Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
When I googled the victim on my way here, I found that his net worth is in the billions, and that he was currently trying to acquire a stretch of real estate predominantly owned by small businesses. Which made it hard for him to buy because not only did the businesses not want to sell, but they also refused to let him make an offer. They didn’t want to be bought by a big corporation and have their worlds turned upside down.
My knee aches slightly as I shift my weight, old reminders from years of scenes just like this. Too many late nights, too much bad coffee, and not enough sleep.
“Fucking hell, put on your gloves,” I say to the officer as he walks over and reaches for something in the crime scene. “What is it, your first fucking day? Don’t touch shit.”
The stupid bastard’s eyes go wide, and he backs up. “Sorry, Detective,” he murmurs, and steps back as Rolland returns and comes to stand next to me.
Rolland and I are partners, so we understand each other well. Years of riding in the same car, working the same cases, learning each other’s rhythms without needing to say a word. However, I do prefer to work alone, with less noise and fewer variables.
“They’re fucking leeches,” he says, referring to the press as I stand up. “This is going to be everywhere. Whoever this assassin is, they’re good,” he adds in praise.
I glance back down at the body, letting my gaze move over the details again, slower this time. The angle of attack, the location of the wound, the lack of anything extra. No rage or panic, just execution. Whoever did this didn’t just want him dead—they wanted it done right.
“Check all the street cameras, cars, pedestrians, businesses, everything and everyone that has come into this area in the last twelve hours,” I tell him.
“Do you still think it’s a woman?” Rolland asks quietly. We haven’t given that theory away yet. But he’s right, whoever it is, is damn good.
“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully, and glance back at the body. At one point, I thought it could possibly be a woman, with the way the killings took place. Men are messy, whereas women are … well, cleaner. But it’s just a hunch, because whoever it is never leaves a trace of themselves.
“We need answers sooner rather than later,” he says. “Cap is getting pissed.”
“I know,” I remind him. I’m in the same meetings he is, and this killer has been doing this for years.
And we still have no solid leads as to their identity.
I look past the tape, at the lights, the crowd, the restless city pressing in around us, and feel that familiar pull in my gut that tells me the killer is either extremely lucky or very skilled.
There is no doubt in my mind that it’s going to be the latter.
THREE
MAVEN
“So, I know you never go to these things, and usually I would never allow you to be there, but I desperately need some backup,” Carrie says after letting herself into my apartment, not even bothering to knock. She pauses just inside the doorway, smoothing her hands down the sides of her black dress like she’s already stepping into the night, not my space.
I eye her as she strides past me and into my closet where she scans the contents. She doesn’t hesitate, never does, and heads straight for my shoe wall, fingers trailing lightly over the rows like she’s greeting old friends. Luckily for her, we’re the same shoe size. I don’t think she’s ever bought a pair of shoes in her life.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, relaxing on the velvet couch I have in the middle of my closet, one arm draped lazily over the back and my legs crossed at the ankles. I’m watching her like she’s entertainment.
Where does all my money go, you ask? Into this room; my wall of expensive shoes proves that.
“You know how I go to the galas,” she starts, already crouching to scan the lower shelves, her hair falling forward over her shoulder.
“Yeeesss…” I drag the word out, raising a brow at her.
“Well, I never go alone; that would be stupid,” she says with an eye roll, as if I should already understand. She plucks a pair of pink red-bottom heels from the shelf and then slips them on without asking. She straightens, rolling her shoulders back, balancing perfectly in the sky-high heels, then glances down at her feet. She smiles, happy with herself.
“Bailey asked that I bring someone for his friend.”
I let out a short huff of a laugh, shaking my head as I sit forward slightly, elbows resting on my knees. “And you honestly think you should bring me?”
She turns to look at me. Her hand goes to her hip as she locks her gaze with mine. “Yes. You never have fun.”