Author: Erin Klitzke

NYPD homicide detective Ryce Marshall doesn’t remember what happened to her before she woke up in a dirt parking lot in Pennsylvania.  She doesn’t know why her lover is so afraid she’ll walk away.  She doesn’t know that she’s already neck-deep in things beyond imagining.

One of the UNSETIC Files, Truth Will Set You Free is the introduction of Ryce Marshall and Jesse Stole into the universe, two NYPD cops on a collision course with the supernatural in more than a few forms.  What follows is the original draft of the first chapter.

  

One

“Look, I’m effed up right now and I know it, but that doesn’t mean that the best thing for me isn’t getting back to work.”

“Missing for two weeks with about half your memory just gone now that you’re back? Sue me if I still think you should’ve taken the day.” A wry smile twisted Alex Stole’s lips as he watched me slide into my seat behind my desk at the precinct. I supposed that it must have looked the same as it did when I left it. “The shrink actually cleared you?”
 “There’s nothing wrong with me,” I said. “According to him and the doctors, anyway. Just…well. Just the amnesia. Either everything comes back or it doesn’t. Captain said as long as it doesn’t impact my ability to get the job done, I stay on the active roster.”

My gaze drifted toward another desk not far away from mine, but standing alone—not paired with another, like mine was paired up with Alex’s. In a dim, darkened yesterday, I could feel my back hit the wood of that desk, hear the pens and papers scatter across the floor, skirt sliding up my thighs, feel warm lips against mine—

“Ryce?”

I sucked in a breath and looked at Alex. “What were you saying?”

“Never mind what I was saying. You were staring at his desk again.”

Again. How long had he been gone?

Hell. Even that was fragmented. I couldn’t even remember why that desk’s owner was so important—other than he feel of his hands against my thighs and his lips against mine.

“He wants you to call him,” Alex said after a moment. “He said it should be safe. Agent Scarborough won’t freak out. Shouldn’t, anyway. Don’t think the Feds are ever going to give him back, though.”

“When you’re good,” I murmured, leaving the words to hang, not finishing the thought.

“Yeah,” Alex said. “When you’re good.” He dropped into his chair across from mine. “I’ll never figure out what you see in my brother, Ryce.”

“Something his baby brother can’t see, apparently,” I said quietly, staring at that empty desk but swallowing my questions. Try to sort it all out yourself first, Marshall. Then roll from there. You don’t want to come at this from a position of weakness. I leaned back, running my hands across the blotter before my gaze flicked back toward my partner. “Are we catching today?”

“God, I hope not,” he muttered, snagging a folder from the pile at the corner of his des. “Been trying to catch up on paperwork. Captain’s had you and I reviewing cold cases for the past few weeks—before your vanishing act, I mean. Guessing that lead on the Castleton case was a bust.”

“If it wasn’t, I don’t remember what I found out and my notes weren’t on me when I woke up.” Abandoned dirt parking lot, ground wet beneath my back, head ringing, blood on the ground a few feet away and not a soul in sight…

“Dammit, Ryce, will you cut that thousand yard stare?” Alex was staring at me as I blinked back to the present. His eyes were wider than usual, his jaw slack but brows knitting. “You sure you’re good? You don’t seem it.”

“Fine,” I assured him. “Absolutely fine.”

“Uh-huh.” He sighed as he slapped the folder in his hand down flat onto his desktop. “I still think you should take the day. Call Jesse for a booty call or something and get your head screwed back on straight.”

A little shiver shot down my spine. I shook my head. “Somehow I don’t think that’s the answer to all my problems, Alex.” I reached for the first file in my own stack and slid my desk drawer open, searching for a notepad and pen. In my blind groping for both, my fingers brushed against the smooth, flat touchscreen of a smartphone and I pulled back, blinking and staring at the silver-sheathed thing lying silent and forgotten in my drawer.

“You left it,” Alex said helpfully. “Took your work cell. The prepaid. Found your cell on my desk with a note saying you were chasing a lead and you’d call later.” He gnawed his lower lip. “You never called, Ryce.”

“I—I’m sorry, Alex.” What else could I say?

He sighed. “No, I am. I should’ve come after you as soon as I realized you were gone. I’ve got no idea what’s been up with you lately—”

“Alex, I got you shot.”

“And now I’m fine. All of my parts still work. Don’t beat yourself up about shit that’s not worth beating yourself up over.” He stared at me across the desk, over cold case files. “Give it a week. We’ll be catching something other than cold files by then and life will get back to normal.”

“Normal,” I echoed. Do I have a normal anymore? My fingers curled around my phone and I coaxed it awake. “Sure. You’re right.”

“Usually,” he agreed. “Now settle down. You want a drink?”

“Coffee’s fine,” I said absently, poking at my phone. Texts, emails, three voicemails…I squeezed my eyes shut as Alex got up and headed for the coffeemaker in the squad room.

Four of the texts were from a number I had labeled as Jesse Stole—Alex’s brother, apparently, and the owner of the desk I kept staring at.

And if my memory and Alex’s colorful commentary are to be believed, some kind of lover of mine.

“Hell,” I muttered harshly, then started checking my messages. The first one from Jesse was nothing but an address and the words “meet me.”

The timestamp was eleven days ago. Had I met him there as he’d asked? Where was that place, anyway?

The next message was sent a few minutes after the first, a date and time set for ten days before. I bit my lip.

Either I’d met up with him or I hadn’t.

The third: Are you okay?

I shook my head. Of course I wasn’t. He’d sent that message nine days ago.

The last message was from a week ago. Don’t do anything stupid. Be careful.

There was only one text that hadn’t come from Jesse, it instead came from a phone number with an area code I recognized from Long Island. He’s safe. Where the hell are you, Detective?

My lips thinned and my stomach flopped over itself. The message was from four days ago.

What had happened during those two weeks when I’d disappeared off the map, off the face of the Earth?

“Everything okay?” Alex asked as he set a cup of coffee down near my elbow.

“Yeah,” I lied. “Just checking my messages.”

“Jesse said you should call him,” Alex said again as he sank back into his chair.

I nodded slightly as I dialed into my voicemail on autopilot. “I will,” I said, lifting the phone to my ear.

“Ryce, I don’t know why you’re not picking up, but call me. I don’t want to just leave things like this. Love you.” Click. The voice sent odd tendrils of emotion through me—my stomach twisted, throat tightened, heart beginning to beat a little faster as other parts of me gave an excited little twitch. I swallowed hard against the tightness. Alex was watching me, his expression knowing and a little sad.

“Take the day,” he mouthed at me.

My nose wrinkled. The second message began to play. The voice wasn’t the same as the first, didn’t cause the same visceral reaction. This one was male, quiet, coolly professional with the barest edge of anger. “Detective Marshall, I’ve got no bloody clue what you and Stole got up to the other night, but I need you to tell me. He’s gone off the radar and off the reservation and I’m thinking you’re my best shot at reeling him back in again.” The voice rattled off a phone number and an address before the message ended.

Alex’s hand was on my arm. I wasn’t sure when he’d come around the desk, but he had. “Ryce.”

“I’m fine,” I whispered.

“You’re not. The last time I saw you this color, your hands were full of blood and you were screaming at me that I’d better not die on you.” He gently took my phone out of my hand and hung up for me. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

“Alex—”

“I’m not arguing with you about this,” he said. “Not today.”

“I’m not arguing.” I pressed my keys into his hand. “But we’ll take my car. I’ll pay your cab fare back here.”

“I’ll take the subway. C’mon.” He slid a comforting arm around my shoulders as we moved away from our desks, signed out—me for the day, he for a couple hours—and then took the elevator down to the garage. It wasn’t until we were safely ensconced in my little blue-gray sedan that he looked at me and asked, “So who left you the voice messages?”

“The first one was from your brother, I think,” I said quietly, knuckling suddenly stinging eyes. “Not sure who the other one was, but he was talking about your brother going ‘off radar and off the reservation.’”

Alex winced. “Probably Agent Scarborough. Jesse said something about a knock-down drag-out with him last week.”

“Who is he?”

“A Fed,” Alex answered, tone implying that the statement should explain everything. I just looked at him until he elaborated. “He’s assigned to some kind of task force investigating the connections between local organized crime syndicates and the new drugs that have been hitting the streets.”

“He tapped Jesse because of your connections.” I wasn’t sure where the words came from, but I knew they were true.

“I guess,” Alex said. “Not every day a capo’s daughter pops out a couple of cops.”

No. It’s really, really not. I smothered a frown and slumped low in my seat. “How long?”

“Six months. Since right before that Christmas party when you and Jesse had a private affair on his desk.”

I blushed. “You—”

“Half the precinct knows. If you two weren’t good, the fallout would’ve meant your jobs. Luckily—or maybe not—seems like the Feds are trying to recruit my brother, which would mean problem solved.” Alex sighed. “Call him.”

“Your brother?”

“And Agent Scarborough,” Alex said. “If he left you a voicemail, he’s expecting call back.”

“It’s over a week old.”

“Call anyway.” Alex shook his head. “Never know when you’ll need a friend like him, Ryce. Score points while you can and just tell him that your personal cell was in your desk. He’ll probably believe it.”

“It’d be true,” I said.

“See? Even more reason for him to believe you.”

We lapsed into silence for a few more blocks before I broke it.

“Which do I call first?” My voice sounded tiny, frightened. I hated myself for the weakness it betrayed.

Alex winced. “I want to tell you to call my brother first,” he said after a moment. “But I think maybe you’d better call Scarborough. Just in case something’s going sideways.”

“I thought Jesse told you it’d be okay for me to call.”

“He did, but I don’t think he knew his handler had left you a voicemail.”

Handler. This is a little deeper than on loan, I’m thinking. “Right,” I whispered. There was something vaguely unsettling about calling anyone but Jesse first.

So why did you ask for his opinion? I withheld my sigh and squeezed my eyes shut.

Alex reached over and touched my shoulder, fingers tightening briefly. “Keep it together or fall apart if you need to, Ryce.”

I snorted. “Real gallant, Alex. Going to offer me your shoulders to use as a hankie now, too?”

He grinned as I looked at him. “There she is. Miss Snark rises again.”

I shook my head. “This is hard for you.”

“You’ve got no idea. We’ve been doing this for a long time now.”

“We were patrolmen together.”

He nodded. “You were a couple years my senior, but yeah. You were my first partner—and let me say it right now that you’re the only one I’d ever want.”

“Oh, Alex.” All I could do was smile and shake my head. “Thanks.” What else could you say to that, after all?

“Yeah, well, it’s the truth.” We hit another turn and he pulled into a parking garage and found my spot two levels up. As he shut off the engine and tugged my keys out of the ignition, he asked, “You want me to walk you up?”

I gave it a moment’s thought, then shook my head slightly. “No, I think I’ll be good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay.” He dropped my keys into my upturned palm and kissed my cheek. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Then he got out of the car and left me there in the parking garage of my apartment building, sitting in the passenger seat of my car. I dug my phone out of my pocket, stared at it.

Which one do I call first?

My head said one thing even as my heart screamed another. I silently promised myself that I’d come to a decision on the matter by the time I made it upstairs to my apartment.

That was how I ended up in the corner of my green overstuffed couch with a mug of cocoa, hitting Jesse’s number on speed dial before logic could overrule emotion.

He picked up halfway through the second ring, sounding vaguely breathless.

“Ryce? Is that you?”

His voice did things to me—things I couldn’t fathom, understand. I swallowed against sudden tightness in my throat. “It’s me. Alex said I should call.”

“I—Ryce, where have you been? I’ve been going crazy.”

“Sorry,” I whispered. Something about that made me hurt but also gave me a strange sense of satisfaction—a feeling that surprised me and sparked more than a little self-loathing. “I didn’t—fuck. Jesse, I don’t remember anything. Did I meet you? What happened?”

Dead silence answered my question.

“Jesse?”

“Where are you?”

“At home. I took the day.”

I heard him suck in a deep breath and then exhale it slowly. “Stay there. I’m coming.”

“Won’t that—”

“Get me into trouble? Probably. There are some things that shouldn’t be done over the phone, though.”

What the hell is he talking about? “Like what?”

“Like begging for your forgiveness. Stay put. I’m coming.”

“I—okay.” The knot in my throat wasn’t going away. “Jesse?”

“Yeah?”

“I—I love you.” The words came out and the tightness began to ease even as my eyes began to sting. On the other end of the line, Jesse exhaled a heavy sigh of relief.

“I love you, too, Ryce,” he murmured. “Half hour, okay? I’ll be there in a half hour.”

“Be careful.”

“It’s me.”

“I know. Be careful.” I was holding the phone so tightly my fingers hurt. “I’ll see you in half an hour.”

“Count on it.”

He hung up then and I just sat there frozen on my couch as the minutes ticked by and my cocoa grew cold, unable to fathom the maelstrom of emotions playing through me.

What the hell was going on—and did I really want to find out?