Raining Down Release (Raining Down Series Book 3)

by BK Rivers

  I said I would help Lucy, and I’m starting right now.

  Me: Met a neighbor who is being held hostage in her mother’s house ;) Would it be okay if I asked her to be my roommate? She’ll pay half the rent…

  Ace: No.

  I guess something finally grabbed his attention, though it wasn’t the response I was expecting or hoping for.

  Me: Why not?

  Ace: I said no.

  My finger hovers over the send button, but calling him a jerk, I suppose, is a little juvenile. Instead, I ask him another question that’s been bugging me.

  Me: Why are you mad at me?

  The familiar ellipsis flashes on my screen and then fades away. This guy…he is infuriating with his inability to answer questions. I don’t even know why I bother. I don’t hear a word from Ace the rest of the week, and as I pack an overnight bag, I’m pretty sure I could finish out my lease and not care if I heard from him again. I don’t need to see those piercing blue eyes or the three-day-old beard he always sports. And I really don’t care if I never see him in his police uniform again either. Because even though he is completely drool-worthy in that thing, I don’t need the drama that seems to follow him.

  By the time I pull up outside Reggie’s house I’ve convinced myself that I’m better off not having Ace in my life. And if Lucy ends up moving in without him knowing, what does it matter? I’ve always lived by the principle of it’s better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission. And in this case, I can’t see how he’d ever even know if she moved in.

  A mop of floppy brown hair peeks out the front door, followed by a very toothless Micah. He runs down the steps and wraps his arms around my waist, squeezing as tight as he can.

  “Stacey!” he says with gusto. “You’re here! I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’ve missed you too,” I say, running my hand through his soft hair. “Is your momma home?”

  He nods enthusiastically, twines his fingers through mine, and pulls me up the stairs and through the front door. Reggie’s in the kitchen scrubbing a pan and smiles when she sees me. I texted her a couple days after moving into the house and we both apologized for being short with each other. She’d been stressed over the wedding and putting Micah into a school. I admitted to feeling a little jealous over her meeting Jemma and becoming instant friends. Hopefully, we’re good now, since I’m staying the night to hang out with her.

  “I’d totally hug you, but my hands are gross from cleaning this pan,” Reggie says, holding up soapy hands.

  “I’m good, you just finish what you’re doing. Micah and I are going to hang out in his room for a while.”

  “I want to show you my new Lego set Mom bought me,” Micah says, again pulling me up the stairs. Once in his room, he pulls out the chair at his desk for me to sit on and pulls out three unopened boxes of Star Wars Lego sets. “Can we build this one?” he asks, holding up some sort of fighter ship.

  “Dude, it has, like, six hundred pieces. It will take us all night.” I would build Legos with him all night if I didn’t have plans with Reggie. Instead, I point to the small set and we start in on it. After thirty minutes, we have a good portion of it built and Reggie joins us. Together, the three of us work on it, finishing the pirate ship. Micah beams up at us and then practically pushes us out of his room so he can play with the finished product.

  “So, Jordan is taking Micah out for dinner and then a movie, so we have the house to ourselves for a few hours,” Reggie says when we’re back downstairs. “I’ve rented two movies and picked up a couple bottles of wine.”

  Wine and movies with Reggie is just what I need. When Jordan and Micah leave for the night, Reggie and I drive into town to pick up some Chinese food and then head back to her house to start our night. We pull a couple forks from the kitchen in case we need them, and then bring our food to the living room where Reggie puts on the first movie—Robin Hood, the Kevin Costner version, and one of my favorites. Halfway through the movie, Reggie and I get to talking, nearly forgetting about what’s happening on the television.

  “Tell me about your house,” she says eagerly. She leans toward me like a kid trying hard not to open Christmas presents early. “Tell me about Ace. I still can’t believe you’re renting his house.”

  “I know, right? It was really weird at first, and awkward. Like, he didn’t go inside to show it to me and still hasn’t come inside since I moved in. The garage door even stopped working one day and I asked him to come fix it, but he wouldn’t. Instead, he called a repair company that came and took care of it.”

  We talk more about how he and I went to dinner that first night and how he showed up at the bookstore. When I mention Lucy and the possibility of me asking her to move in with me, Reggie seems surprised but says nothing.

  “And Lucy says her mother told her that the man living in the house five years ago lost his wife. You know I don’t do well with ghost stories, but I swear the temperature dropped, like, twenty degrees when she brought it up.” I still feel the chills talking about it now.

  “You think it was Ace who lost his wife?” Reggie asks, eyes wide with curiosity.

  I shrug and say, “I guess it’s possible. But he doesn’t seem old enough to have been married and then have his wife die five years ago.”

  “Well, I’m glad you’ve found a friend up there. And I’m sorry Ace is…weird,” she says, giggling. “I think the wine is going to my head.” We’ve finished off the first bottle and the second is sitting on the coffee table in front of us. We glance at each other, raise our brows, and then lunge for the bottle. I beat Reggie to it, giving me the first glass. I pour the dark red liquid into my wine glass and then fill hers.

  “To best friends,” I say, holding up my glass. Reggie clinks hers against mine and we giggle and finish watching Robin Hood.

  We’re both yawning by the time the movie is over, but Jordan and Micah haven’t returned yet so she pops the second movie in and presses play. The title screen appears and I pull my lips between my teeth as I see the nearly naked images of several really good-looking men dancing seductively on the screen.

  “I’ll be right back,” Reggie singsongs from behind the couch.

  “Just so you know, I don’t have a hot guy to return home to, so this is really unfair,” I say, pressing play on the remote.

  “Yes, but I brought Jack to join our party.” Reggie holds up a bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey and smiles brightly. I have missed living with her so much.

  “This still doesn’t excuse your choice of movie. You’ve got rock God extraordinaire coming home soon, you could have picked something tamer.” A movie about male dancers—mostly naked male dancers—is so unfair to watch as a single lady.

  The movie begins and we take shots of Jack Daniels each time one of the dancers removes his shirt, and two for each time he removes his pants. Best night and best friend ever.

  Chapter 14

  Ace

  Some days it would be so nice if I were a dog. Duke has the day off, which means he gets to hang out with the guys at the station while I answer domestic calls. It’s not that I mind the domestics, it’s the partner riding along with me on these days. Officer Chuck Kilty is about forty-five years old, has a dun-lop—a belly that has dun-lopped over his belt—and smells like mothballs. Who freaking uses mothballs anymore? Chuck’s a good guy, but sometimes, because of his age, he thinks he can order me around.

  I’ve never put him in his place, even though I outrank him, but one of these days a blood vessel is going to burst in my forehead from holding back.

  “What has your panties in a bunch, Steele?” Chuck refuses to call me Ace like everyone else and it’s yet another thing about him that grates on my nerves. He plops one of those powdered sugar mini donuts into his mouth, making me cringe at the realization that it’s police officers like him who give the rest of us a bad reputation. Not all officers like to sit around and eat donuts.

  “Cut the crap, Chuck. We’ve got rounds to do.”<
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  He shrugs his shoulders, pulls another mini donut from its plastic wrapper, and powdered sugar sprinkles over the front of his navy blues. Chuck shoves the donut into his mouth then tries to brush away the white powder, but only spreads it further.

  “You spill any of that in the car and you’re paying to have it vacuumed,” I say, shooting him a warning glare.

  “Relax, Steele,” he says, crinkling the plastic wrapper and tossing it into the small trash bin I keep up front. “What’s on the docket for today, anything better than patrols?”

  Chuck opens the in-car computer, scrolls through the open cases, but a call comes in over the radio that pulls both our attention from the computer.

  “Possible domestic disturbance at 1708 West Elm Street. Cross streets are North Kempton and West Hampshire.”

  Chuck pulls the CB from the dash and answers the call. “Roger that. Officers Steele and Kilty responding.”

  “Thank you, Kilty. Proceed with caution and call for backup if needed.”

  “Roger that.” Chuck’s face lights up in excitement and I turn on the lights and siren. We’re only about six blocks from the call location, and when we pull up to the house, a man is sitting on the porch steps with his hands gripping the back of his neck. His black hair is unkempt and it bleeds into a patchy week-old black beard. I stop the car diagonally in the driveway to prevent anyone from leaving and Kelty and I step out of the patrol car.

  “Sir, we received a call about a possible domestic violence situation,” I say, slowly approaching the man.

  He doesn’t look up as we step in front of him. Instead, he shakes his head side to side and grips the back of his neck tighter.

  “Sir, can you hear me?” I ask, hoping he’s outside working on controlling his temper and that whoever is inside is still breathing. Calls like this many times go one of two ways—smoothly, where the couple will cool off and go to counseling or maybe even go their separate ways. The other way sends a shiver down my spine.

  “My sister’s inside in pretty rough shape,” the man says, his voice shaking with…confusion, not guilt or anger. I swallow the lump in my throat, debating whether to go inside or send Kilty. Before making the call, Kilty pulls his cuffs from the clip on his side, moves around the man, and proceeds to slowly stand him up and cuff his hands behind his back.

  “Can you tell me your name, son?” Kilty asks, and then walks him to the patrol car. Somehow, I think he got the better end of the deal. Steeling myself to walk into a nightmare, one hand falls to the baton on my hip and the other on the radio on my chest.

  “Officer Steele, ma’am. I’m here to help you.” The house is a disaster, and filthy. A lingering scent of cigarette smoke burns my nose and there’s an underlying putrid smell of rotten food; I have to breathe through my mouth in order to keep from gagging. In one corner of a living room sits a mangy gray cat with tufts of hair missing and frightened green eyes that follow me around the room.

  The kitchen is clear, except for the empty takeout containers lining the counters and overflowing trash spilling over the can and onto the stained tile floor. I keep moving toward the back of the house, stepping over piles of dirty laundry and cat feces and have to wonder how someone can live like this.

  “Holy shit,” Kilty says, suddenly right behind me. “The guy’s story is this is his sister’s house and she’s a little unstable…mentally.”

  I nod, understanding coursing through me. “What’s his sister’s name?” I ask, preparing to knock on what I assume is a bedroom door.

  “Gloria Stevens, thirty-three and meaner than the devil.” When I glance back with narrowed eyes, Kilty says, “His words, not mine.”

  There’s no answer from behind the door after I knock, so I turn the handle and slowly open the door. It’s stuck on something pretty heavy, so I push harder, but whatever’s on the other side pushes back, slamming it closed.

  “Miss Stevens, I’m officer Steele, and my partner is Officer Kilty. Your brother contacted us and we’re here to help you. Will you please open the door?”

  “Go away,” a shrill voice shouts from the other side. “I don’t want you here.”

  “We’re only here to help, ma’am. Will you please open the door so we can talk to you?” I ask, and watch as Kilty’s nose scrunches up from the acrid scent of urine coming from under the door. “You gotta breathe through your mouth.” My whispered words are lost in the shriek of the woman on the other side of the door.

  “I’ve got a knife, I’ll slit my throat if you come through that door,” Gloria threatens, making my heart thump hard and fast in my chest. When someone threatens their own life, we have to act and quickly. With a mentally unstable person, you never know if they’re serious or bluffing, hoping you’ll go away. This is one situation where I won’t take any chances.

  I can save her. I have to.

  “Miss Stevens, I’m going to ask one more time for you to open the door. If you don’t, I’ll have no other choice than to enter the room by force…though I’d rather not have to.” Using my hand to count down from five, we wait for the door to open. At one, the door still remains closed and a click of the lock tells me she’s not budging.

  Turning to Kilty, I say, “Get prepared to grab her if she runs out of the room. If she stays inside, I’ll grab the knife and get her to the floor. Take my cuffs and be ready to detain her if needed.” Kilty nods, pulls my cuffs from their clip, and stands at the ready.

  “Miss Stevens, I suggest you stand back. I’m going to open this door and don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Go away!” she screams, though I hear her move across the room. I brace my hands on the doorjamb, raise my leg, and kick the door with great force. The jamb splinters and the door groans open, revealing a mostly dark room covered in clothing, boxes, food containers, and bodily fluids. Standing in a nightgown near the back wall of the room is Gloria Stevens. Thick dark red stains dot the front of her nightdress and my vision blurs momentarily. Before I have time to act, Gloria raises her arms over her head, brandishing a knife, and rushes toward me. Adrenaline kicks in and I sidestep her attack, pull the knife from her hand, and hope to God Kilty catches her on her way out. I turn quickly to see Kilty’s arms wrap around the woman’s upper body and hold on tightly. He wriggles the cuffs until they are clamped around her wrists and then stands to his full height.

  “Miss Stevens, please come with us,” he says, helping her down the hall and outside the house. I follow them outside and collapse on the front porch. The woman had cut her wrists, and let them bleed. Obviously they weren’t deep wounds and no longer bleeding when we arrived, but all I could see when she lunged toward me was Marley.

  Marley in the bathtub with blood-red water.

  Marley in my lap bleeding out.

  Marley’s lifeless eyes staring back at me.

  Chapter 15

  Stacey

  It feels good to be back at work, especially with all the new products Julia had come in over the weekend. I love creating new displays in the window and on the shelves. There’s something therapeutic about it, making me get lost in the work. I’m so engrossed in a particular shelf I don’t notice the door chime or the person standing beside me looking over my shoulder. I turn and jump back, holding my hand over my heart.

  “Lucy! What are you doing here?” I stand upright and pull her in for a hug. She hesitantly returns the embrace and then steps back. “Why aren’t you at work?”

  She shrugs and smiles. “End of the quarter, no school.”

  “So you thought you’d just come say hi? How sweet,” I tease, putting the last of the display together.

  “Actually, I was going to see if you wanted to go to lunch with me. Mother is out of the house today and I thought I’d get out too.”

  I glance at the clock on the wall and realize the morning has disappeared and it is actually time for my lunch break. “Sure, let me make sure Julia’s fine here and we can go.” I find her heating up her lunch in the back room a
nd she shoos me out, telling me to go and enjoy lunch with a friend. Lucy and I make our way out of the bookstore and walk down the street to a little Thai food restaurant I like. We order up at the counter, take our seats at a small table near the window, and wait for them to bring our food.

  When I first met Lucy, she looked like she was transported straight from the ’50s with her knee-length floral skirt and pink sweater. Today, she’s dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and a black cotton shirt. Her shaggy blond bob is a little wild and carefree. She totally needs to leave her mother’s nest.

  “So I talked to Ace about you moving in,” I say, sipping my soda through a straw. Lucy’s eyes nearly pop out of her head in surprise. “He said no.”

  Her shoulders drop, as does the excitement in her eyes. “It’s okay. Mother wouldn’t let me anyway.”

  I laugh at the awkwardness of her controlling mother and continue. “I’ve never really been one to ask permission though. So, I figure you just move in anyway. If he kicks us out, he kicks us out. We can find another place.”

  “But he already said no. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Oh, sure it is. Besides, I’ve always lived by the ask for forgiveness way of life. It’s harder to say no when it’s already happened.” Lucy and I glance up as our food arrives. We both breathe in the rich peanut scent of our food and start eating. Thai food is one of those foods you have to try before you say you don’t like it. It may sound strange with the different curries or crushed peanuts, but add all the noodles and sauces and it’s mouthwatering. My Pad Thai is amazing and makes for great leftovers.