Etched in Shadow: A Cassie Quinn Mystery

by L. T. Ryan

  “Are you more excited to see me or to have lunch?” Harris asked. Apollo answered with a meow, and the detective was certain what it meant. She confirmed her hunch when she got to her feet and he ran over to his bowl, staring at her with unblinking eyes.

  Harris went through the motions of her new routine. Feed the cat. Feed the dog. Make herself lunch. Eat and pore over David’s case file, even though she had the entire thing memorized. There were no additional details to glean from the handful of pages inside the folder, and yet she couldn’t stop looking for them.

  After everyone had finished eating, Apollo curled up in a patch of sunlight while Bear took a nap at Harris’ feet. She spread papers across the coffee table and sat back as though she needed to see them from a fresh perspective.

  But it was no use. The information was the same. Someone had shot David once in the head and once in the heart. The bullet was a .308 Winchester, the type of round a police sharpshooter would use. Harris couldn’t decide if it was irony or a sick joke. Maybe it was neither and they needed to look internally. But that didn’t mesh well with her working theory that Aguilar was the one responsible.

  Harris felt anger rising as she thought about the man who could’ve killed her friend, her partner. It ran red hot through her veins. Burned like acid. But instead of hurting her, it made her stronger. More resilient. More determined than ever to bring him down.

  Apollo perked up, sun glinting off his fur and making him glow. He stood and stretched, then trotted to the other room. Harris watched him go, his form light and lithe. She’d only been at Cassie’s for a couple of days, but she already hated the idea of leaving these two behind when their owner returned home.

  Harris pulled a different folder closer. This was a new one. It belonged to Officer Steve Warren, the cop killed one week prior to David. The department hadn’t mourned him any more or less than David, but his death had seemed normal, if not natural. Dying in the line of duty was a reality they all faced.

  As tragic as it had been, Officer Warren’s death was straightforward. Routine traffic stop. Someone had reported a suspicious vehicle. A 2010 Chevy Aveo. White. Rusted doors and a missing bumper. Suspect was a white male, dark hair, in his mid- to late-twenties. Witness said he appeared to be drinking and driving.

  Warren was the first person to call it in. He did everything right. Pulled the vehicle over. Radioed his position. Ran the plates. Everything came back clean. The car hadn’t even been swerving, he’d said, but he was going to talk with the driver. Then he approached the vehicle.

  Body cams were a neutral party. They didn’t have opinions. They recorded facts. Sometimes those facts revealed how some cops shouldn’t have a badge and a gun. And sometimes those facts revealed that some cops never stood a chance.

  It was quick, at least. The suspect already had the window down and his gun pulled before Warren approached the vehicle. One shot to the face and Officer Warren was dead. He had no time to react. He didn’t suffer. Didn’t even know what happened to him. If a silver lining was conceivable in a situation like this, that was it.

  But Harris only saw the rain clouds.

  They had yet to locate the man who’d killed Warren. They’d found the car and his apartment, both abandoned. He’d either escaped the city or was lying low for the time being. He didn’t have a criminal record, but everyone had to start somewhere. And he apparently had started with murder.

  There was no connection between Warren and David. They knew each other, of course, but had never worked together. Weren’t friends. Harris would’ve known if they played poker together on the weekends. Or went golfing. Or whatever middle-aged men did in their downtime.

  There was no connection between Aguilar and the suspect, or between Aguilar and Warren. Statistically, there was a higher chance that the two murders were unrelated. Coincidence. But that seemed too convenient to Harris. Two wasn’t a pattern, but it wasn’t an anomaly, either.

  When Harris had interviewed David’s wife, Lisa hadn’t been able to tell her anything she didn’t already know. David had seemed stressed the last couple of months, but given his profession, that wasn’t strange. They’d recently had a talk about what she would do if he died in the line of duty, but again, that wasn’t out of the ordinary for them. She mentioned David had left a letter for Cassie, but seeing as Cassie hadn’t mentioned it, Harris could only assume it was personal and had nothing to do with the case.

  Mostly, Lisa had wanted to tell Harris how much David had respected her as an officer and a friend. Harris accepted the compliment, but even thinking back on the moment, she was embarrassed by the way she’d acted. She’d practically run out of the house before the tears could fall.

  Apollo jumped up on the arm rest of the couch and meowed, jolting Harris out of her thoughts. She ran a hand over his back, but he slinked away and returned to the floor. He meowed again, loud enough to wake Bear from his nap. The dog tilted his head to the side as though he’d be able to understand Apollo if he could just concentrate hard enough.

  Apollo meowed again. It was sharp and insistent. There was a whine to his voice that made Harris put down the piece of paper in her hands and lean forward. She reached out to him, but Apollo backed away.

  This time, a faint click answered his call. Bear whipped his head around. Harris stood. The dog mirrored her. Apollo skittered behind the couch. Everyone took a collective breath and held it, listening. Waiting.

  It could’ve been the house settling. Or miscellaneous item shifting. Or the back door opening.

  The seconds ticked by. Harris’ lungs were burning, but she didn’t dare breathe lest she miss some other sign of an impending attack. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she let the air in her lungs escape. And a floorboard creaked.

  It didn’t sound out of the ordinary. Cassie’s house was old. It popped and groaned sometimes. Goosebumps erupted across Harris’ skin as she remembered Cassie’s stories of visiting specters. Was her house haunted? Was Harris about to get her first glimpse at a ghost?

  She unholstered her weapon. The movement made Bear’s fur stand on end. A growl emanated from his throat. His hackles raised reminded Harris he was a formidable animal. Not that it would do much good if it were a ghost. She’d probably end up paying for a new wall in an attempt to see if bullets would slow it down.

  Bear took a step forward, the growl still in his voice. She wanted to avoid making a phone call to tell Cassie her dog had died on her watch. Harris looked down at Bear. “Sit.” He only hesitated for a moment before he complied. “Stay.”

  The dog whined, but Harris ignored him. She crept forward, her gun pointed to the ground. She hadn’t heard another noise since the second creak. Maybe the house had settled, content with its new position. Or maybe someone had realized they couldn’t walk through the house without alerting its inhabitants to their presence.

  There was a back door to a small fenced-in yard. She had made sure she locked it after taking the dog out that morning, but she hadn’t checked it since then. Harris usually let Bear out right before she returned to work from her lunch break. She still had ten minutes left.

  Harris turned the corner into the kitchen. She raised her gun to a forty-five-degree angle. It would take a split second to lift it to center mass and squeeze off two rounds. But that was only if her life was in immediate danger. She didn’t want to risk blowing the head off someone who’d made a poor decision to rob a house. A thief was not always a murderer.

  A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed Bear was sitting where she’d left him. Apollo was still hiding behind the couch. She couldn’t blame him. He’d done his job and alerted them to someone—or something—at the back of the house. Now was not the time to be a hero.

  Harris stepped forward, and a floorboard creaked underfoot. It was as loud as a gunshot, and she winced as if someone had fired a weapon. The other sounds had been farther away when she heard them, which meant if someone was in the house, they hadn’t made it this far. But it
also meant they now knew she was coming for them.

  Rather than delay the inevitable, Harris took three quick steps forward. She cleared one bedroom and moved on. The next step was to choose between the second bedroom and the bathroom. She picked one. Decided to take her chance. Bedroom first. Then bathroom.

  She entered Cassie’s room and swung her gun from right to left. Checked behind the door. Nothing. Pulled open the closet and took a sharp step back. Nothing. She risked making herself a target by lying prone on the floor to check under the bed. Nothing there either.

  When she stood, a shadow shifted in the doorway. For a second, she thought she was staring into the pale eyes of a ghost. Then reality hit her. It was a man, solid and real, wearing a ski mask and a dark track suit. And he was holding a knife. One moment, he held it above his head, and the next, he let it fly straight at her.

  Harris dodged the knife, which bounced off the wall and hit the floor next to her foot. By the time she righted herself and aimed her gun at the intruder, he had already vaulted over the bed. As he cleared the space between them, he raised a knee and crashed into her, sending her flying into the wall. She felt it give beneath her weight. Her vision went fuzzy at the impact.

  The man was on her before her eyes could refocus. He bent her hand back until she dropped the gun, then he wrapped both hands around her neck. She didn’t try to peel them away. She delivered two swift blows to his right side, then brought her knee up to his groin. He grunted and his grip loosened enough for her to drive her fists through his arms and break out of the hold.

  She gasped air into her lungs, but the reprieve only lasted a second before the man tackled her to the ground. The carpet fibers scratched her face as she turned to look for her gun. It was out of reach, halfway under the dresser. The blade of the knife, however, was inches from her eye.

  The man saw it a split second before she did. He wrapped his fingers around its handle and struck fast. She moved her head to the side right before the knife tore through the carpet and hit the hardwood floor below. The man pulled it out and brought the blade down again, but Harris was ready. She grabbed his wrist and stopped the downward momentum, the tip of the knife inches from her face.

  She tried bucking him off her, but he weighed at least a hundred pounds more than her. If she could get her knee through his legs and against his chest, she’d have a better shot at getting away. But she wasn’t sure if she could do it before the strength in her arms gave out.

  Harris sucked in as much air as her lungs could take. “Bear,” she yelled. The strength of her voice made the man flinch. “Come.”

  Nails skidding across hardwood floors. An inhuman growl growing louder with each passing second. A blur of brown and black fur leaping across the room. Teeth sinking into flesh. A howl of pain and a string of curse words.

  It gave Harris enough time to wiggle out from underneath the intruder and reach for her gun. When she spun around, she took aim and fired a shot, hitting his shoulder. The crack of gunfire made Bear let go, and the man took his chance to kick the dog as hard as he could in the side. Bear yelped and skidded across the room. Harris took aim again, but her next shot only found drywall. The man was already sprinting toward the back door.

  Bear got to his feet at the same time as Harris, and the two followed the man through the house. He banged the door shut behind him just as Bear leaped at his heels. The dog crashed against it, and Harris had to push him out of the way to open it again. By the time they made it into the backyard, the intruder had jumped the fence and escaped.

  Bear barked until she dragged him back inside by the collar, locking the door behind them. Then she checked every room and every point of entry until she was sure no one else was in the house. She used the last remaining drops of her adrenaline to check on Bear. His ribs were tender, but he didn’t bite her when she ran her hand along his sides. She grabbed a napkin and wiped blood from his mouth, folding it over and tucking it into her pocket.

  Only when she was sure the intruder wouldn’t return did she allow herself to sink down into the middle of the kitchen floor in relief. She holstered her gun and laid back, arms splayed to her side. Bear sat guard at her feet, his ears swiveling like satellites and his eyes fixated on the back door. Eventually, Apollo emerged and crawled onto her chest, purring and nuzzling her chin with his nose.

  16

  Cassie hung up the phone with Harris, dizzy with relief. She could hear her blood pounding in her ears, and the hospital lobby swam in front of her eyes as she blinked away the tears that had formed. Everyone’s okay. Everyone’s okay. Everyone’s okay. She kept up the mantra until she found a chair to sink into.

  “Cassie?” Jason’s voice felt like it was at the other end of a train tunnel. Her heart was the whistle that warned of imminent danger. “Cassie, are you okay?”

  “Everyone’s okay.” She looked up at him. Her eyes felt like they could pop out of her head at any minute. “Everyone’s okay.”

  “Who’s okay?” Jason sat down next to her. Took her hand. Squeezed. “What’s going on?”

  “Someone attacked Adelaide.” When Jason’s eyebrows pinched together, she forced herself back to the present. “Detective Harris. She’s watching Bear and Apollo while I’m down here. Someone broke into my house. Tried to kill her.”

  “What?” Jason’s whole bodied stiffened. The grip on her hand became painful. “Why? Were they after you?”

  That hadn’t occurred to her. “I don’t know. She thinks it’s because she’s looking into David’s death.”

  “But she’s okay?”

  Cassie nodded. Swallowed. Slipped her hand out of Jason’s grip and shook it out, hoping the feeling would return sooner rather than later. “She shot him. Bear took a chunk out of him and got kicked in the ribs. She’s gonna take him to the vet to be safe, but she doesn’t think he’s seriously injured. The guy got away, but Harris doesn’t think he’ll try again.”

  “She has no way of knowing that.” Jason shook his head. He looked angry. “She shouldn’t be staying at your place. What if they come back in a couple days, once she’s gone and you’re there, defenseless?”

  “I’m not defenseless.” Cassie stood. She wanted comfort from him, not a lecture. “I’m pretty good at surviving.”

  Jason’s face went slack. He stood, too. “Cassie, I’m so sorry—”

  “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not.” He took her hand. This time, the touch was gentle. She allowed him to hang onto her. “You’re smart and strong and capable. I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t.”

  “But?”

  “But sometimes someone else is smarter and stronger and more capable.” He shook his head. “I’m glad the detective is okay. I know you can handle yourself. And it sounds like Bear is an excellent guard dog. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry about you. Even some of the best fighters, the best soldiers”—he hesitated for a fraction of a second—“or the best cops die.”

  “I know.” Cassie tried to ignore the wound David’s death had left behind, but it was still painfully raw. “She was lucky.”

  “I assume she’s going to look into whoever this guy was?”

  “She’s got some of his blood. They’re going to check hospitals for anyone who fits the description. He was wearing a ski mask, but a bullet wound and a dog bite will stand out.”

  “And she’ll keep you updated?”

  Cassie nodded. “She promised she’ll play it safe, but I don’t know if I believe her. She’s taking all of this pretty hard.”

  “And what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Your best friend died.” Jason’s voice was low and soothing, but it still made Cassie bristle. “Another friend was just attacked. Your dog was injured. And you’re down here, away from it all, helping me look into my cousin’s death.”

  “So?”

  “So”—Jason ducked his head to look straight into her eyes—“that’s a lot to handle. A lot to pro
cess. You’re surrounded by death every day. It’s bound to get to you sometimes. And that’s okay. But you should talk about it.”

  “I have a therapist for that.”

  “Do you talk to her about your abilities?”

  Cassie smiled, but there was no humor in it. “No. If I did, she’d probably lock me up.”

  “Fair enough.” He sighed and stroked her hand. He kept his eyes on her while he weighed his words. “The last thing I want to do is presume you’re not okay when you are. But worse than that, I don’t want you to feel like you have to pretend you’re fine. For my sake or anyone else’s.” He took a step forward. “You’re not alone in this anymore, Cassie. You have your parents now. Your sister. Detective Harris.” He smiled. “Me.”

  Cassie fought back the emotion rising in her throat. She’d felt alone for so long. It should’ve been a relief to know she didn’t have to deal with any of this by herself ever again. Instead, she felt lonelier than ever. Her friends and family could try to comprehend what she saw and heard and felt, but they would never know. They’d never truly understand.

  But she couldn’t tell Jason that. So she smiled and said, “Thank you.”

  Jason’s eyes remained troubled. She looked away so he wouldn’t figure out how she was feeling. Movement over his shoulder caught her attention. When her gaze shifted, it landed on a woman standing in the doorway to the Heart and Vascular ward. She wore a simple dress with low-heeled pumps. Her hair was in pin curls. She looked faded and gray, like most of the other spirits who stalked the hospital’s passageways, but her eyes, a piercing hazel that stared right through Cassie, seemed alive.

  Jason didn’t miss Cassie’s gasp. “What do you see?”

  “The woman from my dreams.”

  “The Ghost Doctor?”

  Cassie didn’t answer. The woman had turned in the other direction, and Cassie didn’t hesitate to follow her. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself, especially after pushing through the door to the ward. Someone would eventually ask her where she was going, and without an appointment, they would be sure to turn her right back around.