Street Games Complete Boxed Set: Street Games

By L.K. Hill

Would you face down a serial killer to save your brother?

 

Kyra is already undercover in the murder-capital of the country, and she prefers to go it alone. When she stumbles on a plot to kill most of the city's cops, she has a decision to make.

After shouting her warning at a handsome random detective, she's sure that will be the end of it. Until the same detective shows up at her employer's estate…where there happens to be a dead body in the pool.

But that's not the only corpse in this city. Prostitutes keep turning up dead, and Kyra suspects everything is connected. If she can't figure out how, more than one person might disappear into these shadowy alleys, and never be seen again…

If you love, dark, gritty urban reality, complete with clandestine serial killers and brooding detectives, you'll want to join Kyra and Gabe on this pulse-pounding sprint through Abstreuse City. Because darkness lurks in us all.

"On the edge of my seat the whole time! Chilling view of darker side of the city. Kyra is tough and intelligent. I highly recommend it!"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Liesel Hill
• Release date: Apr 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201654207

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

Dark Remnants

Book 1 of Street Games

By L.K.Hill

Copyright 2013 L.K.Hill

Cover art by Kealan Patrick Burke

www.kealanpatrickburke.com

Discover more titles by LKHill at her Author Website or her Blog.

For my mom, who raised me with love and taught me to think for myself. I love you, Mom!

Table of Contents:

––––––––

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Author’s Note

Connect with the Author

Also by L.K. Hill

About the Author

Chapter 1

M street was busier than usual. It bustled with activity, the kind that feared daylight and only found true comfort under the cloak of night. Kyra, hunched in the shadows, wondered if the extra movement had anything to do with the rumors she’d been chasing all night.

Women in skimpy clothing clustered in groups of two or three, waving at the occasional passing car or flirting with the nocturnal pedestrians going about their own nightly business. Gangbangers sported bandanas, chains, and loaded guns with equal gusto. Junkies and drunks sprawled on every curb and bus bench, or ducked into the shadowy alleys to use their product of choice. Two blocks down a group of hobos clustered around a fire in a barrel, talking quietly. It wasn’t anywhere near cold enough for a fire—summer was only beginning—but Kyra supposed even the jobless needed a water cooler to cluster around. M Street was one of the most poorly lit areas in the Slip Mire, which meant it was one of the darkest places in the city. 

Kyra always made it a point to observe for a time before venturing out. She hadn’t been in this part of the city for over a week, instead spending time at the Carlotta estate on the opposite side of the city. The Carlottas, it turned out, might be a closer link to the person she was looking for than she’d initially realized. After having drinks with one of the estate’s employees, she had plenty of leads in her search. She knew she needed to return to the Mire before following up on any of them, though. She needed to be seen, touch base with her contacts, and get the gossip.

Now, disturbing rumors circulated the Mire her first night back. She needed to find someone who could confirm the stories for her. From her hiding place under the eaves of a long-vacant business, she scanned the street for prospects.

Run-down business fronts lined the broken, pitted sidewalk, most vacant. The few still in business had locked their doors long before darkness fell, and most sported iron bars on the windows. Between the shabby buildings ran alleys of various widths. The denigrated alley system made Slip Mire what it was: a depraved bruise on the geography of the state, forgotten by respectable people. Abstreuse City was already one of the most dangerous cities in the country, and the Slip Mire was the worst Abstreuse had to offer. Darkness of all kinds came with the territory. 

Every shadow moved and whispered; people hunched together to do things they couldn’t do in daylight. Kyra pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up over her spikey, black hair and did a quick check to make sure everything about her person was in order. Her phone, cards, and weapons lay strapped tight against her thigh. She hid them under baggy black sweats, the same shade as her hoodie. It helped her blend into buildings and shadows. The Mirelings only saw her when she wanted them to.

Emerging from the shadows, she started down the dim street, stepping carefully. The dark, indistinct lumps lining the sides of the alley turned out to be sleeping people as often as garbage. The smells of putrefying trash, urine, and human body stench hung in the air, omnipresent, accompanied by the gummy smell of filthy passages, traversed by thousands of second-hand shoes. The air even tasted gritty.

M Street, like many of the larger streets of the Mire, had sufficient illumination to see by, though just barely. A few, widely-spaced streetlights shone from behind rust-colored glass, giving the light in this district a distinctly red hue. While the narrow alleys seldom had any lighting of their own, crimson light from the larger streets spilled in a short distance. It filtered through the steam pouring from grates in the ground. The headlights of passing cars added to the illumination, though their nearly white light was not very common here. 

Two streets over, K Street was the metropolis of the Slip Mire. A busy road with brightly lit, if run-down, businesses that stayed open all night and catered to after-dark patrons. Even a couple of casinos squatted nearby, along with a truck stop down near the highway.

But this was M Street, not K Street. The deals that happened here didn’t want to be illuminated, even by the flashy electric lights of Abstreuse City. M-Streeters were more observant than the masses of blurry-eyed consumers on K Street, though. Their lives hinged on awareness of their surroundings, so Kyra had come here to seek the information she needed.

An alley yawned wide on her left. Larger than most, and completely unlit, it stretched like a black tunnel into oblivion. As Kyra came abreast of it, a tall, slender figure materialized, and she stopped short to avoid colliding with it. She glanced up through her lashes and met the narrow, sneering eyes of the man emerging from the alley. Putting her head down, she moved forward quickly, forestalling conversation. Demitri Santos was a pimp who trolled the Slip Mire most nights. Many of the girls clustered on street corners worked for him. More than once he’d offered Kyra a job. While Kyra was friendly with many of his girls—they’d proven to be one of her most reliable sources of information—Demetri seemed under the impression that Kyra admired the lifestyle. Or perhaps it was just an excuse to approach her. The way Demetri’s eyes followed her made it clear that, even if Kyra was the kind of woman who would turn to a life of prostitution, a prerequisite for the job would be sleeping with Demitri himself. Kyra was fairly traditional in her sexual morals anyway, but Demetri was an STD waiting to happen. 

Shuddering, she moved more quickly down the street. Not so fast as to give him the impression that she feared him. Despite his sleazy nature, Demetri was more an annoyance than a threat. Still, Kyra did her best to ignore the feeling of him undressing her with his eyes as she moved away. It was no wonder all respectable businesses had relocated from M street long ago.

Despite the late hour, M Street became more crowded by the minute. The Slip Mire was largely vacant in the daylight, only growing lively when darkness fell.  

Sauntering unhurriedly along the sidewalk, allowing people to see her long before she approached them, Kyra eventually found herself near a woman she recognized. Tina was a working girl with dyed raven hair, bobbed at her chin. She wore a sequined mini-skirt, a halter-top, and six-inch knock-off stiletto heels. Bright green eye shadow covered her eyes from lid to brow. She smiled when she saw Kyra.

Supra? Where you been hiding, girl? Haven’t seen you in weeks.

Kyra smiled back, purposely dropping her voice to a lower pitch than what it usually had. I been around. Just working down south.

Yeah? Tina bent slightly at the waist to wave at a passing car. Its headlights were off and the dark windows gave no clue as to who was inside. How’s that treatin’ you?

Can’t complain. Kyra leaned back against the filthy brick building. How about you? How’s business?

Tina shrugged. Slow tonight, but it hasn’t been. First time in a week I haven’t been picked up before midnight.

Kyra nodded. So, I been hearing some weird rumors. Something going on down on Warehouse Block tonight?

Oh yeah. Tina waved her hand as though swatting at a fly. Everyone’s been talking about that for days.

What is it?

The cops are raiding one of the Ares’ warehouses.

Kyra frowned. Is that it? Why is that such a big deal?

’Cause the cops think it’s some big surprise. But the gang knows they comin’. Gonna put the surprise on the cops instead, you know?

Tina smirked, but Kyra frowned. As in, they’re going to ambush the cops?

Tina shrugged, eyes, scanning the street as more cars drove by. I s’pose. Or whatever it is they do. They the Sons of Ares, aren’t they? The cops piss ‘em off, they gonna pay for it.

Kyra’s heart began to pound. What Tina was saying fit with other rumors she’d heard, but she hadn’t realized it was this bad. When’s this happening, Tina?

Tina shrugged. Not sure. Just sometime tonight. Prob’ly soon. Tina turned suspicious eyes on Kyra. Why you askin’?

Kyra shrugged. No reason. Just wanted to know what it was all about. Everyone’s buzzing about it but no one would give me a straight answer.

Tina frowned. You wouldn’t go down there tonight, would you Supra? Steer clear of the warehouse district until tomorrow. Them boys’ll be sure to pull they guns. And I don’t mean the ones I play with.

Kyra didn’t know if by ‘them boys’ Tina meant the cops or the gang, but supposed it didn’t matter. She put on her most reassuring smile. I’m not going anywhere near there tonight. I got people to meet elsewhere.

Tina’s eyes twinkled and she gave Kyra a mischievous grin. Got some hot suga-daddy waitin’ for ya?

Kyra chuckled, shaking her head. No, I’m working.

Tina’s smile faded. Working? Around here?

Kyra nodded.

This is all Ares territory. You can’t work around here, Supra. You gonna get yourself into trouble.

Kyra opened her mouth, but just then a woman she didn’t know approached. The woman had cascades of dull, red curls. She wore a thin cotton top that left her shoulders bare, black leather shorts and torn fishnet stockings.

Hey Sadie, Tina murmured, keeping her eyes on Kyra.

Kyra smiled at them both. I can take care of myself. She cleared her throat as her voice caught. Maintaining a lower-than-normal pitch as Supra could be difficult. Some nights she managed it better than others. You girls be safe tonight.

She strode back toward the shadows, wondering how much time she had.

Who was that? Sadie asked as Kyra retreated into the alley.

Supra, Tina replied. Crazy girl. Cool, though. How’s your night been?

The conversation faded as Kyra turned the corner. When she’d turned down several transecting alleys, leaving M Street behind, she fell into a crouch against a dirty brick wall, trying to decide what to do. She’d heard snatches of the rumor all night, but hadn’t been able to put all the pieces together. A cold, nagging feeling had settled in her stomach, though, and she hadn’t wanted to go back to her hotel until she understood the situation. Now that Tina had filled in the blanks, she had to do something. The question was what.

Other bits of information she’d come by talked about hundreds of pigs—a street term for cops—converging on the Carmichael district. The figure was probably exaggerated, but anything more than a dozen cops in one place was a lot. Big Charlie mentioned the gang stock-piling product worth mo’ money ‘n I could count in their warehouses. It hadn’t made any sense to Kyra. Why would the gang stockpile product—she could only assume drugs—when they knew the cops were planning a raid? Shouldn’t they be trying to move their goods to a safer location? Before talking to Tina, the two stories seemed contradictory.

But maybe it wasn’t illegal drugs being stockpiled. The Sons of Ares also traded in guns. If the plan was to ambush dozens of cops...Kyra shivered as the full weight of the implications settled on her. The Carmichael district would become a slaughter field tonight. She passed a hand over her eyes, careful not to disturb her makeup. Could this really be happening? An ambush the police didn’t know about? Surely if a raid was in the works, they would be careful enough that news of it wouldn’t be all over the Slip Mire. Wouldn’t they?

Kyra huffed in frustration. This wasn’t part of the plan. She had to keep her attention focused on finding Manny. He was her priority. The last thing she needed was to end up on the Abstreuse PD’s radar. It flew in the face of all her precautions.

Yet, what if they really didn’t know? She knew and respected too many cops to risk letting such a tragedy happen when she could stop it. 

With a growl, she lunged to her feet. She couldn’t be seen talking to the police. If she’d been around the past few days, she could have worked out a plan to warn them without blowing her cover. If this was going down tonight, she didn’t have long. She might already be too late.

Breaking into a jog, Kyra made her way, mostly by feel, down the black alley. The nearest precinct wasn’t far, but now that she’d decided to go, a sense of urgency spurred her on. She had no idea what she’d do when she got there—simply walking into a well-lit police station was out of the question. She’d just have to play it by ear. 

She pushed herself to go faster. The night cloaked her passage.

––––––––

Chapter 2

Every chair, desk, and tabletop held a human backside; dark-colored shoes compressed every square inch of floor. Bodies leaned against every white-lacquered brick in the cinderblock wall below the six-foot mark. A few uniformed officers hovered in doorways, trying to listen in before heading out to their beats, but not many. Most of the people in the meeting were detectives dressed in street clothes.

Detective Gabe Nichols could hardly draw breath. He’d arrived early so he could get a chair, knowing the meeting would be packed. Now, sitting in the center of a room, he was beginning to feel claustrophobic. He told himself to focus on Shaun’s presentation.

The raid is going down here, Shaun Thatcher’s massive biceps bulged when he pointed to the map whose image was thrown up onto the wall by an overhead projector. Their precinct had yet to install a system that would hook up to a laptop. In the Carmichael district. We can get in undetected, but these places are stacked floor-to-ceiling with empty crates and other junk. Lots of shadows. Lots of places to hide. Exercise extreme caution.

A baby-faced detective Gabe didn’t know raised his hand. How many subjects do we expect to encounter, Sir?

Shaun ran a thumb and forefinger over his thick black mustache, the other resting calmly on the Glock at his belt. Originally we only thought we’d be dealing with ten to twenty. Recent intel says it’ll be more than double that: upwards of fifty.

A murmur rumbled through the room. Gabe didn’t blame them for being worried. More than fifty armed hostiles? Even after bringing in detectives and SWAT teams from two other cities, this would be a crazy night. And most of these men and women had never worked the Slip Mire before. They had no idea what they were up against.

That’s a lot of scumbags, sir, the detective said.

Shaun nodded. Why do you think we’ve called in so much help? When the intel showed higher numbers, we thought about calling off the raid, but the DEA’s been working on this for a year. We’re going to bust a lot of dealers tonight, people. He returned to the projector and took the map transparency off it, replacing it with a bulleted list. "Obviously the SWAT teams will go in first and get the situation under control. After that, we’ll need all of you to help keep the situation under control. Detectives from other precincts will work under the direction of the 49’s detectives."

Another hand must have gone up in the back because Shaun nodded to something over Gabe’s head.

Sir, some of us run DEA units in our own precincts. Shouldn’t we be given charge over your non-DEA detectives?

Shaun shook his head. Normally that would be the case. If we’d have known how much help we were going to need earlier, we might have been able to prepare you, but there’s no time now. I know some of you know drugs better than, say, my homicide detectives, but you’ve never worked in this part of the city before. The Sons of Ares are one of the most violent gangs in the country. Most of the cases our homicide detectives investigate involve gang violence. I have to put them in charge because they have experience dealing with this gang. I can’t stress enough how much you all have to be on your guard. I’ve lost three officers in the last six months, and have stricter protocols than most other forces in the state combined.

A heavy silence fell as Thatcher’s dark, heavy brows frowned at each detective in turn. Or at least the ones from other precincts. He knew Gabe and the other 49 detectives needed no reminder of the dangers of their part of the city.  

Any other questions? Shaun asked. Good. It’s after ten, now. We move at midnight. Report to your respective commanders by eleven. They’ll give you your assignments. That’s all.

Gabe sighed as people began trying to move. He didn’t bother to get up. There were only two, regular-sized doors. It would be ten minutes at least before he would be able to leave. The murmur of voices alongside the squeals of chairs and tables being pushed around as people exited as quickly and clumsily as humanly possible became a low roar.

Luckily, Shaun was stuck in the center of the room as well. Gabe raised a hand until Shaun acknowledged him with a nod. Where do you need me, Boss? Gabe asked.

Shaun’s lips moved, but Gabe couldn’t hear anything over the din, and there was no reading them under that thick mustache. Gabe pointed to his ear and shook his head to show he couldn’t hear. Shaun nodded and waved him forward.

Moving to the front of the room wasn’t any easier than trying to exit. After several unsuccessful attempts, Gabe shrugged and crawled over the top of tables and chairs. Climbing over the front-most table to stand in front of Shaun was nearly his undoing. His shoelace caught on a chair and he plunged forward. Had he not caught himself at the last moment, he would have landed on his face on the floor. Despite his lucky save, he spent several seconds teetering on one knee and unable to control his facial features.

By the time he untangled his legs, swung around to plant both feet on the floor and stood up, Shaun was watching him critically.

Gabe cleared his throat. Uh...lots of bodies in here tonight.

Shaun nodded and went back to studying his map, brow creased in concentration. Thanks for coming in, Gabe. I know it’s your night off.

Gabe shrugged. No big deal. Sounds like it’s gonna be an intense shift.

Shaun nodded. To say the least. I meant what I said about putting our detectives over those from other precincts. You’ve worked homicide for—what? Two years? Three?

Three.

Shaun nodded. You may have more experience dealing with the Sons of Ares than anybody in the city.

Gabe ran a hand through his short, dark hair. Anywhere else in the country, three years as a detective would be seen as relatively little experience. This was Abstreuse City, though. Few detectives stayed longer than a year. The area was just too dangerous. Sane men—especially those with families—transferred as soon as positions in other cities opened, or they gained enough experience or clout to pull some strings. Gabe, however, had no family, and no particular desire to move on. Even the worst places in the world needed good cops. That may be true, Sir, he said. But I don’t know DEA procedures. At least, not well.

Shaun shook his head. Don’t worry about that. You’ll be working with other DEA operatives. You can rely on them for procedure. Really this won’t be a case of one person in charge of another. Just agencies working together. I need your eyes, Gabe. You’ll see things others won’t.

Gabe nodded. So where do you want me?

Go to the situation room. Report to a detective named Watson.

Gabe quirked a smile. Seriously?

Unfortunately. Did you remember to bring that box of files I wanted?

I did. They’re in the trunk of my car. You want me to get them?

Finally they were the only ones left in the room. Shaun turned and headed for the door. No hurry. Talk to Watson first. Then bring them to my office.

Gabe followed him out. Will do.

An hour later, Gabe jogged toward his dark sedan. The well-lit parking lot was packed with extra vehicles tonight, so Gabe had been forced to park on the far side of the lot, which was much darker than the area near the building. He sighed. The box he’d brought for Shaun was heavy. It would be a long hike back lugging thirty pounds of files.

Using his keyless entry, he popped the trunk in the darkness and leaned in, glad his trunk had a dim orange light in it. A soft, cool wind blew through the lot, ruffling his shirt and bringing the scent of a rank dumpster with it.

Psst!

With a frown, he straightened up, his heart beating faster. Had that been a whisper? Or just an imagined movement? They were deep in the city here, but stray animals—especially cats—were common sights. Gabe was the only human in the parking lot, as far as he could tell. Deciding he’d imagined it, he reached for the box again.

Psst! Hey you! Over here!

Snapping upright, Gabe put a hand on his gun, wondering what awaited him in the shadows. The voice had come from off to his left, but the whisper made it hard to pinpoint. He couldn’t even tell if it was masculine or feminine. Twenty feet from his car, he stopped.

Over here, the harsh whisper came again. By the dumpster.

Gabe’s eyes found the blue, industrial-sized dumpster in a shadowy corner of the lot. Probably what he’d smelled earlier, it was situated at the mouth of a narrow alley that ran to an intersecting street in the distance.

Gabe squinted, trying to make out shapes in the darkness. A silhouette, darker than the surrounding murk, stepped out from behind the dumpster. Small in stature, the figure was either a woman or a youth. Baggy, shapeless clothing gave no hint to the contours beneath. He couldn’t see long hair, either, but when the figure looked toward the precinct building, the distant lights flashed off eyes bluer than he’d ever seen. They were electric, and Gabe wondered if they could possibly be real.

Do you need help? Gabe asked, raising his voice to be sure the figure would hear him.

I need to talk to you, the harsh whisper came again. The figure kept looking up and down the alley, as though afraid to be seen. Come over here.

Half amused, half wary, Gabe put his hand more conspicuously on his gun. Why don’t you just step into the light for me?

No! I can’t be seen talking to the cops.

With a grunt, Gabe took a few steps closer to the dumpster. He wasn’t about to walk into a dark alley on faith that this person wouldn’t harm him. The precinct was only a few hundred feet away, and Gabe was a decent-sized man, but there was no guarantee the shadowy figure wasn’t armed.

When he stopped short of the alley, the figure breathed out in frustration, looked up and down the alley again, and finally emerged, stepping in front of the dumpster. The light was faint, but he could see her more clearly now.

It was a woman, though not a very feminine-looking one. Black, baggy sweats and a matching hoodie were an effective camouflage against the night. He supposed that was the idea. The sleeves of her hoodie were pushed above her elbows—not surprising considering the warmth of the night—and even in the dim light he could see small, inflamed puncture marks in the crook of her elbow, many with dark, ugly lines—no doubt a sign of inflamed veins—leading out from them.  Black, spikey hair cut in a way one usually only saw on grade school boys did nothing to show her gender, either. Her face might have been pretty if it wasn’t so pale. Dark circles under her eyes and gaunt cheeks showed poor health, though her face glistened, as though she’d recently been sweating. It made her skin look thick and splotchy.

Are you all right? Gabe asked.

Is this precinct participating in the raid on the Carmichael District?

Gabe blinked. How on earth could she know something like that?

The woman studied his face before nodding. I’ll take that as a yes, she said briskly. You’ve got to put a stop to it.

Gabe’s mouth hung open for a moment. For a junkie, she picked up on body language quickly. Suddenly lying seemed like a great idea. Listen ma’am, I’m not sure what you mean. Anything of that nature is police business—

She waved her hand as though it was of no consequence. Yeah, yeah. You don’t have to confirm anything. Just stop the raid.

Ma’am—

It’s a trap. They’re going to ambush you.

Gabe stared at her. Who?

She let out her breath in a gust of exasperation. "The gang. Sons of Ares? In the Carmichael district? They know you’re coming. Everyone in the Slip Mire seems to.

How do you—

I don’t know what they’re planning, but you can bet it will be messy. They’re better prepared than you could imagine. They hate cops, so either they’ll try to kill you or just do some really gory damage. The Sons of Ares aren’t exactly known for being cuddly.

Gabe laughed, in surprise more than anything else. Listen, I don’t know how you know all this, but I’m going to need you to come into the station and speak with my superiors.

No! 

He hadn’t moved toward her but she danced back several steps as though he had, only stopping when she backed up against the dumpster. If that was an option, I wouldn’t be skulking creepily in the parking lot, she said drily.

He did step toward her this time. Ma’am—

No! She retreated farther, stepping around the dumpster. I came to warn you, and I have. What you do with the information is on you. 

Gabe stared at her, utterly at a loss as to how to react. 

Just do it, she hissed. Or all your cop buddies are going to die tonight. She spun on her toe and started down the alley. 

Anger flared in Gabe’s chest and he lunged forward, covering the remaining distance between them in two quick strides and grabbed her arm. No one threatened the lives of his fellow officers and just walked away.

Even as his fingers closed around her arm, she swung around, throwing a punch. He ducked it, easily grasping both her wrists in his hands. 

Let go of me! Her insanely blue eyes, only inches away now, oozed defiance.

Who are you? he kept his voice firm, controlled. What’s your name?

I said, let go of me! She struggled fiercely. When she couldn’t free her hands, she started kicking, landing a solid blow to his shin. 

Listen, Gabe growled through gritted teeth. Stop! 

She obeyed, regarding him warily, her eyes darting back and forth again.

He gazed down into her face and took a deep, calming breath. She looked like a Mireling. People who lived on the street there had criminal mindsets. They needed positive encouragement to keep them talking. I’m glad you came to tell me, but you can’t just make allegations like this and then disappear.

Why not? she growled.

Gabe let out his breath in frustration. Because I have no way of knowing if you’re telling me the truth, or where you got your information from.

And if you drag me into that police station, you’re gonna get me killed, she hissed. Now let go! 

He did this time, and so suddenly that she stumbled backward a few steps before righting herself. When she straightened, she walked backward, away from him. I’m sorry, she said more quietly. It’s all I can do.

Gabe?

The voice came from several rows over, nearer to the building. When the woman heard it, she spun on her toe and tore down the alley, disappearing into the shadows. She was fast for having so little height.

Gabe?

Over here, Tyke.

Tyke Burrel made his way to where Gabe stood. His yellow hair looked like straw with the fluorescent lights of the station blazing behind him. What are you...looking at? Tyke asked, following Gabe’s gaze down the now-empty alley.

Nothing, Gabe murmured, before turning to his fellow detective. What are you doing out here?

Tyke shrugged. Shaun said you were bringing in stuff from your car. Thought you might need some help.

Gabe sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Gabe? What’s wrong man?

You can help me with the files, but I need to talk to Shaun. Now. We have a problem.

Chapter 3

Twenty minutes later Gabe and Tyke stood in Shaun’s office, along with Shaun himself, another detective named Cora Williams, and Kent Tanner, the head of the task force leading the raid. 

The door of the small, box-like office was shut, but preparations for the raid were visible through the windows, which looked out on the hallway. The soft rumble of dozens of voices came, muffled, through the walls, along with the thuds of footsteps. Gabe wrinkled his nose. No matter how many air fresheners Shaun’s wife sent to work with him, his office always smelled like a freshly sharpened pencil. 

The four men stood around Shaun’s desk. Cora sat in a chair against the wall with her legs crossed, her dark hair held out of her eyes by sunglasses that hadn’t been necessary for hours. All of them were frowning at Gabe.

And that’s it? Tanner yelled. That’s all she said? Squat and solidly built, Tanner was completely bald, but his eyebrows jumped all over his shiny forehead when he became passionate about something. Like now.

Gabe shrugged uncomfortably. It wasn’t a long conversation. She took off.

Well why the hell didn’t you stop her, Nichols? Tanner’s face had turned a particularly alarming shade of crimson.

I tried. Gabe said. Grabbed her arm and everything. She was determined not to be dragged in here.

Well you should have dragged her in here.

Gabe rolled his eyes. I think she’d have screamed rape if I’d held on any longer. And if she had, we’d be in this same room and you’d be lecturing me about not setting off citizens that can make the department look bad.

Tyke guffawed, but quickly schooled his features when Tanner’s glare transferred to him. Shaun put a hand on Tanner’s shoulder. He’s got a point, Kent.

Tanner took a deep breath, but shrugged Shaun’s hand off irritably. He seemed to get angrier again just looking at Gabe. You’re asking me to call off the raid on the word of a junkie, who’s just disappeared into the night. We’re talking about a year’s worth of work, here, Nichols. How do we know she was being truthful? How do we know she wasn’t just smashed?

I don’t see that it matters either way, Gabe sighed.

Tanner’s eyes took on a dangerous gleam. Excuse me?

Exasperated, Gabe leaned forward to rest his palms on the desk. Think about it, Tanner. Either she’s telling the truth or she’s not. If she is, we have to call off the raid. If she’s not, then she has an ulterior motive, she’s high, or she’s just crazy. Either way, she heard the information from somewhere, which means it’s out there. She knew everything: the Sons of Ares, the warehouse district, the date, the time. How would she know all that unless someone told her?

Tanner dropped his head and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

He’s right, Kent, Shaun said quietly. You know he is. We have three SWAT teams and thirty detectives going on this raid. If there’s any truth to what this young lady said, can we really risk wiping out two departments full of people in one shot?

Tanner heaved a great sigh, suddenly looking haggard. Gabe felt for him. Not that Tanner needed to take it out on him, but Gabe couldn’t imagine the frustration of seeing a year’s worth of work shot to hell. Of course not, Tanner said. If Nichols had dragged this woman in here we could have at least determined her mental state, but...

I don’t think she was high, Gabe said, just before deciding it probably wasn’t the best time to say it.

Why not? Shaun asked from behind Tanner.

Gabe shrugged uncomfortably. He hadn’t come to the conclusion until this moment, and he didn’t know how to explain why he thought she’d been totally lucid. I...she...spoke...forcefully, he managed.

Shaun arched an eyebrow. Tanner looked at Gabe like he was nuts. Oh...kay.

Cora spoke up for the first time. I agree with Gabe: it doesn’t really matter if she was high or not, or even if she was high earlier today. Even if she was just repeating something she heard in a sky-high stupor, the information’s still out there. It came from somewhere.

Gabe shot Cora a grateful look for rescuing him.

Looking dejected, Tanner nodded, turning to Shaun. Call off the raid. Send everyone home. He swiveled to thrust an index finger in Gabe’s direction. Before you leave, I want you to get with a sketch artist and get us a likeness of this woman.

Gabe frowned. Why?

Why do you think, Nichols? If this information is on the street, there’s a leak in the department, and she may know where it is.

What if she doesn’t? Tyke asked.

Tanner glared at Tyke briefly. Even if she just came out of the goodness of her heart to tell us about something she randomly heard...if she told us that, she may be willing to tell us more. We should take her on as a CI. I want her found.

With that, he turned and left the room. Shaun followed him out, face unreadable. When the door closed behind them, Cora turned to Gabe. Why don’t you think she was high?

Gabe shrugged. She just didn’t act like it.

You said she had track marks on her arms, Tyke said.

She did, Gabe nodded. I’m not saying she’s not a junkie. She just didn’t act like she was under the influence out there.

But, Cora stood and pushed some hair behind her ear. How so?

Gabe hesitated, trying to put his impressions into words. She wasn’t exactly calm, at least not after I tried to get her to come inside, but before that she was. She was confident, firm, logical. Not jittery or paranoid like you’d expect.

She’d only be paranoid if she was having withdrawals, Cora said. If she’d just gotten a fix before coming here, she would have been relatively calm anyway.

Maybe, but would someone who’d just shot up be so cool talking to a cop outside a police station, while sporting her needle marks for him to see? I just think she should have been more worried, you know?

She was afraid to come into the station, Tyke pointed out.

Yeah, but any junkie would be. This woman didn’t want to get into trouble, but she certainly wasn’t afraid of me, either.

Cora gave him a flat-eyed stare, and he put his hands up defensively. Not that I’d want her to be afraid of me, but think about it. We’re talking the back alley of a police precinct here. Plenty of unies going in and out; squad cars everywhere. I’m two, maybe three times her size, and with a gun on my hip to boot, and she pretty much shook her fist under my nose and gave me what-for. Does that sound like the behavior of a junkie to you?

Tyke and Cora both jutted out their chins, considering.

She spoke with almost—I don’t know—familiarity?

Cora raised an eyebrow. You think she’s undercover?

Gabe had already considered the possibility and rejected it. He considered it again, but still shook his head. If she was, why wouldn’t she just say, ‘Hey, I’m UC. Can't blow my cover, but here’s the deal?’ There was no one else around to see or hear.

Not to mention, Tyke said, if she were UC, she’d have someone she could report to. She wouldn’t need to resort to lurking in back alleys, waiting for one of us to make a trip to the parking lot.

True, Cora admitted. Even so, it might be smart to have Shaun check around; find out what, if any, UCs are in the area. Even if she isn’t one, maybe they could tell us something about her or what went down tonight.

Gabe nodded.

We can also use them to circulate her sketch, once we have it, Tyke said. They can help us figure out who she is. Discreetly. If she was adamant about not wanting to come in here, I doubt she’ll appreciate us putting up wanted posters.

Gabe nodded. Let’s reinforce discretion. She said if I dragged her into the station, I’d get her killed. Granted, if she was crazy or paranoid it might not be that dramatic, but at the very least, she believes it. The last thing I want to do is to put this woman in danger. Especially if we want her to give us more information.

Cora nodded, getting to her feet. I’ll pull a list of UCs from Shaun. You do the sketch. We’ll go from there.

She left the room, but Gabe didn’t move. He was still turning the whole thing over in his head.

It’s not your fault, you know, Tyke said. The raid, I mean.

Gabe barked a laugh. If this turns out to be bogus, Tanner will make sure everyone thinks it was.

He’s not that bad, Gabe. He may be angry, but even he knows we can’t ignore something like this and risk lives unnecessarily. Tyke studied him for a minute. You’re kind of intrigued by this woman, huh?

Gabe shook himself and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. I guess I am. Everything about her was just so...incongruous. You know, she even referred to the warehouse district as the Carmichael district.

Tyke looked at him like he’d just announced water was wet. "The warehouse district is the Carmichael district, Gabe."

Gabe rolled his eyes. I know that, but Mirelings never refer to it that way. They call it Warehouse Block.

Tyke arched an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side, considering. Oh. That’s true.

Gabe shrugged. I’m just saying she didn’t act much like a typical junkie or Mireling. One thing’s for sure: she certainly wasn’t willing to trust me. Anyway, I’d better find that sketch artist.

They left the office together, and Gabe headed toward his desk. He’d have to call around and figure out who the resident sketch artist was.

Gabe! 

He turned at the sound of Shaun’s voice. The big man strode down the hall toward him, threading through the flood of people headed for the parking lot after having been told there would be no raid tonight.

Looks like you would’ve been called in on your night off, anyway.

Gabe suppressed a groan. Busy nights made for complicated cases. When he reached Gabe, Shaun handed him a slip of paper. What is it? Gabe asked.

Dead body in the Mire. Third and Charles. CSU is already on route. They’ll meet you there.

Gabe sighed and cast a regretful glance toward his desk. The sketch would have to wait. All right. Changing directions, he headed—once again—toward the parking lot.

––––––––

Chapter 4

By the time Gabe arrived, the scene was blocked off, the crime scene unit already hard at work. The body lay in a narrow alley—just wide enough for a standard car to drive through without destroying its side-view mirrors. There were no lights on the buildings sandwiching the alley, which would have made it awfully dark a few hours earlier. Now, squad cars stretched across the entrances on both sides, their spotlights illuminating the scene from either end. Tape stretched across both entrances as well, and half a dozen blue-uniformed cops did their best to keep onlookers away from the scene.

Gabe didn’t know what time it was—after midnight, surely—but there were still plenty of people out in this part of the city. It was one of the things that made the Slip Mire so dangerous. When the first squad cars showed up, the Mirelings would have scattered. Gabe had seen it dozens of times when he was still working a beat. They would disappear into the shadows in fear of the police or to do their deals in secret. Once they were done, or at least had successfully hidden anything incriminating, their curiosity got the better of them and they eventually slinked back out to gawk at what was happening. The crowd peering into the alley held gangsters, hookers, pimps, gaunt-faced users, homeless teenagers, all come to see what the commotion was.

Bypassing them all, Gabe ducked under the police tape and headed toward a blond woman wearing a CSU vest. She squatted near a body lying supine across the alley.

The deceased was a hooker, by her garb. Dark, wavy hair fanned out across the street, and makeup that might have been applied with a paint sprayer—now smeared—adorned her eyelids, cheeks, and lips. Blood covered her chest and abdomen, ribbons of it lying delicately across her arms and legs.

Evening, Bailey, Gabe said as he fell into a squat beside her, pulling out a mini legal pad and pen. Busy night?

Baily tossed her shoulder length blond hair as she turned to him. A pretty, athletic woman, she had blunt features and a blunter temperament. They worked together often on the night shift. You have no idea, she said dryly. You?

He shrugged. I’m here by myself, aren’t I? Actually, it’s supposed to be my night off, but apparently there are lots of people getting themselves offed tonight. What can you tell me?

Bailey smirked at his last comment, but was all business a moment later. Female vic. Hooker. Shame, too. She’s real pretty.

Gabe let his eyes run over the girl’s face. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen. Yeah, she is. Did the M.E. release the body?

Yeah, but I already checked. No ID. Nothing at all in her pockets. Either her killer was the first customer of the night, or he took anything she’d already made. Mike says she’s only been dead an hour.

Gabe nodded, making notes on his pad. 

I count eight stab wounds to the chest. There’s plenty of cast-off as you can see.

Gabe looked at her, arching a questioning eyebrow. She pointed to the alley wall. For the first time he saw long, streaking, mostly vertical ribbons of blood. They covered the walls on both sides of the body.

That’ll be from when he brought the knife back between stabbing motions. Bailey clenched her hand into a fist, as though she held a blade, and brought it over her head to illustrate. There’s a void in the blood over here. She stood to examine part of the alley wall.

What does that tell us? Gabe asked, staying where he was.

I think she was standing here when the first two or three stab wounds was inflicted.

Standing?

Yeah. He had her pinned against the wall. They were...doing their business. Then he started stabbing her.

So how’d she end up all the way over here?

Bailey shrugged. In the struggle. She has defensive wounds on her hands and arms, which means she fought back. My kind of girl. There’s a void in the blood on her abdomen, too. She walked toward the body and leaned over it, pointing. See?

Gabe peered down to see a circular void just below the victim’s sternum. Is that a knee mark?

Good eyes, Nichols, Bailey nodded approvingly. He probably knelt on her, used his weight to anchor her down so he could stab her five more times.

Gabe let out his breath and shook his head. That’s a lot of rage. What else?

Not much. I’ve already swept the scene. Not much to be found that’s useful.

What’s this white stuff on her abdomen, crisscrossing the blood?

Bailey barked a laugh. Given that she was a hooker and what their ‘business’ was, what do you think it is?

Gabe glanced from Bailey, to the void on the wall, to the victim. He registered vague revulsion. Oh. Right. He wiped his hands on his pants, though he hadn’t actually touched the body. Bailey would have ripped him a new one for trying it without gloves.

I’m not positive, Bailey went on, but I already took samples to send to the lab. If it is semen, we’ll get a DNA profile. At least we’ll have that, even if the killer’s not in the system. She said it almost cheerfully, and Gabe smiled. Bailey managed to be cheerful about the strangest things.

A noise from behind made Gabe spin on his toe. Mike, their plump, gray-haired medical examiner navigated a gurney between the squad cars and under the yellow tape. A black body bag was strapped to the top.

Hey Mike, Gabe said, straightening his legs as the gurney rolled up.

Gabe, Mike gave him a nod.

Actually, Bailey said, before you transport her, I’d like permission to print the body. Gabe?

What for?

Given how they were standing, how he had her pinned, there’s a good chance he left prints on her shoulders or arms.

Gabe nodded. That’s fine with me.

Can you give me a few minutes, Mike?

Mike shrugged. Sure. Take your time. I don’t mind a breather or two.

Gabe smirked. Busy night all around, it seemed. I’m gonna interview some witnesses before this crowd disperses.

Bailey nodded without looking at him, already busy digging into her kit. Mike gave him a tight smile and Gabe moved toward the onlookers, wondering if anyone would admit to having seen anything.

Before reaching the police tape, he turned back to take in a broad view of the entire alley. It was something he always did to get a feel for the overall scene. There was nothing scientific or logical about it, but he found it helped him get in the right mindset for a specific crime scene, which in turn helped him pick up on subtle details better than he otherwise would have.

Gabe had worked literally hundreds of homicide cases in his three years since making detective. Abstreuse was one of the murder capitals of the world, and the Slip Mire was the gyrating center of it all. 

As he swept his eyes down the alley, something seemed different about this scene than others he had worked. He registered a sense of something dim and sticky lurking nearby, as though the shadows outside the light fields were oozing together somehow. It didn’t feel like something that was actually present, though—not like Bailey or Mike or the onlookers peering into the alley. No, this felt more like something that had been left behind.

Shaking himself to ward off the strange sensation, he turned toward the crowd.

––––––––

Chapter 5

Kyra skulked in the entry way of a closed business. The shadows cloaked the niche so well that dozens of people had passed by only inches away, and she knew they had no idea she was there. Good. If they couldn’t see her, neither could that detective.

After leaving the precinct, she’d come back down to M Street. She felt somewhat guilty for leaving him gaping after her like she had, but he’d looked sufficiently disturbed that she didn’t think he’d just blow off what she’d told him. The rest was in his hands, now. The more he’d pushed to have her enter the station, the more her adrenaline had pounded. She envisioned all the work she’d done over the past three months fizzling in a haze of florescent precinct light. The thought was so depressing—this work was so difficult—that it made her want to curl up in a ball and cry. No. No police stations. She had to keep her cover firmly intact.

Even before she got back to K Street, she’d heard the commotion and seen the lights from several streets over. Normally, she avoided police lights like the plague, but as more and more people headed toward the scene, she knew she could lose herself in the anonymity of the crowd. She’d stood close to the police tape, with the other rubber-neckers, peering into the alley for a time. The dead woman was obviously a hooker, just not one Kyra was familiar with.

Then a dark sedan pulled up and out stepped the very cop she’d spoken to an hour earlier. She’d gasped, bringing several heads in the crowd around. Putting her face to the ground, she quickly stepped backward. No eyes followed her. They were too busy following the detective.

Kyra’s first instinct was to move quickly away from the scene so he wouldn’t see her. He’d grabbed her arm and peered down into her face in such a way that she was sure he’d recognize her instantly if he caught her eye again. Besides, cops had good eyes for faces. It was their job. 

She took a deep breath and her street smarts took over. Moving away quickly from a crime scene would look suspicious. She’d learned plenty about police procedure and criminal psychology in her work. She knew that perpetrators often returned to the scene of their crimes to watch the investigation. That meant that the hooker’s killer could be in this very crowd. It also meant the police would be watching faces.

Kyra pulled the cowl of her hoodie down farther and kept her face down. The detective passed not four feet in front of her, but a dozen bodies stood between them, and he didn’t bother to scan the crowd as he passed.

She watched him enter the alley, squat by the body, make notes on a small pad, talk to the CSU woman. Kyra moved backward, one step at a time, counting to twenty between steps, so no one would notice her progression. When she reached the back of the crowd, she backed up into the doorway of the dark building. Confident that she wouldn’t be seen now, she watched the goings-on in front of her.

The detective—she didn’t know his name—started talking to the crowd, asking for witnesses, no doubt. He spoke with authority, unafraid of the Mirelings, despite their often intimidating appearance. He had a strong jaw and a direct gaze, but he didn’t talk down to them. As he approached the crowd, a good third of the onlookers melted away, not interested in speaking to a cop. Others responded, though, and she was surprised at how well the detective managed to draw answers from the crowd. 

Kyra studied the detective. She could see him more clearly here, under the spotlights of the squad cars, than she’d been able to in the dim alley. Dark, close-cropped hair was brushed back from his face and hawkish green eyes seemed to penetrate every shadow, making Kyra hunch lower into her hoodie. Head and shoulders taller than her with thick arms and chest, he was not lean at the waist so much as solidly built, though without any gut. He obviously knew how to speak to people like these. She wondered if he was a staple in the Slip Mire. She’d never seen him before, but then she hadn’t observed any cops up close since arriving in Abstreuse. 

At the edge of the crowd, a woman with red hair caught Kyra’s attention. It was the same woman who’d been talking to Tina earlier. What was her name? Sadie? Yes, that was it. Sadie. Abruptly, Sadie turned from the scene and practically fled. Her face was pinched, eyes tight. She couldn’t be sure in the dark, but Kyra thought she was on the verge of tears. Sadie ran past another woman, who reached a hand out to her, but Sadie brushed the woman off, charging off into the darkness.

When the second woman turned, Kyra recognized Tina. She stood ten feet farther down the street. 

Psst. Tina.

Tina looked around, her eyes passing right over Kyra twice before Kyra lifted a hand to show where she was. Tina jumped, her eyes widening, before approaching. Her heels made staccato clicks on the sidewalk. You can blend in, can’t you? How long have you been standing there?

Kyra shrugged. Not long. She motioned to the doorway with her head and Tina joined her in the shadows. Did you know this girl? She jutted her chin out in the direction of the alley.

Tina shook her head. Not well. I’d met her a few times. She sighed. Could have been any one of us, though. She shivered.

What was her name?

Mallory. Butler, I think. Seemed nice enough.

Did you see what happened? Kyra asked. 

Naw. I ‘as with a customer. When I got back, the cops were already here.

Kyra nodded. She’d asked Tina for information about various things before. When she was having a busy night—making plenty of money—she was definitely looser-tongued than when things were slow and she was stressing about rent.

I saw your friend Sadie, Kyra said. She looked kind of upset.

Tina nodded. She would be. She and Mallory used to be roommates.

Kyra arched an eyebrow. Really? Tina nodded. Why not anymore?

Sadie has a kid, now. Moved into her own place. Didn’t want roommates bringing guys back and all. Her and Mallory were still pretty close, though.

Kyra’s knee started bouncing on its own while she thought. There was no reason to pursue this, was there? A murdered girl was tragic—any murder was—but chances were it was just some over-zealous customer. Hooking was a dangerous profession. This had nothing to do with Kyra’s real work—finding Manny—and could only be a distraction.

Still, this happened in an area she frequented. Finding out a little more about it—even just to avoid danger herself—might be prudent. She turned to Tina. Where does Sadie live?

––––––––

Chapter 6

Gabe gazed out over the bustling bullpen. Despite canceling the raid, there were still more people than usual running around the station, making calls, fighting over computers. After hours at his murder scene, Gabe had returned to the precinct and been cornered by Tanner. He’d been told in no uncertain terms that he would do no other work until he produced a sketch of the spikey-haired woman from the alley. Now Gabe sat in a comfortable wooden chair beside a small desk, one ankle crossed over his other knee, watching the organized chaos.

Behind the desk on his right, a man with thin, dark, shoulder-length hair and spectacles that perched on the tip of his nose drew on an over-sized sketch pad. He turned the pad around for Gabe’s inspection.

The spikey-haired woman from the alley peered back at him. He nodded. That’s pretty damn close. Could you make her eyes a bit wider, though? I know I’ve said it three times, but she had really big eyes. Very blue. Very distinctive.

With a nod, the artist turned the sketch back around and began making adjustments. Gabe glanced up to see Shaun and Tanner threading toward him through the pen. 

I hear you have a sketch for me, Tanner said as he approached. 

Gabe nodded. Yeah. We’re pretty much done.

The artist tore the top page off his pad and handed it to Gabe, who passed it to Tanner.

This is her, eh? Tanner asked. Good. We’ll circulate this. Try and smoke her out.

Sir, can I stress—

Discretion? Yeah, Cora already talked to me. I’ll make sure our people know to be cautious.

Tanner hurried from the room while Gabe clapped the sketch artist on the back, getting an annoyed look for his trouble. Thanks, man. The man gave Gabe a quick nod, before turning away.

Gabe followed Shaun into the corridor. 

How was your DB? Shaun asked.

Kinda brutal. Dead prostitute. Pretty girl. Young. Stabbed repeatedly. I’m just praying we don’t have a Ripper wannabe on our hands.

Shaun gave him a humorless smirk. Wouldn’t that be pleasant? What else did you find?

We won’t know more until DNA and fingerprints come back.

Shaun nodded. You want to go home? It was your night off. And the case will keep. Probably won’t see those reports until morning.

Gabe considered it, but shook his head. I’m already here. Just a few hours left.

Shaun shrugged. Fine by me. Just don’t complain later that I made you stay. Gabe smirked and headed for his desk.

Leaning crookedly against a black sky, the apartment building Tina had directed Kyra to was anything but impressive. This wasn’t a busy block, but it was only a few streets away from the thoroughfares. Hobos and hookers still lined the sidewalk, just fewer than in busy areas. The sidewalk was dark, the apartment complex rundown and grubby.

Pulling the hood of her hoodie up for the hundredth time, Kyra crossed the street. The inside of the apartment building was covered in grime and graffiti. Tile that looked like it had been laid in the eighties covered the walls, and fluorescent lights that should have been white but shone more yellow where they worked at all, hung high in the hallways. A mixture of mothballs and dankness filled her nose, and the air felt stale. 

More hobos slept in the hallways, and Kyra had to step over several less-than-savory-smelling gentlemen on her way up to the second floor. On the landing at the top of the stairs, two men about her age but covered with tattoos and piercings smoked from pipes. The stench of their product filled the hallway. Keeping her eyes down, Kyra moved past them. They muttered rude comments after her, but she ignored them, focusing on apartment numbers.

Near the end of the hall, she found the one labeled 211. She raised her fist, then hesitated. She still didn’t really know why she was doing this. It would only get her noticed, which she always tried to avoid. Still, if this woman knew anything about that dead girl, Kyra wanted to hear it. Steeling her resolve, she raised her fist again and knocked lightly on the door. 

No response. She knocked again, and waited. She raised her hand to knock a third time when a soft voice—a whisper—came from the other side. 

Who is it?

Kyra leaned her face as close to the door as she could. Sadie? My name’s Supra. I met you earlier on the street. I was talking to Tina?

What do you want? the whisper came again.

"To talk to you. I know it’s late, Sadie, but can you give