A Flare Of Heat (H.E.A.T. Book 1) Read online

  Nothing I hadn't already considered myself.

  "Have you met our newest member of HEAT?" Michaels asked, indicating the blond guy to his side. "This is Russell Clarke," he offered. "Clarke, this is the detective I was telling you about."

  Michaels' choice of words was deliberate. Just what had been said before I arrived?

  I nodded to the guy, but didn't bother speaking. Silence is a good tool if used well.

  "Nice to meet you, Detective Keen," the guy said and thankfully didn't add the expected, "I've heard a lot about you."

  I dismissed both investigators with another nod and then started to pace the circumference of the car. I heard Michaels mumble something indistinct to Clarke, and both men took several steps back to give me space. Maybe Damon Michaels did know me well.

  "What's on your mind?" Pierce asked quietly as he followed a step behind.

  "Does there have to be something on my mind?"

  "Yes, you've got that look."

  I crouched down beside the opened driver's door and stared inside the ash filled interior of the car.

  "What look is that, Pierce?"

  "The I-know-what-I'm-going-to-find look."

  My head turned to glance at him briefly, then eyes back on the seat of the car. "There's an I-know-what-I'm-going-to-find look?"

  "You bet ya. And you're wearing it. So, spill. What do you already know?"

  What did I already know? Too much. And not damn near enough.

  "There'll be a message," I finally said, all three men now close enough to hear what I had to say.

  "This isn't message enough?" Michaels asked.

  I shook my head. "This is the look-at-me moment. The message will be somewhere inside this car, or near the victim."

  "And what's the message going to say, Lara?" Pierce asked.

  I stood up and dusted my hands down my creased trousers, feeling the sweat wipe clean on my palms.

  "It's not so much what it says, Pierce," I countered. "But who it'll be addressed to."

  I turned and started walking toward my car.

  "That's it?" Pierce shouted after me and I stopped.

  Looking over my shoulder I added, "The scene's yours Michaels, don't fuck it up. And let me know what forensics uncovers, Pierce." I turned back in the direction of my car and said over my shoulder, "And find me that message!"

  "Yes, sir!" Pierce shouted back, and despite the location and reason for us all being here at just after four in the morning, there was amusement in his tone.

  If you can't find the will to laugh, you might as well curl up and die along with the victims.

  Another Carl Forrester piece of wisdom.

  I slid into my seat behind the steering wheel and laid my head back on the headrest, eyes closed for a short span of time.

  "I could really use your guidance, Old Man," I whispered. "This one's personal and I'm fucking scared it's nowhere near over yet."

  I started my vehicle, and with one final look out of the window towards the organised chaos of the scene, my eyes connected with the dark brown of Damon Michaels'. He held my gaze for several long seconds, then turned his attention back to the body in the boot of the burned out car.

  If anyone could find me a message in the charred remains of that murder scene, it would be him. It was a strangely comforting thought, even as I found myself frowning at the fact that I'd have to talk to the over confident HEAT investigator again.

  And the last time I had more than a few curt words to say to Damon Michaels he'd ended up inside my head, plastered against my body and way too far into my pants.

  Not to mention my heart.

  Oh, yeah. This was going to be fun.

  Chapter 2

  "If you can't find the will to laugh, you might as well curl up and die along with the victims."

  I found who I was looking for down a litter filled alley running off Karangahape Road. If my gut and Carl's ominous words sounding out inside my head were anything to go by, time was not on my side.

  I watched from a hidden distance, not because I wanted to see what Eagle was doing, but because I didn't want him to slip away when the deed was done. And if I interfered and cut into his action scaring off his John then I'd get fuck-all for my efforts. And hanging around K Road at four-thirty in the morning definitely deserved a result.

  The sound of heavy breathing filled the air and I rolled my eyes as Eagle encouraged his mark to, "Let go, baby. I gotcha." Did those lines actually work?

  They must have, because a few hard and fast strokes later and the John was 'letting go' all over Eagle's rubber gloved hand. At least the kid was using protection. Eagle held the guy against the wall as he came down from his little high, then with a couple more murmured words of false affection, the John straightened himself up, tucking in his shirt and zipping up his trousers. Eagle shared a joke with him, offering what could only be called great follow-up or after care service, and then finally he was on his own.

  "Y'can come out now, Keen," he said, counting several notes out in his hand before sliding them safely into the back pocket of his loose jeans, hoisting up his boxers to ensure they remained visible over the low riding waistband of his outerwear. "Like whatcha see, Detective?" he murmured with a smirk, turning and leaning nonchalantly against a dirty brick wall and lighting a cigarette.

  He blew several rings of smoke up into the air while I took up a similar position on the opposite wall from him. I let my eyes run over his baby face, the slightly rounded cheeks, no stubble over the smooth brown skin, guileless brown eyes looking up at me from under hooded lids. He was still a kid, barely in his twenties, but what Eagle didn't know about the streets of Auckland city after dark, wasn't worth mentioning.

  "Profitable night?" I asked casually.

  He shrugged. "I got some time, we could hook up."

  "Not interested, Eagle. You know that." Besides the obvious, Eagle was like a wayward kid brother to me. A rough around the edges, totally unrelated kid brother, but I just didn't see him any other way than that.

  "If anyone needs a good fuckin', it's you, Keen," he pointed out in all seriousness. "I do chicks too, y'know?"

  "Yeah, I know."

  "So loosen up. It's fifty for my fingers and a hundred for a quick fuck. Or y'could watch me wank for ten."

  "Right here, huh?" I asked, making a point of looking around the dirty, urine smelling alleyway we were in.

  "Y'want it rough, Keen. Get down and dirty, let yourself go." Then he had a thought, his eyes shining with mirth and sudden interest. "But, word is, ya more into the club scene now days. How's that workin' for ya? Found a daddy yet?"

  I forced myself not to show a reaction, just a slow blink of my eyes and a calculated, and hopefully casual, shrug of my shoulders. "Broadening my horizons, Eagle. Girl's gotta have some fun. But tell me, how'd you hear about my extra circular activities?"

  He stubbed out the unfinished cigarette and thrust his hands into his pocket.

  "Gonna cost ya."

  "I'm here, aren't I?" I pointed out. "I thought we had an understanding, you and me? Has that changed?"

  He shook his head, looking every inch the young boy, and no longer the confident, sassy street urchin turning tricks for a few bucks each night.

  "Rooster spotted y'at Zero s'other night. Y'stood out. Wanna know why?"

  I'd play. Eagle and I did have an understanding. For all his misguided faults, I trusted his instincts. "Why?"

  "Y'were alone. If ya lookin' into those places, don't go alone, Detective. Get a daddy."

  I nodded slowly. I'd been beginning to think that was a prerequisite to the back rooms, and considering I was currently partner-less, it had meant not a single door had been opened for me the few times I'd delved into the underground club scene. As it now wasn't my only open case, partnering up was becoming a necessity for more than just one reason. I allowed myself a moment to picture Ryan Pierce as my 'daddy' as Eagle liked to call them. Ryan was gorgeous, no denying that, but acting lik
e he was my protector and the be-all-and-end-all of my sexual fantasies and desires was going to take some doing.

  And I was well aware of how convincing our act would have to be to open the types of doors I needed opening.

  "Who else has noticed?" I asked, pushing those more distant concerns away and concentrating on the most pressing.

  "No one that I heard. Y'known on the streets, Keen, but ya not that well known. Carl made a name for himself, so far y'still standin' in his shadow."

  I dreamt of Carl every single night. I thought of countless things he'd said to me over the years several times each day. But always, always, when someone else brought my ex-partner's name up in conversation the cut was as though delivered by a knife.

  It hurt. I missed him. I'd still had so much to learn before he'd left.

  "Can you do something for me?" I asked, pushing more and more emotional baggage further and further down inside.

  "Depends." Usual Eagle comeback. "Time, risk and price."

  "Indefinite for now. Manageable. And two hundred bucks."

  He snorted. "One week. It better be fuckin' easy. And half a grand."

  My turn to laugh out loud.

  "Two. It is. And two-fifty is the best you'll get."

  He scowled, but then rolled his hand in a come-on motion. As good as a handshake. I nodded back. Deal made.

  "Cover for me, any word of what I'm doing in those clubs needs to be cut-off before it escalates. Make sure Rooster knows it's my new thing."

  Another snort.

  "I'm letting go, Eagle. Isn't that what you said I should do? Getting down and dirty."

  "You're a cop," he pointed out unnecessarily.

  "I'm also a woman."

  His eyes travelled the length of me in a lascivious and experienced way a young boy just shouldn't have.

  "Yeah, you are, Keen. You are."

  I ignored him. "So, you'll do it?"

  He held his hand out for the cash. I counted out two-hundred-and-fifty dollars in fifty dollar notes. He pocketed them with the John's cash from earlier, hopefully making this the end of his night.

  But it wasn't the end of why I was here. One problem solved, the more dangerous one left to deal with.

  "We done?" he asked, peeling himself off the grime stained wall.

  "One last thing," I said quietly, unable to hide the gravity of what I was about to say. I liked Eagle. He may not have led the sort of life I would have wanted a brother - had I had one - to lead, but I couldn't help wanting to look out for him.

  "Watch yourself, OK?"

  He gave me an incredulous glare.

  "Tell the others," I added, holding his gaze with a determined one of my own.

  He stilled.

  "What the fuckya know now, Keen?"

  I shook my head. "Too early to tell, but it's enough to know I'm concerned."

  "For us?"

  "For all of you."

  His face tipped down on those last words, aware of exactly who I meant. Not just my group of informants, the ones Eagle headed up out on the streets. But those I'd inherited as well. Of Carl's.

  "Ah, shit," he muttered. "I gots some place I gotta be."

  I watched him saunter off down the alley back towards Karangahape Road and the colours of the red light district. I scrubbed my face with two hands, willed myself to stay awake and alert a little longer, and turned back towards where I'd parked my car.

  The sounds of late night clubs winding down thudded through my veins, pulsed in my head. Stepping over the legs of those too drunk and wasted to move further than the pavement outside their favourite nightclubs, I avoided the larger groups of boisterous young uni students and tourists, and slipped between the throng.

  Laughter and singing joined in with the odd argument and drunken declaration of love, but I was immune to it all. Sweaty bodies, unstable gaits, the smell of beer and spirits mixing with the pungent odour of vomit in the gutter. Friday night, or more precisely Saturday morning, in the City Of Sails' most popular clubbing street was not for the faint of heart.

  An ambulance screamed past, beacons flashing, siren wailing. A uniformed cop car trailed behind in silence, the red and blue flickering strobe lights on top the only indication it was responding to the same incident. Probably an assault, fevers were high for this late in winter. I couldn't help thinking that whatever ominous cloud was approaching, was affecting the public out and about tonight.

  I could feel the darkness getting closer and the burned out car under the Harbour Bridge on Curran Street was the first sign that it was all about to go to hell. I needed to confirm who the victim was. I needed answers I didn't want to face, before I accepted that this was truly happening. That this meant what I thought it meant.

  I slipped into my car and headed towards the morgue at Auckland City Hospital. No time like the present to mess with the chief pathologist's head.

  Five-fifteen in the morning on a Saturday and security checks at the Auckland City Hospital Mortuary were as stringent as the middle of the day. Simply flashing my badge at the guard on duty wasn't enough to get me behind the safety screens, it wasn't until he studied it for a good few minutes and phoned the Central Police Station to confirm my credentials, that he finally let me through the door.

  I was impressed and pissed off in equal measure.

  "Is McIntyre on?" I asked the guard once I'd made it to the inner sanctum, or as the sign above the internal door - unseen by the public, I was sure - said, dead centre of town.

  "Yeah, came in for that burns victim," he confirmed, making me think at least one thing was going right tonight.

  Liam McIntyre was the head pathologist at the morgue and one hell of a switched on guy. If my message wasn't found at the scene, he'd find it on the body. And as I hadn't heard back from either HEAT or Pierce, I was guessing no news was in fact bad news on that front.

  Processing a scene like that one would take forensics hours, there was still a chance they'd come up with something once they shipped everything back to their labs. But I didn't have time to wait for one avenue to offer up the answers, I had to make sure I covered all my bases on this one.

  Lives of people I actually knew were at stake.

  I pushed into the main viewing area above the autopsy room to see if McIntyre was alone before I barged on in there. I did have some restraint left it seemed.

  I wished I didn't, because then I wouldn't have had to watch HEAT Investigator Damon Michaels assisting Dr Liam McIntyre as the pathologist went over the corpse with a fine tooth comb, and had time to digest the fact before I faced them both.

  Michaels had every reason to be here, as much as I. Fire investigation involved victims as par for the course. Not every arson event focused on property alone, more than their share had human victims. Michaels would be well versed with following his investigations to the autopsy room of the morgue.

  The fact that he'd beaten me here was what made that truth taste bitter.

  Was I slipping? Was I in danger of being shown up by the arrogant arse?

  Not happening.

  I moved swiftly down the stairs that led back into the main hall off the exam room and pushed my way inside without offering up a knock. Both men stopped what they were doing immediately and stood upright to look accusingly at me from across the uncovered body of the victim on the table.

  I almost apologised for being late, but swallowed that down with the sarcastic statement on the tip of my tongue about interrupting their shared moment, and offered a forced smile instead, with a simple, "Good morning, gentlemen. What have you found?"

  "Detective Keen. So nice of you to join us," McIntyre replied, returning his bespectacled attention to the charred remains in front of him. "I was just asking Investigator Michaels if you had called it a night already."

  "When have I ever let you down, Doc?" I quipped. "And don't mention the watermelon case."

  That received a snort from behind his mask and a softening of his stance. Exactly what I'd been aiming
for of course, and it wouldn't have gotten past McIntyre.

  "Watermelon case?" Michaels queried. He wasn't wearing a mask, but standing back from the stench rising off the table by at least a foot.

  I walked past both men and retrieved the tub of Vaseline from the shelf by the computer, rubbing a good dollop beneath my nostrils and removing at least some of the nasty smells from the room. Damon watched me with interest, but declined when I offered him the tub to use as well.

  "Detective Keen offered to assist me in a re-enactment of a possible death by watermelon case she was working on," McIntyre commented. "Suffice it to say, I will never ask for her assistance in such matters again."

  "It wasn't entirely my fault that watermelon hit you instead of the dummy. You moved at the last second," I pointed out.

  "My dear," McIntyre said, standing up from his lean over the victim to stare me in the eyes. "If your reflexes are that slow, I pity anyone relying on your quick draw for their safety. I moved, you sucked in a breath of air, and then you threw the blasted melon at my head."

  "I thought you were the dummy," I muttered, unable to stop the curve of my lips at the retelling of McIntyre's favourite tale.

  Black humour. A cop's best friend.

  I looked down at the victim on the table and all levity left me. The room took on the weight of my emotions. McIntyre and Michaels both ceasing the inane topic as well and instead offering their own moment of silence for the fallen.

  "Thirty three years old," McIntyre said softly. "Male, as you know. Caucasian. Lived a hard life from what I can tell. No soft tissue to assess, but multiple old fractures, some more recent than others. Femur when he was young, right wrist at some adolescent age, and a recovering fracture of his right radius and ulnar. Evidence suggests he was wearing a cast at the time of his death."