This week’s snip is from a current work in progress with a slightly different flavor from other books in the UNSETIC Files series…at least to start.
Homicide detective Ryce Marshall returned from what was supposed to be a routine trip across the state line with amnesia–almost all trace of her past erased. Her quest to restore her fragmented memory will put her on a collision course with an FBI investigator that’s fallen down a rabbit hole so deep, he may never climb out again.
Jesse Stole’s mother was the daughter of a capo in the Mancini crime family. He and his younger brother have tried to escape that legacy, but Jesse’s been sucked back into the shadowy world of organized crime–all in the pursuit of law and order. His only saving grace is the woman he fears he’s lost forever.
Tasked with the nigh-impossible task of getting a dangerous new drug off the streets, Agent William Scarborough uses every resource at his disposal in his fight against the syndicates distributing the drug. When he tumbles down a rabbit hole into the supernatural, he’ll drag Stole and Marshall down with him.
Whether any of them are ready for it or not.
Snippet below the break!
“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 od 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.”
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