Sympathy For The Devil (2 page)

“Hey kid,” he said without looking up.

“You hiding?” She strolled over to his side. Gregory Malone, local private investigator extraordinaire, and her boss and mentor for the past few years. Though he wasn’t doing anything with his retirement other than fishing and spending time with his wife, Natasha would still miss him.

Malone waved her off, eyes still on his book. “They didn’t notice.”

She leaned against the counter next to him and unscrewed the cap from her drink. “They’re gonna notice when I bring out the cake and there’s no one to cut it.”

He sighed, dog-eared the page he was on, and closed the book. Tash offered him her ale, which he accepted. “Maybe I can put it off—”

“Nuh-uh, no way. Again, there is
cake
, sir.
Cake
. You can’t put it off once there’s cake involved.”

He took a pull from the smoked ale, then gazed down at the bottle appreciatively. “Yeah, and Susan’ll be on my case about it. But,” he glanced at Tash sideways, “you know I’m still here. If you need anything—”

“I’ll be fine,” she promised. And she would, too. She’d been preparing for this, after all. Long hours, extra cases. Sure, the sign would still read MALONE AND ASSOCIATES, PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS on the door. For now. People trusted the Malone name, after all.

Eventually it would be Whitaker. In the meantime, she was basically the new Malone.

“You head out,” she patted his shoulder, “and I’ll find the cake.” The heels of her sandals clicked on the tile as she crossed the bright kitchen.

“Tash.”

She paused and glanced over her shoulder.

Malone stood tall and when he wasn’t slouching, he looked imposing—a big, bearded mountain who was like a wall of fleshy denim. But he had a soft heart and a soft smile, the latter of which he offered her now. “You know there’s no race. Take a break once in a while. Have fun. It’s even more important when I’m gone.”

“I promise I will. There’ll be Dani’s baby to concern myself with and who knows, I might even date. Maybe. At some point.” Before he could laugh, she added, “It could happen.”

Malone shook his head, mumbled something she couldn’t make out, and ambled out of the kitchen.

Tash sighed and continued for the fridge. Honestly, she didn’t see the big deal. Plenty of men worked long hours and no one said a word. But she was twenty-seven and suddenly a woman who took her job seriously was cause for concern? Antiquated attitudes prevailed in town, and while it wasn’t a surprise, it still burned her a little.

She found the huge white cake inside the fridge. It just barely fit, the sides narrowly close to brushing icing on the refrigerator walls. For a moment she stared down at it—a blue lake across the front of it and fishing pole. HAPPY RETIREMENT, GREGORY!

Her eyes were wet and heavy, an unexpected swell of emotion rushing over her. He’d been a good boss, a good mentor. And even though it merely meant he wouldn’t be working in the office anymore, still, things were changing.

With a sigh, Tash carefully slid the cake from a fridge, knocked the door shut with her heel, and headed out of the kitchen.

****

The party was still in full swing but the heat was definitely getting to Natasha. Adam had taken Danyiah home already, a few of the families had left, and the noise inside had grown louder, full of raucous laughter and loud music. She slipped outside, unnoticed, for air.

There wasn’t much to be had outside, the atmosphere heavy and stagnant. She leaned against the side of the Bar & Grill and wished she could’ve brought a beer.

A glance at her watch put it at after eleven. Tomorrow was Saturday and while technically not a work day, she’d be in the office anyway. There were the last of Malone’s files to sort, the upcoming week’s cases to go over, and a host of other things.

Main Street was silent, with the whole town mostly closed up even on a Friday night. There was another bar open a few blocks away, but aside from the thrum of heavy metal and periodic shouting voices that carried, Stirling Falls might as well have been a ghost town.

Dirt scraping under shoe treads drew her attention to the left. An alley bisected Main Street, right by the Bar & Grill. Shadows hid whoever was there until light at the end of a cigarette flared, briefly showing the figure of a man before fading. Smoke drifted out.

“Private party?” he asked, and the cigarette flared again. His voice was deep and rich, edged in gravel—the kind of voice that could give a girl goose bumps if he said just the right thing.

“Yes and no. It’d be awkward if you didn’t know the guest of honor. There’s Eight’s over on Prince, though. Follow the noise. Pay extra and they’ll let you smoke in there, too.”

He blew out more smoke, pale gray floating onto the street. “I should quit.”

“Probably.” Naturally nosy, she tried to peer at him as closely as possible without actually
staring
. But the shadows were too thick to make out much other than his height and build—tall and broad. Her lips parted to say more but a revved engine and squeal of tires drew her focus to her right.

A dark two-door car halted in the street outside of the Bar & Grill, double parking on an angle. The driver’s door swung open while the car was still rocking, engine still running and headlights cutting across the road. A man flew out of the vehicle, face violently red and she didn’t think it was from the heat.

As Tash recognized him, she started backing for the Bar & Grill’s door.

“You!” He thrust his finger forward as he ran toward her. He wasn’t a terribly big guy but anger had a way of making an average-sized man seem huge. “I’m gonna kill you!”

She reached for her purse and belatedly realized she’d left it inside at Gus’s table, which was where her Beretta 92F waited in a holster. “Calm down, Gordie—”

“You were on private property—”

“With your wife’s permission—”

“Invading
my
privacy—”

“While you were violating
your
marriage vows—”

He hadn’t slowed, still heading straight for her. Her back struck the side of the restaurant, the window behind her rattling—the door was three feet away and now Gordie Martin was too close to avoid, getting right in her face, his still-pointing finger nearly striking her throat.

“Neighbor’s kid took a picture of you up in the tree outside my window!”

Damn technology. It wasn’t like the good ol’ days in movies anymore—now people in her line of work were as likely to be recorded as whoever she was hired to spy on. Gordie’s wife probably could’ve hired the neighborhood kids with cell phones to film her husband and his mistress, and saved a lot of money.

“At least any photos of me were G-rated,” Tash offered with a shrug.

His face went redder, which she scarcely thought was possible. Gordie launched himself at her and she pulled her fist back to punch him.

Instead another body collided with his, grasping Gordie’s wrist and jerking his arm back. The stranger twisted her attacker around and thrust him forward, slamming him on the hood of the car.

While she didn’t have her gun, she
did
have her cell phone in her back pocket, which she withdrew and began dialing. “Charges of threats and attempted assault will look
great
for you during your divorce proceedings, I’m sure,” Tash said with a dramatic sigh. “Can’t wait ’til this info goes public.”

Gordie muttered under his breath. When the stranger stepped back, the other man moved, shoving off the car, casting a glare at Tash, and then returning to his car.

She kept the phone at her ear until he’d sped off and the car was out of sight. Well, that was going to go over well with her client—the woman would not be happy that she’d been made. She’d have to get the photos to her first thing in the morning—
and
get paid—before Gordie could explain or apologize convincingly.

“Exciting times in Stirling Falls.” She ended the call mid-dialing and returned her phone to her back pocket, then shifted her attention to the man who had intervened.

His back was mostly to her as he stared in the direction Gordie’s car had gone. He wore a dark jacket despite the heat, chocolate-colored hair cut short—it looked like a fresh trim. Caucasian. Little else she could make out. Tash took a step to the right, casually, angling herself to at least see his profile. His nose was well-cut and proud, jaw square and a flicker of movement suggested he ground his teeth. She couldn’t make out the color of his eyes with the shadow streetlights cast, but they were narrowed, still, on where Gordie had disappeared.

“Thanks,” she offered as she continued to study him.

He turned, shifting his attention away from the direction Gordie had taken. The hardness of his expression faded as his eyes settled on hers.

A rolling heat burned under her skin, her heart fluttering with just a smoldering look. Her mouth was dry. She licked her lips, tried to find her voice. “Buy you a beer?”

His lips parted to speak when the door to the Bar & Grill opened. Noise spilled out, as did people. He snapped his mouth closed and turned his head away.

Natasha glanced over her shoulder to see a couple exiting the restaurant, arm in arm, chuckling. She swung back, but the other man had left. A glance both left and right down the street, and she found no sign of him.

Out-of-towners are weird
.

Well, she’d just have to buy herself a beer. With a sigh, Tash headed back inside for one more drink before heading home.

Chapter Two

Laced up and sports bra keeping her ‘assets’ in place, Natasha set out at five-thirty in the morning for her daily jog. Her black hair was tied up high, springy curls bouncing against the back of her neck. Though she wore earphones and had her iPod pinned to her cropped yoga pants, it wasn’t turned on—pretending to listen to music kept most people from trying to talk to her, but enabled her to ensure she was aware of any threats.

South of her apartment ran fields and lightly wooded areas, Hastings Creek running along the outskirts of town. She varied her path day-to-day and found Saturday was usually the best time to run through that area—it tended to be quiet, most residents sleeping in on the weekend.

She followed a narrow trail through a field, tall grass swishing at her sides, settling comfortably into an easy nine-minute mile. Sun was waking to the east but not enough to shine gold over the grass; for now everything had a cool blue hue. Mornings were deceptive, giving no hint of the dead heat approaching in just a few hours.

Trees rose ahead, the well-worn path running through them. Tash continued on, though the sound of voices, dulled by her earphones, slowed her steps. She frowned, peering ahead and picking through the trees. Lights flashed faintly, the woods blocking out much of it.

But the lights were definitely red and blue.

She pulled out her earphones, tucked them around her neck, and sped up, cutting a jagged path left through the trees toward the growing sounds of people. Figures were moving back and forth, the swirl of a police car light growing brighter.

Twigs cracked under her sneakers and her heart hammered harder even as she slowed down. Police officers ducked back and forth under bright yellow tape, heading to and from the creek. Cop cars were parked as near as they could get, along with an ambulance, but all vehicles were still a dozen yards away.

Tash went right, not stepping out of the trees just yet but wanting to get closer to whatever was going down. Yellow tape sectioned off a large space leading down to the water. She spotted the coroner crouched low, looking over something she couldn’t see.

Though, shot in the dark, it’s a body
.

It wouldn’t be the first time someone drowned in the creek—there were stories, of course, used as cautionary tales for kids in town. But there was a
lot
of foot traffic for a drowning this time.

She inched closer, slipping quietly through the woods. The ground sloped downward and she braced her hands against tree trunks, as tumbling in the water would be sure to get her caught—

“Whitaker!”

She yelped, lost her balance, landed on her ass and slid three feet downward before digging her heels into the dirt and stopping.

Steps trundled over and she scrambled back up, slipping once more before gaining her feet again. She stood straight, smoothed her hair, and was pretty sure she streaked dirt over her forehead.

Deputy Chief Perry planted his hands on his hips and stared down at her.

“Just out for a jog,” she said, indicating her hair and attire, and batting her eyelashes innocently.

He didn’t buy it.

Perry was a tall, reedy man whose hat always looked like it was about to slip from his head and thick mustache twitched when he was irritated. He was in full uniform this morning, the sight of him always throwing her back to her troubled youth when she had many problems with authority figures. Sheriffs, nuns—they were all the same to her: trouble.

Plus Perry didn’t like Malone and that had trickled down to her. He gestured away from the creek. “Get the hell off my crime scene.”

Her brows rose. “Crime scene?”

His face reddened. “Out!”

“Who was killed?”

“Whitaker!”

“C’mon, Perry—”

He crowded her space, urging her away from the creek, though she tried to look past him. She glimpsed plastic, the coroner saying something to another officer, then her view was cut off.

When she was a sufficient distance from the apparent crime scene, Perry gave her another long look, then turned away.

No way could she sneak up on him. Not on this side. But the place was teaming with cops and at least a couple liked her. She just had to find them.

She picked her way around the tape, listening for something she could piece together but no one was talking.

Near the ambulance, she recognized a familiar round face with dark eyes and hair pulled tightly back. Officer Keisha Bryan was a cousin on Tash’s dad’s side and just a few years older than Natasha herself. Keisha liked her, she’d talk. Maybe not at the scene, not yet, but at some point, and Tash could lay the groundwork now.