Desolate Mantle: Street Games

By L.K. Hill

What if you saw something? Something heinous. Something the police have no clue about, but should?

 

Kyra knows she's seen the killer. Actually seen him walking around the Slip Mire before and after his kills. She needs to get her information to the cops. She kissed Det. Gabe Nichols in an alley weeks before, believing they'd never cross paths again. The idea of seeing him again puts butterflies in her stomach. But not sharing her information means she'll have blood on her hands when the killer strikes again.

Gabe has his own problems. Dealing with the anniversary of his brother's disappearance is stressful enough. Now the brass is pressuring him to find the mysterious woman who gave him information that saved many lives. The woman who seems to be a walking chameleon. And kissed him in a dark alley weeks before.

Meanwhile, a clandestine gathering is happening at the dark heart of the city. When Kyra investigates, she finds a gyre of depravity and evil. Kyra and Gabe will face that depravity head on. If they don't learn to trust one another, it may just swallow them whole.

Fans of dark urban crime fiction, mysterious serial killers, and a splash of the horrific won't be able to put this one down.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liesel Hill
• Release date: Jan 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386403944

L.K. Hill

L.K. Hill is a lifelong Connecticut resident. After attending community college, she married and raised two sons. Getting tired of retail jobs, she trained and became a certified nurses aide, focusing on homecare. But her lifelong interest was writing and The Viking World, so she decided to write a book about them. This novel is her dream come true, and may your dreams become a happy reality.

Book preview

Chapter 1

There it was again . The feeling of being watched. Kyra’s heart slammed ferociously against her ribcage. She slid into a shadowy niche of the alley and fell into a squat. She was a small woman, alone in the most dangerous part of the city at night. The feeling of being watched was never a good sign. Kyra always felt that way in the Slip Mire, but tonight was different. Fear dug at her stomach like sharp icicles, no matter how she tried to smother it, and she could swear the icy wind actually blew inside her clothes. Creepy-ass wind.

She peered into the darkness around her from her hiding place. The alley, from which she’d entered M street—the Mirelings would have said it was only one layer deep—had no lighting of its own. Murky red light spilled into it, along with the slightly more industrious lights of M Street. 

A tall figure, only a scant shade darker than the shadows he hid in, stood twenty feet away, looking directly at her. Kyra cursed silently, the icicles digging in more deeply. It wasn’t paranoia when someone really followed.

Ruthlessly crushing the panic in her gut, she rose smoothly and stepped into an intersecting, soot-black alley. Now two layers deep, she scurried along it for fifty feet and ducked behind the first object large enough to hide her: a rank dumpster. 

Late as she already was, she didn’t have time for this. It was the same man she’d seen three times in the last week. Had to be. He must be keeping tabs on her. Her work tonight was too important to risk a tail. She’d have to shake him before heading into Josie’s neck of the Mire.

A silhouette appeared at the mouth of the alley. It was definitely the same man. The strong jaw and broad shoulders were unmistakably masculine. He turned his head to the side, looking toward M Street at things Kyra couldn’t see from her vantage point. His profile, with aquiline nose and hair gathered into a thin ponytail at the nape of his neck, was distinctive. 

Kyra smothered a frustrated sigh. She needed to figure out who this guy was, and why he was following her. Just another worry. She had so many, they’d begun to feel like a physical weight. This stalker had nothing to do with where she went tonight—she didn’t think—so he needed to mind his own business and stay on the back burner until she could find the time to deal with him. 

She shivered, despite the flippant thought. Thinking of him as a minor annoyance helped her deal, but the chill in her spine refused to be ignored.

Thankfully, the man with the ponytail didn’t enter the alley. After peering in for a moment, the silhouette disappeared. Each time he’d followed her, she could feel his intelligence seeping out of the shadows. He must have realized she’d seen him and that he’d never find her in the darkness. He’d cut his losses for the evening. Good. 

Unfortunately, he’d also slowed her down considerably. She didn’t dare leave the alley the way she came in—he could be waiting to see if she re-emerged. Instead, she’d have to venture into the deeper unlit recesses of the Slip Mire and make her way back out onto M Street farther south. From there, she could get to Josie’s lair. Moving through the dark took time though, and it was already after eleven. Kyra needed to be in place to observe Josie by midnight. 

Barely suppressing a growl of frustration, Kyra turned and plowed into the darkness, to which her eyes had long since become accustomed. The smells of grubby streets, unwashed bodies, urine, and less-than-legal substances all mixed together to fill her nose. When she’d first arrived in Abstreuse, she was sure she’d never get used to the lurid smell. Now, it was just part of nightly life. 

Though her eyes quickly grew accustomed to the scant light, moving through the unlit alleys still unnerved her. Dark masses loomed up as she neared them. Most often they turned out to be dumpsters or other stationary objects. Smaller masses might be homeless, sleeping Mirelings. They might be other kinds of people, too. 

Kyra hurried past them, praying they weren’t Prowlers. Not that she was truly deep enough for Prowlers. Most parts of the Slip Mire had passages five and six layers deep. Five or six turns from the more public streets. Kyra never went more than three layers deep. Four if absolutely necessary. Bad things happened in the deeper alleys. The Prowlers lived there, and she didn’t even know what else. 

Kyra fingered the small gun she had concealed in her armpit, and then the knife strapped to her thigh. She could defend herself if need be, but it would make her even later, and run-ins with the Prowlers never left a person unscathed. Or so she’d heard.

Twenty minutes later, she peered out of a narrow alley, scanning M Street. It already bustled. Hookers lined the dimly lit sidewalks, chatting together and waving seductively whenever a vehicle passed, which wasn’t often. There would be more cars as the night wore on. More than once, Kyra caught glimpses of transparent plastic bags changing hands. Hobos gathered around garbage cans or husks of cars, many of which had fires going in them. 

Kyra moved down the street, keeping to the shadows while observing the people around her. The weather had turned chilly over the past few weeks, and she imagined she’d see more make-shift fire pits as fall wore into winter. She’d come to the Slip Mire nearly four months before, when the chill of spring still clung to the gritty air. Since then, with the exception of a rain storm or two, she hadn’t dealt with bad weather. She could only imagine how miserable life in the Slip Mire must be in the winter. This region of Nevada was dry desert, so she doubted there’d be much snow, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t get cold.

There was no sign of her stalker. Relieved, she dismissed thoughts of him for the moment. He was a worry for tomorrow. Walking quickly, she put her head down and kept as close to the buildings as she could, hiding in the shadowy overhangs. She passed mere feet from hookers and street urchins who knew her as Supra. Most were engaged in their own activities, though, and didn’t spare her a passing glance. 

Putting her head down, she hurried on. She had to get into position on time.

Supra. Not her real name. Just the one the Mirelings knew her by. Only one person in the entire city knew both Kyra’s aliases. At least, she thought he did. That he’d figured it out. Which was why she’d carefully avoided Detective Nichols since the night she shot Norse, saving the detective’s life. A wave of emptiness passed over her. She squashed it vengefully. She lived as a creature of the shadows, now. No one saw her. Not really. Tonight, she didn’t even need her alias. 

Kyra looked different than she did most nights. As Supra, she usually wore makeup that made her skin a paler-than-realistic color. In contrast, tonight she wore dark makeup on her hands and face. Her hoodie, thicker and heavier than usual, made her look bulkier than was true. Unless those that knew Supra peered directly into her face, they wouldn’t recognize her. That’s how she wanted it. As Supra, she had spiky black hair, and even now her wig sat in place below the dark hood of her sweatshirt. Just in case. Below the wig, her real, sandy blond hair lay plastered to her head. Layers of disguise. Layers of identity. Even layers of names.

Passing a more brightly lit alley than the one she’d come from, Kyra glanced into it. The blood-red light so prevalent in the Mire revealed a tall blond woman wearing a flashy, sequined tube top and mini skirt. She had her back to Kyra and retreated, via slow, drunken stumble into the alley, leaning heavily against a man who wore no shirt. Even from behind, Kyra recognized the woman. This prostitute worked K Street more often than M, though she wasn’t an altogether uncommon sight in this part of town. Her name was Marna. Kyra had never spoken with her, but knew of her thanks to Sadie.

Stay away from her, Supra, Sadie had warned. She’s a sleepwalker, and not above thievin’ and vi’lence to get ‘er next fix. A prostitute herself, Sadie knew everyone in the Mire and could be easily persuaded to divulge the latest gossip. With an eight-month-old daughter to support, what little Sadie earned was too valuable to risk some high-strung junkie stealing it, so she avoided Marna at all costs and encouraged Kyra to do the same. Kyra didn’t need to be told twice. 

Sleepwalker. Mire slang for heroin addict. People like Marna were too unpredictable to approach. Even if Kyra wanted information the woman had, she’d never be able to trust it.

Kyra moved past the alley, wondering why on earth you’d take a guy into a well-lit alley for sex when plenty of dark ones loomed close by, empty. Then again, people like Marna weren’t the greatest on-their-feet-thinkers. 

Most hookers weren’t exactly understated, but the red light in the alley made Marna’s sequined top flash like Vegas lights. The eyes of anyone looking into the alley would be drawn straight to the couple and their salacious activities. Marna’s top looked purple to Kyra’s eyes, but was probably a deep blue. The Mire’s red light cast everything in its own sheen. Marna’s hair, which Kyra knew to be platinum blond, looked bright pink. 

Shaking her head, Kyra moved on.

Hey you! Stop! The deep, boisterous voice froze her in her tracks, and Kyra spun in alarm. The voice stood out in the Mire like a fussy child’s in a quiet cathedral. Kyra immediately relaxed again. Big Johnny, standing near a fire pit barrel, motioned in an animated way while speaking to several hobos. Another staple of the Mire, Johnny was mentally handicapped and built like a linebacker. It amazed Kyra he managed to keep himself fed. From what she’d seen of him, he could do simple, odd jobs, and the Mirelings—the mildly decent ones, anyway—looked out for him as best they could. Even now, as his voice carried from down the street, several of the working girls approached him. Kyra couldn’t tell what had him all worked up, but the girls would calm him down.

Normally, Kyra might have stuck around to see what was going on. She couldn’t spare the time tonight. She spun and kept going.

Moving down M Street, she crossed into another maze of alleys, and headed toward the Carmichael District. Her destination sat on the outskirts. If she couldn’t get into the area unnoticed, she’d have to leave and come back next week. She winced at the idea of an entire week wasted, and quickened her step, practically power-walking now. 

When she reached the right part of town, the street was dark and quiet. Both ends of the alley that housed Josie’s lair were guarded by his goons. Experts at blending in with their surroundings, and too alert to be junkies, they milled about in one small area, looking bored. Once Kyra learned to recognize them, they stuck out like sore thumbs. Their nondescript clothes were in better repair than most in this part of town. More importantly, their hawkish eyes took in everything, rather than shifting nervously as the eyes of most Mirelings did. 

Kyra made her way to an alley entrance two blocks up. From there, she could make her way through the black passages until she came to her niche. Really more of a perch, a forgotten fire escape leading to nowhere was tucked away in an alley facing Josie’s front door. Utter blackness permeated the space, so there was little chance of being seen. Climbing to the lowest platform of the fire escape kept her fifteen feet off the ground. Even if someone happened by, they wouldn’t stumble upon her in the dark.

Josie’s security guards never bothered to watch the small, unlit alleys. When Kyra first arrived in Abstreuse and found this to be the case across the board, she thought it stupidity on the Sons of Ares’ part. As time went on, though, she realized it wasn’t. The kind of people who skulked in the unlit alleys of Abstreuse weren’t the kind that would threaten Josie’s business. Quite the opposite. Those kinds of people, too messed up to function without their substance of choice, were the gang’s number one customers. In Josie’s mind, there simply wasn’t any threat coming from those dank, filthy places. From what Kyra had seen, he was right. If someone staggered out of them, his guards would firmly see them on their way, but wouldn’t be threatened by them. 

Kyra reached the fire escape, climbed it quickly, and settled into her usual place. And just in time, too. Even as she got settled, a pale yellow SUV pulled up in front of Josie’s residence. Like most other structures in the Slip Mire, Josie’s building was a rat hole of a place that looked like it ought to be condemned. The building wore a brick exterior, with large chunks missing, broken, or merely crumbling away. She had no idea what the inside looked like, nor did she care.

A man, a woman, and two children exited the SUV. Accompanied by one of his loyal goons, Josie appeared from inside the building. A tall, skinny man with skin the color of chocolate milk and thick dread locks reaching to his hips, Josie spoke with a thick Caribbean accent that made him difficult to understand. He smiled widely, embraced the man, kissed the woman on each cheek, and scooped up the children, laughing and talking loudly. Due to his accent, Kyra only caught every third word, but she heard something about sweets and new toys. The boy wiggled out of Josie’s embrace, and got his hair ruffled on his way inside. Josie held onto the girl a little longer, smiling affectionately at her as he chatted with her parents. Eventually they all disappeared into the house. 

Kyra sighed and got to her feet, making her way down the fire escape. The little girl, Josie’s niece, was his favorite. Josie’s brother-in-law and sister visited him here once a week, always on the same night and in the same car. Three times now Kyra had observed their arrival, and she’d absorbed enough information to have a good idea of the family dynamics at play. 

The same goon always accompanied Josie to the door. Kyra’s sources named him Jenkins, and Josie’s right hand man. His head was buzzed and his nose was hooked. Tattoos covered his hands. Kyra knew nothing else. Information about him had been surprisingly hard to come by, but she’d keep digging and figure him out. Eventually.

Having assured herself of the family’s arrival, she headed toward the last place she’d tracked them. They always left using the same route and she had to map the entire thing before she could put her plan into play. It was difficult because she was on foot following a car. Each week, she’d gotten a little further before losing them. She hoped tonight she’d be able to finish the route, at least far enough for her purposes.

The previous week, she’d tracked them to a stop sign beside a small, little-used park, where they’d turned left. By the time she reached the stop sign, even the tail lights had disappeared, so she would be starting there tonight. 

She headed there now to wait for them to pass her. In truth, she could have just headed there to begin with and skipped the fire escape all together, but she preferred not to. There was no way to define all the possible variables of the situation just by watching, and she needed to define as many as she could. So she always watched them arrive, both to be sure they had come this week and also to make sure nothing had changed. Tonight nothing had.

Kyra plodded through the dark alleys, thinking about Josie.

After shooting the gangster Norse in the chest six weeks before to save Detective Nichols, Kyra had known she’d have to find another way to infiltrate the Sons of Ares. Her brother, Manny, had disappeared into the gang a year before, and the only way to find where he’d gone would be to become part of them. They wouldn’t trust her enough to tell her anything otherwise. 

Infiltrate the gang. Figure out where Manny was. Then leave the gang and go get him. Bring him home. A complicated plan—one she had to focus on one step at a time—but it was the only one she had. 

She’d wracked her brain and run through all her contacts and connections for two weeks, coming up empty. Not that there weren’t other ways into the gang, but most would require sex or violence, either on her part or done to her, and she couldn’t stomach either. She didn’t mind being knocked around a bit, but she certainly didn’t want to be raped by the gang members. She wouldn’t do violence on the gang’s behalf to gain entry either. 

Finally, Big Johnny had given her an avenue. He’d been nattering on about his friend who’d gotten a promotion while Kyra only half-listened. He said his friend was promoted after working for Josie McNeal for only two months. That caught Kyra’s attention. Josie McNeal was a low level drug runner for the Sons of Ares. She asked Johnny more pointed questions, and he told her his friend—Palo, apparently—had simply asked Josie for a job. Chances were it was more complicated than that—Big Johnny was simple-minded, after all—but she’d immediately zeroed in on Josie as a possible way into the gang.

She’d hit roadblocks, of course. From what she could tell, Josie had no women working for him. A few came and went from his place, but she suspected they were his mistresses or else just buying his product. After weeks of observing him, Kyra got the feeling Josie didn’t think women had a good enough head for business to employ them. If she wanted a job, she’d have to start off by making a big impression. She figured it would have to involve his family—those he cared most about in the world.

Kyra reached the stop sign next to the tiny park. It amazed her that anything of the sort existed within the boundaries of Abstreuse City. Not that it got much use from children. No parent in their right mind would bring their kids here. Not after dark, at the very least, and daylight wasn’t much better. The playground squatted in the darkness, no bigger than her hotel room, consisting only of two small swings, a rusted teeter-totter, and half of a monster truck tire for climbing. Not even a slide. Beside it, a small grassy area—perhaps half again as large as the playground—was probably the largest patch of green in the city, and poorly tended. Mostly a meeting place for deals and a campground for derelicts, she supposed.

Kyra suspected this place beside the stop sign might be the best choice for implementing her plan, but she didn’t like it. The only streetlight around for blocks shone down beside the stop sign. Its red hue cast a blood-like appearance over the park. Of course the one time she had to do something that might draw unwanted attention to her would be in the most open space in the city. She couldn’t shake the feeling of vulnerability that permeated the spot.

Kyra had been doing this, hiding in the shadows and living a double life, for so long that paranoia had become a staple for her. It wasn’t healthy, but in a place like this, that didn’t matter. She had to feed the paranoia, to embrace it, if she expected to survive Abstreuse City.

Upon reaching the stop sign, she turned right and crossed to the opposite side of the road where a large tree loomed. After a quick glance around to be sure no one skulked nearby, she folded her legs beneath her and settled down against the trunk to wait.

Sure enough, roughly thirty minutes later, headlights appeared. Kyra got to her feet, moving to one side of the tree and hugging the trunk with her body, counting on her dark getup and the city’s natural shadows to hide her. 

It wasn’t until the car drew near that Krya realized it wasn’t the right one. Josie’s family would be in their yellow SUV, and they should be appearing any moment. This car was smaller. A sedan of some kind, she thought. Putting her face to the tree trunk, she waited for the car to pass. As it came abreast of her, pausing at the stop sign, she risked a glance at the driver. He idled twenty feet away, and it was dark, but the red light overhead, shining down into the front seat of his car, gave her a surprisingly clear view. His hair looked dark, and pulled into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He had a strong jaw, broad shoulders, and his profile showed an aquiline nose. 

Kyra barely suppressed a gasp and chills tingled unpleasantly up and down her spine. It was him. The same man who’d been following her earlier. Who’d peered into the alley before disappearing. What on earth was he doing here? No possible way he could have followed her this far, right? Yet here he was, too great a coincidence to ignore.

He paused at the stop sign, swiveled his head in both directions, then peered ahead of him into the darkness, as though looking for something. Kyra hunched closer to the tree trunk, heart hammering.

The man sat back in his seat, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and not moving. Could he be searching for a particular address? Doubtful, in the middle of the night in the Carmichael District, or any part of the Slip Mire, for that matter. The longer he sat at the stop sign, the more nervous she got. This had moved beyond mere persistence. She didn’t like things she couldn’t get a handle on. In Abstreuse, that could be deadly. Kyra had a terrifying thought that maybe the man knew she hid there, and was watching her out of the corner of his eye, undecided. That was impossible, though. Wasn’t it?

After another minute of indecision, he turned on his blinker and pulled to the left, peering in both directions as he did. Kyra put her gaze straight ahead of her, on the trunk of the tree, and held statute-still until the sounds of his car faded in the distance. Only then did she breathe more easily, though her heart didn’t stop pounding. Figuring out that man’s identity was her next priority.

Not five minutes after the sedan disappeared, more headlights appeared in the distance. As they drew closer, it became apparent that these were the right ones. The car was the right shape and size. It drew nearer still, and Kyra could make out the pale yellow color. Pushing thoughts of the relentless stalker in the sedan away, she told herself to focus on tonight’s task. She couldn’t afford distraction.

Huddled beside the tree, she allowed the darkness to camouflage her as the SUV pulled up to the stop sign. Inside, the two children played and shouted loudly enough for Kyra to catch snippets of their voices, though the windows were all rolled up. The man driving pulled up to the sign, looked both ways despite the street being deserted, while his wife in the passenger seat turned to lecture the children.

Then, to Kyra’s surprise, they turned right. Last week, she’d seen them at the stop sign from a distance, but they’d turned left. She was sure of it.

Yet, the SUV went right and kept going. They didn’t make a U-turn or do any kind of round-about. Kyra sighed, watching the taillights dwindle, then turn left three blocks down. She’d been afraid of this. Someone like Josie, cautious enough of his family’s safety to only have them visit him in the dead of night, would be stupid to allow them to take the same route home every time. It only seemed like the same route because, up until this point, it had been. Turning a different way now could only mean the route would be different for the rest of the way each week. No point in following any further, then. Kyra needed somewhere she could count on them being with certainty. It would have to be between Josie’s house and here.

Kyra surveyed the stop sign and park anew, making plans. It would have to be here, at this exact spot. There was nowhere else far enough from Josie’s that she wouldn’t be seen. No other spot that would give her the opportunity. And no place more dangerous for it.

For ten minutes, she walked the site, running over every detail with her eyes. Then she went left, the same direction as the sedan. The next step would be to approach Clyde. He’d do anything for the right price, and had a flare for the dramatic. He’d eat this job right up. She just needed to be sure he wouldn’t ask any questions or gossip about what she asked him to do.

For the next half hour, she moved stealthily through the Carmichael district, hiding her passage in the shadows of silent warehouses and vacant, condemned former businesses. Windows of all kinds gazed down on her. Some yawned open, while others sat closed. Some broken, others boarded up. They all felt the same, though. Like eyes shut so long they’d become encrusted that way, peeking open to watch her pass. Her. Kyra. The one discerning spot on the opaque landscape of the Slip Mire. The one thing that didn’t belong, that wasn’t like the rest. She wasn’t here because circumstances landed her here, or because she had no other choice, or because she’d grown up a certain way and knew no other way of life. No, she was the one person, the one traveler through this alien land, who stayed because she chose to.

As she reached a particular street corner, she paused to glance up at an example of the ubiquitous graffiti that decorated the walls of the Carmichael district, just as it did most everywhere in the Slip Mire. This was a picture of a lizard of some kind—a chameleon, perhaps—topped with graffiti words she had no hope of deciphering.

This way, folks. Just follow Lenny and we’ll get you taken care of. 

Kyra jumped, and slowed as she neared the corner, straining to hear. The voice was male, jovial, and not far away. Strange. She’d purposely stayed away from streets like M and K that bustled with activity. She’d wanted quiet to think on her way back to her hotel. Not much moved in this part of the Carmichael district at this time of night.

Kyra peered carefully around the corner, and got the second surprise of the night. Across the way, a massive warehouse loomed. She couldn’t see how far back it stretched, but what she could see was extensive. Half the size of a football field at least. Two men ushered a group of Mirelings in through a side door. One of the men was tall with buzzed hair, a hooked nose, and tattoos peeking up from the neck of his dark colored shirt. It was Jenkins, Josie’s right hand man. He wore what appeared to be dark jeans and a black leather jacket, a different costume than what he wore when he hung around Josie. The second man had more hair, but was skeleton-thin, with eyes too large for his face. He wore apparel identical to Jenkins’. 

The people they ushered into the warehouse had to be junkies. One and all they walked with totem-thin frames, ragged clothing, and had gaunt, haunted eyes. Kyra counted six, though some might have gone in before she’d peered around the corner. 

Leaning back out of sight, Kyra tapped a finger silently against the brick wall inches from her face. So Jenkins, one of Josie’s top thugs, was involved in something inside that warehouse. Interesting. Yet, she didn’t know what to do with the information tonight. She couldn’t exactly walk up and ask him what he was up to. She willed them to hurry into the warehouse. That way she could prowl around and do some investigating. She could also check in with several of her contacts tonight. See if they knew about any deals going down in the Carmichael District. Sadie might be a good source to consult for this too. But all of that was contingent upon these people leaving the street so she could get past them. The six junkies moved more slowly than children.

Kyra waited, resisting the urge to tap her toe.

You think that’s enough for tonight? she recognized Jenkins’ voice. 

Probably, a second voice answered. Had to be the skinny one.

Another anomaly. These were exactly the kinds of junkies who were beneath the gang’s notice. Good customers, when they had the revenue, but most were too far gone and couldn’t afford the high or mid-grade stuff anyway. So what was Jenkins doing with them? And did Josie know about this little operation?

"Probably? We need to be sure, Dorner." Jenkins said.

Manny says if there’s at least a dozen a night, we’re good.

Kyra froze, her heart stopping for a full five seconds. Did he just say Manny?

Fine, then. If you’re sure.

Kyra whipped her head and shoulders around the corner, not caring if they heard or saw her. She caught sight of the skinny one—Dorner?—disappearing through the door. It shut behind him with a resounding thud. Kyra studied the warehouse, thinking. 

It couldn’t be, could it? Surely plenty of men in the world—even in Abstreuse City—had the name Manny. What were the chances of her happening upon a random conversation about the very person she was searching for, in the last place she’d have thought to look?

Kyra moved back around the corner and leaned her head against the cool brick of the wall. Actually, in her experience, very likely. Kyra didn’t believe in coincidence. Everything happened for a reason. If you put enough time and effort into anything, eventually you couldn’t help but achieve it. And not necessarily by your efforts, alone. Human beings constantly attracted like-minded things to themselves. If she searched long enough and hard enough, sooner or later she’d draw her brother to her. She believed that completely. And now she’d heard his name.

Peering around the corner again, she studied the warehouse, trying to take in details and draw conclusions. She wasn’t prepared for this. She needed to do some recon and figure out what was going on in there. Just the buying of substances, or something more?

A row of narrow windows up near the roof were the only ones the warehouse sported, and they were all dark. Kyra emerged from her hiding place, walking the length of the warehouse from across the street. Nothing. No movement, no people, no guards. If she’d arrived five minutes later and not overheard the two men talking, she would have thought this just another abandoned warehouse, like all its neighbors.

Then something caught her attention. In the far corner of the warehouse, a tiny thread of light came through one of the high, narrow windows. Wondering why light would show through one window and not the others, Kyra moved closer. It wasn’t as if each window represented a different room, after all. Even if there were divisions inside instead of one huge space, there should still be several windows to each division. When she stood directly under the window, she peered at it for several minutes, trying to decipher what she saw. The light didn’t shine through the entire window. It was more like a concentrated beam. A laser or penlight, perhaps?

Her mind jumped to understanding all at once, as it became clear. Something covered the window—paper or a tarp, perhaps—but it had a hole in it. Light came through the small hole, spilling hints of the warehouse’s nighttime secrets into the street.

Kyra ran her eyes along the line of windows. Probably all of them were covered to give the illusion of vacancy. In reality, lights were on in there. Activity of some kind. Based on what the two men said to the junkies—we’ll get you taken care of—probably drug deals. Jenkins worked for Josie, who worked for the Sons of Ares. So Manny being connected to this was actually a likely possibility.

Leaning forward, Kyra put her palms against the side of the building. She didn’t know what she expected to feel. A good feeling, perhaps, about exploring more? She didn’t feel warmth, or peace, or even a drive to move forward. Only cold and shadow emanated from the brick. 

A dark, foreboding feeling stole into Kyra’s chest. Drug deals she could handle. Manny was a part of the drug world even before he disappeared. He was also a good man. She had no idea if the Manny Dorner mentioned was her Manny. If he was, there couldn’t be anything worse than drug deals going on in there. Manny wouldn’t be part of anything sinister. She didn’t think enough time had passed for him to be very high up in the gang hierarchy, so perhaps this really wasn’t him. If it was, it gave Kyra a kind of hope. The business side of things would be what Manny would be drawn to. He was a smart guy—smarter than she’d ever been in school—and he’d more likely be part of something like that than the more base, violent aspects of the gang. 

Stepping back, Kyra rubbed her forehead, unsure what to do. She couldn’t just leave. No, she needed to be sure. She had to go in, investigate. 

No time like the present, Roberts, she muttered to herself. Resolutely, she began circling the warehouse again.

Chapter 2

Gabe had never been to prison. Not as a prisoner, at any rate. He worked the opposite side of the law, but sometimes he thought he might as well be in a cell with the amount of paperwork his job shackled him to.

Aw man. How can it already be this busy? Tyke’s blond hair fell into his eyes as he rifled through papers on his desk. He wore jeans and a t-shirt decorated with a fox chasing its tail. No doubt a gift from his kids.

Gabe spared a glance for his partner before going back to the report in front of him. 

Though the comment was loud enough to hear, it had been more mutter than anything else. Probably rhetorical. Tyke wasn’t wrong, though. Already the station bustled. Cops and detectives moved in and out, sometimes escorting handcuffed citizens. Phones rang. Floor fans pushed the close, stale air around, but didn’t cool the station at all. 

Shaun had been throwing Gabe significant looks since he’d arrived half an hour ago. Gabe had ignored them so far, hoping to get some work done before his boss roped him into something that would eat up all his time.

Not that it was Shaun’s fault. Despite the coming of winter—a time when the crime rate should be diminishing because of the colder temperatures—violent crimes were up. The Prowlers were up to something. Every cop Gabe talked to agreed that they were behind the crime spree—they were always in or conveniently close to the crimes—though no one could connect them to anything concretely or say what they were up to. And the Sons of Ares were unsettlingly quiet, which could only mean the calm before a storm. Gabe sighed. He had the feeling they were in for a miserable winter in Abstreuse.

When someone came to stand in front of his desk ten minutes later, Gabe looked up into his boss’s face and sighed. He went back to the report in front of him before speaking. Got a call for me already?

Shaun’s gaze was so serious when Gabe glanced up again, that his hand froze over the paper. What?

We need to talk, Gabe.

Gabe set his pen down, moving the pit bull paper weight his mother had given him for Christmas to sit on top of the reports, and squared his shoulders. Shaun’s face rarely looked this solemn.

What is it?

The cross.

Understanding filled Gabe’s chest and he took a deep breath. As usual, on the anniversary of his brother’s disappearance—six weeks past, now—someone who Gabe believed to be the man who’d taken Dillon, had sent a string of rosary beads. This year they’d been made of plain wood. For the sake of thoroughness, Gabe always sent them to the lab to be tested for fingerprints, DNA, and trace evidence. Nothing ever turned up. They weren’t part of an active case, not priority samples, so it often took many weeks to get the results back. Because the results came back the same every year—that was to say, nada—Gabe had no right to be disappointed, but he always had to prepare himself. 

If the results were the same as usual, Shaun would have just told him that, with nothing more than a regretful expression. Standing there, tree-trunk legs planted wide and boulder-sized arms crossed over his chest, gazing down at Gabe over his thick, handlebar mustache, Shaun looked downright disturbed. 

Planting his feet, Gabe straightened his legs slowly, pushing his seat away with the backs of his knees. What’s wrong? They didn’t...actually find something? It was only half a question.

Across from Gabe’s desk, Tyke’s blond head snapped up from his work and he stared at Shaun with rapt attention. 

Why don’t we speak in my office, Gabe? Shaun said quietly.

Tyke arched an eyebrow. As Shaun spoke, Cora returned to her desk beside Tyke’s. Her black, shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a French braid tonight. It made the angles of her face sharper. For her, that meant a fierce sort of beauty. She started to sit, then heard Shaun’s words and glanced worriedly between the three men. 

Gabe glanced at his two fellow detectives. He and Tyke had been partners for nearly two years. Cora had been partnered with the detective that used the now-vacant desk on Gabe’s right. That detective—Ed Marquez—had transferred several months ago. A replacement still hadn’t been found. Not shocking.