Damaged Hope (Street Games Book 3)

  Damaged Hope

  Book 3 of Street Games

  By L.K. Hill

  Copyright 2017 L.K. Hill

  Cover art by Kealan Patrick Burke

  www.kealanpatrickburke.com

  Discover more titles by L.K. Hill at her Author Website or on her blog, Musings on Fantasia

  To my older sister, Erica, who has always been my close friend and confident. And to her husband Scott. You two are shining examples to me and I love you both.

  Join Author L.K. Hill's Elite Story Squad

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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Join Story Squad

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Author's Note

  Also by L.K. Hill

  Connect With the Author

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Officer John Morris swung his car into the alley. His eyes fell upon the mob of Mirelings. They looked restless. Dangerous. He cursed. Not good. Another cruiser already sat on site. Two cops wouldn’t make much difference if a mob this size turned violent, though.

  Throwing his car into park, Morris leapt from the vehicle. Colt, the other officer present, had worked the job for more than three years, but only transferred to Abstreuse a handful of months before. This city had a learning curve all its own.

  Colt stood in the center of roughly fifty rowdy Mirelings, his face grim and controlled. He jerked from side to side, as if deciding to act, then changing his mind—a tell-tale sign he didn’t know what to do.

  “Officer Colt,” Morris called loudly, causing much of the crowd to swivel toward him. He pushed his way through the Mirelings to stand beside his fellow officer. “What’s happening here? Dispatch reported a disturb—” Morris trailed off when ‘the disturbance’ came into view.

  Six feet in front of Colt, also encircled by the mob of Mirelings, a young woman staggered in a drunken circle. She wore dark, baggy clothes over pale skin. Spiky black hair stuck out from her head.

  Morris recognized her. He couldn’t bring her name to mind. He and Detective Nichols had chased her into the Mire one night, weeks ago. She’d been part of the big Carlotta scandal case. Nichols hadn’t been particularly forthcoming in her role. Morris got the distinct impression that discretion was crucial. He’d assumed her to be UC or possibly a CI, but hadn’t pushed for information.

  Now she appeared to be drunk and surrounded by enemies. Lurching in lopsided circles, she barely staying on her feet. She seemed to be trying to speak. Only groans and slurred gibberish came from her lips. The Mirelings around her cat called and some threw pebbles they’d picked up off the pavement at her. Vultures circling a sickly animal.

  Morris doubted she was a cop. An undercover would never be in this altered state. A CI, then. Informants could still be junkies. Those who informed for the police had to be reliable, and this young woman just lost that reliability, at least to some extent. Every choice had both good and bad consequences, especially in the Mire. Perhaps this was simply a bad day for Nichols' CI.

  Morris lowered his voice for Colt alone. “What happened? Did you see what she took?”

  “No.” Colt matched Morris’s volume. “When I arrived a few minutes ago, they were already like this. When I approached her, she freaked out and started screaming. This mob is barely controlled. I’m worried screaming will whip them into a frenzy.”

  Morris frowned. Colt was right. The people in this mob were the kind who preyed on the weak. They saw the state of this young woman and thought to rob her, or worse.

  Morris had heard Colt answer Dispatch's call over the radio. He came anyway only because he’d been nearby and the night felt uncharacteristically quiet. If the night were busier, Colt would be handling this himself. “Why didn’t you call for backup?”

  Colt nodded subtly toward the Mirelings on their right. Morris glanced to where Colt indicated. That part of the mob included a group of male Mirelings, all looking at the young woman like hungry dogs at a piece of meat.

  “I didn’t dare walk away,” Colt said. “I was afraid she’d be attacked.”

  Morris nodded. “We need to get her into one of the cruisers,” he said. “Follow my lead, son.”

  He and Colt moved forward together, the eyes of the crowd following them closely. Morris approached the spiky-haired woman with out-stretched hands.

  “Ma’am?” She didn’t respond or acknowledge him. Still swaying on her feet, her head fell back, then forward, then back again, as though too heavy to hold up. Groans and gurgles issued from her throat. Not until Morris drew close did he realize her face glistened with tears and her heavy breathing came at least partly from sobs. “Ma’am? My name is Officer Morris.”

  She turned toward him then, but her eyes were so full of cobwebs from whatever she'd taken, they didn't focus on him. Still, she reached out a hand in his direction, as though beckoning him, or just wanting him to take it.

  Morris moved cautiously forward, not wanting to spook her. In his periphery, he registered Colt stepping bodily in front of the rowdy Mirelings, who kept trying to step past him. Morris needed to be quick. This could get out of hand in a matter of minutes.

  The spiky-haired woman didn’t seem to register his presence, even when he stood directly in front of her. Ignoring her outstretched hand, he laid a hand gently on her arm.

  She jumped back with a gasp and lost her footing, falling onto her back. Her groans became high-pitched keening and she attempted to flip onto her stomach. She didn't seem to have full control of her limbs and it took several tries before she managed it.

  Morris lunged forward and grabbed both of her arms, pulling them around behind her back. She struggled so weakly, Morris had no problem holding her. He easily secured her wrists with his cuffs.

  When he’d lunged for her, some of the onlookers did too. Colt stood beside Morris and stared them down. The rookie excelled at exuding an air of calm, confident danger. It always unnerved weaker-minded people and tonight was no exception. Those who might have wanted to start trouble wilted under his gaze and backed up.

  Morris spoke loudly enough for the crowd to hear him. “I don’t know what she took. She can sleep it off in booking. Best thing for her.” She continued to squirm and gurgle. Morris lifted her easily and he and Colt moved back toward the squad cars together.

  The crowd immediately dispersed, the less-interested Mirelings on the outer edges disappearing into the shadows. Others watched for longer before deciding the show had ended.

  Morris maneuvered the dark-haired woman toward his car. Colt opened the door and Morris put a hand on her head, pushing it down so she wouldn’t injure herself getting in. Once she’d collapsed onto the back seat, she stopped squirming and lay still.

  Morris closed the door firmly and turned to Colt, who looked worried. “You did good, son.”

  “Should we interview
witnesses?” Colt asked doubtfully.

  Morris shrugged. He studied the young woman in his car. For the first time since he’d arrived, she appeared relaxed. At least, she didn’t seem to be in distress. “I suppose we could spare a minute or two. I doubt we’ll learn much from this crowd.”

  Morris returned to the small ring of Mirelings still loitering in the alley. Morris cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Did anyone see anything? Does anyone know this young woman’s identity?”

  As Morris suspected, his questions immediately thinned the remainder of the crowd. Most turned away when Morris’s gaze fell on them. Others ducked their heads, muttering about remembering other places they needed to be. Morris swept the crowd, looking for any takers.

  To his surprise, a woman on his left met his gaze. Briefly. Then she turned swiftly away.

  “You.” She froze and slowly turned back. Her orange-red hair hung below her shoulders. She might have looked pretty had her lifestyle been more forgiving. Morris didn’t have to scrutinize her clothes to identify her as a working girl. It was a damn cold night be standing on street corners.

  “Do know this woman?” He nodded toward his car.

  The red-headed woman hesitated before nodding. “I know who she is.”

  “What’s her name?” Morris asked.

  “Supra.”

  “She got a last name?” Colt chimed in.

  The woman shook her head. “No. I don’t know. Most people ‘round here don’t really…have them.”

  Morris nodded. Supra. The name sounded vaguely familiar. He’d probably heard it before, back when the Carlotta scandal happened. “Did you see what she took?”

  Again, the woman hesitated. “No." She cast a wistful glance toward where the other Mirelings disappeared into the darkness, no doubt wishing she could too. “A friend of mine, she got here before me. Said some guy, a shadow, carried Supra out of that alley.” She pointed to a tar-black alley across the way. No red light illuminated the passage.

  Morris had worked in the Mire long enough to be at least somewhat familiar with its geography, but didn’t recall where this route led.

  “Where does it let out?” he asked the woman.

  She shrugged. “I think it goes to Old Abstreuse. Don’t know for sure. I never went down there.”

  Morris gazed down at her. “What’s your name?”

  The red head glanced away, fear in her eyes. Morris waited. “Sadie,” she whispered. “I don’t have no phone number or nothing. I live in the Mire….” He held up a hand and she trailed off.

  “Sadie, can you think of any reason Supra would go into Old Abstreuse?”

  Sadie shook her head. “No, the opposite. Her work depends on people. Meetin's. Nothin’ in Old Abstreuse but empty buildings. And ghosts.”

  “What kind of work does she do?”

  Sadie’s head dropped and he felt her clamming up. Something gang-related then, or otherwise illegal.

  “Anything else you can tell us?” he asked.

  Sadie glanced up and away several times. If he had to guess, he’d say she debated whether to answer. “She don’t look good,” Sadie sighed. “She be okay?”

  “If she needs medical help, we’ll be sure she gets it,” Morris said gently. “More than likely she took something and needs to sleep it off.”

  “That’s the thing,” Sadie shrugged self-consciously. “Supra don’t take things. She’s real smart. Does the business side of things, but she don’t sample the merchandise. Ever. If she is on somethin’, someone made her take it. Forced her. She wouldn’t do it on her own.”

  Morris studied Sadie.

  “I don’t know nothin’ else,” she mumbled, wilting under his gaze.

  She refused to look him in the eye again and instead stood shivering in the cold.

  “Thank you, Sadie,” Morris said. “For your help.”

  He turned away.

  “Officer?”

  Morris turned back.

  “If you see her when she wakes up, will you tell her I’m worried for her?”

  “I’ll tell her.”

  She gave him a fleeting, grateful smile before hurrying away.

  Morris and Colt moved back to their squad cars. Supra still sat in the back seat. Her head rested on the seat back, looking toward the roof of the car. Her eyes stayed shut and whimpers escaped her lips every few seconds.

  “You think this is more than a stoned Mireling,” Colt said quietly. It wasn’t a question.

  “I don’t know what the hell is going on,” Morris said quietly. “I’ve seen this woman before,” he indicated Supra. “I think she may be a CI or UC.”

  Colt raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  Morris nodded. “Let’s take her in. I need to call Detective Nichols.”

  Chapter 1

  A yellow bandana, like the one Dillon always wore. Always. He’d been wearing it the day he disappeared.

  The lab tech, a young Asian guy named David, laid it out on the metal table. The room reeked of ammonia.

  David reached gloved hands into the box and pulled out the second object. A tall, plastic bottle labeled Castile Soap. Gabe had never heard of such a thing before.

  Memories of the most recent victim in the Slip Mire, an unidentified prostitute with a slashed throat, filled Gabe's mind. Bailey found a thick, clear, slippery substance—she'd guessed dish soap of some kind—on the victim’s clothing. The lab hadn’t yet sent Gabe test results on the substance. Even if it proved similar to castile soap, the killer in the Mire had nothing to do with Dillon’s disappearance.

  The final object baffled Gabe as much as the soap. An antique coin of some kind.

  Gabe saw all three things in the box three hours before. He'd kept his head enough not to touch any of them. Now the tech handled them with care, so as not to mar any potential evidence.

  Gabe had recognized the bandana immediately with a jolt so jarring, he’d been unable to breathe properly for a full minute. Tears poured over his cheeks as he stared at it.

  The box came from Dillon’s killer. No doubt about that. It threw a wrench into Gabe's entire existence. His mind reeled like a kaleidoscope and, when he finally managed to punch the button for Tyke's number on his phone, he couldn't form coherent sentences.

  "Gabe, what's the matter?" Tyke's voice came worriedly through the line, after Gabe forced enough voice through his throat to identify himself. Sounds of Tyke's two small daughters, giggling and screeching came through as well.

  "I…Dillon…"

  Tyke's voice grew panicky. "What? What about him?"

  Gabe simply couldn't find any words.

  "Gabe, talk to me, man."

  When Gabe still didn't, Tyke took a deep breath. "I'll be there in ten minutes."

  Gabe didn't know how much time passed, but when Tyke arrived, Shaun burst into Gabe's kitchen on his heels. Tyke must have called him.

  The two of them stood there, gazing down at the box on the table, Gabe slumping in the chair next to it. They asked no questions. Tyke slowly took the chair next to Gabe. Shaun dug out his phone, muttering through his gray-lined mustache about starting the chain-of-evidence procedure. Twenty minutes later, he scooped the box into his boulder-like arms and headed for the lab.

  "You're absolutely sure, Detective?" David asked, jolting Gabe from his thoughts.

  "I'm sure Dillon wore one exactly like that. He had it tied around his leg when he disappeared. If it's not his, the kidnapper took pains to recreate it exactly."

  David nodded. "We'll test it for DNA. I understand your brother's is in the system?"

  Gabe nodded, feeling numb. The bandana had been included in the description that went out to police and news outlets the night Dillon was taken. Now here it sat, in a box at Gabe’s fingertips. Tattered, faded, yet exactly the same. Unique, because the bandana had originally been red. Dillon spray-painted it yellow. Spots of red peered through the now-faded yellow paint. He’d recognize it anywhere.

  "What is Castile
soap?" Gabe asked.

  "Soap without chemicals," the tech answered. "You have to go to an all-natural specialty store to find it."

  "Can we even be sure that's what's in the bottle, David?" Tyke asked. He stood behind Gabe, watching.

  "I'll test it to be sure," David answered.

  "What about the coin, Gabe?" Tyke asked. "Does it mean anything to you, now that you can see it better?"

  Gabe already told Tyke and Shaun he didn't recognize the coin. He could tell they hoped when he examined it more closely, something would occur to him. He stepped forward and David, grasping the coin gingerly by the edges, held it out to him, turning it over when Gabe motioned to him.

  He'd never seen it before. Nothing like it had ever been associated with Dillon's case as far as he knew.

  Gabe glanced at Tyke. "Sorry."

  Disappointment flashed across Tyke's boyish features. He scrubbed his hand through his blond hair and addressed David. "It looks like an antique."

  "Yeah, I'd say so," David nodded. "Looks Roman, but I'm no coin expert. You may want to find one and ask them. I'll test all these and get the results to you ASAP."

  Gabe, staring at bandana again, barely registered David's words.

  "Thank you," Tyke answered. He put a hand on Gabe's arm. "Gabe, let's go. Nothing more to do here until the results come back."

  Gabe turned reluctantly and followed Tyke out.

  Darkness had fallen hours before. Rust colored illumination filtered down from grimy street lights. Still, the parking lot was relatively well-lit.

  Tyke stopped between his and Gabe's cars. "You know the results won't be back for at least a few days. Why don't you go home and get some rest?"

  Gabe's first instinct was to argue, but sleep sounded good to him. His thoughts roamed all over the place, as much from exhaustion as from the emotions the box conjured.

  "Yeah. Okay."

  He turned to his car.

  "Gabe."

  Gabe didn't turn back to his friend. He stared at his dark reflection in the car's window. When he didn't answer, Tyke stepped up beside him. Their reflections were twin pillars of darkness. Except Tyke's pillar stood taller and had blonder hair.