Hunt and Prey (Kelsey's Burden Series Book 8) by Kaylie Hunter

Author:Kaylie Hunter [Hunter, Kaylie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-04-07T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty

CHARLIE

Tuesday, 10:34 a.m.

Beast whined again. We'd waited for Lydia for an hour and a half. The patch of shade we'd claimed under the corner tree was shrinking fast as the sun rose toward late morning.

“Come on, boy,” I said, slapping the side of my leg. "We'll track her down later."

Beast jumped up and bounced alongside me as I signaled to Bones and Wild Card that I was calling it. They'd positioned themselves so they could monitor me from afar. Far enough so they wouldn’t spook Lydia, but close enough if Mr. Tricky got any ideas.

As Beast and I walked toward the precinct, I wondered why Lydia hadn’t showed. She couldn’t have spotted Bones or Wild Card. It had taken me forty-five minutes to find Bones, and I never did figure out where Wild Card was stationed. Knowing him, he'd wandered toward the beach, following bikinis.

So, no, Lydia couldn’t have spotted them. She was either hiding from me or someone prevented her from meeting me. I had a bad feeling as I climbed the stairs to the precinct. I held the door open for Beast. The desk officer buzzed the inner door and hit the automatic door opener. I followed Beast into the main room, where he was greeted with ear scratches and good mornings by officers as he made his way to the stairs. I stopped at the last desk and asked one of the rookies to put out a BOLO on Lydia. Turning back to the stairs, Beast sat waiting for me. Grinning, I ran at the stairs, racing up them as fast as I could. Beast barked twice before chasing after me. He beat me by one stupid step.

Unlike Beast, I was winded and put my hand on the wall to catch my breath.

“That’s her!” a man yelled. I looked up and saw Danny Rickers standing next to Detective Ford’s desk. “That’s the woman who cut off my fingers!”

All the detectives froze in their tracks, turning to look at me.

“What?” I asked, looking around before walking toward the back of the room.

Ford sighed. “Did you cut this man’s fingers off?” he asked loud enough for everyone to hear.

I snorted. “No.”

I continued toward the far end of the room, stopping at my desk. It was piled high with files. I grabbed a nearby empty box, set it on my chair, and skim read the contents of the files before dropping them inside the box. Ignoring the chaos on the other side of the room, I was halfway through the pile before Quille walked over.

“You’ve been back on the job one day. One day! And you’re already facing an I.A. investigation. That has to be a record.”

“Quit worrying,” I said, dropping another file into the box. “It’s not good for the old ticker.”

“Are you telling me you’re innocent? Because somehow I doubt that.”

I turned to face Quille. “I did not cut that man’s fingers off.”

It was the truth. I had chopped, not cut, the tips of his fingers off. I had every confidence that I could pass a lie detector test using that logic.

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