Damaged Hope: Street Games, #3

By L.K. Hill

Hope falters. Sanity begins to fracture...

 

Blank, staring eyes and dismembered limbs fill Kyra's vision.

After the horror of the Carmichael District, Kyra continues her search, but avoiding the Mire's psychotic killer grows ever more difficult. Now, he may be targeting her.

The mystery surrounding Gabe's brother's disappearance deepens as the suspect in custody is questioned, but speaks in riddles. If Gabe can decipher the strange clues, perhaps he can finally bring his brother's body home. Meanwhile, the murders in the Slip Mire are escalating.

Kyra and Gabe face new, darker challenges in their search for missing brothers. Every victory brings setbacks and complications. They have little to push them forward now except determination and hope. Even that feels damaged.

Investigate the deepest recesses of the Mire with Kyra, and the most isolated of country locales with Gabe in the third installment of this epic crime thriller!

"Kyra [is] smart, resourceful, and gritty. She's got steel in her spine. This is the woman I think we need to see more of in fiction."-Rebecca A., The Missing Lynx

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liesel Hill
• Release date: Sep 26, 2017
• ISBN: 9781393127239

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

Prologue

Officer John Morris swung his car into the alley. His eyes fell upon the mob of Mirelings. They looked restless. Dangerous. He cursed. Not good.

Another cruiser already sat on site. Two cops wouldn’t make much difference if a mob this size turned violent, though. 

Throwing his car into park, Morris leapt from the vehicle. Colt, the other officer present, had worked the job for more than three years, but only transferred to Abstreuse a handful of months before. This city had a learning curve all its own. 

Colt stood in the center of roughly fifty rowdy Mirelings, his face grim and controlled. He jerked from side to side, as if deciding to act, then changing his mind—a tell-tale sign he didn’t know what to do.

Officer Colt, Morris called loudly, causing much of the crowd to swivel toward him. He pushed his way through the Mirelings to stand beside his fellow officer. What’s happening here? Dispatch reported a disturb— Morris trailed off when ‘the disturbance’ came into view. 

Six feet in front of Colt, also encircled by the mob of Mirelings, a young woman staggered in a drunken circle. She wore dark, baggy clothes over pale skin. Spiky black hair stuck out from her head. 

Morris recognized her. He couldn’t bring her name to mind. He and Detective Nichols had chased her into the Mire one night, weeks ago. She’d been part of the big Carlotta scandal case.

Nichols hadn’t been particularly forthcoming in her role. Morris got the distinct impression that discretion was crucial. He’d assumed her to be UC or possibly a CI, but hadn’t pushed for information. 

Now, she appeared to be drunk and surrounded by enemies. Lurching in lopsided circles, she barely stayed on her feet. She seemed to be trying to speak. Only groans and slurred gibberish came from her lips. The Mirelings around her cat called. Some threw pebbles they’d picked up off the pavement. Vultures circling a sickly animal.

Morris doubted she was a cop. An undercover would never be in this altered state. A CI, then. Informants could still be junkies. Those who informed for the police had to be reliable, and this young woman just lost that reliability, at least to some extent.

Every choice had both good and bad consequences, especially in the Mire. Perhaps this was simply a bad day for Nichols' CI. 

Morris lowered his voice for Colt alone. What happened? Did you see what she took?

No. Colt matched Morris’s volume. When I arrived, they were already like this. I approached her, and she freaked out. Started screaming. I backed off. This mob is barely controlled. I’m worried her screaming will whip them into a frenzy.

Morris frowned. Colt was right. The people in this mob were the kind who preyed on the weak. They saw the state of this young woman and thought to rob her, or worse.

Morris had heard Colt answer Dispatch's call over the radio. He came anyway only because he’d been nearby, and the night felt uncharacteristically quiet. If the night were busier, Colt would be handling this himself. Why didn’t you call for backup?

Colt nodded subtly toward the Mirelings on their right. Morris glanced to where Colt indicated. That part of the mob included a group of men, all looking at the young woman like hungry dogs at a piece of meat. 

I don’t dare walk away, Colt said. I’m afraid she’ll be attacked.

Morris nodded. We need to get her into one of the cruisers, he said. Follow my lead, son.

He and Colt moved forward together, the eyes of the crowd following them closely. Morris approached the spiky-haired woman with out-stretched hands. 

Ma’am?

She didn’t respond or acknowledge him. Still swaying on her feet, her head fell back, then forward, then back again, as though too heavy to hold up. Groans and gurgles issued from her throat. Not until Morris drew close did he realize her face glistened with tears and her heavy breathing came at least partly from sobs.

Ma’am? My name is Officer Morris.

She turned toward him, her eyes so full of cobwebs from whatever she'd taken, they didn't focus on him. Still, she reached out a hand in his direction.

Morris moved cautiously forward, not wanting to spook her. In his periphery, he registered Colt stepping bodily in front of the rowdy Mirelings, who kept trying to move around him. Morris needed to be quick. This could get out of hand in a matter of minutes.

The spiky-haired woman didn’t seem to register his presence, even when he stood directly in front of her. Ignoring her outstretched arm, he laid a hand gently on her arm. 

She jumped back with a gasp and lost her footing, falling onto her back. Her groans became high-pitched keening and she attempted to flip onto her stomach. She didn't seem to have full control of her limbs and only managed it after several tries. 

Morris lunged forward and grabbed her arms, pulling them around behind her back. She struggled so weakly, Morris had no problem holding her. He easily secured her wrists with his cuffs. 

When he’d lunged for her, some of the onlookers did too. Colt stood beside Morris and stared them down. The rookie excelled at exuding an air of calm, confident danger. It always unnerved weaker-minded people and tonight was no exception. Those who might have wanted to start trouble wilted under his gaze and backed up. 

Morris spoke loudly enough for the crowd to hear him.

I don’t know what she took. She can sleep it off in booking. Best thing for her.

She continued to squirm and gurgle.

Morris lifted her easily and he and Colt moved back toward the squad cars together. 

The crowd immediately dispersed, the less-interested Mirelings on the outer edges disappearing into the shadows. Others watched for longer before deciding the show had ended.

Morris maneuvered the dark-haired woman toward his car. Colt opened the door and Morris put a hand on her head, pushing it down so she wouldn’t injure herself getting in. Once she’d collapsed onto the back seat, she stopped squirming, dropped her head back against the head rest, and lay still.  

Morris closed the door firmly and turned to Colt, who looked worried. You did good, son.

Should we interview witnesses? Colt asked doubtfully.

Morris shrugged. He studied the young woman in his car. For the first time since he’d arrived, she appeared relaxed. At least, she didn’t seem to be in distress.

I suppose we could spare a minute or two. I doubt we’ll learn much.

Morris returned to the small ring of Mirelings still loitering in the alley. Clearing his throat, he raised his voice. Did anyone see anything? Does anyone know this young woman’s identity?

As Morris suspected, his questions immediately thinned the remainder of the crowd. Most turned away when Morris’s gaze fell on them. Others ducked their heads, muttering about remembering other places they needed to be. Morris swept his eyes over them, looking for any takers. 

To his surprise, a woman on his left met his gaze. Briefly. Then she turned swiftly away. 

You.

She froze and slowly turned back. Her orange-red hair hung below her shoulders. She might have been pretty had her lifestyle been more forgiving. Morris didn’t have to scrutinize her clothes to identify her as a working girl. It was a damn cold night be standing on street corners. 

Do know this woman? He nodded toward his car. 

The red-headed woman hesitated before nodding. I know who she is.

What’s her name? Morris asked.

Supra.

She got a last name? Colt chimed in.

The woman shook her head. No. I don’t know. Most people ‘round here don’t really...have them.

Morris nodded. Supra. The name sounded vaguely familiar. He’d probably heard it before, back when the Carlotta scandal happened.

Did you see what she took?

Again, the woman hesitated. No. She cast a wistful glance toward where the other Mirelings had disappeared into the darkness, no doubt wishing she could too. A friend of mine, she got here before me. Said some guy, a shadow, carried Supra out of there. She pointed to a tar-black alley across the way. No red light illuminated the passage. 

Morris had worked in the Mire long enough to be at least somewhat familiar with its geography but didn’t recall where this route led. 

Where does it let out? he asked the woman.

She shrugged. I think it goes to Old Abstreuse. Don’t know for sure. I never went down there.

Morris gazed down at her. What’s your name?

The red head glanced away, fear in her eyes.

Morris waited.

Sadie, she whispered. I don’t have no phone number or nothing. I live in the Mire.... He held up a hand and she trailed off. 

Sadie, can you think of any reason Supra would go into Old Abstreuse?

Sadie shook her head. No, the opposite. Her work depends on people. Meetin's. Nothin’ in Old Abstreuse but empty buildings. And ghosts.

What kind of work does she do?

Sadie’s head dropped, and he felt her clamming up. Something gang-related then, or otherwise illegal. 

Anything else you can tell us? he asked.

Sadie glanced up and away several times. If he had to guess, he’d say she debated whether to answer. She don’t look good, Sadie sighed. Will she be okay?

If she needs medical help, we’ll be sure she gets it, Morris said gently. More than likely she took something and needs to sleep it off.

That’s the thing, Sadie shrugged self-consciously. Supra don’t take things. She’s real smart. Does the business side of things, but she don’t sample the merchandise. Ever. If she is on somethin’, someone made her take it. Forced her. She wouldn’t do it on her own.

Morris studied Sadie. 

I don’t know nothin’ else, she mumbled, wilting under his gaze. 

She refused to look him in the eye again and instead stood shivering in the cold. 

Thank you, Sadie, Morris said quietly. For your help.

He turned away.

Officer?

Morris turned back. 

If you see her when she wakes up, will you tell her I’m worried for her?

I’ll tell her.

She gave him a fleeting, grateful smile before hurrying away.

Morris and Colt moved to their squad cars.

Supra still sat in the rear seat. Her head rested on the seat back, looking toward the roof of the car. Her eyes stayed shut and whimpers escaped her lips every few seconds. 

You think this is more than a stoned Mireling, Colt said quietly. It wasn’t a question.

I don’t know what the hell is going on, Morris said quietly. I’ve seen this woman before, he indicated Supra. I think she may be a CI or UC.

Colt raised an eyebrow. Really?

Morris nodded. Let’s take her in. I need to call Detective Nichols. 

Chapter 1

Ayellow bandana, like the one Dillon always wore. Always. He’d been wearing it the day he disappeared. 

The lab tech, a young Asian guy named David, laid it out on the metal table. The room reeked of ammonia. 

David reached gloved hands into the box and pulled out the second object. A tall, plastic bottle labeled Castile Soap. Gabe had never heard of such a thing before. 

Memories of the most recent victim in the Slip Mire, an unidentified prostitute with a slashed throat, filled Gabe's mind. Bailey found a thick, clear, slippery substance—she'd guessed dish soap of some kind—on the victim’s clothing. The lab hadn’t yet sent Gabe test results on the substance. Even if it proved similar to castile soap, the killer in the Mire had nothing to do with Dillon’s disappearance. 

The final object baffled Gabe as much as the soap. An antique coin of some kind.

Gabe saw all three things in the box three hours before. He'd kept his head enough not to touch any of them. Now the tech handled them with care, so as not to mar any potential evidence. 

Gabe had recognized the bandana immediately with a jolt so jarring, he’d been unable to breathe properly for a full minute. Tears poured over his cheeks as he stared at it. 

The box came from Dillon’s killer. No doubt about that. It threw a wrench into Gabe's entire existence. His mind reeled like a kaleidoscope and, when he finally managed to punch the button for Tyke's number on his phone, he couldn't form coherent sentences.

Gabe, what's the matter? Tyke's voice came worriedly through the line, after Gabe forced enough voice through his throat to identify himself. Sounds of Tyke's two small daughters, giggling and screeching came through as well.

I...Dillon...

Tyke's voice grew panicky. What? What about him?

Gabe simply couldn't find any words.

Gabe, talk to me, man. 

When Gabe still didn't, Tyke took a deep breath. I'll be there in ten minutes.

Gabe didn't know how much time passed, but when Tyke arrived, Shaun burst into Gabe's kitchen on his heels. Tyke must have called him.

The two of them stood there, gazing down at the box on the table, Gabe slumping in the chair next to it.

They asked no questions. Tyke slowly took the chair next to Gabe. Shaun dug out his phone, muttering through his gray-lined mustache about starting the chain-of-evidence procedure.

Twenty minutes later, he scooped the box into his boulder-like arms and headed for the lab. 

You're absolutely sure, Detective? David asked, jolting Gabe from his thoughts.

I'm sure Dillon wore one exactly like that. He had it tied around his leg when he disappeared. If it's not his, the kidnapper took pains to recreate it exactly.

David nodded. We'll test it for DNA. I understand your brother's is in the system?

Gabe nodded, feeling numb. The bandana had been included in the description that went out to police and news outlets the night Dillon was taken. Now here it sat, in a box at Gabe’s fingertips. Tattered, faded, yet exactly the same. Unique, because the bandana had originally been red. Dillon spray-painted it yellow. Spots of red peered through the now-faded yellow paint. He’d recognize it anywhere. 

What is Castile soap? Gabe asked. 

Soap without chemicals, the tech answered. You have to go to an all-natural specialty store to find it.

Can we even be sure that's what's in the bottle, David? Tyke asked. He stood behind Gabe, watching. 

I'll test it to be sure, David answered.  

What about the coin, Gabe? Tyke asked. Does it mean anything to you, now that you can see it better?

Gabe already told Tyke and Shaun he didn't recognize the coin. He could tell they hoped when he examined it more closely, something would occur to him.

He stepped forward and David, grasping the coin gingerly by the edges, held it out to him, turning it over when Gabe motioned to him. 

He'd never seen it before. Nothing like it had ever been associated with Dillon's case as far as he knew.

Gabe glanced at Tyke. Sorry. 

Disappointment flashed across Tyke's boyish features. He scrubbed his hand through his blond hair and addressed David. It looks like an antique.

Yeah, I'd say so, David nodded. Looks Roman, but I'm no coin expert. You may want to find one and ask them. I'll test all these and get the results to you ASAP.

Gabe, staring at the bandana again, barely registered David's words.

Thank you, Tyke answered. He put a hand on Gabe's arm. Gabe, let's go. Nothing more to do here until the results come back.

Gabe turned reluctantly and followed Tyke out. 

Darkness had fallen hours before. Rust colored illumination filtered down from grimy street lights. Still, the parking lot was relatively well-lit. 

Tyke stopped between his and Gabe's cars. You know the results won't be back for a while. Why don't you go home and get some rest?

Gabe's first instinct was to argue, but sleep sounded good to him. His thoughts roamed all over the place, as much from exhaustion as from the emotions the box conjured.

Yeah. Okay. 

He turned to his car.

Gabe.

Gabe didn't turn back to his friend. He stared at his dark reflection in the car's window.

When he didn't answer, Tyke stepped up beside him. Their reflections were twin pillars of darkness. Except Tyke's pillar stood taller and had blonder hair.

I know there's no way this box won't freak you out, Gabe. I know it's important. But maybe you should let it lie.

Gabe's head snapped toward Tyke in astonishment.

Only for a few days, Tyke said, raising his hands in a calming gesture.

What do you mean, 'let it lie'?

"Hear me out. I know we can't not investigate it—"

No, we can't, Gabe said firmly.

—But maybe you should let me or Cora handle it for a while.

Gabe stared at him.

This killer is toying with us, and you're too close to this. Tyke took a deep breath. If we keep doing what he wants, following where he leads, you know sooner or later it will end in disaster. You may get to the point where you'll wish you'd never followed the clues at all.

Anger rose at Tyke's suggestion. It drained away now. Gabe stared down at his reflection again.

Gabe—

I hear you, Tyke. The thought has crossed my mind before too. But it doesn’t matter. He turned his back to the car and leaned against the door. It doesn't matter that we've both thought it, or how true it is. This has been an open wound in my life since I was six years old. I can't— he stopped before his voice broke.

Tyke seemed to sense it. I know, he said quietly.

I'm not naïve, Tyke. Wherever this leads, it won't be good. I still have to follow it. Maybe, when I reach the end of this twisted rope, I can finally lay my brother to rest. He studied the pavement by his shoes. I'll need you on this.

You know I'm here. Always.

Gabe nodded. He registered a rush of affection for Tyke, but barely felt it under the bolder weight in his chest. Thank you.

GABE SIGHED HEAVILY. You’ve got to be shitting me, he muttered. Aloud he said, She checked out? 

Yes, Detective, the middle-aged hotel receptionist answered. She hesitated. There is something else. Perhaps I should get my manager. Do you mind waiting?

Gabe frowned. Not at all.

The receptionist disappeared through a door behind the desk and Gabe moved into the lobby, full of overstuffed chairs and couches, the kind seen in any hotel. Sinking into one, he rubbed the stubble on his jaw, wondering where Kyra had disappeared to now. What else could there be from a hotel Kyra no longer lodged at?

The acrid smell of paint filled Gabe's nose. Transparent tarps and construction supplies filled one corner of the lobby. 

He'd slept through the night after leaving Tyke in the parking lot, and awakened wanting to see Kyra's face.

Gabe left her in the hospital only twelve hours before. Why did she have to be so flighty? He had no way to know where she’d gone unless she contacted him. He’d already tried her cell. Disconnected. Which meant she’d dumped it and gotten a new one. 

How could she disappear on him like this? Again? He wanted to both kiss and throttle her.

Not only did he feel bad for how he’d left things last night—kissing her and leaving her in tears—but with the box and especially the bandana, he wanted to talk to her. Needed to.

Detective Nichols.

A blond, athletic man, a head shorter than Gabe, stood looking down at him. 

Yes. Gabe stood and shook the man’s outstretched hand.

Dalton Lee, General Manager, the man said. I understand you’re looking for Ms. Richardson?

Gabe nodded, recognizing the alias Kyra used to check into the hotel. Yes.

I’m afraid you’ve missed her by a matter of hours. She checked out this morning. Lee hesitated. Is she...in any trouble?

She’s being tailed by a band of homicidal gangsters plus the Abstreuse mob. What do you think?

I actually spoke to her last night, Gabe answered. I didn’t realize she planned to check out today. Need to follow up on a few things. I don’t suppose she gave you any indication of where she went?

The manager sounded apologetic. No, I’m sorry.

Gabe nodded. The receptionist said there was something else?

Lee raised an eyebrow. Actually, if you spoke to her last night, perhaps she already told you.

Doubtful, Gabe thought. She tells me nothing.

"Perhaps detaining you was unnecessary, Lee went on. Did Ms. Richardson already mention the vandalism?"

Gabe raised an eyebrow. Something constricted in his middle. Vandalism?

Ah. Lee said. Perhaps it’s best if you follow me, Detective.

Gabe followed the blond manager through the cookie cutter corridors of his hotel, not bothering to keep track of twists and turns.

Finally, Lee pointed to a door ahead and on their left. The wall jutted out in front of it so Gabe couldn’t see what Lee pointed to until he stood directly in front of the door.

Gabe’s jaw dropped. Terror gripped his insides. His heart pounded painfully in his chest and panic gripped his brain.

Spray-painted across the door, four letters glared back at him. G-A-A-P.

Lee glanced at Gabe’s face and did a double take. Detective Nichols, are you all right?

"This is her room?"

Uh, Lee looked flabbergasted at Gabe’s reaction. Y-yes. Ms. Richardson’s.

Gabe whirled on the smaller man, who staggered back two steps. Did she get hurt?

Lee held up his hands in a placating manner. Desperation and worry warred on his face. Of course not. Detective, please. Ms. Richardson wasn’t even here. I showed her when she returned to the hotel last night. She knew nothing about it.

Gabe took a deep breath and told himself to get a grip. This must have been why Kyra checked out. Why didn’t she come straight to him? 

The next moment, he answered his own question. Because Kyra knew nothing of Gaap or what Bronco told them about Chyna. She wouldn't know of the link between this bizarre combination of letters and the killer in the Mire. Or did she? Could she have left the hotel because she encountered the word somewhere in the Mire on her own?

Did you call the police? Gabe asked.

We filed a report immediately, yes.

Gabe nodded. The report would eventually make its way to his desk. It hadn't been long enough yet for whoever took the report to connect it to Gabe's case. What else did she say? he asked Lee, barely keeping the edge out of his voice. Did she know what it meant?

No, she said she didn’t. Must have been a random act of vandalism. Only chance that her door—

"This is not chance," Gabe burst out. He shouldn't be saying such things to a layman, but his heart pounded faster by the minute with fear for Kyra's safety. 

Lee blinked in surprise. 

Has the room been cleaned by your housekeeping staff since this happened? As he said it, Gabe noticed the same tarps and paint from the lobby sitting six feet away in the corridor. Renovations.

Lee shook his head slowly. We have to bring an appraiser in first to assess for damage—

No! Gabe moderated his tone. No appraisers. Don’t clean this up. No one goes into this room until we clear it. This is a crime scene, Mr. Lee.

Lee’s eyes opened to the size of tennis balls. A crime—? How so, detective? Other than the obvious vandalism, I mean. Ms. Richardson was not harmed.

Gabe shook his head. This is something else. This word, he pointed to the paint, is tied to another case I’m working. Ms. Richardson wouldn’t have known what it meant. I’m going to call CSU. They need to sweep the room and this outer area for anything left behind by the person who made this mark. Do you understand?

Lee appeared terrified, but nodded. Yes.

No one goes in or out other than law enforcement.

Lee nodded solemnly this time. Okay.

Good. Gabe spun, punching numbers on his phone as he sprinted for his car.

Chapter 2

The old woman sat on the street corner half a block away. Kyra peered around the corner and studied her. Matted white hair made a nest above the dark, wrinkle-ridden face. Even from this distance, Kyra identified a hunched back and white cataracts covering both eyes. Results of a lifetime of substance abuse and malnutrition. 

She stepped back, resting against the dirty brick wall. This had to go perfectly if she wanted to continue her employment with Josie. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her spine. No, no straight spines in the mire. She dropped her shoulders into a practiced hunch and stepped around the corner.

Walking casually—not too directly but also not loitering—Kyra moved toward the old woman’s corner. Darkness trickled across the dome of the heavens. The western sky remained relatively light.

Kyra focused on the old woman to her self-consciousness at bay. She wasn’t used to being out in her Supra getup this early. She usually waited until hours after dark to venture forth.

Josie insisted upon this time frame, though. The feeling of eyes watching from the shadows didn’t help things, though she knew whom the eyes belonged to. Josie would have sent his goons to watch her every move, searching for any sign of deviation. 

Kyra walked past the old woman, paused. Digging into her pocket, she pulled out some lose change. Leaning down toward the old woman, she tilted her hand so the coins slid off her palm and into the dingy felt hat by the woman’s knee. Two quarters and a one-dollar bill already gazed up forlornly from the hat’s depths. 

Kyra dropped her voice to a whisper and did her best to enunciate without moving her lips. The merman will have an adventure in the East bay when the sun is high.

Kyra straightened her spine and moved away, fighting the urge to cut her eyes left and right. The old woman made no indication she’d heard. 

On any other day, Kyra would have secreted herself in the shadows and watched what the old woman did with the information.

Would she rise and report to someone else? Would another messenger lean toward her to collect Kyra’s words from the old woman’s lips? Kyra didn’t know. She didn’t have the system all worked out yet, and Josie only told her things on a need-to-know basis.

Now his men watched from the shadows—she still felt them—to make sure she did her job and didn’t take any detours on the way back to Josie’s. She'd have to figure out his system in more detail once she’d proved he could trust her to do her job. 

She hadn't cracked the code yet. The merman most likely referred to Josie. Being the boss, he let his people know when and where various transactions happened. The adventure meant a transaction of some kind.

Kyra didn't know if they used the term for every transaction, or if it suggested a particular type. A certain drug, perhaps? East bay. A coded location, obviously, but no way to decipher where. It might be any place in the city. Josie’s people knew the code. Kyra would learn it in time. For now, Josie hadn’t seen fit to offer the key.

She made her way methodically through the Mire, not bothering to keep to the shadows or shake the eyes that followed her back toward Josie’s place of operations. Let them see her perform her duties with confidence and a steady heartbeat. 

Twenty minutes later, Josie’s house came into view. The man himself stood at his front door, the dim light behind him silhouetting his lean, wiry frame. He slouched lazily against the door, flanked by two enormous bodyguards. He caught sight of her and straightened, his waist-length dreadlocks swaying. 

She walked directly up to him. His guards made no move to stop her. 

Josie's expression held mild surprise. You did do good work for me tonight, he said. The disbelief seeped through his thick, Caribbean accent.

Don’t sound so impressed, she said dryly.

He arched an eyebrow. You’d be surprised how few people can follow simple instructions.

Obviously, I can, she ventured warily.

Mm. He sounded skeptical. Come back tomorrow. Perhaps dere will be more messages for you to deliver.

I can do more than deliver messages, Kyra said quickly.

Dat remains to be seen. Tomorrow night. Same time. Aleck, he addressed the bulky man on his right. Pay de, he paused, probably for dramatic effect, woman.

He looked her up and down bawdily then turned and staggered into the house. 

Kyra waited until he turned before she rolled her eyes. She quickly schooled her face when Aleck—head and shoulders taller than she with arms like hams and dark clothes that bulged with weaponry in half a dozen places—stepped in front of her. He held out a brown paper bag, wrapped several times around whatever it held. 

Kyra took it and tucked it behind her belt without glancing at it. It didn’t feel particularly thick. She pulled her black, bulky shirt down over it anyway. No need to be seen carrying cash through the Mire.

She nodded to Aleck. He nodded back. 

Trying not to sigh, she turned and strode away. What would she do the rest of the night?

Before getting work with Josie, Kyra would have used the hours to make contacts, trying to find more ways into the gang. Now she’d found one. Perhaps she could check in with other contacts. It wasn't vital, though. 

Her hotel wasn't an option either. With Josie's men watching her now, she didn’t dare go back as often. She’d slept on Sadie's couch for a week. 

Trudging toward M Street, Kyra kept to the well-lit alleyways, bypassing the darker ones leading into the deeper recesses of the Mire. That’s where the Prowlers lived. Kyra knew better than to go too many alleys deep and risk running into them. She’d learned her lesson there. 

Another, particularly dark alley on her left would have been her gateway to the Carmichael District, if she’d wanted to go there.

Kyra shuddered and hurried past it. She’d avoided that part of the city for the past week. Most Mirelings had. Not only were the police still cleaning up the mess at the warehouse, but memories of what happened there haunted Kyra.

She’d slept precious little in the past five days because of them. Every time she drifted off, gory images, horrific sounds and stomach-churning smells came, unbidden, into her mind, and she awoke in a cold sweat. 

Police. Gabe.

She needed to go see him. She owed him that much. After what happened between them in the hospital, she’d needed some space. It felt cowardly, but seeing Gabe would have to wait until she wasn’t being tailed. A few more days at least.

Kyra folded her arms against the chilly air. Winter had arrived in the Mire. Due to the desert locale, snow rarely stuck. Night temperatures had become frigid, though, and the Mirelings deserted the streets much earlier than during the summer. In nice weather, the Mire’s streets remained full until one or two A.M. Now she rarely saw many people out past midnight.  

Coming to a T-bone intersection of alleys, Kyra glanced to the left, and froze. Down the left alleyway, a silhouette limped slowly away from her.

She frowned, stepped back into the shadows, and watched the person staggering away. Something about his walk tugged at a memory. Did she know this person? She wracked her brain but couldn’t think of any contacts with a limp like that. Yet, she’d seen it before. Where?

The moving silhouette melded with the natural shadows of the Mire in the distance, until she couldn’t distinguish it anymore. 

She leaned back against the brick and shut her eyes, trying to bring the memory up. The walk, like the person had trouble picking up their feet, and...cursing? The memory bloomed. This man walked past her the night she shot Norse to protect Gabe.

A moment later, a tall man, strongly built for this part of the city, stumbled by them. He didn’t seem drunk but it was hard to tell because he dragged his feet, as though he couldn’t make them walk any more quickly. Shaggy hair fell almost to his shoulders and whatever item of clothing he wore from the waist down was short, leaving most of his legs bare. Kyra couldn’t tell anything else about him, though. He passed by their alley, not even glancing in their direction, muttering to himself. She couldn’t understand what he said, other than catching vile curse words every so often.

She and Gabe had hidden from Norse’s gang buddies, trying to get back to where Gabe’s fellow officers still waited. Emerging from one particular alley, they’d nearly run into a Mireling who’d cursed and dragged his feet that way. Kyra completely forgot about him. Now she also remembered having a terrible nightmare about him later.

Kyra blinked, and when she opened her eyes, the man had moved. Now he squatted directly in front of her, his face inches from hers, snarling and baring his teeth. His eyes were red and menacing and a guttural growl emanated from his throat. Kyra tried to scramble backward, but she was paralyzed in the manner of dreams.... This city. Is. Mine. With the final word, he slammed his shoulder in Kyra’s chest, knocking her backward. Crying out, Kyra lunged into a sitting position on her bed, chest heaving....

The dream came back full force and she shivered. This must be the same man she’d seen while squatting in the alley with Gabe. They’d hidden from him because a loud altercation with a drunk Mireling might have exposed their location to their pursuers. Kyra’s dream had probably been caused more by what went down with Norse and how much it disturbed her than about the limping Mireling. 

Still.... She peered after him down the left alleyway. Her chest twisted and heaved in a strange way, compelling her to follow. 

A question occurred to her. If this guy traveled the Mire regularly, why hadn’t she seen him more often? She supposed he might be the type who only ventured out to buy product. Perhaps she hadn't seen enough of him to recognize him. Or perhaps he spent most of his time in another part of the city and only came into the Mire on occasion. 

Kyra glanced around. She stood one layer deep here, one alley away from busy M street. Once it became busy, voices, cars, and the murmur of people would fill the air. For now, nothing. It seemed entirely deserted.

"It’s so early," she muttered. Even if she wandered around talking to people for a time, she’d be bored inside of two hours. What then? Go back to Sadie’s as Sadie ventured out to work the Mire’s street corners? Spend the rest of the night staring at the blank walls of Sadie’s apartment? 

Pressing her lips together for three more seconds, Kyra made a decision and headed down the left passageway to follow the silhouette. She would keep her distance and observe. Most likely looking for a place to go to ground for the night, this Mireling probably wouldn't prove to be of much interest. Yet, the limp nagged at her. She wanted to know why. 

She quickened her step for a full five minutes before the limping silhouette materialized from the darkness ahead of her. She crept from shadow to shadow and matched Limping Guy's pace, staying far enough behind to remain hidden.

He headed vaguely in the direction of the Carmichael District. Kyra refused to follow him there, but plenty of places stood between here and there where he might turn off. Turning southeast he trudged for several miles. When he turned toward the center of the Mire, Kyra proceeded with caution. They were four layers deep here—alarmingly close to where the Prowlers lived. Could this man be a Prowler? 

A noise from behind brought Kyra around. She stepped into the shadows and waited silently, listening to the