Malice at the Marina
Автор
Carol Ericson
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16,6K
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Chapter One
LAPD homicide detective Billy Crouch gritted his teeth as he faced the toughest job he’d had to do in a while, his heart pounding, his mouth dry. He’d never felt less like his nickname, Cool Breeze, than at this moment. He patted his jacket pocket with a sweaty palm and blew out a short breath. He had all he needed to do the job.
When the music started, he shot a glance at his partner, Jake McAllister. J-Mac had had his back during shoot-outs, explosions and fistfights. Now it was Billy’s turn to cover his partner.
He gave Jake a quick nod and stepped to the side as Jake’s bride, Kyra Chase, resplendent in white lace and billowing veil, joined them at the outdoor altar. The arbor that arched over the happy couple sported flowers and seashells, and for one horrifying moment, Billy’s nose tingled with an oncoming sneeze.
He sniffed, avoiding the catastrophe, and felt for the rings in his pocket one more time as if the mere thought of a sneeze could blow them away.
Billy listened to the vows in a blur, laughing in the right spots and swallowing hard during the tender moments. If anyone deserved happiness, these two did. He leaped to his feet on cue and fished the rings from his pocket. As he handed them to the officiant, a chaplain from the LAPD, he squeezed Jake’s shoulder.
Soon enough, the newly married couple floated down the aisle to claps and cheers, and Billy tipped his head back and forth, cracking his neck. Mission accomplished—until his speech.
The wedding guests bunched together as Jake and Kyra exited toward the beach for photos. As the best man, Billy would be joining them but didn’t relish the thought of clomping through dry sand to pose for group pictures. Wet sand would be much worse, and he hoped Kyra didn’t get any crazy notions about frolicking in the waves for the photo shoot.
As he wove his way through the crowd, two forces of nature barreled into him. He hugged his two sons, James and Darius, and then straightened their jackets. “You guys look sharp. Take those jackets off if you’re going to run around.”
Darius pointed to the waves crashing on the sand. “Can we play in the water?”
His older brother punched him in the arm. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Squeezing the back of James’s neck, Billy said, “Don’t call your brother names. We’re not here for the beach, Darius.”
“Can we go see J-Mac and Kyra?” Darius wriggled out of his jacket, bunching it between his hands like a soccer ball.
“Not yet. They need to take some pictures, but I know for a fact Kyra wants to dance with you.” Over his sons’ heads, he met his ex-wife’s Sonia’s gaze and tipped his chin in a short nod.
Her boyfriend, Nate, put his arm around her possessively. Billy felt like giving a brother a break, so he smiled at him. He didn’t have a clue why the guy felt he had to prove something. Billy’s marriage to Sonia had been over even before they separated. Sonia had tried her best, had given up her own career as a DA to raise the boys, but Billy was already married to his job.
Nate’s company had relocated him to San Diego, and Billy had given his permission for Sonia to move down there with the boys. This was their first visit back to LA since the move. They’d been staying with Billy for a week before the wedding and would go back to San Diego tonight.
He missed them but didn’t want to stand in the way of Sonia’s happiness. Nate seemed like a good man, despite his insecurities around Billy.
He glanced down at Darius’s scrunched-up face. “What’s wrong?”
“Dancing? I’m not dancing.” He kicked out at his brother, who was doing some silly moves in imitation of what he thought Darius might look like on the dance floor.
Billy tugged on James’s earlobe and flicked Darius’s nose. “You have to do what Kyra says—she’s the bride. There’s food under that tent. Don’t touch anything you don’t plan to eat, and you get one soda each.”
James grabbed his little brother’s arm, yanking him toward the white tent. “Yeah, right, Dad.”
Billy shook his head and plodded through the dry sand to join the wedding party pictures.
Kyra broke away from Jake, her blond hair stirring in the sea breeze. She took both of Billy’s hands and kissed his cheek. “You did a phenomenal job as best man.”
“I guess J-Mac didn’t tell you about the bachelor party.” Billy winked.
“A bunch of cops talking about their exploits over some expensive Scotch?” She wedged a hand on her hip. “Heard all about it.”
Thirty minutes later when the photo session wrapped up, Billy wandered back to the reception located on the rolling green lawn, the canopies of the tents flapping in the breeze like seagull wings. He dipped into the tent and snagged a plate, surveying the spread of crab cakes, shrimp cocktails, lobster rolls, beef satay, pork sliders, mini tacos, samosas, empanadas—a full array of food to reflect the diversity of LA. He stacked his plate and turned...right into a woman holding a champagne glass.
His elbow bumped her arm, and the bubbly coursed down the front of his rented tux jacket. Stepping back, he held his food aloft, not wanting it to join the champagne on his clothes, and brushed his hand against her bare shoulder to steady her.
“Whoa!” He glanced down into a pair of sparkling blue eyes.
The owner of those eyes flicked her dark hair over her shoulder, tickling the back of his hand, and licked her fingers, still clutching the glass. “I’m so sorry. I was eyeballing those empanadas over your arm and wasn’t paying attention.”
Normally a stickler for his clothing, Billy dragged a napkin down his lapel and smiled. “No problem. Can I get you another glass?”
“Looks like I can take care of that myself.” She crooked her finger at a roving cocktail waiter and snatched a flute from his tray. She raised it to Billy. “To the happy couple.”
“To Jake and Kyra.” He tapped his glass to hers. “Bride or groom?”
“Pardon?” She tilted her head, and a swath of mahogany hair slipped over one shoulder.
“Are you friends with the bride or the groom?”
She took a slug of champagne. “The bride.”
“How are you acquainted with Kyra?” He knew Kyra didn’t have family, but if she had a friend like this, she’d been holding out on him. Of course, Kyra had been instrumental in setting him up with the news reporter Megan Wright. It hadn’t worked out between him and Megan, but they’d parted as friends on good terms. He hoped Kyra didn’t hold that against him. Megan hadn’t.
The woman before him coughed and waved a hand in the air. “Oh, Kyra and I go way back—childhood friends.”
“My name’s Billy, by the way.” He held out his free hand after stashing his plate on the edge of the table.
“Nice to meet you, Billy.” She took his hand briefly, her fingers still sticky from the spilled champagne. “Sorry again about your jacket. I see some old friends. I need to mingle a bit.”
Before he could ask her name or step aside so she could get her empanada, she floated away from him. Even though she wasn’t as dolled up as most of the other women at the wedding, she had a spark that made her black slacks and flowy white blouse look elegant.
He put the stunning brunette out of his mind...for the time being. He had a more important task at hand. He ate his plate of food standing up and went over his best man’s speech. He had a lot to say about Jake, not all of it fit for a wedding.
For the second time that day, someone bumped his arm, and he turned into a big hug from Fiona, Jake’s teenage daughter.
“Isn’t this the best, Billy? I love Kyra’s dress and the beach and the food.” She reached past him to grab one of the empanadas, which seemed to be attracting all the attention.
“Best wedding I’ve ever been to.” He flicked his fingers against her champagne glass. “That’s not the real thing, is it?”
“Dad said I could have one glass for the toasts. I’m just getting ready.” She stuffed the empanada into her mouth, and flakes of crust stuck to her chin.
“Do me a favor.” He lifted the flute from her hand and placed it on the table. “Go find the boys on the beach and make sure Darius isn’t knee-deep in the ocean. You can pick up another glass of champagne when those toasts actually start.”
“You got it, Detective.” She saluted and wobbled off on her high heels, not yet practiced in walking on the grass with them.
Several plates of food later, his best man’s speech delivered to raucous laughter and applause, and a few turns on the dance floor, Billy caught sight of the brunette who had run into him earlier.
He squinted as she made a beeline for the doors of the beach club that led to the parking lot. He felt a stab of disappointment all out of proportion to his brief run-in with...the woman. She hadn’t even given him her name.
He rolled his shoulders. He could still ask Kyra about her childhood friend. As he raised his glass to his lips, his hand jerked and more champagne spilled on his jacket.
Kyra didn’t have any friends from childhood. She’d been in and out of foster care for years, forming a close relationship only with the old LAPD detective Quinn. All of Kyra’s friends were acquisitions from her adult life.
His gaze wandered toward the beach club. Could that woman have been a wedding crasher? Casual beach wedding, tempting spread, good music. She hadn’t exactly been dressed for a wedding.
Billy snorted. That took some guts. He liked the mystery brunette even more now. He downed his champagne and headed toward the dance floor.
By the time Billy got home from the wedding, his feet hurt from dancing and standing, and his face hurt from smiling. Jake had found his match in Kyra. Happy that still existed—for some.
Like Billy, Jake was divorced with a child who didn’t live with him. Jake had had to fight his way back to a relationship with his daughter, Fiona, and Billy didn’t plan on putting himself in the same situation with his boys. He wanted to be a part of their daily lives.
He hung his tux jacket on the back of a kitchen chair and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. He’d like to think that he and Sonia had gotten married too young and had grown apart. He didn’t want to believe that his job precluded anything close to a happy relationship.
Didn’t want to believe his sister’s disappearance had cut him off from his emotions, either, although his marriage to Sonia had started heading south at about the time Sabrina went missing.
He downed his water and stripped off the rest of his tux. Dressed in a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt, Billy snatched up his slacks and vest from his tux and hung them on the hanger in the plastic bag from the rental shop. He shook out the jacket and plunged his hand into the pocket to retrieve his best man’s speech, even though he hadn’t needed the paper. The speech had come from his heart, and he’d memorized every word of it.
He crumpled it in his hand and tossed it into the trash. If Jake ever got married again, Billy could bring it up on the computer. Grinning to himself, he patted the other pocket to make sure he hadn’t left any cocktail napkins in there.
A piece of paper crinkled in the pocket, and he plucked it out. He smoothed it on the kitchen counter and read the words aloud.
“Don’t believe everything you hear.”
He rubbed his forehead. Nobody had to send that message to a homicide detective. He ran his thumb over the crinkled paper. Who had sent that message and why?
A guest at the wedding must’ve slipped it into his pocket, because he knew it hadn’t been there when he dressed this morning. But why? Lots of cops had been in attendance. Was someone warning him about one of his cases?
He slipped the jacket onto the hanger and zipped up the garment bag around his tux. He had the murder of a tourist on his plate, along with a gang-style slaying. He’d assured Jake that he’d have them wrapped up before he came back from his honeymoon in Scotland.
Had he interviewed any witnesses whom he couldn’t believe? And why not give him this warning directly? He knew cops sometimes got information in creative ways from sketchy sources who might not stand the smell test, but he and J-Mac didn’t exactly have the reputation of sticklers. He’d consider a source, wherever it came from.
He went out to his balcony and gazed at the boats docked in the marina. He’d gotten close to plenty of people today, giving them the opportunity to put something in his pocket. Hell, he’d even left his jacket hanging on a chair while he hit the dance floor. Anyone could’ve slipped him that note.
As he stared at the water, a pair of dancing blue eyes floated into his vision. If anyone wanted to give him an anonymous note, it would be a stranger—a stranger who didn’t give him her name and lied about knowing Kyra.
Had the mysterious brunette crashed the wedding to give him that warning?
If so, it meant he’d see her again, and he hadn’t looked forward to seeing someone again as much as this in a long time—wedding crasher or not.
