by Lyn Gardner
Going on Red
by Lyn Gardner
Copyright 2020 by Lyn Gardner
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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Dedication
To Nikki –
Once upon a time, there was a novice writer who reached out for a beta reader.
The writer had never dared put words on paper before, and the beta had never attempted proofreading before, but regardless, they joined forces. One wrote, while across the pond, the other read, and before too long, chapters were posted to a fan fiction site. It was well-received, except one day, hateful comments began to appear. Posted by the henchwomen of the dictatorial administrator, they were hurtful, they were crude, and if it weren’t for you, Nikki, I would have quit writing long before that story was ever finished.
You see, that advice you gave me that day changed my life. You told me to put my head down, and I did. You told me to disregard the ugliness of those petty people, and I did. And you told me to keep writing no matter what…and I have.
There are not enough words to truly express my gratitude for that advice, but more importantly, for your friendship. Out of the kindness of your heart, you helped a fledging writer find her path, and along the way, I found the courage to be myself, too.
And for that, I will forever and always be grateful.
Lyn xxx
Table of Contents
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
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Acknowledgments
Other Titles by Lyn Gardner
Chapter One
If she heard the term understaffed one more time, Kate Monroe was going to scream. With the year rapidly winding to an end, it made perfect sense that those with families would request time off. Kate just didn’t need to be reminded of it each and every time a request was made for her to work over her allotted hours.
Kate adored her job. As a Detective Inspector stationed just northeast of London, Kate spent her days solving crimes and assisting those in need, but after ending her fifth twelve-hour shift in as many days, Kate was now the one in need. All she wanted to do was go home, soak in a tub until her skin pruned, and then climb into bed and not wake up until Monday.
The drizzle and wind of the December evening showed no signs of stopping, and Kate kept her head bowed as she made her way to her car. Unlocking the door, she flung her handbag onto the passenger seat before slipping behind the wheel. As she started the engine, Kate took a deep breath, the tension of the day draining from her shoulders as she exhaled. Pulling out of the parking space, Kate was looking forward to pouring herself a healthy glass of wine when she got home, but then a call came over the radio. A few miles away, a burglary had occurred, and even though Kate was technically off duty, due to the proximity of the break-in, she knew the file regarding it would be on her desk when she returned to work the following week. Kate filled her lungs again, and putting on her turn signal, she checked her mirrors and made a safe and legal U-turn.
Ten minutes later, Kate tapped across the marble-floored lobby in her sensible pumps, stopping to get her bearings once she reached the middle of the space. Like most office buildings in the area, this one had been modernized over the years, the old interiors of paneled walls and planked floors giving way to checkerboard tile and crisp, sleek furniture with chrome accents and stylish upholstery. Toward the back, centered between two corridors leading to the elevators, was the reception desk, and given the time of the year, it was flanked by Christmas trees glutted with baubles of gold and silver.
Kate took a few more steps, the click of her heels echoing in the emptiness, and when she heard voices coming from one of the corridors, she stopped and waited. It wasn’t long before two men appeared, and by the uniform the shorter one was wearing, Kate guessed he was the night guard for the building. She didn’t need to guess who the taller one was. “Hiya, Elliott. Working the late shift, I see.”
Elliott Thackery looked in Kate’s direction and beamed. “Hey there, Kate,” he said, holding up his finger. “One second.”
“Take your time.”
Kate’s fondness for Elliott showed on her face, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the man’s handsome face, chiseled chin, or large, expressive eyes.
Less than one-third of all police officers in England were women, and just because discrimination was illegal in the workplace, didn’t mean sexism didn’t exist. From superior attitudes to covert objectification, nearly all women would agree that while not overt, chauvinism was still very much alive and well. Kate had been on the receiving end of such anatomy-based bigotry for more times than she could count. Sometimes it was cloaked in a joke that wasn’t really a joke, and sometimes it was hidden behind a leer that would be laughed off when challenged. Gawks had come her way as well, those slow once-overs that made her feel like a piece of property instead of a fellow officer, and earlier that day, when the break area became a bit messy, the men looked to her to clean it up just because she occasionally wore a skirt to work.
If Kate had felt any of the instances were worth reporting, she would have, but attempting to point fingers at a bunch of male chauvinists who had equally chauvinistic men supporting them would have only rocked the boat, and Kate didn’t like to rock the boat. She preferred to sail smoothly through her job, advancing in rank if the opportunity came while causing not one ripple of attention. That was Kate’s way and had been for as far back as she could remember.
Thankfully, there were a few men Kate worked with who didn’t fit the pattern, and Elliott Thackery was one of them. In the three years they had known each other, Elliott had always treated Kate with the utmost respect. He had never objectified, never leered, and never made Kate feel anything but valued. And more than once, when Elliott had a station filled with seasoned officers from which he could glean direction, he had sought out Kate to ask her opinion on something he’d run across while doing his job.
With a
work ethic matching Kate’s, whenever a special assignment was posted, Elliott was always the first to apply, so his recent promotion to sergeant was well deserved and a surprise to no one, least of all Kate. She had often wondered if the man had a life outside the Met. Then again, who was she to talk?
As the night watchman headed back to the reception area, Elliott made his way over to Kate, his smile growing larger as he approached. “What in the world are you doing here? It’s just a simple burglary.”
“I just left the station when the call came in. I figured I’d get a jump on next week’s paperwork, and if there are any witnesses to question, I may as well do it now while it’s still fresh in their minds.”
“Well, there’s not much to report,” Elliott said, glancing at his notes. “Someone tried to break into an office on the eighth floor. The person who called it in was working late, but we’ve got no real description, and the night guard couldn’t help us either.”
“What about those?” Kate said, pointing to a camera mounted on a wall.
“Believe it or not, their whole system is down tonight for maintenance. None of the cameras for the building are working. There are two across the street, but those offices are closed until Monday, so we can’t ask to see the film until then, but I’m not sure it’s going to really matter.”
“Why’s that?”
“Like I said, we’ve got no description, and by the looks of it, the witness surprised whoever it was before he could do anything other than break the glass in the door. It doesn’t even appear like he had the time to get inside. I’m just waiting for the psychiatrist who leases the space to show up so we can make sure that’s the case. After that, I can finish up with the witness, and then head back to the station,” Elliott said, looking at his watch. “My shift was supposed to end about twenty minutes ago.”
“Oh, I’ve been there,” Kate said with a laugh. “Well, how about you wait for the doctor, and I’ll go talk to the witness? That way, we can both get home at a decent hour?”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” Elliott handed his note pad to Kate and pointed toward the lifts. “Eighth floor. Spaces by Shaw on the door. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks,” Kate said, and moving through the lobby, she stepped into the elevator, pushing the button for the desired floor as the doors noiselessly slid closed.
Kate sighed as she glanced at her reflection in the stainless steel walls of the cubicle. When she awoke that morning, she had taken a shower, applied just enough makeup to make a difference, brushed her hair until it shined, and put on a freshly pressed suit. Thirteen hours later, her suit was wrinkled, her hair was windblown and damp from the rain, and the only bit of eyeliner remaining had settled into the corners of her eyes. Clearing it away with the tip of her finger, Kate pushed her hair behind her ears, took a deep breath, and when the lift chimed and the doors opened, she stepped out into a tiled hallway.
Light streamed through the glass on the door to her right, and seeing Spaces by Shaw etched into the frosted surface, Kate went over, opened the door, and walked inside. The reception area was small and carpeted, with a modest desk just inside the door and four rather comfortable-looking overstuffed leather chairs scattered around the rest of the space. Hearing a noise, Kate turned her attention toward it and saw a long-legged woman with short black hair smiling back at her from a doorway.
***
In her life, Brodie Shaw had spent many an interesting Friday night, but mind-blowing sex with strangers, although an adrenaline rush, was no comparison to an attempted burglary. In the midst of finishing up a preliminary design for a client, instead of taking the work home with her, Brodie had hunkered down in her office and worked until nearly eight. While it wasn’t usually the way she wanted to head into the weekend, this particular client had two other condos requiring renovations, so spending one Friday night not drinking and shagging until dawn seemed a small price to pay.
After remaining hunched over her worktable and computer for hours, with still more work left to do, Brodie had stretched her five-foot ten-inch body across the sofa in her office, figuring a short kip would give her the energy she needed to finish. Within seconds, she had dozed off, and she remained that way until a loud pop woke her up. She looked around, and seeing nothing out of order, she got up and prepared to finish what she had started, but before she reached her drafting table, there was another pop, and Brodie stiffened. Turning off the small desk lamp, she crept to the door and peered into her outer office. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Brodie tiptoed over and turned the latch on the door leading to the hallway. She heard the faint click as the lock slid back into its keeper, and quietly opening the door, she peeked through the crack and saw him instantly. The glass in the door in front of him was now cobwebbed with cracks, and while Brodie couldn’t remember making a sound, when he turned in her direction, she pushed the door closed, threw the latch, and ran to call the police.
An hour had passed since then, and as Brodie glanced at her watch again, her annoyance was building. No longer able to concentrate on work, all she wanted to do was go home, get a stiff drink, and fall into bed, but the baby-faced policeman who had taken her statement and said he’d be right back, apparently had yet to learn how to tell time. Brodie was about to start pacing again when she heard a sound in her outer office, and grabbing her coat, she went out to greet the cop, only to find that he had become a she and a rather nice looking she at that.
Not normally a woman whom Brodie would have given a second glance, much preferring tall, blonde, and beautiful, while the woman failed in two of the categories, as far as Brodie was concerned, she owned the last. Her lips were pouty and pink, softening the stubbornness of her square jaw, and under perfectly shaped eyebrows were luminous eyes of blue. There was a faint dusting of freckles over the woman’s small, straight nose, adding a touch of wholesomeness to an otherwise porcelain complexion. And even with her sandy brown hair askew from the wind and her nondescript black trench coat, rumpled and speckled with rain, the woman across the way was the prettiest woman Brodie had ever seen. Without giving it a second thought, Brodie blatantly continued to admire the view even after the woman’s eyes met hers.
Blessed with good skin and a face that was carved, yet delicate, Kate knew she wasn’t unattractive. She had had her fair share of boyfriends over the years, and while she bristled at the misogynistic ogling at work, when Kate walked into a pub and heads turned her way, she wasn’t offended. It was part of the territory, part of the reason why droves of young and old alike flocked into neighborhood bars looking for something more than just a drink, and up until now, all the looks of interest sent in Kate’s direction had one thing in common. They had all been done by members of the opposite sex. Tonight, however, standing in an office eight floors above the street, Kate found herself being undressed by the dark brown eyes of a woman who appeared content in mentally removing everything Kate was wearing…right down to the very last stitch.
The room suddenly felt warmer than it had a few seconds earlier, and breaking eye contact, Kate fumbled to open Elliott’s pocket notepad. Frowning at the man’s sloppy handwriting, she raised her eyes. “I’m looking for…um…Barbie Shaw.”
“I’m Brodie Shaw,” Brodie said, taking a few steps before extending her hand “And you are?”
It was a simple gesture, but Kate hesitated for a split-second before returning it. “Detective Inspector Monroe,” she said, shaking the woman’s hand.
Although not usually put off or made nervous by a stranger, between the way the woman was continuing to stare at her and the fact she’d held Kate’s hand longer than necessary, put Kate on edge. That wasn’t an easy task, yet this woman had done it without even trying.
Kate set her jaw and pushed the feeling aside. “Sergeant Thackery says you witnessed the break-in down the hall.”
“Not exactly,” Brodie said, and leaning against the desk, she crossed her arms and her ankles as her smile remained in place.
Brodie was still grinning like a cat with yellow feathers in its mouth, and analogies being what they are, ruffling this bird’s feathers was definitely something she’d like to do. But the woman’s body language was signaling a change of emotions, so Brodie straightened her posture, uncrossed her arms, and very politely began to explain the events of the evening. “I was working late, and I heard a noise. Since nothing in here seemed out of place, I unlocked the door and looked down the corridor. I saw a bloke, dressed in a dark hoodie, trying to break into the shrink’s office down the hall, so I came back in and called the police.”
“Did you see what he looked like?” Kate asked, jotting down some notes.
“No, the hood covered his face. It was either black or dark blue, and he wore jeans. I didn’t notice anything else.”
“And it says here you believe he left directly after you interrupted him?”
“Well, I can’t be sure it was him, what with the frosted glass in my door, but I definitely saw the shape of someone running past while I was on the phone.”
“I see,” Kate said, looking down at the notepad again. “Do you know if he took the lift or the stairs?”
“Stairs, I think,” Brodie said, doing nothing to hide the fact she was staring. “I didn’t hear the lift chime.”
“Can I ask what you were doing here?”
