Keys To My Cuffs (The Heroes of The Dixie Wardens MC Book 4) (12 page)

“She looks pretty good. Much better than she did when you started,” he affirmed.

I smiled at him. “Thanks.”

Walking to the phone on the wall, I picked it up and dialed three.

“How’s it shakin’ little lady?” Ralph’s deep husky voice asked.

“It’s going okay, Mr. R. I need some help moving my newest client,” I said with a chipper cadence to my voice.

“Okay, be down in a few. Want a coke?” he asked as an afterthought.

“No, I’m okay. I’m done for the night; I won’t be too much longer.” I thanked him and then hung up.

“You know,” Loki said. “I could’ve helped you.”

I looked at him and made a weird face. “But then you’d have had your hands on a dead person, and I would’ve had to hear about it all night.”

He stuck out his tongue, but stepped out of the way as Ralph came in and helped me situate Penelope in her coffin.

“You know how I hate moving the dead,” Ralph grumped as he took Penelope’s legs and I took her arms.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Quit your bitchin’.”

He didn’t, but I didn’t expect him to.

“Alright, is that all you need from me?” He asked after we were done.

I shook my head. “Yes, you’re free to go back to your porn.”

“It is not porn. It is wrestling,” he huffed, before turning and stomping indignantly towards the door.

Once Ralph left to continue his duties, I fluffed up Penelope’s hair, and then closed the door on the casket.

“He was pretty...short,” Loki surmised.

“Yep.” I agreed.

Ralph was a 5 foot 4 inch, 76-year-old Chinese man who’d smoked a pack a day since he was sixteen. He didn’t act like any old man I’d ever seen before, but he was awesomely intelligent, and I loved him.

He entertained me many a days, unless it was Monday, which happened to be tonight, and the WWE was on. Although, he made it a point to tell me that it’s not the same since Stone Cold Steve Austin left the show, and I readily agreed.

“So he’s into wrestling?” Loki asked as he shrugged into his leather jacket.

Nodding, I went to the sink and washed my hands thoroughly before donning my own jacket and snatching up my purse.

Just as I was looping my arm through the strap, the lights suddenly went out, and we were plunged into darkness.

My breathing got heavy, and my mind started to race.

“You know,” I said with a shaky voice. “I’m not a real big fan of the dark in the first place, but the fact that we’re in a morgue is really creeping me the fuck out.”

When I didn’t get a response, my heart stated pounding in low, hard throbs.

“Loki?” I swallowed.

“Yeah?” He asked from in front of me.

I reacted before my brain could come fully online, swinging my fist around in an arc, and connecting with what I guessed was Loki’s chest.

My hand hit something sharp before it made contact with the meat of his chest, and I knew instantly that A, my hand was broken. Two, I was pretty sure that my knuckles were sporting a cut because I could feel the trickle of hot liquid running down my hand and dripping off my fingers. And eleven, I was going to kick Loki’s ass.

As soon as I could stop seeing double from the pain in my hand.

“Owww,” he whined. “What was that for?”

“I think it’s broken,” I wheezed.

“How do you know?” He asked as a light lit up the small area surrounding us.

He had a Mag Lite in his hand the size of a baseball bat.

“Where the fuck were you hiding that?” I asked in surprise.

“I keep it in a holder on the inside of my coat. Never know when a 6-cell Mag Lite will come in handy,” he muttered as he shined the light down at my hand that was indeed bleeding.

“Huh,” he said in amazement. “You’re bleeding.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” I snapped.

How do you know a girl’s true feelings? Get her drunk.

-Life Lesson

Loki

I watched as Channing made her mouth thin into a deep slash as she gritted her teeth.

The physician’s assistant, Ronnie, one of the men I played poker with once a month, was putting a needle in the gash that spanned from her knuckles to the base of her wrist. She’d received it when her hand had struck my badge, splitting open and filleting her hand like one would when they skinned a fish.

“You know,” he said as he tied off another stitch. “You can say whatever you want.”

On the next placement of the needle, she screamed.

“Your mother is a whore!” She screeched.

Ronnie froze, and then looked at Channing in disbelief for all of five seconds before he burst out laughing.

“You’re going to have to keep me from laughing. You can say anything as long as you don’t make me laugh,” he wheezed.

Her outburst had attracted what looked like half of the ER, all of them waiting to hear what she’d say next.

“How many stitches is this going to take?” Channing asked as she eyed the needle about to go into her hand.

Ronnie eyed the cut for a few seconds before answering. “Probably fifteen or so, but we’ll see. The more I put in there, the prettier it’ll be.”

“Will this effect hand movement?”
She worried her lip.

“Possibly, but we won’t be sure until after it heals,” he muttered.

This time when he placed the needle into her broken skin, the bottom dropped out of my stomach. Not because I felt bad for causing her the injury, but because her knee lifted up and to the side, effectually kneeing me in the balls.

I backed off as shooting pains radiated from my balls to my stomach and lower back.

Vomit threatened its way up my throat, and I panted to get back under control.

Instinctually, one hand went to my balls as the other went to my hip as I doubled over in pain.

“Oops,” Channing said. “Sorry about that.”

I lifted my head with great effort and glared at her. “For some reason, I don’t believe you.”

“What’s wrong with you, Loki?” A familiar voice asked from behind me.

I stood up as straight as I could, which wasn’t very straight, and turned to find Sebastian and Kettle standing behind me.

They were wearing the bottom half of their bunker gear, which meant they were working.

They were both firefighters for the Benton Fire Department, so it didn’t surprise me to find them here. They brought patients to the hospital all the time, and a lot of times I met them here when I was interviewing eye witnesses.

That, and it was a small town, so it wasn’t unusual to see them quite a bit while I was driving around.

“I knocked him in the balls with my knee. He can’t talk right now,” Channing said through clenched teeth.

“Is that right? And who are you?” Sebastian asked suspiciously.

“He was my John for the night and we had a little accident with the knife play. He had to bring me to the ER, and when they tried to cut my panties, I jerked away from them and accidentally kneed him in the balls. I couldn’t help it though, those panties cost me 500 bucks, and this one didn’t pay me for the night yet,” Channing slurred.

Sebastian and Kettle were standing there looking at her with large, rounded eyes, not sure what to think of her comments.

“What’d you give her, Ronnie?” I asked when I was finally able to stand completely.

“A sedative,” he murmured as he finally started to stitch up her hand. “She was white as a ghost, it was only a matter of time before she passed out completely. I just nudged her along a little.”

Sebastian and Kettle flanked me as we watched Ronnie stitch up Channing’s hand with the expertise of a man who’d been doing it for so long he could do it with his eyes closed.

“So you were her John for the night, eh?” Kettle gave me a sideways glance.

I ignored him, fascinated with the way Ronnie pulled her skin closed with the black thread. I’d always been interested in trauma, hence why I got my paramedic’s certification.

Although seeing it happen to someone I truly cared for gave me a feeling in my stomach that I hadn’t experienced since my mom was diagnosed with cancer.

It was a feeling I didn’t much like, and one that I refused to examine too closely.

“Yeah, he gives great head,” Channing garbled.

Kettle and Sebastian both burst out laughing, and Ronnie was smiling like a loon, but he didn’t say anything.

“Is this the chick?” Kettle asked once he regained his composure.

“Yep,” I confirmed.

“She’s the reason why you keep bugging out?” Sebastian asked.

I turned to him, regarding his impassive face for a few long moments before answering. “Not really. There’re some things going on with this case that I should probably bring you up to speed on. It most likely won’t affect you, and I can’t tell you all of it, but I’d like you to know...just in case.”

“I’m free tomorrow. Come to the house for breakfast. Bring your girl. Don’t come before ten,” Sebastian instructed before leaving Kettle and me standing there.

Kettle watched the VP go, and then turned to me.

“Viddy and Adeline talk,” he said slowly.

I raised my eyebrow at him in question. “And?”

“Maybe your girl would like to join their talk sometime. They feel like you’re purposefully not bringing her around because she’s scared of the club. Said your girl freaks out whenever Trance gets near,” he said

I looked back to Channing who was nearly done getting her stitches. “It’s not the club, necessarily, but cops. She was...yeah. I don’t really want to talk about it, and it’s her information to share. But suffice it to say, she didn’t have a good experience with one when she was sixteen, and that’s left her wary. I’ll bring her by tomorrow if she’s up to it. Don’t let them gossip about her though. She’s already self-conscious enough.”

He nodded. “Gotta go. We were in the middle of dinner when we got that call. I’ll check you later.”

“Later,” I said.

Forty five minutes later, I was walking with Channing up her front walk.

“Will you do it?” She asked as she searched through her purse. “It gives me the hives being under a time constraint. Do you remember that game where you had to try to fit all the shapes into that little box before the timer went off and popped all the pieces back out? That’s the way I feel when I’m disarming the alarm.”

I laughed as I took the keys from her, unlocked it, and easily disarmed the alarm.

We were just walking through when my pager went off.

“Fuck,” I groaned and glanced at the pager.

Pulling out my phone, I called into dispatch with a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“This is Detective Rector, I just got paged,” I said evenly, trying to contain the roiling emotions trying to entice me to spill my guts all over the white tiled floor of Channing’s entrance way.

“Detective Rector, we have a single suspected homicide at the gas station on June and Trail Road. Are you available to lead?” Dispatch asked.

“10-4. I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I confirmed and we hung up.

Turning around, I found Channing looking at me worriedly. “Does this happen a lot?”

Putting the phone back in my pocket, I looked at her closely, studying her disposition, and very reluctant to leave her here alone after she’d just been hurt.

“You okay to be left alone?” I asked her quietly.

She wouldn’t really be left alone. I had a few prospects keeping an eye out on the house, but I’d ask her anyway.

She nodded. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t look fine. She looked wary.

“If you need me, you’ll call me, right?” I asked.

She nodded, but stopped mid-nod. “I don’t have your number.”

I wanted to smack myself in the head.

Taking my phone out of my pocket, I dialed her number.

Her phone rang from the direction of her back pocket, but she didn’t reach for it.

Once I was assured she had my number, I put my own phone away and walked up to her until our lips were only millimeters apart.

“Be good,” I said against her lips.

I felt her lips open up into a smile underneath my own as she answered.

“Never anything but.”

I knew as soon as I pulled onto June Street that this case was connected with the one two days ago.

As I pulled into the drive, parking directly next to the police line now encompassing the entire lot, I looked directly across the street to where Channing and I were not even two hours before.

The funeral home’s front exit was directly across from the gas station the victim died at, and the side door we’d rushed out of shared the same street that the side of the gas station did.

Which meant that we walked outside right about the time the man was being murdered across the street from us.

“Goddamn,” I said as I hauled myself out of the car.

The first person to walk up to me was Tunnel Morrison, and I knew him being here as the first responder for the second murder wasn’t a coincidence, either.

“You were first on the scene?” I asked, praying for a different answer than the one I knew was about to come out of his mouth.

He nodded grimly. “Yes, sir.”

His voice was quiet and serious. He knew just as well as I did what this meant.

We had a killer on our hands. One that had my name etched on the edge of his sword.

He was gunning for me, and he wanted me to know it.

“Walk me through what you know,” I said to Tunnel as we walked towards the scene.

He turned and walked at my side.

“I arrived after the convenience clerk called in a dog barking at the back of his shop. It was the victim’s cell phone ringing. His wife was concerned because the man was supposed to be home over an hour ago. He stops here every night for a 6-pack and a scratch off ticket. ID on him identifies him as Brian Jones, 32,” he said clearing his throat. “He’s got stab wounds to his chest and neck. Clothes are in a pile near the back door.”

Twenty minutes later, I’d observed the scene and then turned it over to the crime scene techs to do their magic.

I found myself facing my boss, and a look of haunted fury was etched all over his face.