Nightshade Cases

Chapter 2

INT. - 9th PRECINCT GYM - MORNING

Sweat ran in distracting paths down Gerri's face, rivers trickling to soak the neck of her academy T-shirt. The treadmill flew by beneath her pounding sneakers, miles run at a standstill since she climbed on board forty-five minutes ago.

Detective Geraldine Meyers ignored the steady drip of saltiness, the clang of someone dropping weights behind her. She liked the early morning quiet of the 9th Precinct gym. Even more now the 10th had that fancy new setup thanks to a wealthy family whose daughter their detectives rescued. Her precinct's facility might have been dingy, the worn floor and patched benches signs of age and use, but she preferred the quiet to a packed new gym full of macho cops with something to prove.

She'd never admit she was one of them.

Choosing to become a cop like her dad hadn't been much of a choice. Gerri sped up the treadmill, thighs burning as her mind flashed to the badge in her locker, the gun in her desk upstairs. She'd finished college, thought about the FBI, maybe. Even the CIA at one point. But, solving street level crimes, following in her father's footsteps, won out over other ambitions. Not that she blamed Sergeant Dutch Meyers for pushing his oldest into the family business. It saved her brother and sister from a life behind a badge. And she really was uniquely suited to the job.

Gerri hit the speed button again. As if running meant she would outpace the fear stirring in her when she thought about her uniqueness. Anything to avoid thinking about the burning inside her, whispering to her she could run so much faster.

The narrow bank of windows at the top of the wall across from her threw reflections from the early morning sun on the hubcaps of passing cars. Down here, she could forget about who she was, what she feared inside her. The way her father pressed her about it all through high school, with a gleam in his eye telling her he knew more about it than she did. That they shared some bond beyond the usual father/daughter connection. But her beloved father never, ever talked about it and, though she won meet after track meet, match after boxing match, and excelled at every single sport she ever tried, Dutch refused to tell her why he watched her succeed with haunted eyes.

Gerri scowled at the rising miles on the treadmill readout, not really seeing. She'd felt like a freak her entire life. All but that brief, blissful stint she spent in college. Four years in residence, befriended by the most unlikely pair of girls she could ever imagine would attach themselves to her. Thinking of Kinsey and Ray actually put a smile on Gerri's face, smoothed out her angry, heavy stride. Though they'd only had a few years together at the outset, she couldn't think of two people she'd rather have in her life.

Sure, she was guilty of spending the next ten years sending birthday cards and Christmas cards and only throwing out the odd phone call. Life was busy, not just for her. Kinsey went on to be some hot-shot young professor, a doctor of anthropology. And Ray became a doctor of another kind, first as a physician, then as a medical examiner. Gerri threw herself into her police work, making detective two short years after putting on her uniform. Just like her father wanted. And, she was willing to admit as she flew over the track of the treadmill with her heart and lungs pumping in happy coordination, what she really wanted, too.

Gerri wiped at the sweat running down her face with the shoulder of her T-shirt. Eight years as a detective in Boston, bounced around from division to division, gave her a unique perspective on the darkness of the human soul. And, though Gerri excelled at every single one of them, she had a particular preference for homicide.

She laughed to herself, without humor. It took a specific kind of freak to get her rocks off on the deaths of others. And yet, with every call, every new case, Gerri loved her job more.

The treadmill groaned under her. The faint odor of burning plastic and odd hum rising from the belt warned her she'd pushed the old piece of crap to its limit. She ignored the fact she'd topped out its 12.4mph. Despite the sweat she shed, she still felt like she could run forever. Instead, she powered down and stepped off as the thing hummed to a stop.

She could swear she heard it sigh in relief.

As she turned, heading for the heavy bag, she didn't miss the quick glances her way, the hostility from one of her fellow officers, the near-worship on the face of the single woman in the gym. Gerri ignored both, tossing her towel to the side, jerking on her gloves. Let them stare, judge, wonder what was wrong with her. Let the guys she worked with think she was a butch. Gerri lived with worse her entire life. And wasn't about to let it bother her now.

Besides, she'd never had it so good. Two months ago, she'd been a mid-level detective in Boston, before the call came in. Within a matter of days, she received an offer from Silver City, lead detective, her own homicide team.

"Got to take it, kiddo," Dad said, serious face stern over the cup of coffee they shared when she told him the news. Mom wouldn't meet her eyes, but she seemed resigned to her leaving. "You have a job to do."

He was always so damned serious about things, made it sound like life and death. Well, she did work homicide. Despite his odd behavior, the exciting prospect won over her guilt at leaving her family behind on the East coast.

Which led her to the best news of all. Gerri tested her gloves against each other before settling in to beat the crap out of the heavy bag hanging in front of her. Her right fist connected with a solid whack as she grinned. Imagine her shock, two weeks after arriving in Silver City, running into her old friend, Ray, working a crime scene as a medical examiner. Then, to bump into Kinsey over a case involving a dead prof at the university.

Her grin faltered as she spun and delivered a roundhouse kick to the bag, sending it swinging. Such a coincidence, the three of them ending up here. Especially since the detective in her didn't believe in coincidences.

Gerri bounced on her toes, smile gone completely, the tingle inside her burning brighter, vision narrow, focused on the center of the bag. There were times she was sure she could destroy it, rip it apart if she really let go. Which made her retreat further, drop her hands to her sides and pant while her mind spun away from the reunion of three friends and into the reason for their connection.

She hated to think of the night her partner died. The captain settled her in with veteran Detective Joe Mutch her first day in the bullpen. She immediately liked him, with his neatly shaven face and careful suit and tie. His talk about always looking professional. He reminded Gerri a lot of her dad, if an older version. She'd done her best to hide the fact, though. Wouldn't do to have her partner think she was a softie. Still, he was easy going and damned good at his job, two traits that endeared him daily to her.

And made what came next all the harder. Three months from retirement and the former lead, Joe's job was to teach her the ropes. Told her she'd better keep him out of trouble, that he had a fishing trip planned to end all fishing trips the day after he got his gold watch.

Gerri offered a half-hearted whack to the heavy bag. He didn't make it.

This time, when Gerri's fist connected with the worn leather, she felt her glove split, the bag itself vibrating from the end of the heavy chain holding it aloft. One of the guys behind her swore, but she didn't bother turning around to find out if he was aiming his shock at her.

He was. Had to be. Like she didn't know otherwise, hadn't lived with such observation her whole life. She drew a shaking breath, pulled her lifelong temper problem under control. Doing so left her open to thinking about Joe. About the night he died. The druggie asshole who stuck a knife in the old man's heart.

And the creature who pulled the remains into the lake-

Gerri jerked in response to her phone ringing, swearing softly to herself as she pulled at her gloves. She wouldn't go there, couldn't think about Joe's death. Even though Ray had seen it, too. Kinsey swore she witnessed something equally as strange, the night her professor friend died. The three of them shared, over the recovery of Joe's body from the lake, that they knew or rather feared, something odd was going on in Silver City.

Something paranormal.

Right hand finally free of the glove, Gerri scooped up her phone, swiped the screen to life. Missed call from the captain. She pressed dial as she shied from her own thoughts, grateful for the distraction.

Weird. She called it weird. And refused to believe otherwise. Ray and Kinsey might be willing to admit what they saw was supernatural or some such s**t, but Gerri was a cop. Trained in logic and science and to follow the evidence. Even as the tingle inside her growled in response to her denial. Whispered to her, as always.

Gerri shoved that aside, too. Chances are the captain was calling with a case. Good. Murder always made her feel better.

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