The Harbinger Collection: Hard-boiled Mysteries Not for the Faint of Heart (A McCray Crime Collection)

by Carolyn McCray

  Nicole spun the racket in her hand, remembering the feel. “Oh, I’ve got game.”

  “Good, because you are up against two people who are on the university’s tennis team.”

  Crap. She thought this was just a casual match. Maybe she didn’t have that much game.

  “We’ll see.”

  Nicole clicked off the call as she approached Rhonda. She put her hand out. “Rhonda Winslow?”

  The woman looked confused but took her hand, shaking it.

  “You partner, Eliza, isn’t feeling well.” Nicole told the cover story with precision. “And she didn’t want to leave you in a lurch again, so she called me to fill in.”

  “Okay,” Rhonda said, checking her phone. She must have found the text that they had asked Eliza to send. “So you’re a family friend?”

  The next part hurt Nicole’s pride just a little bit. “Yes, I’m a friend of her mom’s.”

  It was slightly disconcerting that she could no longer pass as college aged.

  “You play, though?” Rhonda said.

  “In college, yes. I’ll try not to embarrass either one of us.”

  “Alright then, should we take the court?”

  Nicole followed Rhonda out as she explained her strategy. “I’m best at the net, so even if I start in the back court, I try to get up there as soon as possible.”

  Nicole nodded. “My old partner was just like that. I’ll back you up.”

  Setting up at the back line, Nicole watched the other team take the court. One of the girls was a stunning African American woman. Like Naomi Campbell stunning. She should hang up the racket and go on America’s Next Top Model. Looked like she enjoyed the net as well, spinning her racket in her hands.

  The other girl was a bit dowdier. Limp dishwater blond hair pulled back into a severe bun. She looked serious about her back game, though, as she bounced from foot to foot, gripping her racket.

  Yes, this was going to be an intense game.

  * * *

  Kent watched as Nicole received the first serve. That player that wasn’t the Serena wannabe got some good topspin on the ball. Nicole barely managed to get some strings on it. But she avoided an ace her first time out and got the ball back over the net.

  A forehand from the girl at the net and they had a nice rally going.

  He was proud of Nicole. What she lacked in skill, she made up for in tenacity. There was no ball too far away for her to get. While Rhonda held the forecourt, Nicole was running to and fro like a mad woman in the back.

  How he wished he was recording this. He found, however, using a recording device divorced you from the events. It put you behind the lens, rather than immersing yourself in the moment.

  And to catch a serial killer, you had to be immersed.

  Take the tennis pro on the other side of the complex. That guy was clearly banging each of his “students.” And they were paying him for the privilege. This tennis pro gig was really just a front for his gigolo business. Did the women pay him like a trick? No, probably not. But he didn’t buy that Rolex himself. Or that three-hundred-dollar haircut. Those were all “gifts” from his appreciative clients. But nobody ever got Rolexes for their service on the court.

  Then there was the set of men playing a singles match, desperately trying to hide the fact that they were lovers.

  In this day and age, why did they bother trying to be on the down-low? And he should give the guys a heads up that no straight men would high-five quite so often at the net. But sports were the last real bastion of homophobia. That somehow, preferring to put your penis into a vagina made you somehow a better athlete.

  Lesbians, however, abounded, but what did you expect when you hung out at a fairly liberal college’s tennis courts?

  The threesome playing with Nicole all seemed straight. Which was good. If Rhonda had been serving for the other team, Wallflower’s victim profile would have been way off. He so far had chosen only straight victims.

  Watching the game, Kent felt more and more certain that he was watching Wallflower’s next victim playing out on the court.

  * * *

  Nicole nearly missed the cross-court backhand as she thought she caught something out of the corner of her eye. Was that someone watching them from the tree line? The courts backed up to a wooded area, a perfect place to be able to observe but have a concealed getaway.

  Fortunately, her racket connected with the ball and it was over the net and someone else’s problem. The hairs that were up on the back of her neck were her problem, though. Kent lectured frequently regarding that sixth sense of being able to know when someone was watching you.

  They had worked on it for months, trying to hone Nicole’s ability to pick up a stalker. Right now, her Spidey-Sense was jangling like crazy.

  The closest she could equate the sensation with was actually the feeling of all those flies swarming her at the gravesite. There was something sickly about the attention. As if the person watching wanted to crawl underneath her skin and stay there.

  Vaguely nauseated, Nicole hit the ball again, charging to the right. Was her stomach doing a topsy-turvy due to exhaustion, or a stalker? Normally, when trying to determine if someone was watching her, she and Kent would practice sitting at a café or something.

  Nicole could clear her thoughts, concentrate. Here? She was running around like crazy, grunting at each hit. Could she still trust her instincts, or was her mind playing tricks on her?

  After everything that had happened recently, Nicole would not be surprised. But Rhonda’s life depended on her, so Nicole tried to split her attention between the ball zipping toward her and that almost subconscious concern about the tree line.

  Did she just see a metallic flash from the trees? Was Wallflower using binoculars? Was there a weapon?

  Nicole had to simply trust Kent for now. Her gun was all the way back at the locker room.

  A ball whizzed past Nicole. Rhonda loudly sighed. “Focus, Nicole.”

  I would love to, except, you know, I’m trying to save your life, Nicole wanted to say, but bit her lip. Kent was very adamant about Rhonda not knowing so that she acted naturally. And, apparently, being a sore loser came quite naturally to her.

  “Sorry,” Nicole said as she swayed back and forth, waiting for the serve.

  The dark Grecian goddess must have served at over ninety miles an hour. Nicole blinked and it was past her.

  “That’s love-forty,” Rhonda groaned.

  The competitor in Nicole was equally frustrated. The cop in Nicole was still concerned, though. Then she looked over to the tree line to find Kent emerging. He shook his head. Obviously, he had been drawn to the same area. Unfortunately, equally clear was the fact that Kent hadn’t found anything.

  The only benefit was that the nape of Nicole’s neck finally calmed down. She walked up to Rhonda and gave her an ass slap. “Let’s kick their asses!”

  Rhonda smiled. “That’s better.”

  * * *

  Ruben stopped the car at the curb. Neither he nor Paggie had said a word on the drive to her place. They both obviously needed to process what had happened at brunch.

  “I am so sorry,” Ruben said. He needed to say something to fill the silence.

  “For what?” Paggie asked. “The fact that Kent said any of that, or that he was uncannily right?’

  “Both,” Ruben sighed. Damn the profiler. At least he was sure that Kent and Nicole were going to have some equally uncomfortable conversations today, as well.

  “Look,” Paggie said. “If it helps at all, you aren’t my Plan A, either.”

  Ruben frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I lived with a guitarist for five years. I was sure he was the one. Then, earlier this spring, he and his band finally got a gig at Coachella. Well, he decided not to come back,” Paggie said, then took a deep breath. “He decided to set up in Los Angeles for his career and all. And maybe some groupies, right?” she said with a pained laugh.

  “I really am
sorry,” Ruben said.

  Paggie shrugged. “So unless you’ve got a leather wrist cuff and nipple ring I don’t know about, you’re my Plan B, as well.”

  Ruben chuckled. “No, definitely not.”

  Somehow, knowing that Paggie had other life plans actually made him feel better. Also, at brunch, Nicole’s devastating silence had come through pretty clear. She was Kent’s. Voluntarily. Even if the profiler vanished off the planet, Ruben could never fill that crazy void. He needed to accept it.

  “So I guess the question is,” Paggie said, “are we really ready to move on with our lives, even if they aren’t the same as we imagined they would be?”

  “I guess it is,” Ruben said. It was hard letting go of the dream with Nicole. It had felt so perfect. From his side only, however. “Can you really be happy with a guy without nipple rings and a drug habit?”

  “Depends,” Paggie said with a grin. “Can you fall for a girl without a gun and daddy complex?”

  Ruben took her hand and kissed the back of it. “Yes, I believe I can.”

  Paggie leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek, but he reached up and guided her lips to his. Pushing aside the memory of Nicole’s smell, Ruben kissed Paggie with purpose. Not just a ritualistic goodbye peck. He didn’t hold back.

  “Oh my,” Paggie said as she pulled back. “I guess you can.”

  “So I’ll see you later?” Ruben said. “With my toothbrush?’

  “That will be great,” Paggie replied as she got out of the car.

  Feeling better than he had in a while, Ruben pulled away from the curb as Paggie waved him away.

  * * *

  This could be the best day in Joshua’s life. Seriously. He could barely contain his excitement. First of all, he’d been called back to the university to babysit Rhonda while she studied. So Joshua was on the inside of the case. Way inside.

  Nicole nodded to him as she walked by with Rhonda. The younger woman was frowning.

  “I’m sure that I just imagined the man,” Rhonda said. “Everyone is making way too big a deal out of this.”

  Nicole put her hand on the student’s shoulder. “You need to take your safety very seriously.”

  The younger woman, though, seemed to be done with the conversation, as she set her books down on the table to Joshua’s left.

  “I will,” she said, although she didn’t seem sincere. “But I’ve got to study now.”

  Nicole gave a wan smile. “Alright, but if you need anything, just call.”

  As Nicole walked by on her way out, she squeezed Joshua’s shoulder. Take that, Yvent!

  Now he had the trifecta of a perfect day. One, he was out in the field. Two, Nicole had touched him. Three, he’d actually scored the slutty library attendant’s phone number.

  Like wow. He got to be on a stakeout, then out tonight for a hookup.

  Life just didn’t get much better than that. And this was on top of having all the responsibility of sorting through those condoms. He’d drilled down to the condoms without sperm and handed the analysis off to one of the other assistants in the lab. The hard work was done. Now they just had to test the DNA of each condom against the databases. If they were lucky, they could get Kent a viable suspect.

  Which took the sting out a little bit of Kent going outside the department for a consult on the pollen. Joshua knew it was that stupid Yvent’s idea, but still, it stung.

  But now, Joshua had the opportunity to prove himself. He wanted to work more out in the field, but he needed a detective to give him a reference. And a famous FBI profiler? Even better.

  Trying to get his excitement more under control, Joshua looked down at his table. There were action figure collector magazines and Mad Libs all over them. What could he say? He was a Renaissance man. Probably one of the reasons that the librarian chick had given him her number. She must have liked a guy with diverse interests.

  Joshua looked over to Rhonda. The girl had her head buried in the books. She was studious. No, she was like boring studious. She studied and studied, then studied some more.

  But it was up to him to keep her safe until Nicole and Kent took over later tonight.

  Joshua looked down at his skull-and-angel-winged T-shirt. He guessed if the librarian had given him her number while he was wearing it, it would be good enough for a date tonight, right?

  CHAPTER 15

  Nicole scowled as they walked into the biker bar. “This is not going to count as our date night,” she informed Kent. Why couldn’t he be normal, just for once?

  “Didn’t say it was going to,” Kent answered. “However, I will allow you to reserve judgment until after the evening is over.”

  Nicole squinted, trying to peer through the smoky, barely lit interior of the bar. The only thing she could make out for sure was a flickering “Budweiser on tap” neon sign.

  Beyond that, it was a cloud of smoke and murmurs. The place smelled, well, old. Tired. Decades of smoke and stale beer had permeated the walls.

  “So are we stalking another serial killer?” Nicole whispered into his ear.

  Kent shook his head. “Although I would not be surprised if a sadist frequented this place, no, we are here to enjoy ourselves.”

  “Shouldn’t we be with Rhonda?”

  “Joshua has got it covered,” Kent said, then followed up. “Besides, the earliest abduction has been ten o’clock. We’ve got plenty of time to get back before then.”

  Kent nodded to the bar. “Besides, they have Austrian light ale and the best buffalo wings in town.”

  Looking at the messy counter and dirty plates stacked at the end, Nicole seriously doubted that.

  After placing their order, Kent guided them expertly between high bar tables and the multitude of tattooed biker patrons to the pool table. The profiler grabbed a pool stick and began chalking it.

  “So, do you play?”

  Nicole shrugged. “A little in college.”

  “Alright then,” the profiler said. “Let the best player win.”

  * * *

  Kent racked the balls as Nicole prepped her stick. She seemed pretty comfortable with that chalk. She looked beautiful, of course, as well. Even though she was dressed about as casual as you could get, in skinny jeans and a well-fitted white T-shirt. The clothes suited her figure well. Nothing flashy, but oh, so sexy.

  Especially when she leaned over, lining up her opening shot. He had a perfect cleavage view from the other side of the table. Then she pulled back with the stick and hit the ball, hard.

  The crack of the break resonated through the bar. A lot of heads turned in their direction. She sank three balls with that break. Two striped and one solid.

  That was no lucky shot.

  “A little, eh?” Kent challenged.

  Nicole shrugged. “Compared to Jeanette Lee, a little is accurate.”

  Kent smiled. That was his girl. Very few other players would know the name of the number one female pool champion all through the nineties.

  “Number ten in the side pocket,” Nicole called. With a finessed tap, the ten ball rolled right into the pocket. The thunk as it landed told Kent that he was about to be sharked, and he thought he liked how that felt.

  She chalked her cue again, walking around the table, checking angles, tilting her head, causing her hair to spread out over her shoulder. Kent wasn’t the only one noticing. They had gathered a fair number of spectators.

  “Fourteen ball, corner pocket,” Nicole stated, nodding to the ball. The only problem? The one ball was right in front of it. How the hell was she going to get around that solid to get her striped into the pocket?

  Sitting up on the side of the table, Nicole raised her pool stick nearly vertical, then hit the ball on the side. It jumped off the table, leaping over the solid ball, then rolled into the pocket.

  A smattering of clapping came from all around them.

  Kent put a twenty down on the corner of the table. “That’s if you can control the table the whole time.”

>   Nicole smiled as she indicated to the table. “Twelve ball banked to the side pocket.”

  The shot seemed crazy. The banking angle was nearly one hundred twenty degrees, and the ball would have to pass exactly between two other balls. There was probably only a few millimeters leeway.

  Yet, with a tap of her stick, the ball banked, threaded the needle, then made it into the side pocket. Another round of applause.

  More money went into the pile at the corner of the table.

  As Nicole passed Kent, she bumped him with her hip. “How do you think I paid for college?”

  * * *

  Joshua got up to stretch his legs. There were only so many Mad Libs you could do while trying to insert the word “poopy.” He needed to prime his pump. Joshua walked through the maze of tables and came up behind Rhonda.

  Not too close. He’d studied Kent’s book very, very closely. He knew how sensitive women, and especially single women alone, were to strangers. Joshua didn’t want to scare her. They needed her acting as normal as possible.

  As bait for a serial killer, of course. Other people might have problems with that. Not Joshua. This was all part of the course.

  He was close enough, though, to look over Rhonda’s shoulder. She was studying inorganic chemistry. Just looking at all of the diagrams and charts, Joshua’s head began to spin. How he passed that class back in his undergrad days, he would never know. He never wanted to see an equilibrium equation ever again.

  Shaking his head, he noticed the naughty librarian staring at him. Did she think he was checking out Rhonda? He popped off a little wink to let her know he only had eyes for her. Who wouldn’t want to kiss those bright red lips?

  Goth-lite was his wheelhouse.

  Wait. Was there movement over by the exit? A shadow passed a stack of books. That was definitely someone over there. And it didn’t seem like a student. Otherwise, they would have just walked out from the stacks. Someone was lurking back there.

  Joshua couldn’t go straight at him, though. He had to be as stealthy and as patient as the stalker. A little thrill went down Joshua’s spine. Was he really about to track down Wallflower? Maybe he’d get mentioned at the press conference. How awesome would that be? Standing up there at the podium when the police chief announced the end to the reign of terror…