Hunt and Prey (Kelsey's Burden Series Book 8) Kaylie Hunter (books on motivation txt) 📖

downward to sit on the floor. A sharp pain shot through my bum knee. I carefully stretched out my legs, groaning at all my body aches.

I looked at my hand, but the swelling from being stomped on had receded and there was no bruising. The swelling on my face was also gone, and the bruises, already turning from black to purple, were hidden behind layers of makeup. In a day or two, they’d be a pretty lime green or canary yellow. My knee would heal too, but would require a few days of rest, which wasn’t an option right now.

I thought of Roseline and all the clues surrounding her death. Maggie was right. It wasn’t enough to find her killer. I had to find the person responsible for hiring the hitman, too. Benny was my best lead to do that, but with him skipping town, that conversation would have to wait.

Baker’s office door opened and Wild Card stepped out, tossing me a pad of paper and a pen. “You and Kelsey are a lot alike. Probably more than you know. Create a visual.”

I picked up the pen and looked down at the pad of paper. “Yeah, but she gets a whiteboard. I only get paper?”

“Should I go buy you a whiteboard?” Wild Card asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’d like that,” I answered with a grin. “But I’d settle instead for an icepack for my knee.”

Wild Card looked behind him. “Garth? Where do I find an icepack in this place?”

“Kitchen. Chef Edwin keeps them in the walk-in freezer.”

Wild Card stepped over me and started down the hall toward the elevator. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Since you’re going to the kitchen…”

Wild Card paused, glancing over his shoulder.

“Tell Chef Edwin I’ll heal faster with one of his desserts.”

Wild Card flashed his perfect smile before continuing down the hall.

I stared down at the pad of paper, picking it up to start writing out the details. I drew a circle in the middle of the page with Roseline’s name penned inside it. From there, I branched out lines for the Jameson crew, WITSEC, and Pauly—who also had a second line to Lydia. I wrote under Jameson crew: supplier with a question mark. Then under that, I wrote: Mickey/Spence.

Returning to Roseline, I wrote a few notes under her name: time of death, cause of death, worked at truck stop, took down drug dealers, fights for underdogs, observant, phone missing…

I paused to text Quille and ask about the phone. He texted back that the tech guys told him the phone was turned off. Roseline’s phone records also showed she hadn’t received a call since her death.

That was strange, I thought. Even if the calls went to voicemail, her boss’s calls should’ve shown on the phone records. I texted him back, saying as much. He replied with a question mark. I stared at the phone and a good two minutes later, Quille replied he’d recheck.

Knowing Quille, he was at home listening to his wife Miranda screech from across the room that she wasn’t a priority. I understood her frustration. And I knew Quille did, too. But the odd hours came with the job and after fifteen years of marriage, she knew a multiple homicide trumped dinner at home with the wife. It was a fact. A fact that every detective knew, and their spouses had to live with.

I looked back at the pad of paper with its odd circles, lines, and even a few stick-figure people along the margins. Then I wrote at the bottom of the pages, something I was avoiding: Was a cop involved?

Chapter Forty-One

CHARLIE

Tuesday, 9:38 p.m.

Surprised to realize I’d spent an hour writing notes while sitting on the floor in the hallway, I climbed up from the floor, careful of my knee as I did so. The icepack had left a wet spot on my pant leg. I tucked the pen in my pocket, the pad of paper under my arm, then picked up the icepack and my empty dessert bowl. The bowl had been filled with a hot fudge brownie sundae which I’d devoured in seconds. Carrying my loot into Baker’s office, I set the icepack and bowl in the bar’s sink, then tore out the used pages in the notepad. I carried the sheets of paper to the shredder, and seconds later, an hour’s worth of thinking was split into thin strips, then crosscut into confetti.

“Paranoid, much?” Ryan asked from across the room.

“Best to be safe. Some of my theories are a little controversial.” I walked over to the couch. Throwing myself into the soft leather, I leaned my head back. “I need a nap.”

“Take one,” Wild Card said. “I’ll wake you when Owen Flint shows. Maggie’s already in position to play bait.”

I looked over and saw that an entire section of monitors had been moved. Wild Card sat in a cushioned chair positioned in front of the arranged monitors. They displayed various angles of The Parlor. Maggie was on one screen, sitting with a martini at the bar. Bridget and Bones were on another screen, pushing food around on plates, neither eating. Jackson, Trigger, and Spence sat at a table near the corner, drinking beer.

“Where’s Evie?” I asked, looking around.

“She’s in my suite,” Baker answered without looking up from his paperwork.

“I’m still not happy about the change,” Kelsey’s voice said from a laptop next to Wild Card.

“I don’t care,” I said loud enough for the mic to capture my voice. “We’re not risking Evie’s safety.”

“You should’ve called me so we could discuss it.”

“There’s nothing to discuss. Let it go, Kelsey.” I leaned my head back again. I really did need another nap, I thought as my eyes closed.

~*~*~

“Wake up,” Spence said, shoving my shoulder.

One eye opened, then the other. I blinked a few times, focusing