Hunt and Prey (Kelsey's Burden Series Book 8) Read online

  Tech held the door to Headquarters open as we all filed inside.

  Anne waved and said over her shoulder, “I’ll catch up with you guys. I’m heading to the War Room to shop for birds.”

  I followed beside Whiskey as we made our way across the gym. We stopped at the food table to pile up plates before we ventured to the basement where fifty men and women screamed for the contestant fighting in the Circle of Hell. I didn’t know the guy competing, but Carl’s manikins were beating the tar out of him.

  This was the environment I belonged in: sweat, muscles, cursing… and bloody knuckles. Hell, this was the world I thrived in.

  Chapter Three

  KELSEY

  Monday, 7:00 a.m.

  After sneaking off to bed before anyone returned from the tournament, I clocked a solid ten hours of deep sleep. I woke to the sound of Jager whining loudly from another room. Feeling renewed, I slid into my robe, stuffed one of my Glocks into its oversized pocket, and walked down the hallway, dragging my fingers through my knotted hair.

  “What is it, Jager?” I asked, spotting the dog by the kitchen door.

  The German Shepard looked at me, then the door, then back at me as he whined again.

  “You want outside?” I opened the door and followed him out into the cold.

  He ran through the garage and into the side yard, pausing to squat over the patch of grass that had already been stripped of color. I heard a noise behind me and turned to see Tyler walk through the back door of the garage.

  “Nick still sleeping?” he asked as he walked toward me.

  “I imagine so,” I said, wrapping my robe tighter around me to keep out the frosty air. “I just woke up myself.”

  “Jackson let the kids stay up for the full tournament. Didn’t finish until near one in the morning.” Tyler glanced over at me, checking my reaction.

  “I’m okay with that.” We walked further into the driveway to watch Jager as he ran around the yard, stretching his legs. “The kids needed the tournament just as much as the adults. A break from our everyday serious life. And staying up past bedtime on occasion is part of the fun of being a kid.”

  “Makes sense.” Tyler offered me a cigarette from his pack.

  I shook my head no. “Who won the tournament?”

  “Bones.” Tyler smiled broadly. “And Donovan took second place, but he’s not a happy camper.”

  I inhaled Tyler’s second-hand smoke, enjoying the familiarity of the toxins. “It ended the way it should’ve then. In a few short years, Bones and Donovan will be pushed out by the younger guys. I’m glad they got to show off while they’re still in top shape.” I shivered, pulling the robe’s collar tighter against my neck.

  “I suppose, but I’m not looking forward to listening to them brag for the next year.” He tipped his head toward the house. “Head inside and get warm. Jager can make the rounds with me.”

  “Works for me. I’ll have a pot of coffee ready when you’re done making the circuit.”

  Tyler whistled for Jager as I turned back to the kitchen door. Stepping inside, I found Charlie sitting at the breakfast bar, sipping a cup of coffee. She patted the chair next to her where another cup sat waiting for me on the bar top. As I walked around the counter to sit, I spotted her duffle by the front door.

  “You’re leaving?”

  Charlie set her cup down. “I have a flight out this morning. I’m heading back to Miami.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to stay a few more days? Thanksgiving is this Thursday.”

  “I promised Aunt Suzanne I’d spend Thanksgiving with them. Besides, it’s time. I’m ready to go home.”

  “Is that where home is for you? Miami?”

  “I think so,” Charlie said. “I miss it. The heat. The sandy beaches. The dance clubs. Hell, I miss the odd smell of melted pavement and coconut oil.”

  “You must be homesick,” I said, laughing. “You going back to the precinct? Going to wear the badge again?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m officially still on leave for beating the snot out of my father—or rather my uncle, I guess.” She shook her head at the complexity of our family tree. Neither one of us had wrapped our heads around the discovery that we were sisters, not cousins. “They want me to have a psych eval.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “Piece of cake. You only have to prove you’re not a danger to yourself or others.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She stared off toward the kitchen, not looking at anything in particular.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  She sighed, once again setting her coffee cup down. “You used to love Miami. We’d laugh… dance… go rollerblading... Or we’d sneak out to the beach in the middle of the night, lay in the sand, and talk for hours.” She shrugged, looking away. “Even after you adopted Nicholas, we found plenty of things to do as a family.” She glanced up at me, her eyes full of unshed tears. “It all changed after Nicholas was taken. I get why it had to, but I thought that when it was over, you’d come home.”

  I set my own cup down and wrapped my arms around her. “I did, too. I really did. But that was a lifetime ago, Kid.” I rubbed circles on her back like I did when we were younger. “The thought of taking Nicholas back to that city… It scares the hell out of me.”

  Charlie nodded, but remained silent.

  “We’ll figure out a better way, okay? A better way for us to visit more often. And we can video chat each other. I don’t want us to drift apart either.”

  She pulled away, sliding off her stool and standing. “Yeah. We’ll figure it out,” she said in a tight voice. She grabbed her bag and turned toward the door. Without looking back, she paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Kelsey?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re the best sister a girl could ask for.”

  My hand shook as I raised it to my chest, placing it over my heart. “Right back at ya, Kid.”

  She left, closing the door behind her.

  I felt the warm tears on my cheeks as I sensed Hattie walking up behind me. She wrapped both arms around me, but didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Her presence alone gave me the strength I needed not to chase after Charlie and beg her to stay.

  Chapter Four

  CHARLIE

  Two Weeks Later… Saturday, 11:25 p.m.

  The lights flashed and spun in wild circles as the heavy base of the music thumped the floor beneath my feet. A middle-aged man wearing a suit, his tie still noosed around his neck, danced tight against my back. In front, a younger man—likely still in college—shimmied as he bunched his t-shirt, exposing his ripped abs. I smiled at the younger man as I lifted my arms to rest my wrists against the tops of his shoulders as we gyrated our bodies together. Working out on the dance floor beat the hell out of any elliptical bike or stair climber.

  My skin, damp from hours of dancing, tingled as the air-conditioned current squeezed between the bodies to reach me. I didn’t mind the heat, though. After years of being a cop and having to wear polyester pants during numerous heatwaves, I was used to it.

  The young buck in front of me grazed his hand across my breast. I knocked it away and continued to dance. The man behind me skated his fingers up my left thigh. That was my cue to move on. Slipping away into the thick crowd, I relocated to the other side of the dance floor where a bridal party was whooping it up. The bride took an interest and started to dance with me. I didn’t mind dancing with a woman—though it did nothing for me. I continued to dance with her for two more songs, before disappearing again, this time moving toward the VIP elevator. It was getting late and the crowd was reaching that handsy stage of intoxication.

  As I approached the elevator, I smiled at the security guard. Without turning, he reached back and pushed the up button. His eyes, though, narrowed at something behind me. Glancing back, I saw that Mr. Suit and Tie had followed. I shook my head no to the guard. He squared off to block the guy as I stepped into the elevator. And although it was mean, I waved at Mr. Suit an
d Tie as the elevator doors closed.

  “You’ve been dancing for three hours without pause. Bad day?” Baker’s voice asked over the elevator intercom.

  Baker was the manager and part owner of the club. Since I was one of his silent partners, he kept close tabs on me from the security cameras when I visited.

  “Watching me again, Baker?” I answered, smiling up at the camera. “We talked about your stalker tendencies. They’re creepy—even in a sex club.”

  “If you didn’t want men watching you, you shouldn’t wear a barely-there red dress.”

  I looked down at my dress and laughed. The halter top wrapped around my neck, leaving my entire back exposed. In the front, the fabric folded in vertical layers over my breasts, leaving the skin between exposed to my navel. The dress was short, but not so short I had to worry about sitting. And the heels that matched were flashy, but had arches that molded to my feet. “I do look hot.”

  Baker’s laugh echoed off the elevator walls. “And you sound vain.”

  “It’s not vanity. It’s knowing how to dress to fit your body.”

  “And thankfully you have a body that’s also good for business. Every man and most of the women couldn’t take their eyes off you.”

  The elevator opened on level three, otherwise known as The Parlor, and I held my hand out to keep the doors open. “Are you coming down from your tower for a drink?”

  “Give me ten minutes or so. I have some activity I’m monitoring in one of the rooms that might need my interference. In the meantime, check on Evie for me.”

  I looked across the room to the bar. Evie was one of the weekend bartenders and was currently serving a drink to a guy. “Why? She seems fine.”

  “She always seems fine. Just keep an eye on her.”

  “Whatever.” I stepped through the doors.

  The first and second floors of the building were open to the public, that was, if you arrived early to stand in line for an hour and security deemed you worthy of entering at all. The long line down the block allowed for them to be picky. The Parlor, an oversized bar with deep leather booths, fancy chandeliers, and five-star service, was for members only and took up most of the third floor. One entire wall was made of glass and overlooked a section of the dance floor two levels down.

  The fourth and fifth floors, well… Those consisted of all kinds of naughty sexual play and would cost most people a small fortune to access. And because the laws changed so regularly as to what was legal and what could land our asses in prison, Baker had a lawyer who monitored all city and state regulations. Since I was a business partner who was also a cop, Baker always kept things clearly on the side of legal and didn’t push the boundaries too hard. The legal boundaries at least. The moral boundaries were the reason I kept my ownership status private, especially when I was in uniform.

  Since my first job delivering newspapers, I’d pooled my money with Kelsey in various investments. She had a knack for knowing which businesses would turn a profit. By the time we partnered with Baker, we were able to buy the entire building, renovating each floor as the club’s success grew.

  The Outer Layer, as the club was named, became one of Miami’s hotspots for dancing and the upper floors became the place to go for the rich and perverted. And while I enjoyed being a cop, my financial freedom allowed me to take regular leaves from work to spend my time pursuing other interests as I saw fit.

  “Good evening, Ms. Harrison,” Evie greeted me as I approached the bar.

  She placed a crystal glass filled with ice water on top of a coaster in front of the end stool where I typically sat. Even with two security guards in the room and numerous cameras, I still lacked the ability to sit with my back turned toward others. I had my father to thank for that paranoia—the bastard.

  “Good evening, Evie,” I said as I claimed my stool. “How’s tricks?”

  She flashed her blinding smile my way as she laughed. She’d told me once that she got a lot of crap for working at a sex club. People often mistook her employment as being a prostitute or a stripper. Being she worked on one of the member-only floors, the general population could only speculate as to what transgressed on the upper levels. If they could access the floor, they’d see her uniform consisted of a crisp white, button-up blouse and a simple black pencil skirt that ended just above the knee.

  “It’s slow tonight, but tips are up, so all is well,” she said, leaning her elbows onto the bar. “How about you? Did you break all the men’s hearts downstairs with your teasing?”

  “Teasing? Please. If there was a man worth pursuing, I’d be all over it. I need to get laid.” I tipped my head toward the all-glass wall. “The most tempting offer I saw down there was a wanna-be banker with a tan line around his ring finger.”

  She shuddered. “Yuck. Bankers are the worst.”

  A man who’d been eavesdropping from the other end of the bar, stood, preparing to walk our way. I held up a hand to stop his forward motion, and scanned him, not-so-discreetly, from head to toe. “Not even if I was desperate,” I said loud enough for him to hear.

  He sat down, disappointment dragging his face downward.

  “Play nice, Kid,” Evie said to me as she walked down the length of the bar. “Bobby here is going to make some lucky lady very happy someday soon. He’s a catch.” She reached over the bar and pinched his chubby cheek.

  He blushed.

  Oh, boy. He must be one hell of a tipper. I took another long drink of my water before moving it to the other side of the bar top. Evie would exchange it for a real drink when she returned. I scanned the room while I waited. Several of the booths had customers, varying in groups from two to eight. Only one of the center tables was occupied. And they had clearly been here for a while based on their glassy eyes and loud conversations.

  “Are you staying for a while? I need to I cut them off.” Evie said from the other side of the bar, nodding toward the center table.

  “I’ll jump in if needed, but this dress wasn’t made for bar brawls. Best to give them a warning and have security on standby.”

  “One of them is a senator’s son,” Evie whispered. “I’m less worried about a fight than I am of getting sued.”

  I snorted. “Is his father a member?”

  “Yeah. Doesn’t come in often, but he’s a VIP to this floor.”

  “Have Baker call Daddy and tell him it’s past his son’s bedtime.”

  Evie raised an eyebrow but reached for the six-line phone behind the bar, calling Baker. It was a short call, and we both waited to see what happened next. The young man at the end of the table lifted his phone when it started to ring. He must have hit the ignore button though, because he set it down without answering and continued telling a loud and offensive joke. Ten seconds later he picked up his phone again and as he read the screen, he stood, looking pale. He pulled a credit card from his wallet and flashed it at a nearby server. When the server disappeared with his card, he told his friends it was time to leave. Within five minutes, the entire group stepped into the elevator.

  “Damn,” Evie said, laughing as she set a glass of whiskey in front of me. “He’s a grown ass man.”

  I lifted my glass, but paused before taking a drink. “A grown ass man who’s likely living off Daddy’s bank account.”

  I felt eyes watching me and glanced around.

  The corner booth, the first booth along the glass wall, was occupied by a tall, muscular man with dark features. He sat alone, drinking a beer. When I spotted him watching us, he quickly turned to peer out the window.

  “Who’s that? I don’t recognize him.”

  “He just started coming in this week,” Evie said. “He might be a voyeur, but he must not be able to afford the membership fees for the upper floors. I keep catching him watching me. It’s kind of spooky, but security’s keeping tabs on him.”

  “Pull his name off his membership card. I’ll run a background.”

  “No need,” Baker said, sitting on the barstool next to me. He
tossed a file on top of the bar. “My computer guy spent two days digging, and what little he found doesn’t ring true.”

  I opened the file and rifled through the usual birth records, driver’s license information, and employment history. The man claimed to be a wealthy real estate developer, but I spotted two red flags right away. One, I’d met plenty of real estate developers during my years working with my cousin to build our investments, and they typically spent a lot of energy looking and sounding like they were brimming with cash. This guy’s suit was at least a decade old, and he was sitting alone instead of trying to chase the next deal. Two, I knew for a fact that he didn’t own the small retail mall in Pompano Beach that was listed in the file as part of his portfolio, because it just so happened that it was owned by a shell company my cousin and I owned.

  I closed the file and slid it back to Baker. “I’ll handle it.”

  “He’s been in here four nights this week.”

  “I said I’d handle it,” I repeated, raising an eyebrow at Baker.

  “If you do something stupid because of the club, Kelsey will kill me.”

  “Kid?” Evie laughed as she set a glass of bourbon in front of Baker. “Do something stupid?”

  I narrowed my eyes in pretend scorn for the use of my childhood nickname. Kelsey had donned me the moniker of Kid during the years she’d raised me. Back when she was also a cop in Miami, enough people between work and our investment connections had heard the nickname that many weren’t aware my legal name was Charlie. I was simply Kid, Kid Harrison, or Harrison. “If I paid you, would you call me Charlie?”

  “Hell, no.” Evie grinned as she wiped down the bar. “It’s too much fun watching you squirm in discomfort every time I call you Kid.”

  “I need to go,” Baker said, reading something on his phone. “Problem in playroom four.” He stood, downed his drink, and walked briskly toward the elevators.

  “And he’s off again,” Evie said, shaking her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him relax.”