Wicked Ride

by Rebecca Zanetti

  “No.” Kell glanced from his brother to the king. “You two about to fight?”

  “No.” Dage winced as something broke in the kitchen. “I hope Simone is insured. When those two start cooking, something usually blows up.”

  Speaking of which . . . “When did a young demon soldier become your nephew?” Kell asked slowly. While Garrett really was Dage’s nephew, Logan was anything but.

  Dage shrugged. “Logan’s brother married my niece, which makes him my nephew-in-law. So Logan might as well be a nephew, and it’s a simpler label.”

  Plus, considering Logan’s older brother was the leader of the entire demon nation, why not make friends? Vampires and demons claiming each other for family. Where the hell had reality gone?

  Kell lifted an eyebrow at Daire, who just matched his shrug.

  “As I was saying,” Dage said, “I’d like to ask a favor from you. Basically for Logan and Garrett to work this case with you.”

  Well, shit. Kell sighed. When the king of the Realm told you what to do, you hit him in the face and started throwing fire. But if the king nicely asked for a favor? Yeah. You gave the vampire king a fucking favor. “Shit.”

  Dage smiled. “Yep.”

  And when the king was actually the brother-in-law of two of your cousins, you did a good job with the favor.

  “You’re an asshole,” Daire said without heat.

  “I’ve been called worse.” Dage crossed over and dropped onto the couch, crossing one knee over black pants. “I do appreciate your assistance.”

  Kell grinned and took a seat. “What did they do?”

  Dage scowled. “Let’s just say that those two on their own, without a war going on, and too many human girls out there . . . cause problems.”

  It always came down to girls, didn’t it? “You’re punishing them by making them work a case where they’re not needed?” Kell asked.

  “Yes, and plus, it’s a case where they’ll be kept safe. I trust you to involve them, get them some undercover training, but keep them from getting their heads cut off.” Dage eyed Daire. “Surely there’s something they can do to help. As prospects.”

  It would keep the king in the loop, where he always fucking wanted to be.

  Daire loped over to sit in the overstuffed chair, instantly plopping his boots on the table. “Well . . . as prospects, they can get closer to the other prospects. Maybe get some info we can’t without appearing obvious.”

  “Plus, they can party pretty hard in town.” Kell rubbed his chin. “If one or both of them can pretend to be on the lookout for drugs, especially if they’re not wearing their cuts, we might actually get a break.” The more he thought about it, the better he liked the idea. “This might actually work.” Of course, he’d have to make sure neither kid got hurt on his watch. Talk about a disaster.

  Dage nodded. “I would certainly owe you one.” He stood and stretched his neck. “Thank you.”

  Kell stood. “How is your mate?”

  “Pregnant and beautiful and a bit cranky.” Dage’s face relaxed in a way it only did when speaking of Emma. “She’s four months along now, and the kid kicks. A lot.”

  Sounded like Dage’s child. “Well, congrats,” Kell said. The Kayrs ruling family seemed to be multiplying exponentially now that the war had finally ended.

  “Thanks.” Dage reached into his back pocket and drew out a thick, folded envelope. “About your cop. Everything.”

  Kell took the envelope, his head lifting. “How . . .”

  Dage rolled his eyes and moved toward the kitchen. “I’m the fucking king. Everybody seems to forget that.” He turned and smiled. “I’ll say good-bye to the boys and then be on my way. Good luck with them.”

  Chapter 10

  Lex spread the file out on her bed, looking at pictures of Titans of Fire, Grizzlies, and corpses. She knew it all fit together somehow, but she was missing the link. Glancing toward the clock, she sighed. Two in the morning.

  When had sleep become impossible?

  After returning home from work, she’d thrown away the demolished coffee table and repaired the rest of her crappy apartment. A stack of bills lay in a nice pile next to her dinosaur of a computer, and she tried to avoid those. How she was going to pay for the next few months of her mother’s care was beyond her. Even with her sister, Tori, chipping in, they didn’t have enough money. If she could just solve this case, she’d have more time to figure things out. To maybe work a second job and make some extra cash.

  The smell from the Thai food place below gurgled up again, and she reached over to open the window so the scent of rain would banish the oily smell.

  Her phone dinged.

  Instantly, her heart leaped to life, forcing her to take several deep breaths to glance at the face. Bernie. Shit. “Yeah,” she answered.

  “Duck’s dead.” A cacophony of action could be heard melding with the outside rain. “Happy Maple Subdivision, fifth house on the left from the entrance.”

  She jerked her head. “How the hell is Duck out?”

  “Made bail,” Bernie muttered. “This is bad, Lex. Really bad.”

  “How so?” She leaned down and grabbed discarded jeans to shimmy into.

  Voices lifted in the background. “Just get here. You need to see this.” Bernie clicked off.

  She hustled into clothes and out into the rain to make the quick drive across town to the crime scene in a subdivision. The stench of burned flesh assaulted Lex’s nostrils the second she stepped out of the car. She faltered for the briefest of seconds and then straightened her shoulders, striding past the crime scene tape, the milling officers, and even the gawkers out late to see the commotion. Unlike the last crime scene, the nicely treed street held freshly painted houses with perfectly manicured lawns.

  Through the swirling red and blue lights, she caught sight of Bernie up a long driveway next to a white colonial. Small but quaint.

  Stepping over a couple puddles, she skirted an overgrown hydrangea bush and reached her partner. She glanced down and breathed out. “Holy shit.”

  Bernie nodded. “Yep.”

  Duck lay on his back, one hand thrown over his forehead. Scorch marks and what appeared to be burned blood covered his mouth and jaw, and even his neck. Lex covered her mouth and nose while crouching down.

  Bernie shoved a pair of gloves into her hand. “Check out his fingernails.”

  She donned the gloves and gingerly lifted Duck’s free hand, which had turned red and crusty. Blood seemed to have pooled at the nail beds and even burned a path toward his wrists. “What the hell?”

  “His eyeballs are burned out, and I’m sure when the ME opens him up, we’ll find incinerated organs. This is the worst we’ve seen from an Apollo overdose. There’s bruising around the jaw as if his mouth was held open and the drug shoved down his gullet.” Bernie jerked his head toward the quiet home. “Duck’s house.”

  Lex slowly stood. “Duck lived in this nice house?”

  “Apparently.” Bernie rocked back on his heels. “Just waiting for a warrant to go in, since he was found outside.”

  Lex glanced at the waiting crowd, many of whom wore hastily thrown on robes over pajamas. “Who found him?”

  Bernie pointed to an elderly lady in a flowered housecoat huddling under the eaves of the adjoining home—a blue rancher with pristine white shutters. “Mrs. Lakeland. Retired teacher and neighbor for about three years.”

  Lex nodded and maneuvered past several crime techs to the white-haired lady. “Mrs. Lakeland, I’m Detective Monzelle. Do you mind if I ask you a couple questions?”

  Mrs. Lakeland lifted surprisingly sharp blue eyes. “Not at all.”

  Lex tried for a reassuring smile. “How long have you known the deceased?”

  Mrs. Lakeland took a deep breath that shook her entire eighty-pound or so body. “Albert moved in about three years ago. Such a sweet boy. Brought my trash cans in every week and helped me to find Razzles every time the darn cat decided to take off.”
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  Lex blinked. Sweet boy? “Um, are we talking about Duck? The Motorcycle club member?”

  “Duck.” Mrs. Lakeland chortled. “Yes, that was his little nickname.” She sighed and brushed a wiry white curl away from her wrinkled forehead. “I heard him swearing on the phone once to someone, and it was like he turned into somebody else. When he came outside, he saw me tending to my tulips. That boy apologized up and down for the crude language.”

  “Duck apologized?” Lex asked slowly.

  “Of course. We all have more than one persona, young lady. To me? He was Albert, my very nice neighbor.”

  Well, hells bells. “Yes, ma’am.” She cut a look to Bernie, who just shrugged. “How did you find Du—Albert, Mrs. Lakeland?”

  “Oh my.” Mrs. Lakeland wrung bony hands together in front of her tightly knotted belt. “A ruckus woke me, so I fumbled for my glasses and tried to hurry to the window. At my age, hurrying is more of a slow-motion movement.” Her faded pink lips trembled. “I reached the window in time to see a fire on his driveway.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “Turned out it was Albert.”

  Lex reached out and patted the woman’s thin arm. “Did you see anybody else in the driveway?”

  “Two men.” Mrs. Lakeland nodded, shaking the loose skin on her chin. “Big, really big men dressed in long black coats. I think they had dark hair, but that’s all I can say. I saw them jump into a black SUV at the curb and speed away. Why would they set Albert on fire?” she asked, a tear slipping out.

  “I don’t know.” Lex rubbed her arm. “Is there anybody we can call to come stay with you tonight, Mrs. Lakeland?”

  The elderly lady shook her head. “No. I’m fine.” She shivered in the chilly air.

  Lex nodded for a female uniformed officer, who hustled over. “This nice officer is going to take you inside and maybe make you some tea, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Lakeland nodded, pausing as she turned. “You’ll find who did this to sweet Albert, won’t you?”

  “I’m sure going to try. I promise.” Lex kept silent until the women disappeared around Mrs. Lakeland’s home before turning to Bernie. “Two large men, huh?”

  “Interesting.” Bernie glanced back down at the corpse, sympathy lightening his eyes. “How much of the drug do you think they gave him to result in this much damage?”

  She shook her head. “Way too much. The feeling of it going in must’ve been excruciating.”

  “Duck’s screaming must’ve been what woke Mrs. Lakeland.” Bernie straightened as a statuesque redhead strode toward them in very nice leather boots. He lifted his chin. “Out for a late night, August?”

  August Summerling, Seattle prosecutor, scowled down at the body while slapping a piece of paper into Bernie’s hand. “I thought I’d bring down the warrant myself.”

  Bernie lifted a bushy eyebrow. “We have e-mails on our phones now, you know.”

  August smiled, showing even white teeth. “I know, but I’d like to take a look at Duck’s house, too. When this shithole of a case goes to trial, I want a full picture.”

  Bernie met her grin. “How much ribbing you get from your name, anyway?”

  August sighed. “More than you’ll ever know.”

  Lex hadn’t had a case with August yet, but the woman had a stellar reputation, and she was willing to go on a little faith. “Your parents were hippies?”

  “No. No father, and Mom is a new-age, crystal-wearing, tarot-reading, one-with-the-universe woman in natural fabrics. Love her, so I could never change the name.” August eyed Bernie top to bottom and then wiggled her brows. “What’s your last name, Detective? I’m always looking for a new one.”

  Bernie blushed beet red from his jowls to his hairline. “Knock it off. Geez. I’m old enough to be your father.”

  Lex elbowed him. “And you’re married.”

  Bernie somehow turned even redder. “Oh yeah. Yeah. I’m married.” He held out his left hand to show his gold band. “Forty years. Forty wonderful, excellent, she’s gonna kill me if we keep talking, years.”

  August chuckled. “I’m just messing with you. Sorry.”

  The prosecutor went up about ten notches in Lex’s book, and that meant something. She rubbed her hands together. “Let’s go through Duck’s white-picket fence of a house.”

  “You don’t suppose we’ll get lucky enough that this will be a stash house, do ya?” Bernie muttered, avoiding the hydrangea bush to clomp up the front porch.

  Anticipation hurried Lex’s movements. “It’s entirely possible.” What better place to stash drugs and weapons than a pretty subdivision down a nicely treed street? “We’ve done searches on property owned by Fire and its members, and this didn’t come up.”

  “It’s owned by a corporation called NewBerry, Inc.,” August said, waiting for Lex to precede her into the house. “My office is doing a deeper search now to find the connection, but a cursory glance shows the company being a front for property owned by Titans of Fire.” She shrugged. “Not unusual, actually.”

  The house smelled like lemon cleanser and featured a quaint living room with matching couch and loveseat, a stark but clean kitchen, and one bedroom off to the side. Small but somehow sweet.

  Lex headed instantly for the kitchen and started tapping on walls.

  August leaned over her shoulder. “Hidden rooms?”

  “Here’s hoping,” Lex agreed, continuing to tap. In the living room, other cops began the arduous process of searching for contraband.

  “Eureka,” Bernie bellowed from the bedroom.

  Excitement roared through Lex’s veins, and she all but ran into the bedroom, where Bernie had opened a false back in the closet to reveal a shitload of weapons. AK-47s, pistols, even sawed-off shotguns. Her shoulders hunched. All known weapons. Nothing that could throw fire.

  She turned and yanked the white quilt off the bed. “Let’s get going. We have an entire house to search. There have to be more weapons somewhere.” She’d tear the entire house down to find the fire-throwing weapons along with the Apollo drug. She was getting closer; she could just feel it.

  Who the hell had murdered Duck and why?

  Chapter 11

  Dawn hadn’t yet begun to arrive, and darkness shrouded the area like an omen of things to come. Bad things. The rain had ebbed, but a hint of another storm hung in the damp air, chilling right through cotton and leather. Lex sighed at her empty, stinky apartment, her limbs weary and her gut churning.

  Seven foil packets of meth and several more pistols had been found at Duck’s, but no fire-throwing weapons, and no Apollo. His home had been a stash house, but not for the right stuff.

  She’d headed home for a few hours of sleep, and Bernie had, very annoyingly, insisted upon following her and then checking out her crappy apartment for any more intruders.

  “I’m a cop,” she had snapped.

  “You’re my partner,” he’d snapped back. Satisfied that no bad guys lurked beneath her bed or in her tiny closet, he’d nicely suggested she hire a maid and stated he’d pick her up the following day to go speak with Kellach Dunne. Only then had he sauntered out.

  What a fucking day, or rather, night. Lex washed her face and yanked on a tank top and fresh underwear before falling face-first on her unmade bed. Seconds later, she was dreaming about a fire-throwing Irishman near a half-crumbled castle surrounded by rolling hills.

  The smash of glass had her rolling over. A man dressed in all black, wearing a ski mask, landed hard on the floor, spreading glass and rain. Thunder echoed outside, and the wind pummeled rain into the room.

  A second later, wood splintered, and a second man dodged inside her apartment.

  She reached for the gun on her end table, and a hard kick from the first guy sent the gun spiraling into the wall.

  Panic heated her lungs, and she shook her head to gain her bearings. Her heart beat rapidly, and adrenaline pricked up the hair on her arms. Focus. She needed to focus.

  “Who are you?” she asked, shuffling back t
o sit against the headboard and drawing up her knees. Fear and intent rushed through her and narrowed the moment to heartbeats. If one of the men attacked, he’d have to lean over to get to her, and she’d take out his nose with a kick.

  “Where is it?” the first guy asked, his voice garbled.

  About six-four, solid muscle, narrow waist. Black pants and shirt, some type of boots—looked military. She couldn’t get an angle on his facial features behind the thick mask, but his eyes appeared brown. Maybe.

  “What?” she asked, eying the other guy at the door. Not as tall but definitely thicker. Slight gut. Brown running shoes, and Beretta in his hands, pointed to the floor.

  The first guy, obviously the guy in charge, took out a Glock and pointed it at her face. “Last chance. Where is it?”

  She shook her head. If she jumped at him, he’d definitely get off a shot. Her phone lay over on the dresser; she couldn’t get to it in time. “Listen, asshole. Tell me what you’re looking for, and I’ll be happy to find it for you. As things stand, I have no fucking clue what you want.”

  “He said he gave it to her,” the guy by the door whispered. “It has to be here somewhere.”

  The first guy nodded. “Right.” He slipped his gun into the back of his waist. “Let’s take care of the detective here, and we’ll search.” Moving forward, he pressed one knee on the bed.

  A gunshot would make too much noise. Made sense. The asshole thought he’d suffocate her.

  She pushed back against the wall and tried to whimper.

  The lower part of his mask moved as if he smiled. He moved closer.

  She kicked up as hard as she could, nailing him under the chin. His head went back, and she landed on top of him, pulling out his gun.

  The guy at the door stepped closer, his gun pointing. “Drop it, or I’ll shoot.”

  She was dead anyway—at least if he shot, somebody would hear. Whether or not they called the cops in this neighborhood was iffy, however. Keeping her balance on top of the first guy, she pointed the gun at his nose. “You shoot, and I shoot.”

  The door slammed open into the first guy, and another body lunged inside, tackling the gunman to the floor.