If Only: A Diva to the Guides Prequel

Book 4: The Diva to the Guides Series

by Grace Augustine

Genres: Occult & Supernatural; Visionary & Metaphysical; Romance

Synopsis

Charisse Carrington has loved flying since she first went up in an airplane at a county fair when she was eight years old. Her fascination led to a pilot's license at eighteen, and a job as a helicopter pilot with the local police department drug enforcement office. Her special metaphysical abilities place her in an awkward position when details of a crime are revealed to her in a dream vision that she must share with Mark.

To Mark Seymour, there's nothing better than putting drug pushers out of business. He's the top undercover drug cop in town. He is handsome, with or without his disguises, has a penchant for beautiful women, and dedicates himself to making his community a better place.

Mark and Charisse join forces to solve a double homicide, a kidnapping, and other issues that may tear apart their relationship.

Release date: December 6, 2017

Print pages: 79

Content advisory: For Mature Readers

Sample

Chapter 1

Charisse Carrington, drenched in a cold sweat, sprang to a sitting position. She crossed her legs, yoga style, and elbowed the slumbering form wrapped in the sheets lying next to her. “Mark! Mark!” Charisse exclaimed. She jostled him again before turning on the Tiffany lamp on her night stand. “Oh, for crying out loud! Mark, wake up! I’ve got it, I know where they’re hiding the hostages.” Officer Mark Seymour rolled over, so he was facing Charisse. He swept a hand over his sleepy eyes and continued the movement until his fingers laced through his hair. “What’s going on, Honey? Are you alright?” he inquired. Charisse huffed a sigh, squared her shoulders, and looked at Mark. “I know where the hostages are, and I know who they are...they aren’t who the department thinks.” There was deep concern in Charisse’s voice. Mark knew that concern all too well. He’d learned to listen when she had these weird-assed dreams, or premonitions, or whatever the hell they were. Mark propped up against the pillows. He ran his hand down her arm and linked fingers with hers. “Talk to me,” Mark urged. “Okay...now, the department thinks it’s the Cable brothers that are missing. They may be missing, but the drug ring isn’t the culprit,” Charisse paused. “Mark, there are children involved.” “What?” Mark half exclaimed, half questioned. Charisse nodded her head and bit her bottom lip, a habit she’d fallen into when she second guessed her intuition. Mark brought his hand up to her cheek and shook his head. “No, stop. Now’s not the time to chase after your words. Focus...please. Tell me what you saw.” Charisse took a deep breath and closed her eyes, hoping to recount her dream vision. “There are three children, two boys, one girl. The boys are maybe eight and ten. The girl is four-ish. They were huddled together in a dark corner, like a cave. The little girl had dirt on her face and her hair was matted...almost like she’d been bleeding.” Charisse shivered. Recollection of those nightmarish images seeped into her own body, but she continued. “There were male voices in the distance. I couldn’t make out what they said. The older of the boys was assuring the other two that they would get out of there and be home soon. His words made the little girl whimper quietly. “The older boy had sandy colored hair and was dressed in blue jeans and a black tee shirt that had mud on it. He was barefoot. The other boy was dressed similar, but his hair was longer and blonder. The little girl wore pink elephant print pajamas. Mark, all of them were barefoot.” Charisse opened her eyes and fixed her gaze on the man next to her. She was pale and visibly shaken. The fear behind her glance brought icy shivers down his spine. Mark placed a hand on each of Charisse’s upper arms and squeezed gently, as if to comfort her. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to have those experiences, to have a connection that even took away his dreams as a refuge from the real world, but somehow, she did it and he tried his best to support her, however small the gestures often felt. He read the LED numbers on the clock behind Charisse, 4:30. “I’m gonna shower, get dressed, and head down to the station. It’s only a couple hours until I have to be there, so I may as well get an early start and...” Charisse stopped him in mid-sentence. “Oh, no you don’t, Mark Seymour. You’re not leaving me out of this one. Remember, I’m the one who had the dream. I’m the one who saw this.” Charisse jumped to a standing position on the bed, walked over the top of Mark and landed on the floor. She sprinted to the bathroom, clothes flying as she did. Mark shook his head and smiled. He chased her to the bathroom door and smacked her bare ass before she closed and locked the door behind her. He heard her giggling. “You exasperate me so much, woman!” “I see you couldn't sleep either, huh?” Brewster brought the cup of coffee to his lips and sipped. “Have a possible lead in that Cable brothers drug related case,” Mark explained as he flew to his desk. Mark’s desk butted up against his partner’s giving them double the work space, when they could find it. Mounds of file folders, paper sacks with half eaten food, and paper cups half filled with drinks littered the desks. The trash cans were overflowing with wadded paper. Neither seemed to care about the cleanliness of their work area. So long as they knew where the information was amid that chaos, that’s all that mattered. “You have an escort this morning? She sure makes a cute mascot,” Brewster teased. Mark raised an eyebrow at his partner. He and Brewster had been working the undercover unit for two years. They’d come to know each other well, well enough to give each other shit about everything. Charisse flashed one of her killer smiles at Mark’s partner. She playfully nudged his chin with her fist. “You’re just jealous.” Brewster let out a hearty laugh. “That I am, ma’am. That I am.” The officer walked over and sat down in the chair next to Mark’s desk, picking up a half-filled cup of coffee that helped fuel his early morning. “So, what’s this about new leads on the drug case?” “I have a hunch we’re missing something. I need you to grab all the information we have on this. Also, I want you to check the missing person’s list for three children,” Mark explained. Brewster raised an eyebrow quizzically then shook his head and walked away, only to turn around, open his mouth, shut it, and continue walking in the direction of the file room. Even though this would seem like sheer lunacy to an outsider, Brewster had questioned his partner one too many times in cases like this only to find that Mark’s hunches were usually spot on. “Charisse, you really didn’t need to come down here with me. You could have had a few more hours of sleep. What time does your shift start?” Charisse smiled and walked behind Mark. She put her hands on his shoulders and began massaging. She leaned down and kissed his stubbled cheek. “You look good with the five o’clock shadow, Seymour.” “Damn! I didn’t shave, did I? I was in such a rush to get down here and start putting pieces together...” Charisse kissed his cheek again and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m not thinking anyone will care, Mark. If they question it, tell them it’s part of the disguise for the next drug run,” she suggested. “Anyway, I don’t mind being here. I have some paperwork of my own to see to. It’s about time to have Chopper One serviced. I want to make sure the mechanics know what needs to be done.” Charisse met Brewster in the doorway on her way out and they high-fived before continuing in their respective directions. “You know, that woman is the most gorgeous creature on earth. Too bad you had to stake your claim on her, Seymour,” Brewster noted. “You leave your hands off her, partner,” Mark emphasized the last word. “You’re right, she is a beauty. I’m glad she thinks I’m worth her time.” Mark shifted in his chair and motioned for his partner to sit down. Their desks faced each other, making communicating easy. Neither had to yell across the room like some officers did. “So, what did you bring me?” Brewster opened the top file and read the information to Mark. He looked up occasionally, noting Mark taking in every word. “Why is this so important to you?” Brewster asked. “Let’s just say this isn’t what it looks like.” “Are you going to expound on that or make me play twenty damn questions?” “I have a feeling the Cable brothers are involved, but not sure to what degree. These two-bit thugs are incapable of knowing the ins and outs of the drug lords,” Mark thought for a moment before continuing. “Besides, they’re more into petty theft than they are the millions made in the drug world.” “You’re probably right, but what other explanation do you have about their disappearance?” “I don’t know, Brewster...” Mark paused and ran a hand through his hair. “I just don’t know. I have this feeling we’re missing something...something big, something that could solve this case and close it, so we can shut down another drug head.” Brewster drained his coffee mug and set it on the corner of his desk. He opened the file in front of him. The Cable Brothers. Their folder was thicker than most local offenders. They’d been a pain in the ass for years with one petty offense after another; never anything to put them away for the long run, but they kept popping back up on the radar again and again. “Mark, I don’t get it. I thought someone knocked them off and we’d find their bodies in the river by now. It’s been two weeks since they were reported missing.” “Yeah, but all of this smells like a big pile of rotting carp.” Brewster shook his head. A smile crossed his face. Rotting carp. Mark motioned for the folder his co-worker held. He read down the front sheet line by line. “Okay, we know they are shady as the day is long, we know they’ve broken just about every law in this city. They are as big and dumb as they come. What aren’t we seeing, Mark?” “Seriously, it’s just a hunch, but...” Before Mark spoke another word, the Chief appeared in the doorway, door slamming in the frame behind him. This wasn’t a good sign. Chief was here before his seven o’clock shift and he wasn’t holding his coffee mug, instead he held a Styrofoam cup filled with gas station wash that masked itself as coffee. Shit’s about to get real, me thinks. “Boys, whatever you’re working on, drop it. I have a double murder on my hands and I’m sending you to find out what the hell is going on in my city.”

CHAPTER TWO

Charisse pulled the clipboard from the nail on the wall and carefully looked over the notes. Chopper One was due for an overhaul. It’d been a few months since the mechanics tore her apart and cleaned and repaired what needed attending. She checked off the last box on the form and signed her name. She smiled. Never in a million years had she dreamed of being the pilot of a police helicopter. Her fascination with flying was sparked when she went up in a chopper during a county fair. The thrill of flying over the land and seeing everything from a different perspective led her to get her pilot’s license. The instructor shared with Charisse, after her final flight exam, there was an opening at the police department and that she should apply. She did, and without even looking over the application, was hired. Her initial thoughts of what the job entailed were ones of traffic control—speeding, accidents, that kind of thing. Little did she know she would be running under-cover drug cops in and out of dangerous situations. Charisse certainly hadn’t imagined anything like that when she started flying, but now couldn’t imagine things working out any other way. Charisse, clipboard in hand, walked over to where the head mechanic stood. He was waist deep in a repair of some sort on one of the department’s SUVs. “Sam, here’s the checklist for Chopper One,” she handed the sheets of paper to him. “Any idea when I can take her back up?” Sam wiped his hands on the thighs of his overalls and looked over the top of his glasses which perched on the end of his sweaty nose. He scanned the papers, making sure there was a signature on the final page. That’s what authorized him to work on the chopper. “It’s been a while since we’ve worked on her. Here,” he tossed a leather packet at Charisse. “You’ll have to get more intimate with Black Widow while we work on your baby. I’m guessing it will take the better part of this week and next to make sure she’s in tip-top shape.” Charisse rolled her eyes and dangled the keys from one finger. “Seriously, Sam? Black Widow? I feel like I’m driving a stealth bomber when I’m at her helm.” “Yeah, I know, but it’s for the best. Trust me,” Sam assured. “Ye—-ah. What are you not telling me, Sam?” “I can’t say for sure, just hearsay. Think they’re planning on you dropping off the undercovers again. Sure, wish they’d get a handle on this damn drug crap. It’s freakin’ me the hell out. Not safe out there. I don’t want my grandkids outside.” Charisse hated Black Widow. The chopper was large and dark and oppressive. She didn’t feel safe flying this big of a machine. She knew it was only fear since this chopper was safer than the one she normally flew, but it gave her the creeps just the same. It was almost like the Widow knew she wasn’t liked by the one flying her. The last time Charisse flew her, Widow lurched and dipped in altitude a couple times. She’d even heard the aircraft chuckle at her driver’s fear. Sometimes you had a bond with your vehicle and sometimes...well, sometimes the relationship was a bit more antagonistic. “I’d appreciate them telling me ahead of time what’s going on,” Charisse commented. “Hey, you didn’t hear it from me, girlie. What we talk about here in the shop stays in the shop.” Charisse nodded at Sam. That was a true statement. This is what kept the shop people in the know and loyal and trusting in one another. Secrets were shared as was pertinent information no one else was privy to. “Okay, Sam, I’m gonna head back into the office and see if there’s something I can do to be of help to someone. Thanks for putting Miz Chopper One on priority,” she smiled and patted the older man on the shoulder. “Anything for you, Miss Charisse, you know that.” Charisse walked leisurely back to the wing of offices, taking note of the photos of the fallen officers that hung on the corridor walls. Lost in her thoughts, she went past Mark’s door. When she noticed she’d gone too far she walked backwards to his office and poked her head around the door jamb. He and Brewster were still pouring over files and other piles of information, unorganized and now spread across both desks. She could almost feel them willing themselves to a better understanding. Their concentration so intent on what was before them, they were oblivious to anything else. “Hey, guys. Anything I can do to help?” she offered. Mark looked up from his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. This case was driving him crazy. Nothing made sense. Maybe a fresh set of eyes on the information they had would be helpful. He tossed a marker in Charisse’s direction. “We’re gonna make a fact board. There’s something we’re missing. It’s the only way we’re gonna figure anything out. I need to see this typed information in list form. Do you mind?” Charisse shrugged. “Hey, anything that’ll help. You know that,” she paused. “By the way, when were you going to tell me I’d won the lottery of flying your ass into another drug deal?” Mark looked at Brewster, who offered a genuine shrug in response, and then at Charisse. He had no clue what she was referring to. “At this point, I have no intentions of being flown anywhere. Do you know something I don’t?” Mark questioned. “No, just lining up facts. Sam tossed me the keys to Black Widow after I turned in the check list for Chopper One.” Mark closed his eyes and shook his head. Another project, just what he needed. He wondered what their disguises would be this time. Wasn’t it bad enough he had to dress in disguise when at the station and when he went out to protect his identity? He was thankful he could take off the façade in his own home and just be Mark. “Honey, I really haven’t heard anything. Right now, I need these facts sorted and the Chief just appeared and told us to get our asses moving to a double murder. I’m going to leave you to sort out this mess.” Mark grabbed his jacket, checked the safety on his weapon before shouldering it, kissed the top of Charisse’s head, and headed out the door. When Mark and Brewster arrived at 367 Towne Crest, a small crowd had assembled and there were strays mingling close to the crime scene tape. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like the public being aware of things before the department, putting them behind the 8-ball from the get go. He put the cruiser in park, checked his weapon, and exited the vehicle. “Not liking this, Mark, not liking it one little bit,” Brewster noted in a hushed tone. Plenty of people would walk by or take a cursory look, but if a crowd was gathering, that meant there was more. There was always more. The same cold, steely feeling crept up Mark’s spine...the one he’d had when he and Charisse had discussed her dream vision. Mark stepped into the foyer and glanced around the room. The bodies had been removed, but the crime tape on the living room floor painted the scene. Outlines of two bodies, close together, and pools of blood that had soaked into the carpet, making it look more like the massacre of ten people. “Whatcha got for me, Daniels?” Mark inquired. The younger officer dodged photographers and other detectives and made his way over to Mark, looking unusually nervous the entire time. “Not a clue. It’s a mystery, for sure.” Mark sighed. His stern look and raised eyebrow made the younger cop nervous. “Stop being coy, Daniels. I’m not putting you on the record under oath. I just want the info. What do you know?” “Two men, mid-forties... single gunshot to the skull, temple area.” “You mean each of them were shot in the same place?” Brewster inquired. “Yeah. Clean shot. Looks like someone had planned it. Could possibly be two shooters from the angle of the bullet entry.” Mark hated playing twenty questions. Daniels wasn’t his favorite detective, but he was smart and knew his stuff. Just a game player. “Do we have names yet, Einstein?” Mark asked. Daniels smirked. “From all indications, the house belongs to a Tom and Teresa McCoy.” Brewster’s mouth fell open. “No, shit! You mean Tom and Teresa McCoy from the McCoy Ecological Research Labs?” Mark looked quizzically at his partner and wondered who the hell these people were and why Brewster knew of them. “Start talking,” Mark commanded. “Well, several years ago, Tom and Teresa McCoy began this research foundation. They are big into save the planet, protect the whales, hug the trees, you know, all that greenie stuff. There was a big fuss about it because the city wanted to demolish the dam outside of town and put the new sewage treatment plant there. Doing so would affect their organic test farm. I’m surprised you didn’t hear of it.” “I remember something about it,” Mark admitted, nodding. “Neither of the victims was a McCoy,” Daniels stated. “In fact, I just got word from the morgue. The victims are none other than Sam and John Cable.” Mark sank to a squatting position, pretending to check out the floor and what was on it. The color drained from his face. He thought about his early morning conversation with his roomie. Damn it to hell! I’d hoped she was wrong. This means there are potentially three crimes, each linked to the other: murder, kidnapping, and drugs. “What’s wrong, boss?” Brewster inquired. Mark stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Nothing,” he began. “We better get started. I can see it’s going to be a very long day.”