Heat (Tortured Heroes Book 2) Read online

  Heat

  Jayne Blue

  Nokay Press, LLC

  Contents

  Heat

  Newsletter Signup

  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

  Epilogue

  Books by Jayne Blue

  Bonus Excerpt

  Bonus Excerpt

  Heat

  A Tortured Heroes Novel

  By

  Jayne Blue

  Copyright © 2016 by Jayne Blue

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law or for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  Chapter One

  Mitch

  The smart thing to do would have been to unclench my fists, stand up, and walk the hell out of that courtroom. The mature thing. The thing guaranteed to keep my ass out of trouble I didn’t need. I was done here, having finished my testimony yesterday. But as I sat and watched rookie officer Danny Reardon take the stand, I had that sixth sense that this case was about to turn toward disaster. His hand trembled when he raised it to swear his oath. Danny looked pale. Green almost. Instead of his boyish good looks making him sympathetic to the jury, they just seemed to make him look, well, boyish. He kept licking his lips and reaching for his water as the shitheel defense attorney asked him all the mundane, establishing questions. Things that should have been easy for him. Instead, Reardon tripped over his answers and kept looking over at the jury box then down at his shoes. When he saw me in the gallery watching, he started to tremble even more.

  How long have you been with the Northpointe Police Department?

  How long have you been in law enforcement in general?

  How did you come to be involved in the events on the night of January 18th?

  “Jesus.” I leaned over and whispered into Assistant DA Glen Dorfman’s ear. “Didn’t you guys work with him?”

  Glen gave me a shrug then ran his hand through his thinning black hair. I knew the answer. He had a hundred cases just like this one. Hell, he was probably supposed to be in four other courtrooms right now, just like I was. Still, with that deer-in-headlights look, the defense lawyer would eat Reardon alive and get the jury to doubt every damn thing he said. It should be a minor matter, but this case was too important to leave to chance. We had a good shot of convicting one of the worst online predators I’d ever seen in my ten years as the lead computer crimes detective for Northpointe PD.

  My eyes shot to the defense table. Digger Howell. Skinny. Stringy dishwater-blond hair. Even from this far back I could smell the cheap body spray he layered on worse than a teenage boy. All through yesterday and this morning he’d sat hunched over, defeated, refusing to look at anything but his dirty fingernails. Now though, as Reardon crumbled on the stand before he faced any of the toughest questions, Digger sat tall in his chair and a slow, smug smile split his pointy face. I drew blood where my nails dug into my palms. Howell had lured half a dozen college-aged girls to his basement using social media. Most of them would never see justice. But I made a case with one of them. It had to be enough. It had to.

  The trouble was, Officer Reardon’s job that night was to secure the scene before I got there. His victim got away and was able to give a clear description of Digger’s place. He made videos, she said. The whole case hinged on getting those introduced into evidence. But none of the vile shit I found on Digger’s hard drive would mean a damn thing if his lawyer managed to get the jury to think the scene was contaminated before I even got there. It wasn’t contaminated. Not really. Sure, Reardon had made little mistakes along the way, but nothing that should have gotten the search thrown out. But Reardon was already tripping all over himself now. And with this judge? We were in trouble.

  Shit.

  Like I said, the smart thing to do would have been to get up and walk out of that courtroom right then and there. Instead, I stiffened my back and let my eyes travel across the room until they settled on the judge. Sheldon Pierce. The man who never met a motion to suppress he didn’t like. Reardon was too new to read the man the way I did. Judge Pierce saw me looking. He narrowed those beady eyes straight at me. He kept his reading glasses perched on his forehead where they reflected the fluorescent lights and made them glow. Pierce crossed his arms in front of him and shook his head as the defense attorney went in for the kill. Pierce hated cops. He seemed to make it his life’s mission to legislate from the bench and pick apart good police work in favor of vile scumbags. Yeah. Checks and balances. I get all that. But this guy was a straight-up prick.

  Officer Reardon fidgeted in his chair and contradicted himself for about the fourth time in five minutes.

  “Two minutes ago you said you waited for Sergeant Gaffney before you knocked on the defendant’s door. Now you’re telling me Gaffney was right next to you?”

  Reardon opened and closed his mouth, gasping for air like a beached trout.

  A minor detail that shouldn’t have fucking mattered. But hell, with Reardon’s demeanor, even I might think he was lying if I didn’t already know better.

  “I can’t watch this.” ADA Dorfman pressed his shoulder into mine. “Come on, Gates, you shouldn’t either.”

  I held up a hand. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “Just read your fucking report. Don’t let him make you guess at things you don’t remember,” I muttered under my breath, hoping I could put the idea into Reardon’s head by telepathy. But it was already too late for that.

  “You need to not be here, Mitch,” Dorfman said. “I’m serious. That kid idolizes you. He sees you looking at him … well … the way you’re looking at him, it’s only going to get worse.”

  “He thinks I’m the thing he needs to be afraid of?”

  I said it a little louder than I meant. The defense lawyer stopped mid-sentence and turned around to look at me. Then he looked at Digger and smiled. I dug my fists into my side as Dorfman tugged at my sleeve.

  Judge Pierce pounded his gavel as a murmur rose through the gallery. It wasn’t about me, but the crack of wood seemed to drive doubt into the faces of that jury as Digger’s smile widened.

  “Let’s go!” Dorfman said.

  That poor son of a bitch, Reardon. His mouth formed a bloodless line as he watched me get up and walk out. Dorfman had been right. It was only going to get worse for him. I couldn’t watch another second of it.

  “I need a fucking drink!” I said as the courtroom door closed behind us. I pounded my fist against the marble wall.

  “Yeah. It’s not quite noon and you’re
on duty,” Dorfman said. “I’d say let’s go get a cup of coffee instead but I’m afraid the caffeine is going to make you downright homicidal.”

  “He’s going to tank the whole case, isn’t he?”

  Dorfman shrugged. He was already starting to rifle through the case files in his briefcase. “I’ll let you know.”

  I couldn’t stand it. Bile rose in my throat. Digger Howell. Ten college girls had their lives ruined, because of him. One of them had even taken her own life over it, too ashamed to face her Mormon parents when they saw the pictures Digger had taken of her and sold online. She was just a naïve kid who made a bad decision. Digger Howell’s name would fade but those pictures would follow her and the other girls wherever they went. The internet is forever.

  “Look,” Dorfman said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve done your job and so have I.”

  “Pierce is just looking for a reason to dump this case,” I said. “He’s got a beef with my whole department. He’s one of the worst activist judges I’ve ever seen. Even the chief judge knows it. I’ve heard a rumor Pierce is looking to snag a federal court appointment. God, that’s going to be even worse if he gets it. I’m thinking about writing a letter to President Vance myself. Bright side though, at least I wouldn’t have to see his smug face much longer. I just thank God we got a conviction on the Lachlan case.”

  Digger Howell was one thing. But he was just an evil minion to Chet Lachlan’s full-blown devil. Digger Howell preyed on young women. Chet Lachlan went after kids. Five years. Two task forces later, we’d finally gotten that prick. Although we knew about at least a dozen victims, we’d only been able to make one stick. One fourteen-year-old girl, brave enough to stand up in court and face her monster. A jury convicted that scumbag of three felonies last month.

  Dorfman’s face went white.

  “What?”

  He kept his hand on my shoulder and guided me toward the front door of the courthouse.

  “What the hell, Glen? You got indigestion or something?”

  “We’ll talk outside,” he said as he pushed through the double doors. The sky had that greenish-gray tone it gets just before a storm. I made it halfway down the steps as Broad Street traffic whizzed by. The squealing tires of a Greyhound bus cut the air as it slowed for the traffic light at Jefferson Boulevard.

  I froze and pulled my arm away from Glen’s. He didn’t have to say it. The look on his face. The way he tried to muscle me out of the courthouse and far away from Pierce’s courtroom when I brought up the Lachlan case.

  “Glen?”

  Glen whirled on me. “I was going to talk to you about it later this afternoon.”

  “Spit it out.”

  Glen carved his hand through his hair and adjusted his briefcase over his shoulder. He wouldn’t look at me. When he finally did, all the blood seemed to drain right out of me.

  “Six months,” he said. His words hit my chest like bullets.

  “What do you mean, six months?”

  “Pierce gave Lachlan six months’ jail time. Three years’ probation.”

  I shook my head. I actually pounded my temple with my palm as if that might shake my ears loose. I couldn’t have heard this right.

  “Chet Lachlan,” I said. “We’re talking about Chet Lachlan.”

  Dorfman blew out a breath. “Yeah. We are.”

  “How?”

  Dorfman reached into his briefcase and pulled out a thin stack of stapled paper. He thrust it against my chest. “Read it when you can see straight again. He says it wasn’t a violent crime. The victim’s compliance was a mitigating circumstance.”

  “Compliance? She was fourteen!” I lost my shit then. Truly lost my shit. I tore the stack of papers from Dorfman’s hand and tried to make my eyes work as I leafed through them. Only bits and phrases popped out at me as I thumbed to the back of the opinion.

  The bells chimed in the top of the courthouse clock tower. Each one an exclamation point to the white hot rage bubbling through me. Six months. Chet Lachlan. Judge Pierce.

  “I gotta go,” I said, shoving the papers back against Glen’s chest.

  “Mitch, come on. Walk back to my office with me.”

  “No,” I said; turning on my heel, I started back up the courtroom steps. Chet Lachlan would be out of jail in six months. Probably three in real time. Digger Howell would probably get off completely when his defense lawyer moved for a directed verdict after Officer Reardon’s bungling testimony.

  I should have walked out of the courtroom before Reardon took the stand. I should have taken Glen Dorfman up on his offer to walk back to his office and away from that place. Those were all the smart, rational things I could and should have done. But I was way beyond any of that.

  Judge Pierce’s courtroom door was open. As soon as the noon bells rang, he would have called a lunch recess like he always did. I didn’t knock as I walked into his courtroom office. His secretary, Nancy Meyers, gave me a smile. She was sweet, kind. Reminded me of my grandmother with her cottony white hair and doughy cheeks.

  “I need to talk to the judge,” I said, trying like hell to keep my voice even. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the rational side of me tried to speak up. That guy was calm. Cool. Even. He told me this was a bad idea and wouldn’t help. Then I saw the tears of that fourteen-year-old girl right before she had to take the stand. Yeah. Fuck that guy.

  “Oh, he’s indisposed, Detective Gates. We’re in the middle of a big trial. You might try to catch him in a day or two when things calm down.”

  “It can’t wait,” I said. I heard the rush of water to my left. Judge Pierce’s chambers connected to the staff lavatory down a short hallway. I rapped my knuckles on Nancy’s desk and went right past her down that hallway. She yelled something to me, but I waved a hand behind me and kept on going.

  I did take a breath then. One great, gulping gasp of air as I flattened my palm against the lavatory door and then pushed through it. Pierce had changed out of his black robe. He leaned over the last sink in the row and tumbled his hands under the trickling stream of water.

  I didn’t put my hands on him. I didn’t need to. I just came up behind him and waited for him to look in the mirror. His eyes widened as he saw me standing behind him, tall and straight. He shut off the water and shook his hands, expecting me to step back so he could reach a paper towel. I didn’t move.

  “Is there something I can help you with, Detective? It’s not proper for me to be speaking with you in the middle of a trial. You’re a material witness. I don’t have to remind you about what happens with even the appearance of impropriety.”

  “Appearances? That’s what you’re worried about? Is that what you’re planning to tell Melissa Sweeney’s family? Is that what’s supposed to help her sleep at night when she finds out about the chicken-shit sentence you gave that bastard, Chet Lachlan? Except she can’t sleep at night. Did you know that? Were you even paying attention when she had the guts to stand in front of you and give her impact statement? She sleeps on a cot at the foot of her parents’ bed and makes them leave the lights on. Do you think her nightmares will go away in six months?”

  Pierce’s face fell as he realized I wasn’t here about Digger Howell’s case at all.

  “You need to step aside, Detective,” Pierce said. All color had drained from his face and a tiny muscle twitched at the corner of his eye. He was scared. Terrified. Good. It took everything in me not to lay my hands on him and throw his pot-bellied ass against the marble wall. I wanted him to have just a moment of terror the way Chet Lachlan’s victims had. It wouldn’t do a damn bit of good. Lachlan would still be out on the streets in a few months. Melissa Sweeney would still have nightmares. But maybe for about thirty seconds, I’d feel better.

  I took a step closer to him, leaving no more than an inch between us. He had to crane his neck to keep eye contact. He still wore his reading glasses perched on his forehead and two tiny red dots flared in his cheeks.

  “You are crossing a l
ine,” Judge Pierce said, his voice choked and squeaky.

  “What line is that?”

  “Get out of my chambers this instant.”

  “We’re not in your chambers, Judge. We’re in the john. And we’re just two men talking. Aren’t we?”

  He put his hands on the sink behind him and braced himself as I stared him down. He flinched as he felt my hot breath against his cheek. I hadn’t touched him. I didn’t think I would. He wasn’t worth it. But for a few seconds, I was fine with him wondering about it.

  “You make me sick,” I said. “And I know I can’t do anything about it. Not yet. But there’s a special place in hell for you right along with the scumbags you keep putting back out on the street.”

  Judge Pierce smiled then. Maybe if he hadn’t have done that, I could have kept my cool. But he did, wide and smarmy. He took a step toward me. “That’s right. You can’t do anything about it. You strut around here like you’re some superhero. I’m the one with the power. Don’t you forget that. And you’ve just made things worse for yourself, tough guy. I’m going to run your ass like you won’t believe. You better hope you don’t need any warrants signed by me in the next few weeks.”

  Jesus. He was out of his mind. Power? It took everything in me to just keep breathing.

  “Charles Lachlan was innocent,” Pierce said. “His family has an impeccable reputation. I did what I saw fit.”

  “The jury convicted him, asshole.” Impeccable family? Yeah. Lachlan came from wealthy parents. Real pillars of the community. The minute I thought it, I realized what went down. Pierce had ambition. The Lachlan family had money and political connections. They leveraged him. The fucker kicked Chet Lachlan in exchange for something. I knew I could never prove it. That knowledge settled over me and fierce anger bubbled over.

  A cloud of red drifted over my eyes. I don’t know what happened in those next few seconds. I went outside of myself. Melissa Sweeney’s face swam in front of me through the rage. I don’t remember putting my hands on Pierce. But his hot breath against my cheek brought me back into myself. I had him pushed against the sink, his lapels twisted in my fists. I wanted to smash his face in so badly I could taste it. Maybe if it went on another few seconds, I would have. Certainly the wide-eyed look in Pierce’s eyes told me he believed I would.