Fatal Fiction
Camille Taylor
A Harbour Bay Novel
***
Chapter 1
“Don’t you dare set me—argh!” Riley O’Neill tripped as she entered her apartment, becoming unbalanced. Floundering, she barely managed to right herself before falling. Her heart leapt into her throat and she breathed unevenly as she caught her breath. Riley peered around the stack of papers clutched to her chest to find a familiar envelope on the floor. She recognised the package immediately—another manuscript.
As an editor for a large publishing house, it wasn’t an unusual sight. Nor it’s placement on her floor. Many of her clients preferred sending their novels directly to her instead of the off chance they might be misplaced at the publishing house. Riley didn’t mind, except of course, unless she nearly killed herself on one.
She was almost the last person at the office who preferred paper than to read via a tablet.
Riley kicked the package gently toward the small four seat dining table and followed the flying envelope, almost dropping her mobile which was currently wedged between her ear and shoulder.
She must’ve made a sound of distress as her best friend, Megan Matthews sounded concerned on the other side of the phone line. “You okay?”
A relieved laugh bubbled out. “Yeah. Just lost my footing for a second.”
“You and those damn heels. You’ll break an ankle one day. Now, back to before. I don’t see why you’re so averse to a little blind date.”
Now Megan had ascertained she was okay she was back to business.
As if on cue, Riley’s shoulders sagged as they’d tended to do when she thought of dating. Not having the time to meet men in any other form, she’d tried the internet dating scene in what ended as a colossal mistake. Perhaps she was too picky, never passing the first date. Riley could never imagine any of the men fitting seamlessly into her life. Never would she consider a comprise. Which why Meg took it upon herself to find Riley a date. Unfortunately, the only people Meg knew were cops. Riley had vowed never to go down that path.
“Easy for you to say. You’ve already found a great guy.”
Married with a baby, Megan seemed to think it was now her life mission to have Riley settled into domestic bless. Annoying as it was, Megan only wanted her to be happy. Which was the only reason Riley semi-tolerated it.
“Yes, I have. Where are you?”
“At home.”
“Good. You need to relax.”
Indignation bubbled to the surface. “I relax.”
“No, what normal people do to relax is what you call a job. You need something different. Something that can actually be called relaxing. You know what you really need don’t you?”
“What’s that?”
“You need to get laid.”
Riley spluttered. What was it with people lately suggesting she needs sex? Only an hour ago, her assistant Michelle had said the same thing. Did it show on her face that it had been a long time since she’d got some?
“Yeah, that’ll solve all my problems.” That was the last thing she needed. Though one face popped into her head unbidden. She hated how the mere mention of sex brought his image to mind. Like he hadn’t already sent a clear message that he wasn’t interested in her.
“It will. Besides, Heather needs a cousin.” Heather was Megan’s six-month-old daughter and cute as a button.
Riley blinked. Huh? “Come again?”
Megan let out a ‘put upon’ sigh. “Sex can sometimes lead to babies.”
Riley rolled her eyes, smiling at Megan’s teacher-like voice. “Thank you for the biology lesson but I’m not going to have sex solely so Heather has a playmate.”
“I still think you need a hot night of passion.”
Riley really didn’t want to continue with this conversation so she said the one thing she knew would shut Megan up. “Fine. Just hand over Dean and I’ll return him in the morning.”
Her friend growled—actually growled.
She smiled, thankful that topic was over with.
“You need to slow down. If you’re not careful you will burnout. I know you love your job, but you need something more in your life than work.”
Moving about the apartment, Riley closed the heavy damask curtains switching on the lights as she went. Daylight hours were shorter now and dusk approached darkening the interior of her home.
“I do. I have you and Dean and Heather. For now, I’m happy with that. I don’t need a man to complete me. Maybe one day I’ll have a couple of kids and a husband but that’s not in the cards for me right now.”
She had too many issues to work out first before she could even contemplate giving her all to one man. Especially when one man dominated most of her thoughts. One who was unobtainable. At least to her.
“Hopefully not in that order.” Megan’s reply returned her mind to the conversation.
They spoke for a few more minutes until Megan had to bath Heather and said their goodbyes.
Riley slipped in her bedroom and undressed, swapping out her business suit and heels for comfy cotton pyjamas and slippers.
Back in the kitchen, she busied herself making a camomile tea needing the assistance to help relax. As she passed the dining table, she scooped up the envelope which had almost put her on her arse. After sinking down onto the soft cushions of her couch she took a sip of tea. Heaven. Placing the mug on the coffee table in front of her, she tore open the flap securing the envelope and retrieved the manuscript a hopeful budding author had sent her.
She stared down at the crisp white sheets and blinked as she read the title, Death Befalls Them. A shiver unexpectedly raced down her spine and without thought, Riley dragged the small afghan blanket from the back of her couch and draped it over her legs. Even though the heat was on in her apartment, a draft ran through her home, something she planned to rectify as soon as possible. If what the weather people were saying was true and they were in for the coldest winter in a hundred years she was going to need all the help she could get keeping warm. She instantly dismissed Megan’s suggestion of hot sex. The thought was nice and certainly, a man’s body was sure to chase away the cold but so could an electric blanket and sure as hell less confusing. Especially compared to the one man she’d consider getting hot and heavy with.
Leaning back, finding the perfect position, Riley opened the manuscript. There was no author’s name which was highly unusual but not unheard of. She began reading. The novel, while gritty and held a dark undertone was well written and was from a first-person perspective and the killer’s point of view. Her blood cooled as he killed one woman, a young brunette and cried when she reached the end. This was unlike anything she had ever read before. There was no happy ending, no great good battling against evil. No, the book had ended with the two-time killer getting away with murder. But that was not what had upset her. Maybe it was because she was overtired and it hadn’t helped that every time the building settled its foundation she jumped. Her heart went out to the victims in the novel. She knew they were just characters but the depravity the killer/writer had inflicted on them was just too horrible to call fiction.
“Why?”
She wanted to burn the manuscript, prayed no one else would be subjected to it. It was almost like reading an explicit account through the eyes of Doctor Mangle and his victims. Bile rose in her throat. Riley had read some books in her time that had sickened her but this one questioned the humanity of the writer and although it sounded melodramatic she wondered if he had a soul or a conscience.
Riley crossed the small space dividing her apartment and flung the book on top of her dining table. She then flicked through the stack of u
nread manuscript, quickly reading the quick description the authors had provided looking desperately for a romantic ‘fluff’ piece. If she had any hopes of sleeping again—ever—she needed to wipe that novel from her mind, to completely eradicate it from her memory and prayed she never met up with the author and his depraved mind.
Chapter 2
Detective Nicholas Doyle landed hard on his back. He stared up the woman who knocked him off his feet. Stacey Bailey’s face held a layer of sweat, just as his did. Her chest rose and fell heavily with each quick breath. His own heart raced. The jolt of adrenaline hitting him faster than any amount of caffeine. The soft mat beneath him cushioned the fall. She was getting better. He’d never met anyone who was so determined. He knew what drove her and was happy to help her learn how to defend herself. So, once every week they’d met at the LAC—Local Area Command where he worked and they fought inside the boxing ring situated in the built-in gym.
Stacey’s green eyes sparkled with satisfaction.
He shook his head. “Don’t gloat, Stacey, I can still get up and finish the job.” Before he’d even finished speaking he was on his feet, ready for round two.
While he celebrated the fact she’d bested him, her skills growing every week, he couldn’t allow her to become complacent. She had to learn even though she’d had the upper hand, he could easily turn it around.
Nick didn’t sugar coat his lessons. He taught for one reason—to see them succeed. Which meant none of this fancy footwork and routines that came from martial arts. He was all about the discipline and the outcome. If a woman ever needed to defend herself, she’d have the necessary skills to walk away. Fighting dirty was just one of the many moves he ensured all his students knew.
Stacey turned serious again. Focused on her task. She was light on her feet, narrowly avoiding the fist he sent her way. She lost her footing for a moment when she didn’t deflect the second which connected with her shoulder. She regrouped, rolling her shoulder to ease the sting. He didn’t pull his punches.
The cacophony of police officers and civilian staff working out in the gym beyond them faded away as he concentrated on his prey.
Her breathing was laboured. Despite being ten years younger, he could easily outlast her in the ring. His physical fitness had been born from years of training and exercise.
Stacey ducked and swerved, his attack throwing him off-balance. She spun, punched at his kidney before landing another fist into his solar plexuses when he turned to protect his back. He doubled over.
“Time out.” The deep voice came from his left. He hadn’t realised they’d had an audience. Stacey flattened her palms on her thighs as she bent over, looking thoroughly exhausted and yet also exhilarated.
Nick straightened and swiped at the accumulated sweat on his brow with his arm. He nodded at the newcomer and fellow detective, James Hawke.
While normally he would’ve made a smart-arse comment about James wanting a piece, the dark expression on his teammate’s face had him biting back the natural reaction.
“What’s up?”
“Homicide. Single female.” James cast a quick look in Stacey’s direction.
Shit. Here they go again…
The small coastal town of Harbour Bay where he lived had seen its share of murder but lately, it seemed as though a quiet front had descended. Until now.
Nick slipped through the ropes that made up the barrier of the boxing ring and landed beside James. He looked up at Stacey with an apologetic look on his face. “Another time.”
She smiled. “You bet.”
***
The cool winter’s night had kept most people indoors. The red and blue flashing lights lit up the street as three police cars provided a perimeter around the one-story brick house. Nick recognised several of the officers, including Bryce Prescott, a seasoned vet, who braved the chilly air and were currently diverting traffic and keeping the few curiosity seekers at bay.
Nick followed James up the driveway and into the small foyer inside the house. The smell of death welcomed them. The sounds of a digital camera snapping shots of the crime scene and the light mumbles of voices told him the forensic team was already on site and were busy collecting evidence.
His mobile rang and after a quick look at the display, he sent the call to voicemail. Vanessa. Again. She could damn well leave a message. It’s not like he owed her anything. James gave him a curious look which he also ignored.
As they rounded the corner and entered the family room, he glanced over to a woman, her sniffles reaching his ears from across the room. He estimated her to be in her mid-twenties. She was dressed in jeans and her jacket had been slung over the arm rest of the couch where she sat. Her gaze kept shifting to the far side of the room where her friend was laying.
“I got worried when she didn’t answer the phone. Brit always answers her phone.” The woman sobbed and Constable Cade Watson, a ginger haired officer with a baby face, squatted down beside her. He placed a comforting hand on her back as he spoke softly to her, the woman nodding in reply. He caught Cade’s gaze and nodded.
He pitched his voice low. “I take it that’s who discovered the body?”
James consulted his phone where the particulars had been sent to him. “Lisa Colbert. She says they had plans to shop today and got concerned when she was stood up.”
Nick glanced down at the naked body of Brittany Hudson and his jaw clenched. God, what a mess. The young lady’s brunette hair was darkened with blood. Her hazel eyes stared sightlessly up at the ceiling; her lips stained red from what appeared to be her own blood and Nick immediately knew it was the killers doing since no cut marred her full lips. The word ‘bitch’ had been carved into her stomach. The wound was deep. Blood soaked the carpet surrounding the body and been smeared on her skin as though the killer had played in it. Crouching down, he tilted the victim’s head gently with gloved hands and studied the surface cuts on her throat. Hesitation marks?
He looked away, distancing himself from the victim. The only help he could give her now was make sure the bastard who did this to her was brought to justice.
The house he noted was tidy. Her inexpensive furniture sat undisturbed. A vase with violets and lilies sat upon a white lace tablecloth on the dining table. The only sign that something was out of place was the overturned lamp on the side table beside the entrance to the hallway which led to the other rooms of the house, and the handset of the victim’s phone, which was hanging off the hook. Had Brittany tried to call for help?
The coffee table to the left of the body had several fashion and gossip magazines neatly placed on top after being read. All in all, there were no signs of a struggle. No broken glass. Nothing used as a weapon against her attacker.
“What have we got here, Detective Doyle?” Nick turned to find Doctor Neil Stone approaching.
Neil Stone was Harbour Bay’s medical examiner. He was in his late sixties, had white hair and thick, black coke-bottle rimmed glasses.
“A waste, Doc.”
Doctor Stone knelt beside Brittany Hudson. “She’s been dead since late last night. The poor thing’s been strangled.” He studied the bruises on the victim’s neck before checking her eyes for petechial haemorrhaging. “You’ll have to wait until I complete the autopsy for official COD. From the amount of blood, I can’t say definitively if it was asphyxiation or exsanguination that killed her.”
Nick looked down at the dried blood that had seeped into the beige carpet surrounding the body.
Either way, it would’ve been a horrible way to die.
James, his grey eyes cold, shifted on his feet. “Do you think she was raped?”
Doctor Stone began preparing his new charge for transport. “It’s more than likely since she’s naked.”
Nick moved away, scanning the room in hopes of learning more about the crime and how it went down. One by one he entered each room, noting the tidiness of the place, almost untouched. Brittany Hudson was one clean woman. The bedroom told another s
tory. Clothes lay littered on the ground, the bedspread was half on the bed, the rest puddled on the floor. An indentation on the mattress told him this was where the night had started.
Poor Brittany had most likely been asleep when her intruder had surprised her. A pink satin chemise lay on the mattress and Nick knew Brittany had been wearing the small scrap of fabric before it was removed forcibly from her body.
Nick clenched his hands, making fists. Bile rose in his throat as many variations—none of them good—raced across his mind. He could almost see the terrified look on Brittany Hudson’s face when she realised she was about to die.
Nick abhorred violence against woman, hated it with a passion. He had been raised to respect woman and treat them like precious diamonds which he did. Being the youngest of five and the only boy, he understood only too well just how fragile a woman was, emotionally and physically.
He also knew how easy it is to be fooled by a face and smooth charm. Monsters didn’t have horns and spiked tails. They were everyday people hiding the darkness within them.
James came to a stop beside him. “Forensics is heading out. They found no evidence to suggest a break-in so I’m leaning toward an ex who couldn’t live without her, or maybe a jealous lover.”
His gut told him this was something more than simple jealously.
The crime screamed of rage. Hate even. There was no doubt in his mind that Brittany had been tortured. Possibly for hours before the killer had ended her suffering.
He clenched his jaw, acid bubbling in his stomach. Just when they’d rid the streets of several sadistic men another was waiting in the wings to take their place.
“Let’s go talk to Ms. Colbert. See if we can give us some names.”
They relieved Cade Watson from his duties and introduced themselves. Lisa peered up at them with red-rimmed eyes, filled with raw, almost palpable pain.
“I should’ve come over sooner.”
“There’s nothing you could’ve done.” James’ quiet observation loosened the tension in Lisa’s shoulders. She took a shuddering breath as she grasped the tiny shred of comfort she’d been given.
Fatal Fiction (Harbour Bay Book 5) Page 1
