Harlequin Intrigue April 2021--Box Set 2 of 2, Carol Ericson [good book recommendations TXT] 📗

homicide cases. One jumped out at him in glaring red typeface—The Player—six unsolved murders. A cold case, the bane of every detective’s existence, the stuff of nightmares.

Jake wasn’t interested in looking at that case. He had the files and was prepared to study them in more depth. He scrolled down to Quinn’s more recent cases, the ones toward the end of his career, the ones where he must’ve worked with Kyra.

Quinn had wrapped up his last homicide case a few months before he retired, ten years ago. Billy’s words at the fire had been niggling at the corners of his mind on the ride home. Billy had said something about Kyra looking great for her age.

Jake didn’t know Kyra’s age, but she couldn’t be older than thirty, could she? Even if she’d worked with Quinn on his last case for the department, that would mean she would’ve been twenty at the time. What twenty-year-old had a degree in psychology and enough hours under her belt to get assigned to a homicide task force?

He did a quick search of Kyra Chase. One of those people finder sites had her age at twenty-eight, and he discovered she’d gotten a master’s degree from Cal State LA in psychology four years ago. That meshed with her age and meant she’d been eighteen years old when Quinn worked his last case for LAPD.

The sweet ice cream on his tongue turned bitter. She’d been lying about how she knew Quinn. Quinn had been lying about how he knew Kyra.

And he was going to find out why.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Thanks for the ride, Megan. I knew you lived in the Marina or I wouldn’t have asked.” Kyra rubbed at a smudge of ash on her denim skirt.

“No problem, as long as you don’t mind the ostentatious ride.” Megan Wright patted the dashboard of the news van. “I’m on the job, so I take the van home with me.”

“Don’t mind a bit. I didn’t want to bother the detective for a lift back, and I didn’t want to stay in the middle of that inferno any longer than I had to.” Kyra took a gulp of water from the bottle Megan had dug out of her cooler in the back. She closed her eyes as it slid down her parched throat.

“Can’t give me anything about what McAllister and those cops were doing out there?” Megan flashed her white teeth in her best news reporter smile.

“Wooded area, lead detective on serial killer task force, coroner’s van. I’m sure you can figure it out.” Kyra put her finger to her lips. “But I’m not giving you anything official.”

“You are on the task force, though, aren’t you?” Megan scooted forward in her seat, barely able to see over the steering wheel of the big van.

“I am.” Kyra tipped the water bottle at Megan. “And if I’m ever cleared to release any information, you know I’ll hit you up first. Now’s not the time. We don’t want to compromise anything.”

“What’s he like?”

“Who?” Kyra’s heart thumped too loudly in her chest.

“Oh, come on. You know who. J-Mac. He’s hot in that brooding kind of way cops have. Just makes you want to get under their skin, and I mean that in every possible way.” Megan puckered her lips.

“He’s as you would expect—rude, curt, arrogant.” Also, gentle and respectful to Quinn and helpful in the kitchen. Kyra lifted her shoulders. “Typical cop.”

“Is he married?” Megan lifted one eyebrow in expert fashion.

“No.”

“So, you are interested enough to know his marital status.”

“Oh, please. I’m around that station a lot. You tend to learn things about people. I think I had heard he’s not married.”

“Does he have a girlfriend?” Megan lodged the tip of her tongue in the corner of her mouth, as she maneuvered the van around a sharp turn.

Did he? Kyra pressed a hand flat against her stomach. “Does the station realize you don’t know how to drive this thing?”

“It’s a battering ram, practically indestructible.” She squinted at the road. “Tell me where I’m going. Venice is creepy this time of night.”

“You can make a U-turn at the end of the block and then pull over to the right. I’m going to stop in to see my friend first.”

Megan slapped both hands against the steering wheel. “You’re going to go traipsing around the canals by yourself with a serial killer on the loose?”

“I’m packing heat, girl, I’ll be fine. None of the women were from this area or were taken from this area. I have a better chance of tripping over a homeless guy.”

“That’s no picnic, either.” Megan bit her lip as she cranked the wheel for the U-turn. She had to back up and give it another try.

“Neither is being in this van with you.” Kyra rapped one knuckle against the window. “Here, here.”

Megan rolled to a stop and watched two joggers run past the van. “At least it’s not completely deserted.”

“It’s not deserted at all. It’s a warm night. There will be people on the canals, outside their homes. Don’t worry about me.”

As she reached for the door handle, Megan grabbed her wrist. “You think because you carry that gun, you’re invincible. At least text me when you get to your friend’s house so I know you made it inside okay.”

“I will. Thanks again for the ride and, for heaven’s sake, get yourself a pillow to sit on so you can at least see over the steering wheel.” Kyra slammed the door and waved to Megan, who stayed idling at the curb until she made it to the bridge that would take her to Quinn’s side of the water.

Quinn’s neighbors were in their front yard in lawn chairs, drinking beers. Kyra had never officially met them, but she waved anyway and they returned her greeting. Before reaching Quinn’s door, she sent a quick text to Megan to assure her she’d reached her destination.

She didn’t want Quinn to get out of his chair if he didn’t have to so she used her key to open