. By ten o’clock, the park would be pitch black except the posted lights.” I turned to Gibson. “I need another favor.”

  “Anything.”

  “I need you to jog the path and figure out why the killer picked this particular spot.”

  “How will I know? What am I looking for?” Gibson asked as he took off his suit jacket and then removed his tie.

  Chambers took off his suit jacket too, piling it on top of Gibson’s. “I’ll go with him. Two eyes are better than one.”

  “Appreciate it. I’d go myself but I injured my knee this week.” I pulled the first-on-scene photos from the file and showed Chambers. “There’s a light post next to every bench. I’m guessing the killer shimmied up the pole and unscrewed the bulb. He planned this location.”

  “Most criminals break the glass. Why risk getting caught unscrewing the bulb?”

  “I don’t know. But there’s no evidence involving broken glass at the scene and if Terrance really did jog the path trying to find her while it was still dark out, that means the light was out.”

  “Let’s go, Gibson,” Chambers said as he started jogging.

  After the boys disappeared around the corner, I called Quille.

  “You behaving?” he asked.

  “Always. You know me, just an innocent little bird.”

  Quille snorted.

  “I need a favor.”

  “I guessed that the second my phone rang. What now?”

  “There’s a Detective Chambers in the Belle Aire district who’s proven helpful in our double homicide. The way things are shaking out, we might be looking at four bodies.”

  The Belle Aire district was slang for the rich and entitled neighborhoods in the finer part of Miami. They had their own precinct, with their own detectives who spent a considerable amount of time and energy kissing asses just to survive. Their world tended to have fewer cases involving drug dealers, prostitutes, and liquor store robberies.

  “Son of a—” There was a pause in conversation as Quille moved the phone away, but I could still hear him mumbling curse words. When he’d recovered, he asked, “Four bodies? How certain are you?”

  “Keep your shit together. I’m working as fast as I can to get this contained, but Chambers is already up to speed on part of the case. I could use his help. Can you reach out and see if we can steal him for a couple days?”

  “I’ll make it happen. Are you staying safe?”

  I looked around, realizing that I was alone on a jogging path bordered by shrubbery so tall and thick that I couldn’t see anything except for the grassy knoll at the end of the path. “Yup. Following all the standard precautions and then some.”

  “I’m going to pretend to believe you.” I heard the familiar squeak of his office chair, then the shuffling of paper. “Greg sent a forensic report over to the office. I peeked. Looks like your shirt from the truck stop yielded fifteen different hair samples, including dog hair. DNA is out because none of the hairs except the dog’s had root follicles, but he’s running chemical trace and other nonsense. He’s asking though if you can eliminate some of them by detailing your whereabouts earlier in the day.”

  “Fifteen seems like a lot.”

  “I agree. Also says most of the hairs appeared severed evenly at one end. What were you doing on Sunday? Rolling around on the floor in a brothel?”

  “Oh, crap. I went to Benny’s! I sat in one of the customer chairs.”

  “Benny’s? Please tell me you are not referring to the Benny—as in Benny The Barber.”

  “I needed information.”

  “You just walked right inside and sat down? No swat team or bodyguards? Are you insane?”

  “It was safe enough. Mickey was there getting a shave.”

  “Mickey who?”

  I laughed as I answered. “Mickey McNabe.” I mentally counted down from five, waiting for Quille’s temper to explode. When I got to zero and didn’t h
ear anything, I looked at my phone. Quille had disconnected the call.

  I slid the phone into my back pocket, tossed the folders back inside their appropriate boxes and carried the top box with the laptop back toward the parking lot. If the boys were willing to jog the mile route looking for evidence, the least I could do was have everything packed and ready to leave when they were done.

  On my third walk back to grab the last box, two things happened at the same time. One, I noticed that the lid on the last box was partially off, though I was certain it had been closed. Two, Beast, with a menacing growl, launched into the brush. I could hear his barking moving in the opposite direction at a fast pace.

  Gibson and Chambers came running around the corner, Gibson with his gun drawn.

  When they looked at me, I held up my hands in an I-don’t-know gesture before pointing toward the woods.

  “I’ll go,” Chambers said. “Gibson, escort Detective Harrison back to her car.”

  Chambers disappeared into the greenery.

  Gibson holstered his gun and went to lift the box, but I stopped him. “Someone was looking through it. Maybe we’ll get lucky and get prints.”

  He pulled on gloves, then lifted the box from the bottom. I pulled my gun, called in for officer assistance, and hurried with Gibson back to Wild Card’s rental. By the time the box was secured in the back of the SUV, two squad cars had arrived and Gibson assigned an officer to wait with me as the rest of them ran toward the back of the park and into the trees.

  The officer assigned to watch me looked back at me with a raised eyebrow.

  “I know what you’re thinking. Why am I babysitting this chick?”

  “Just doing my job, ma’am.”

  I reached into my handbag and pulled my badge.

  He laughed. “Okay, now I’m confused.”

  “You hear about the shooting at the central precinct yesterday?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m the target.”

  He looked at me for a long second before pulling his keys and pressing the button on his keypad to open the trunk of his cruiser. He handed me a bulletproof vest before slipping a second one over his own head. Next, he holstered his handgun and pulled a shotgun from the trunk. He looked over at the hot dog vendor. “Unless you got a death wish, I’d suggest you get the hell out of here.”

  The vendor rushed to cover everything and release the brake, hurrying along with his cart down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.

  “We both know the perp is likely long gone by now. Admit it. It was the smell of sauerkraut, wasn’t it?”

  When he smiled, a deep dimple formed on his left cheek. “How can people eat that shit in this heat?”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  KELSEY

  Tuesday, 1:45 p.m.

  Upon entering the mansion, my shoulders tensed as I heard Grady and Wild Card yelling. I walked through the foyer, down the side hall, and into the open-layout kitchen where they were faced off, ready to come to blows. The kids were only a few feet away.

  “Have you both lost your minds?” I asked while pushing them out of my way to reach the kids and pass them off to Anne and Whiskey.

  Bones, who had followed me to the chaos, walked over to Grady and Wild Card. “What the H-E-double-hockey-sticks is going on in here?”

  “Really, dude?” Tyler asked Bones from the veranda entryway.

  “Shut the—” he looked at the kids.

  “Front door?” Sara asked.

  “Not helping, Sara,” Whiskey told her.

  I looked at Grady, then Wild Card. “What are you two fighting about now?”

  They both looked away. It was against their code to rat on each other.

  “Anne? What was the fight about?”

  “I don’t know. Whiskey and I were out hanging towels when we heard the yelling start. When we got here, Wild Card was telling Grady he had no business ordering Nicholas to do anything.”

  Aunt Suzanne stood in the kitchen with big eyes and a stunned expression. I raised an eyebrow at her and asked, “What’s going on?”

  She looked at me but pointed at Grady and Wild Card. “Were they really going to start hitting each other over a sandwich?”

  “What sandwich?” I asked.

  “Nicholas’ sandwich,” she said, waving a hand to the plate on the counter. “He asked if he could have something else to eat.”

  “Ah,” I said, sliding the paper plate across the counter toward me and flipping the top layer of bread off. “Fresh tuna.”

  “I forgot,” Aunt Suzanne said, shrugging her shoulders. “My mistake.”

  Circling the island counter to the other side, I uncovered the platters and bowls of food. “Nick, do you want turkey, ham, or peanut butter and jelly?”

  “Nothing,” Nicholas said, tucking his head into Whiskey’s shoulder.

  “Hey, buddy,” Wild Card said, moving away from Grady and taking Nicholas from Whiskey. “This is not your fault. This is my fault. And Grady’s fault. We shouldn’t have yelled like that in front of you.”

  Nicholas’ lower lip trembled as his eyes filled with unshed tears. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

  “It wasn’t you who caused the trouble,” Aunt Suzanne said. “I did. I’m the one who forgot you only like tuna sandwiches if it’s that canned stuff. I should’ve remembered.”

  Jackson, Reggie, Bridget, and Wayne entered the kitchen, dumping their stuff on various counters. Jackson handed Ryan two large bakery boxes.

  “She didn’t,” Ryan said, sighing.

  “Oh, yes, she did.” Jackson took another three steps to reach me, leaning down to kiss my cheek, before walking over to the table. As he sat, he glanced around the room. “Why’s everyone hanging out in the kitchen? It’s gorgeous outside.”

  “Oh, just witnessing yet another round of Nicholas being spoiled,” Grady growled.

  I swear my arm was not connected to my brain when the tuna fillet launched across the room and slapped Grady in the face.

  Everyone inhaled in unison as the fillet slid down his cheek and fell to the floor.

  Grady raised his head slowly to look at me. His eyes were narrowed, his face flushed. He continued glaring as he stretched his t-shirt sleeve up to reach and wipe his face.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Wild Card pass Nicholas back to Whiskey. Everyone else stood or sat frozen, waiting for Grady’s reaction.

  “Classy, Kelsey,” Grady said as he turned from the room. “Real mature.”

  Everyone released their breath.

  I sighed as I picked up the tuna and carried it, along with the rest of the sandwich, over to the trash. Returning to the counter, I made three sandwiches piled with turkey, lettuce, tomato, and way too much mayo. I added a side of barbeque chips.

  "You going to leave some food for the rest of us?" Reggie asked, grinning beside me.

  "One’s for me, one’s for Sara, and one’s for Nicholas." I slid two of the paper plates across the island and hands grabbed them from the other side. “Carl? Did you like your sandwich?”

  “I made my own. I’m all done now. May I go swim?”

  “As long as another adult is with you, then yes.”

  “You want a cupcake first?” Ryan asked, opening a bakery box as he held it tipped up to show us three dozen cupcakes.

  Everyone groaned. Ryan’s wife’s baking was top notch, but we ate ourselves sick over the tournament weekend, and weeks later, we still hadn’t recovered.

  “Can I have two?” Carl asked, being the exception to every rule.

  “Sure,” I said before taking a bite of my sandwich.

  “Hey, woman,” Wild Card said to me, grinning as he leaned over and stole some chips off Nicholas’ plate, “make me a sandwich. I’m hungry.”

  This time, I knew exactly what I was doing when I sent the cupcake sailing across the room. Wild Card saw it coming and put up a hand to block it. The cupcake blew apart when it hit his hand, though, covering him and Nicholas.
>
  Wild Card stuck first one finger, then another, into his mouth and sucked the blue frosting and chocolate cake chunks off. Then he leaned over and whispered something to Nicholas.

  Nick’s eyes widened and he shook his head no.

  Wild Card whispered again, and Nicholas looked up at me with a spark of mischief.

  “I wouldn’t,” I warned before taking another bite of my sandwich.

  Nicholas leaned over and whispered to Sara.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she whispered back loud enough for me to hear.

  I moved my sandwich to the back counter, next to the refrigerator, before turning back toward the island and shifting the bakery box in front of me.

  “That’s cheating,” Wild Card said as he stood, staring at the bakery box.

  “When have I ever fought fair?” I asked before launching a cupcake at Nicholas.

  I threw three more before I had to start running. On the second pass around the island, I didn’t account for the tile floor being slick with frosting and I went down, accidentally dragging Aunt Suzanne down with me.

  Wild Card stood over us and dumped the remaining cupcakes on our heads. The kids pounced, trying to rub the cupcakes into our faces and hair. Somehow, Aunt Suzanne managed to squirm her way from the pile of bodies and stand. She grabbed the large plastic serving bowl of macaroni salad, but as she went to fling the contents our way, Wild Card knocked it the other direction. The bowl went flying toward the other side of the room.

  The kids and I watched the bowl disappear from our view. We glanced at each other, before scrambling off the floor to see over the island.

  Anne, Whiskey, Bones, Jackson, and Bridget sat at the dining room table, covered in slimy noodles.

  Ryan stood off to the side, perfectly clean, and grinning at all of us. I grabbed a dill pickle lying on the counter in front of me and threw it at Ryan. His head snapped my direction as he reached out to catch the pickle, but he was splattered with its juices. Ryan’s eyes narrowed.

  Wild Card slid the second box of cupcakes in front of us, knocking the lid off. “Arm yourselves!”

  The other team started sending missiles of food our way as Wild Card counted down from three and we launched our cupcakes.