Reaping Havoc: Kiara Blake Book 1

by Kinsley Burke

  Coincidence? With Gina having worked the corner in front of the shop? Nope, no coincidence. Suspicious. A connection between Joe’s Body Parts, and the scene of a crime. Logan’s apartment was a crime scene. My sleuthing skills were dismal, but they detected something in the color family of dark red smeared across the corner of the living room coffee table. Blood. Or leftover jam, but Gut screamed blood. Who needed a forensics lab technician when five years of watching television crime show dramas left you believing you were an expert?

  But professional was a far cry from being a bullet point on my resume. How did a blood smear, discarded panties, empty wine bottle and a man's cufflink determine motive? Whose motive? And why did the top of the J appear distorted? I held it up. The tip of it turned, and it kept turning until it unscrewed completely off. White powder sprinkled down to the floor.

  White powder? Oh, yeah, there was nothing at all suspicious about that.

  One whiff determined a smell of pleasant combined with a hit of chemical. This wasn’t baby powder. That tidbit was my only guarantee. Who the hell put drugs in cufflinks? Why put drugs there? Was it even enough to sell?

  Hold on. Should that powder have been anywhere near my nose?

  I screwed the cap back on, shoved the item into my pocket, and called it a day. I came. I saw. I needed something more… like the ghost of Logan Bradley, who remained unaccounted for.

  The tainted jewelry had been the only item I’d touched inside the apartment. In less than a minute, the door handles were wiped down, and the spare key tucked back into the not-so-hidden spot on top of the doorframe.

  Feet dragged as I descended the staircase. Going down usually proved faster than going up. Laws of physics or something, but exhaustion mocked tried and true facts. By the time the blinding sunlight finally beckoned me out into the hot steam of air, all thoughts of fluffy pillows and missing ghosts evaporated. Poofed as fast as Miss Prim.

  Detectives Wilcox and Ross approached me. Their faces were set in the hard expressions of serious. And my pocket contained a cufflink with drug residue.

  Well, crap.

  The dying hedge planted into broken patches of cement near the building’s front door begged me to be taken advantage of. The J-shaped fastener of illicit drugs practically jumped its way into my palm while my retreating steps back to the bush were few. The shrubs became high as a kite right as both detectives became solid unmovable objects. Standing no more than a foot away, they blocked my path.

  “Hello, detectives. Nice day?”

  I probably should had provided banter. Digs. Anything to remove the irritated expression that had become a permanent fixture on Wilcox’s face. He was going to have wrinkle problems as he aged. But for once, even Wilcox appeared too serious for himself; that observation left a herd of cattle stampeding through my stomach. I wasn’t even certain where the closest cow lived.

  “Kiara,” Wilcox said. “We need you to come with us to the station.”

  “Why?”

  “We would like to ask you a few questions about Logan Bradley.”

  Exhaustion. Butt kicked. Visions. Maude. Bank. Lacey. Drugs. Jail.

  About that long day? Yup, called it.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Police stations apparently did not have adequate budgets to purchase proper chairs. Either that or the buyer had a fetish with hard plastic and sharp angles, the kind of stuff that dipped into the design territory of torture. And Butt still had nightmares from its last rendezvous in the lobby.

  Or perhaps the design choice had nothing to do with fetishes and police enjoyed watching their suspects squirm. I considered the deadpan faces of Detectives Wilcox and Ross. Squirm, it was.

  “You’re not being charged with anything, Ms. Blake,” Detective Ross said. “You are free to leave at any time.”

  Irritation bit at my tongue so I chomped down hard before words escaped. Of course, I wasn’t being charged with anything; I hadn’t done anything. Except for a little B&E, best left to remain unsaid. They didn’t know about my latest sleuthing. I was all for the whole what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them thing. The facts were—Wilcox was miffed to find me still butting into his business—and the detectives were driving home a point. I was making every effort to keep Mouth shut before giving them a reason to charge me. Because what the detectives also didn’t know was I currently operated on very little sleep… emphasis on little. Also, I was under serious pressure to find a ghost, and I was Irish. Or, mostly Irish. And I had a temper. A big one. According to my mother.

  Maybe Wilcox realized how close he was to pushing my temper button because it was opposites day. Since our arrival to the police station, Detective Ross had done the speaking while Wilcox had remained silent. Wilcox had also played a good game of eye avoidance, and those few times when our eyes had meshed together in a draw, an emotion similar to disappointment glinted in his. I had two choices: get irritated at his cross attitude or acknowledge the sting his disapproving look drew. Irritation won. I turned to Detective Ross. “I answered questions about Logan last week. What else do you want?”

  “Is there anything new you would like to share?”

  I raised my brows. “Like?”

  “Like why you were standing outside his apartment door?”

  “Oh, my gosh, that was Logan’s apartment?”

  “Kiara.” Wilcox’s voice was low. The warning clear. But unheeded. Everyone kept telling me I was stubborn. Time to live up to expectations.

  I braced both hands on the table. “Tell me why Logan’s building is under surveillance.”

  Dark Haired PI turned out to be Dark Haired Plain Clothes Cop. While I didn’t know his name, I knew he had Wilcox’s cell number on speed dial, and a description of me texted on his phone. I’d learned the hard way about Wilcox’s trust issues where I was concerned. It was my (not so) professional opinion that he could withstand a round on Miss Prim’s shrink couch to get those issues worked out. The fact that I’d just lived up to his low expectations was irrelevant. Reasons for my actions were sound.

  “That’s not your concern, Kiara.” Wilcox said, drawing my thoughts back to Logan and police surveillances.

  “Disagree. You made it my concern when you brought me in for questioning.”

  He rubbed his face, giving me the impression I caused everyone in the room a headache. Myself included.

  “Logan Bradley is a missing person who’s a suspect in a murder investigation. We are keeping eyes on any location where he may turn up. Now why did you go to his apartment?”

  “To see if he was home.”

  Truth. Or partly the truth. My hopes had not been high enough to walk in to find Logan lounging on the couch, watching the game, and staring forlornly at a beer he could no longer drink. But a note left on his countertop providing the location for his current ghostly haunt would have been nice. Yet that apparently was way too much to ask.

  “The truth.” Wilcox demanded.

  “That is the truth.” I crossed my arms. “What do you think I was doing there?”

  “You’re hiding something.” Wilcox finally looked me square in the eyes. “I suggest you don’t.”

  “Do I need an attorney?”

  “Do you think you need an attorney?”

  “That’s what I would like to determine.”

  “Do you need to place a phone call and request legal representation?”

  “No.” My request was already sent in the guise of a sneaked text:

  On way 2 police station for Q. Know any attys 4 free?

  Too bad I didn’t have my phone to see if the message had been received. But I took comfort in the knowledge that it was sent. At the time, I thought I was being proactive at keeping all my bases covered. Now Gut clenched at the thought I might be in actual need of legal help.

  “Why are you carrying a sword?”

  “What?” I asked. How did we go from Logan to a sword? Had I passed out and was now suffering missed conversations? Did I talk in my sleep?
Did I say something about Wilcox’s firm ass, because the subject had become constant in my thoughts since Miss Prim set it as a daily reminder—seriously, the ghost had added it to my Outlook calendar. Check out Detective Wilcox’s butt.

  Wilcox’s voice had returned to quiet, and the realization struck that I wasn’t the only person sitting in the room who was plain exhausted. He leaned forward. His gaze hot and intense. Demanding. In want of some answers I would in no way provide. No matter how badly those answers begged to be said. I almost forgot Detective Ross was in the room as I became mesmerized by Wilcox’s eyes. Something else lurked in those depths. Concern. “Are you in trouble?”

  I shook my head hard, fast. “No. No, I’m fine.”

  “Kiara, if you’re in trouble, we can help you.”

  “Why would you think I’m in trouble?”

  “Because you’re walking around with a weapon strapped to your back.”

  Technically, right then, it wasn’t strapped to my back. It now sat locked up inside the police station, and I wasn’t positive about ever getting it back. Problem. Major problem. “It’s a historical decorative sword. I was taking it to have it properly cleaned by a person who specializes in swords.” I nodded. Wilcox sighed. He sighed a lot around me. My eyes widened in mock concern. “Is it illegal?”

  “Is what illegal?”

  “The sword? Is it illegal to carry a sword?”

  “Yes, it is an illegal weapon, and you can be charged with a misdemeanor. Why are you carrying a sword?”

  “I answered your question. When do I get—”

  Voices that were both irritated and raised to the sound decibel of shriek had all three of our heads spinning in the direction of the closed door. Thick wood was the only barrier between us and whatever rage terrorized the other side. The door opened. The Occupied sign must have taken a coffee break because a woman with flushed skin that clashed against the blue of her police uniform poked her head through the newly created gap between door and frame. “I’m sorry but a woman with a law—”

  “With legal understanding.”

  “—with legal understanding is here to assist Ms. Blake.”

  “Well?” The voice was tenacious. Demanding. As familiar as my own.

  “You know what?” the female officer said. “She’s your problem now.”

  The woman disappeared and Hadley, with her deep reddish brown hair, blazing like a halo of fire, marched into the room. Behind her the door slammed shut. Helped, I was certain, by the hands of the exasperated female officer. Yup, Hadley was now the detectives’ problem. For some odd reason, they didn’t appear excited.

  “What is this?” Detective Ross asked. “Who are you?”

  Hadley’s jaw tightened, and I could tell she considered her words. “I’m a friend with legal understanding who is here to provide help.”

  “Legal what? What is legal understanding?”

  “Exactly how it sounds,” Hadley said. “I am here to help Kiara understand her legal rights.”

  “Are you an attorney?”

  “Not at this precise moment.”

  Detective Ross turned to Wilcox. “Who the hell let her in without a bar membership card?”

  I took advantage of their distractions. “Thanks for coming, but I thought you’d send an actual attorney.”

  “I only know of one guy who might be up for some pro bono, but I couldn’t reach him.”

  “Is this legal? You in here?”

  “Uh, not really.”

  Damn. Hadley breaking the rules. And not taking baby steps either. She went screaming in their faces big, and I was no longer disillusioned that Detective Ross was the quiet one in this detective duo. Right then, he made Wilcox seem like a nun during Sunday morning mass. And Wilcox was no nun. Detective Ross rounded on Hadley. “You need to leave. You are not authorized to be in this room.”

  “Are you pressing charges against Kiara?”

  “What? That is not—”

  “I repeat, are you pressing charges?”

  Detective Ross stood up and leaned over the table to face her. “I can have you arrested.”

  “You can, but you won’t.”

  His jaw slackened. “What do you mean I won’t?”

  “You’re not going to arrest me,” Hadley said. “I’m calling your bluff. Now, if you’re pressing charges against Kiara, I’d like to know what charges.”

  Detective Ross’s face went red. I wasn’t certain I’d ever seen that particular shade before either. It didn’t look healthy. I caught Wilcox’s eye. His widened into a what the hell? Apparently, we were both seeing a new side to Detective Ross.

  “It is illegal for you to impersonate an attorney,” Detective Ross said.

  “I have not once impersonated an attorney.”

  “You…”

  “Exactly. I have not once impersonated an attorney.”

  “I’m sure this whole legal understanding falls—”

  “Okay, enough.” Wilcox stood. “No charges are being pressed against Kiara. She’s free to go, and I don’t want to see you in here again without a bar card.” He turned to me. Lucky me. “And Kiara? I don’t want to see your face anywhere near my investigation again. Understood?”

  “Fine.” Hadley picked up her purse from the table and faced Detective Ross. “Thank you for your time. Good day.”

  She marched out of the room with shoulders thrown back and chin up.

  “What the…” Detective Ross gaped at the now empty doorway and marched out after her. I worried about a possible homicide right there in the police station, but Detective Ross would have to arrest himself. Ethics violations could be tied up in that development.

  Wilcox collapsed back in his chair and buried his head in his hands. Thick locks of dark brown hair fanned through long fingers, and I dragged my gaze back down to the table. Thoughts scattered and reformed into my very important question.

  “What about my sword?”

  He looked up. “What?”

  “My sword. The one that you took?”

  The chocolate of his irises darkened. “You’re asking me about an illegal sword you should have been arrested for?” His head shook. “Consider this a warning. Don’t carry an illegal weapon again or I will press charges. And you’re not getting the sword back.”

  “Fine.” Miss Prim would ensure I got it back. As soon as we had a heart-to-heart about how stealing was a lot more of an adrenaline rush than butt-staring. Because otherwise, I’d send her down here for my sword and she’d return dragging Wilcox by the ass. My attention switched to the vacated doorway. “Is Detective Ross going to be all right?”

  “He likes rules. Dismissing policy procedures is rather upsetting. I never realized how much.”

  “Hadley likes rules, too.” He stared. A disbelieving one. I was ninety-eight percent certain that stare called me a big fat liar. I shrugged. “She’s sometimes more passionate about issues than she is about rules.”

  “And you’re her issue?”

  “I’m her friend. And she’s protective.”

  “You know, we’re not exactly the bad guys here.”

  “Tell her that.”

  Hadley’s head popped back in the doorway. “Kiara, we’re leaving.”

  And poof! She was gone. Who knew one didn’t need apparition status in order to dematerialize?

  “I’ll let you offer her any explanations,” Wilcox said.

  I moved toward the door, worried that a not at this precise moment attorney would drag me out by the hair if I didn’t hit the gas pedal on Legs. “You know, you really should see her when she’s mad.”

  “That’s not mad?”

  “Not even close.”

  “I think I’ll pass.”

  Smart man.

  Hadley sat outside on the steps leading up to the precinct. My sword was tucked against the ledge of a concrete step, her heels making attempts to shield it from view. If nothing else, that earned her BFF status for eternity.

  “You reb
el.” I sank down next to her. “I knew you had it in you.”

  “Well, I wasn’t going to leave you sitting in a jail cell. You have a ghost to find.” Her head bobbed back toward the building. “You were right, that man was rude and arrogant.”

  I cocked my head. “You do realize Detective Ross is the nice one, right?”

  “Who did I speak with?”

  “Argued with, you mean? Detective Ross.”

  Her jaw clenched. “No, he did not meet any definition of the word nice.”

  “Did you really expect smiles and tea offerings while breaking the law? Be glad you aren’t sitting in a jail cell.”

  “So, where are we at with finding Logan?”

  Yeah, that whole Hadley is always right thing? Her stats remained high because whenever she was in the wrong, subjects got changed. Fast. Topics were lost as if being on holiday inside the Bermuda Triangle. Never to return.

  “You told me to find his killer, and that’s what I’ve done. Or I’m trying to do… I guess I’m working on it.” I reached down and brushed the hilt of my sword, relieved at the smooth touch. Not a figment of my desperate imagination. “How did you steal the sword?”

  “They hadn’t locked it up, it was sitting in plain sight on a table outside the interrogation room.” Hadley shoved her bangs aside as her eyes narrowed. “That annoying cop who let me into the room walked off as soon as she spotted me approaching. With no one else around…” She shrugged.

  “But how did you know it was mine?”

  “Who else in that police station would carry a sword?”

  “You do realize you’ve broken the law? Like seriously broken the law?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re a law student?”

  “Yes.”