Bring the Heat

Book 5: Sugarland Blue Novel

by Jo Davis

Genres: Police Procedurals; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

The author of On the Run and the Firefighters of Station Five series once again proves that nothing is hotter than loving a man in uniform—or more dangerous…

Being on the Sugarland P.D. means never backing down, no matter how intense the case—or how dangerous the attraction…
 
Captain Austin Rainey knows all too well that being a good cop sometimes means gaining some bad enemies. After his ex-wife is killed, he finds himself on the wrong side of the law, trying to prove he’s innocent of her murder. The last thing he needs is a distraction—especially of the irresistible female kind…
 
Medical examiner Laura Eden has always found Austin more than a little intriguing, but she’s kept her feelings under wraps. Now she's determined to do her job and clear his name—but as her investigation brings them into close proximity, she can’t deny the attraction between them—or resist the temptation he presents.
 
But Laura and Austin soon realize their budding feelings might be more than emotionally perilous. Someone is coming after everyone Austin holds dear—and Laura might be the next one in the line of fire…

Release date: December 1, 2015

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 320

Sample

1

Austin Rainey hopped out of his truck, slammed the door, and strode up the walk, biting back a curse of aggravation. So much for what had been, until an hour before, a damn fine spring day off.

Except for his impending divorce from Ashley. The constant fighting over the details, every little thing from the pots and pans to who got the cat. Not to mention the one argument they hadn’t seen eye to eye on from the beginning:

The baby Ashley was carrying. Austin’s baby, a son he had always longed for so badly and she never wanted. And yet she was going to deny him custody.

Why? Out of spite?

He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. He was go­ing to have a son, and he’d be a great hands-on dad. At least he was alive to bitch about the crap that was his life, unlike the poor bastard inside the condo.

Something told him that might be the only positive note this day had in store.

Out of habit, he glanced around at the condos and surrounding neighborhood, getting the feel. It was older, well established. Upper middle class. Mercedeses, BMWs, and fully decked-out SUVs. Not rich, but not hurting by any stretch.

As he neared the lower-level breezeway between two buildings, he spotted Lieutenant Daniel Coleman talking to Detective Shane Ford and a couple of uniformed Sug­arland PD officers he’d never met. The younger man’s normally cheerful face reflected the grim pall permeat­ing the air. Arms crossed over his chest, Danny leaned his tall frame against the side of the building, shaking his head.

The quartet glanced up at his approach, and Danny straightened, green eyes widening as he read the dec­laration across Austin’s T-shirt.

Gun Control Means Using Both Hands.

The cops chuckled and Danny shot him an exasper­ated glare.

“Good God, Rainey. If you’re really dying for Chief Byrne to ream you, at least take him to dinner first.”

“Fuck you, asshole. It’s my day off, the Rangers were winning, and my goddamn beer’s going flat as we speak,” Austin announced. No one gave a damn. With a sigh, he got down to business. “What’s so important that I needed to be called down here?”

Shane Ford stepped forward. The tall, brown-haired man was one of Austin’s best homicide detectives and a superb leader on the force. “Trust us, Cap. You’ll un­derstand when you see the body.”

“Who was the first on the scene?”

“We were,” Shane confirmed, gesturing to his part­ner, Taylor Kayne, who had just stepped into their cir­cle. “Victim inside is identified as a thirty-one-year-old male named Matthew Blankenship. Call came in to nine-one-one this morning shortly before noon, a Mr. Rick Yates screaming at the dispatcher that his friend was dead. I arrived to find Mr. Yates completely hyster­ical. Haven’t been able to get much out of him yet.”

“Where is he?”

Shane jerked a thumb toward the adjacent parking lot, where two squad cars were parked side by side. A dark-haired man in the backseat of one had his face buried in his hands. Austin winced, a wave of sympa­thy rolling through him. Even seasoned veterans often had a tough enough time mentally dealing with a mur­der scene. He’d been chasing monsters for most of his life, sifting through the aftermath of their cruel work because he was damn good at it . . . and because the victims’ ghosts never let him rest. He couldn’t imagine walking in to discover a friend or loved one brutally killed.

“We’ll speak with him after he’s calmed down,” Austin told Shane. “Go on.”

“We found Mr. Blankenship deceased, apparently murdered, in his bedroom. After getting a good look at the victim and his manner of death, we immediately called you.”

Austin tensed. “Did either of you touch anything?” His men were too good to make rookie mistakes, but still, he had to ask.

“Not a thing,” Taylor assured him. “We went in, saw what we’re dealing with, and came outside to secure the crime scene.”

“I haven’t been inside yet,” Danny muttered. “Laura Eden and the FU are en route.”

Laura Eden. The striking, dark-haired medical ex­aminer who was smart as hell, had a dry sense of hu­mor, and a mouth like a sailor. For the past few years, Laura had worked alongside the department’s Foren­sics Unit, sarcastically dubbed the FU, to solve homi­cides and unexplained deaths. She was highly respected in the community.

She was also the bane of Austin’s existence. And the woman who secretly drove him crazy with desire.

With an effort, he snapped himself out of his mental lapse. Thoughts of Laura faded, as did his pitiful hope of getting back to the game and his beer, and he let them go. In his department, easy solutions were as scarce as winning lottery tickets. “Okay, I’m going in. Danny?”

“Hope you haven’t eaten lunch.” Taylor grimaced.

Actually, he had. Damn.

He and Danny entered Blankenship’s condo, duck­ing under the yellow crime scene tape stretched across the doorway. Inside, they paused, studying the interior. Tasteful, clean, not your stereotypical bachelor pad. A Fender electric guitar and a large amp in one corner. A framed photo of an older couple on the fireplace man­tel, likely the parents. Another shot of two young guys, one auburn haired and one with dark brown hair, sing­ing in a rock band on a small stage, guitars slung low. Blankenship and Yates?

A short hallway off the small living room led to the bedroom. Danny on his heels, he covered the distance and paused a second before stepping inside. The stench of loosed bowels gagged him. Afternoon sunlight fil­tered through the blinds, illuminating the bound man on the bed.

Halting, he stared at the carnage.

“Mother of God,” Austin whispered.

Beside him, Danny’s voice shook. “Have you ever seen anything like that before?”

“Not personally, no.” Suppressing a shudder, he glanced at his partner, who swallowed convulsively. “You okay?”

Danny heaved a deep breath, expression determined. “Better than him. Jesus.”

Austin clapped him on the shoulder, then stepped closer to the bed, cataloging the gruesome details. The man’s face was frozen in horror, wide blue eyes twin orbs of glass. A length of red silk parted his lips, tied snug around his head.

Blankenship was sprawled spread-eagle on his back, but, interestingly, his wrists and ankles weren’t bound to the four posts on his bed. The tall man’s sculpted body evidenced plenty of hours in the gym. Good look­ing, Austin supposed, though he wondered what role, if any, the man’s physical characteristics played in his murder.

“What do the guys want me to see?” Austin mused, frowning.

“Not sure yet.”

The upper half of the man’s body was so mutilated, the torso and the sheets were saturated in blood. The deep slashes indicated stab wounds, but he couldn’t make that call. That was Laura’s area of expertise.

“Doesn’t look like he struggled much, considering what happened to him,” Danny observed.

Austin cocked his head. “The killer might’ve slipped a roofie into his beer,” he said. “I saw two beer cans on the coffee table in the living room.”

“Statistically, the killer is probably a man.”

He shrugged, then gestured to the body. “Could be, but not necessarily. Put a sharp instrument like a knife in a person’s hand, throw rage into the mix, and any­one could do this.”

Danny wrinkled his nose in disgust. “There’re some sick people in this world.”

“Yeah. Let’s talk to his friend Yates, his coworkers. Get a picture of what he was into sexually, though I’m not sure anything like that is at play in this case. We need a picture of his after-hours social life, bar acquain­tances, etc.”

Danny frowned at Blankenship with intense scru­tiny for several long moments. Austin had come to un­derstand that expression, the quiet stance, the stiff set of his shoulders. Other than the obvious terrible scene, something was bothering his colleague.

“What is it?”

Danny cocked his head. “You know, this guy looks a lot like you.”

“The fuck he does.” But as Austin stared at the corpse, a creeping sensation crawled down his spine. “Okay, maybe a little. But the others wouldn’t have called me down here just because he resembles me.”

“No, but that might yield a clue.” Danny gestured to a small square of cream paper on the nightstand, and Austin walked over to view it better.

The object was a brief note, handwritten in what he considered a man’s blocky, messy style, though it would take an expert to weigh in on that. He read the missive without picking it up.

One down, how many more to go? How many wrongs have you dealt others, Captain? How great is the num­ber of your sins? One body for each of them. Your price to pay.

“Danny, read this.” Austin stepped aside to let his friend view the damning note.

“Christ.” He breathed. “So that’s why they called you.”

“You really think I’m the captain he’s referring to in the note?”

“I’m not sure, but I know one thing—we’ve officially got a fucking nightmare on our hands.”

* * *

Rick Yates had managed to pull himself together some­what, but shook violently throughout the interview. This had always been the part of an investigation Austin dreaded the most, even more than studying the actual crime scene. The victim was gone, and nothing would reverse whatever fateful decisions he’d made the night before.

But the survivors broke his heart, and with good rea­son. He’d never learned to harden himself against the loved ones’ sorrow, and hoped he never would. The day he could look into the reddened eyes of the Rick Yateses of this world and feel nothing, he’d turn in his damn shield.

The information Yates provided seemed typical enough to begin with. The two were lifelong friends, had grown up in the Sugarland area together. They held different jobs— Rick worked for a local telecom company in fiber optics, Matt was a graphic artist— but played together in a rock band as a sideline, for enjoy­ment rather than any real hope they’d make it big. They’d played Spanky’s, a club in Nashville, the night before. The mood had been rowdy, festive. Before Blan­kenship left, he’d made no bones about the fact that he’d planned to find some serious action.

“You didn’t see whether Matt picked anyone up at the club?” Austin pressed, leaning against the squad car Yates had been sitting in. Danny hovered at his el­bow.

“No—” He choked. “I wish to God I had. I told him to be careful. I always tell him to fucking be careful.”

Yates squeezed his eyes shut, but a tear escaped to roll down one cheek. Grieving, in denial, referring to his friend in present tense, unable to make the horrible switch in his mind.

“I’m sorry, Rick,” Austin said. “I know how hard this must be to talk about right now.”

He gave a bitter laugh and opened his eyes. “Do you?”

“Yes. Now, why would you caution him? What kinds of things was Matt into that concerned you?”

“Picking up random people for one-night stands, guys or girls. Doesn’t matter to him. Lately, he’d done a couple of threesomes.”

“Were you ever included?”

Yates looked genuinely shocked, and shook his head. “No. I’ve never been a part of that.”

A bisexual player. Interesting. Blankenship had cer­tainly made the killer’s job a breeze.

“I’ve got one more question, Rick. Did Matt do drugs?”

“Not on a daily basis. He did ecstasy sometimes af­ter we played, especially if he had sex planned for later. But that’s it, I swear.”

“All right.” Austin dug out his wallet and removed one of his cards. “Keep this. Call me or anyone in Homicide if you think of anything, no matter how insignifi­cant it may seem. We’ll be in touch.”

“Captain Rainey.” Yates hesitated and pocketed the card, lips trembling. “Matt’s parents, I c-can’t tell them. M-Matt’s all they h-had.”

His eyes filled again and Austin’s throat tightened. He reached out, squeezed the younger man’s shoulder. “Do the Blankenships live in the area?”

“Yeah.” The tears fell as he recited the address.

“Lieutenant Coleman and I will take care of it. We need to speak with them anyway.”

He and Danny turned to leave, just in time to see the Forensics Unit pull in behind Austin’s pickup. And be­hind that, the dark Mercedes belonging to Laura Eden.

His heart skipped several beats and he forced him­self to remain impassive as she stepped from the vehi­cle and headed his way.

It was almost impossible to concentrate on what she was saying as she stopped in front of him. Even with her long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail with a clip, and wearing a pair of conservative black pants and a blue blouse, she was beautiful. Her large brown eyes were expressive and intelligent, missing nothing.

She had a great sense of humor, but the frequent half smile, the sparkle in her gaze, was noticeably absent at the moment as she stood waiting for his response.

“I’m sorry. What?” he muttered, feeling his face heat.

“I asked you to fill me in,” she replied, eyeing him curiously. “What’s going on with you? Are you feeling okay?”

“Of course. I’m ready for a steak dinner after taking a look inside.”

If she realized he was deflecting the question of his mental lapse, she didn’t call him on it. Instead, she got down to business. “Victim?”

Quickly, he gave her the rundown of what they knew so far, plus the position and condition of the body. She merely listened, nodding, her sharp mind taking in ev­ery detail and cataloging it in that incredible brain of hers.

When he was done, she took a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and pulled them on. “Into the battle zone, then. Want to come with?”

“Sure.”

Not because he wanted to return to the grisly scene— hat was the very last thing he wanted. But he wasn’t going to turn down the rare chance to watch Laura work, a privilege usually granted to his men in the field while he was stuck behind a desk.

Few people would consider watching a medical ex­aminer conduct an investigation at a murder scene any­thing to write home about, but cops were a different breed. The need to protect and see justice served ran strong in Austin’s veins, and when an expert like Laura had to be called in to help, his curiosity and need to see things through came to the fore.

Sure, a lot of his fascination was the woman herself. But not all.

“These are definitely stab wounds. Don’t suppose you recovered the murder weapon?” she asked, inter­rupting his musings.

“I wish. Wouldn’t that have been nice.”

“Yeah.” She paused, peering closer at the body. “This poor guy didn’t even put up a fight. No defense wounds on his hands or arms. No scratches from fingernails on his skin, and no skin under his nails, either, that I can see.”

“That’s what we observed, too.”

“Tests may show trace amounts. No obvious evi­dence of sexual activity, but again, we’ll see.” She stood staring at the body for a moment. “He could’ve been roofied, or completely sedated. I’ll let you know what we find.”

“Thanks.”

At that exact moment, she spotted the note. Slowly, she skirted the bed, leaned over, and read the missive without touching it. Then she straightened and pinned Austin with a glare. “What the hell is this?”

“What it appears to be, unfortunately. An accusa­tion, and a probable motive.”

“The killer is referring to you?”

“My team seems to think so. That’s why they called me over here.” He nodded to the victim. “They think he resembles me, too.”

For once, words seemed to fail the woman as she turned to study the body again. Then she looked back at Austin. “I hope with everything in me that this has nothing to do with you.”

“Me, too. But I don’t know what other captain he could be addressing.”

“You’re not the only captain at the department.”

“I’m the only auburn-haired one who looks like him.”

Neither of them had an answer for that.

They walked outside together, and Laura directed her team to get the body loaded as soon as Forensics was finished processing the scene. Then she turned to Austin and regarded him thoughtfully.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

He tried a smile. “Why would you ask that?”

“You’re too quiet, Austin, and you don’t look well. You’re completely healed from the attack, right?” Her gaze sharpened.

“Yes,” he answered truthfully. A few months earlier, he’d been stabbed and nearly killed while working a case with Tonio Salvatore, one of his detectives. “It took a while, but I’m totally well. I’m just dealing with some personal stuff, and frankly it’s running me down a lit­tle.”

“Your divorce?”

“You heard?” he asked in surprise.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “One of your uniformed of­ficers mentioned it at a scene we worked a couple of weeks ago. I’m really sorry to hear about it.”

“Thanks.” He made a mental note to have a word with the shift during the next briefing about flapping their loose lips. “It’s for the best, though—believe me.” He didn’t know whether she’d heard about Ashley’s pregnancy, and he wasn’t about to bring it up.

“Well, I know it’ll be rough for a while, but it’ll work out. I’m here if you ever want to talk.”

Their eyes met and held. It was Laura’s turn to blush, and Austin stared at her, captivated. In the past few years since they’d met, this was the first time she’d ex­tended a personal offer of friendship. He wasn’t dumb enough to think the timing was a coincidence, and sud­denly the day seemed a lot brighter than before.

“Thank you.” He smiled. “I’ll remember that.”

“Take care, Austin.”

“You, too.”

Watching that woman walk away was getting more and more difficult to do.

2

Austin hovered outside Byrne’s office door for a few seconds before knocking. He couldn’t help but smile a bit as he recalled his meeting with his boss and good friend the day after the Blankenship murder almost a week before.

Muffled snickers punctuated the sudden stillness at his back. Assholes. He threw an evil glare over his shoulder, squelching the laughter if not the childlike glee on some of his detectives’ faces.

Except for Danny, he noted with gratitude. Seated at his desk, his friend looked up from the Blankenship file, expres­sion sober, and mouthed, Good luck.

“Come in,” Byrne’s deep voice intoned, colder than the North Atlantic. “And close the door.”

He did, pushing it shut behind him. Dammit, Glenn couldn’t be that angry with him. As a captain, Austin did his best to keep his nose clean.

In the early days, Austin had been wary of Glenn, who was then a hard-as-nails captain. The kind that made the men sit up straighter and sweat a little when he walked into the room. It wasn’t long, however, before Austin realized the man possessed a brilliant mind and a warmer heart than he let on.

What the hell have I done to piss him off?

The man in question didn’t bother to rise from his chair, but merely nodded. His dark eyes snapped with irritation and his mouth was pressed tight. “What the fuck was yester­day?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he confessed, gazing steadily at the chief. “I was called to the Blankenship murder scene because my detectives believe the killer might be focused on me somehow.”

The chief’s stony expression softened some. “I know that. I’m talking about the public image we have to maintain.”

“What do you—”

“‘Gun Control Means Using Both Hands’?”

“Oh. The T-shirt,” Austin muttered, sitting back in his chair. “I was off duty, Glenn. They sounded so adamant I get there, I didn’t think to change my shirt first. How did you find out about it?”

“On the six o’clock news,” the chief said icily. “When I saw you walk across the lawn of the crime scene wearing it.”

Shit. He blew out a breath. “Damn. I’m sorry I messed up, okay? I never even saw the reporters.”

“Messing up is wearing one blue sock and one black sock. Judging from the number of messages on my voice mail— ne from the mayor himself— our stupidity qualifies as a clus­terfuck.”

Austin winced. “It’s done. I don’t know what I can do about it.”

Glenn ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper brown hair. “Me, either. The problem is, with the climate in the media so anticop right now, none of us can afford to step one toe out of line, even with something as innocent as what’s supposed to be cop humor on a T-shirt. You understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, sir. Every single thing we do gets blown totally out of proportion.”

“And then some! Hopefully this will all blow over by to­morrow and they’ll be focused on county taxes or some shit.”

He’d started to ask whether the comments on the news were that bad, but decided he really didn’t want to know.

They’d all been called on the carpet by Glenn at some point. The media and the public wanted answers about the murder— nswers Austin and his men didn’t have. Yet.

Bracing himself, Austin brought himself back to the present, knocked and walked inside, shutting the door behind him. Glenn waved him in and sat back in his chair, looking no less harassed than he had in the past few days.

“Tell me something good,” the chief said wearily. “Anything.”

Austin thought about that. “Not a single one of our men has been caught on a cell phone video doing any­thing remotely inappropriate. This week, anyway.”

“Aren’t you hilarious?” Byrne huffed, glaring at him. “I’m talking about the Blankenship investigation.”

“I know.” He shook his head. “Not much to go on yet. The full report from Eden isn’t back, and they’re swamped.”

“Damn.”

“But I’ve started a list of my former cases where the perp I’ve put away might still hold a grudge. It’s slow going.”

“All right. Keep me informed.”

“You know it.”

“How are things with you? Personally?” The ques­tion was genuine, Glenn’s expression concerned.

“Not too bad, I guess. The baby’s due in four weeks, and I’ll admit I’m scared as hell.”

His friend smiled. “And excited.”

“That too.”

Just then a loud knock sounded on the chief’s door, startling Austin. As he turned in his chair, he wondered who would have the nerve—everyone knew better than to interrupt the chief in a meeting.

“What?” Glenn barked.

The door opened and Shane stuck his head in. His gaze found Austin sitting there, then skittered away without acknowledging him.

“Chief, I need to speak with you.” Shane’s voice was strained.

“Now?” Glenn swept a hand toward Austin. “You can see I’m busy at the moment.”

“This is important, sir. I wouldn’t interrupt other­wise.” Something in his tone must’ve alerted the chief, because Glenn nodded.

“Fine. Come in, Detective.”

“No, sir. I mean, I think it’s best if you come out here.”

The chief’s brows rose to his hairline. But he did as he was asked, pushing his fit frame from his seat and leaving the office with Shane.

That’s not strange or anything, Austin said to himself.

Shrugging, he pulled his iPhone from his pants pocket and checked his text messages. Two from Ashley, com­bative as usual, one from his mother asking when she and his dad could come for a visit.

After he responded to those, he surfed Face­book. In fact, when several min­utes went by and the chief hadn’t reappeared, Austin frowned. What was keeping his boss? They all had shit to do, and Austin was no exception.

Patience finally expired, he got up and left the office. As luck would have it, the chief was on his way back, Shane and Taylor walking with him.

“Are we done with our talk?” Austin asked his boss. “Because I’ve got things to—”

“Son, I need for you to go back into my office with us.” Glenn stopped in front of him and gestured in that direction.

Son. It was the way he’d said it. That tone. Austin knew that voice, had used it and heard it used many times in his career. But he didn’t have to judge by that alone. Their faces were grim, etched with sympathy, their eyes telling him without words how very much they didn’t want to say whatever must be said.

“What’s going on?” he asked quietly.

“In the office,” Shane insisted.

Panic seized his heart, started to claw its way up his throat. “Tell me now. What’s happened? Taylor?”

The blond detective wouldn’t look at him, just shook his head. “Cap, please—”

“Has there been an accident? Is it my parents?” He stared at them, unable to figure out whether it was one of his parents, how they would’ve learned something before him.

“No, it’s not your folks,” Glenn said, taking his arm. “Come inside.”

Austin jerked his arm from the chief’s grasp, voice rising. “Tell me! Is it Ashley? Oh God.” His frantic gaze darted between them. “Something’s happened to Ash— and my baby. Christ, what’s going on?”

By then he realized all activity around them had gone silent. Without waiting for an answer, he yanked his phone from his pocket again and tried to punch in his estranged wife’s number. His shaking hands wouldn’t cooperate, and when Shane’s hand covered the phone, Austin froze.

“Austin.”

That one word told him all he needed to know. “Where is she? At the house?”

“You are not to go out there. Do you hear me?” Glenn ordered.

“No.” He couldn’t think it. Refused to believe. Fran­tic, he dug his truck keys out of his pocket and turned, running for the front of the building. Despite the chief shouting for someone to stop him, nobody did. Most of them simply gaped in confusion, unsure what to do.

By the time anyone mobilized behind him and there were sounds of pursuit, he was almost to his truck. In short order he was tearing out of the parking lot, nar­rowly missing a squad car and someone’s personal SUV.

He didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was getting to his house as quickly as possible. The house he still owned but no longer lived in because he was letting Ashley have it in the divorce. The house where she’d raise their son, and Austin would be a fixture in his life.

Please, let them be safe. Let my boy be unharmed. I’ve wait