Smoky Mountains Mystery
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Lena Diaz
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19.2K
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20
When his decades-old cold case meets her very recent murder investigation… While Lance Cabrera's company, Unfinished Business, specializes in solving cold cases, he has no interest in the one Officer Keira Sloane brings them. If Keira discovers Lance knew the murder victim, the secrets he's kept for a decade will put him and his entire team in jeopardy. But when the killer makes Keira his new target, Lance realizes hiding the truth could cost Keira her life. Together he and the determined police officer must catch this elusive criminal for the safety of his friends — and his future with Keira.
Chapter One
Keira Sloane two-handed her service weapon, elbows bent, pistol pointing up toward the ceiling as she flattened her back against the wall outside the motel room. The dim lights from the dark parking lot one story below glinted off the rusty railing across from her. Chuck Breamer, one of two fellow officers with her, mirrored her stance on the other side of the door. In front of him, Gabe Wilson held his gun pointed down. He glanced at Chuck, then Keira. After receiving their nods, he rapped loudly on the door again before jerking back to avoid potential gunfire.
“Maple Falls Police. Last chance. Open the door.” As with the first knock, there was no response.
Gabe held up three fingers, silently counting down. Three, two, one. He delivered a vicious kick to the doorknob. The frame splintered. The ruined door flew open and crashed against the wall, making the large window beside the door rattle.
All three ran inside, sweeping their guns back and forth.
The metallic smell of blood struck Keira immediately. A wounded or dead man lay on the bed closest to the window. She quickly checked behind the chair in the corner for any hidden suspects while her fellow officers checked under both beds.
“Main room clear,” she announced.
Chuck jogged to the doorway on the back left. Gabe checked the one on the back right.
“Bathroom’s clear,” Chuck said.
“Closet clear,” Gabe echoed. “No one else is here.” He motioned toward an indentation in the cheap floral comforter covering the empty bed where it appeared that someone had sat at one time. “At least, not anymore.”
Keira holstered her pistol and rushed to the side of the victim’s bed, grimacing in sympathy at the extent of his injuries. Dressed only in navy blue boxers, the approximately thirty-year-old Black man was mottled with bruises and cuts on all of his extremities, with most of the damage to his chest.
Beneath him, the formerly white sheet was turning red. Blood dripped down, adding to a growing wet tangle of carpet. When she pressed her fingers against the side of his neck, to her surprise it was warm. There was a weak, thready pulse.
“He’s alive. Get a bus out here.”
Chuck radioed for an ambulance.
Keira grabbed the edge of the comforter and used it to apply pressure to what appeared to be bullet entrance wounds on his chest. Someone had beaten and tortured this man before shooting him. He’d lost so much blood it was a miracle that he was still alive, even more of a miracle if he made it to the hospital.
A hand grabbed her wrist, making her jump. She was shocked that it was the man on the bed. He stared up at her with pain-glazed dark brown eyes, his hand clutching hers. But whatever strength he had immediately drained away. His hand fell back to the mattress.
“Hold on,” she told him. “Don’t go into the light, buddy. Help’s on the way.”
His face turned ashen as his lips moved. But she couldn’t make out what he said.
She leaned close. “Say it again,” she encouraged him.
“L... Lance,” the faint whisper sounded.
“Lance,” she echoed. “Hang on, Lance. I’m Keira. I’m a cop. We’re here to help you and—”
“Move.” Chuck roughly pushed her out of the way.
“He’s bleeding,” she said. “His chest—”
“I’ve got it.” His prior experience as an EMT kicked in as he maintained pressure on the victim’s chest with one hand and checked his airway with the other.
Keira watched with a growing feeling of helplessness as Chuck assessed the victim. She wanted to help. But of the three of them, Chuck had the best chance of keeping him alive until the ambulance arrived.
She turned to check on Gabe and saw him reaching for the top drawer of the cheap particle-board dresser opposite the two beds.
“We need a warrant,” she reminded him. “Exigent circumstances are over.” Even though the motel manager was the one who’d called 911, he hadn’t formally given them permission to search once they’d responded to the report of “shots fired.”
Gabe shrugged and dropped his hand. “The lieutenant’s on his way. Knowing him, he’ll already have the warrant anyway.”
She smiled at his statement. They both knew no one, not even their scarily efficient supervisor, Owen Jackson, could have gotten a warrant that fast.
Chuck straightened and stepped back from the bed. “He’s gone. On top of being treated like a punching bag and sliced with a knife, he was shot at least three times. There’s nothing anyone could have done to save this guy.”
Keira blew out a shaky breath. Her wrist tingled as if the man were still holding it. He’d wanted her help. But she hadn’t been able to do anything to change his fate. “Lance. His name is Lance.”
Chuck frowned. “You know this guy?”
“No. He whispered it. Lance. Might have been Vance or Vince. But I think it was Lance.”
“Did he say it was his name? Maybe it was the killer’s name.”
She winced. “I hope not. I called him Lance.”
“We’ll know soon enough, once we get a warrant to search for his wallet. Assuming it wasn’t stolen.” He started typing a text, no doubt updating their boss on the current status.
She glanced around the small room. Even the blood spatter on the wall behind the victim didn’t mask the years of grime. But, aside from the twisted, bloody covers on the bed, everything else was neat and orderly. The dresser and nightstand drawers were closed. No belongings had been dumped onto the floor and rifled through. The second bed was made with the pillows and comforter in place.
“The room doesn’t look tossed,” she said. “His business suit’s lying over there on that chair, as if he’d planned on wearing it tomorrow. It’s rumpled, so the killer may have checked the pockets. But if this was a robbery, you’d think they’d take the suit. It’s not cheap. Could fetch a few hundred at a consignment shop.”
Gabe joined them. “I doubt a robber in this part of town would recognize the value of a suit or want to bother with it. But they’d definitely have taken the fancy Mercedes out front that the manager said belongs to this guy. Why would a man who can afford a car like that stay in a nasty, cheap motel?”
Keira glanced at the man on the bed, wishing he could answer those questions, that he’d wake up in the morning and call his family, his friends. Tell them who’d attacked him and why. “Maybe he was hiding out from someone who’d never expect him to stay in a place like this.” She shrugged. “That’s one of many things we’ll have to figure out.”
Gabe gave her a doubtful look. “What makes you think Owen is finally going to let you play detective?”
She stiffened. “I can play whodunit as well as anyone else. I’m ready.”
He held his hands up in a placating gesture. “No argument here. It’s the LT you have to convince.”
Chuck slid his cell phone back in his pocket. “We need to identify potential witnesses before they scatter like ants in a thunderstorm. Gabe, you take the rooms to the right. I’ll go left. Names and addresses, verified with ID. We can’t force them to hang around. But at least we can follow up with them once we have more manpower.”
“Or woman power,” Keira said. “I’ll help.”
Chuck frowned. “You’re on guard duty. If the EMTs get here before we’re back, try to keep them from destroying evidence. Once they verify our victim is DOA, get them out of our crime scene.”
Gabe sent her an apologetic glance as he closed the door behind him and Chuck.
