Laurel Heights 3

  Editor: Sue Brown

  Cover Designer: Book Cover by Design

  1st Edition – Copyright © 2020 by Lisa Worrall

  All Rights Reserved

  This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee. Such action is illegal and in violation of Copyright Law.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  All trademarks are the property of their respective owners.

  Dedication

  This book is for Sue Brown.

  We met way back on livejournal when God was a boy

  and most of my writing was in the Supernatural fandom.

  Sue has been my bestie from that day to this, as well as my confidant,

  teenager-sitter, rantee when I need to ranter, soother of my tired soul,

  flag-waver, cheerleader, occasional bunk buddy and wind beneath my wings.

  Without her encouragement, cracking of the whip and frequent smack in the face

  with her pom poms, Laurel Heights 3 would have become a

  geriatric plot bunny with a zimmer frame and nothing else.

  J’taime, me old flower!

  And, as always, a big thank you to Kel and the kids, for

  not minding when I shut myself in the bedroom for weeks,

  although I’m not sure whether I should be grateful or offended!

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter one

  Chapter two

  Chapter three

  Chapter four

  Chapter five

  Chapter six

  Chapter seven

  Chapter eight

  Chapter nine

  Chapter ten

  Chapter eleven

  Chapter twelve

  Epilogue

  About Lisa

  Also available

  Prologue

  The only light came from the lamp on the desk in the corner, and the elongated shadows created by its dim glow bled into the darkness of the room. He sat, hunched over a thick green journal, arm curled around it, as though protecting a test paper from an inquisitive cheat. The desperation to get every detail down on paper while it was fresh in his mind and the adrenalin still pumped through his racing heart, filled every fiber of his being. He smiled as the words spilled from the nib, the pen flying across the page with barely any help from his shaking fingers. What a story he had to tell. A number one bestseller, a sure-fire hit—even though he would be the only one to read it….

  How should I begin? I am born. I grew up. No, way too David Copperfield. How about when the first hint of the path I would take niggled at my sleeping brain? Or when I woke up in the night filled with a mixture of horror and excitement at the thought of making them pay? No. I’ve waited a long time for tonight, and I don’t want to cloud it with needless exposition.

  I held the lighter under the bowl of the spoon and watched, fascinated, as the white powder began to crystalize and melt into the water under the heat of the flickering flame. I knew it was good shit. A speedball guaranteed to blow your mind. The best that money could buy. I should know, I paid enough for it. Not that I’d minded putting my hand in my pocket. As my father always said, “If you want to do a job right, you need to have the right tools.” And I wanted to do it fucking right. I glanced at the array of… tools… on the table, also the best that money could buy. Each one designed to do exactly what I needed it to. I closed the lighter, shoved it in my pocket, then picked up tool number two—the hypodermic.

  I thought my hands would shake, this was my first time after all, but I was remarkably calm as I dipped the needle into the mix and gently pulled back the plunger. Once all the liquid had been drawn into the syringe, I lifted it up to the light. My heart practically beat out of my chest, the sound of the blood pumping through my veins rushed like an angry wind in my ears. My dick hardened in my pants, not full tent, but I had a decent semi. I hadn’t expected that part, but I wasn’t surprised. I mean, I’d thought about this moment for so long and, now it was finally here, why wouldn’t I be excited?

  I picked up the rubber tourniquet and turned, smiling as his eyes widened comically, and he tried to scream from behind the gag I’d used to quiet him. His fear was palpable. It rolled off him in waves. Had done from the moment I sat up on the back seat of his car and ordered him to drive. He stank of it. Good. He should be afraid. Even more afraid than she’d been because he’d know it was coming.

  I walked slowly towards him, the sound of my footsteps heavy on the flagstone floor, deliciously ominous as it echoed around the small room. I liked it. It seemed to give the proceedings a film noir vibe, you know, ramped up the anticipation. From the sheer terror in his eyes as he watched my every move, I wasn’t the only one who felt it. That was good, too.

  I stopped in front of the chair he was strapped to and kept my tone conversational. “I’m going to take off the gag. You can scream if you want to—I’d be a little surprised if you didn’t—but there’s no one to hear you, and it won’t change how this ends. I want you know that just in case you’re hanging onto any hope that you’re getting out of here.” I loosened the gag and pulled it down until it sat around his neck like a shabby bandana.

  “W-what d-do you w-want from m-me?” He stammered over the words.

  “Retribution.”

  “Retribution?” He shook his head. “F-for what? I-I didn’t d-do anything.”

  I tied the tourniquet around his arm and pulled it tight. “Neither did she.” I pressed the plunger gently, sending a thin arc of liquid into the air.

  “No, d-don’t.” He tried to pull his arm away when I tapped the bulging veins that stood proud beneath his skin. “Stop, please stop. I-I’ll give you money. I-I’ll do anything you want, please. I have a family!” His voice cracked, and tears rolled from the corners of his eyes as he pleaded for his life.

  I knew this would happen. Had often wondered what kind of effect it would have on me when it did. How I would feel when he begged. But it did nothing. I felt nothing. I laid the point of the needle against his arm and met his terrified gaze. With a little pressure, I broke the skin and slid into the vein beyond. I cannot even begin to describe how it felt. The sensation of power that flowed from the syringe and into me. This was it. God, my heart raced, the blood so loud in my ears I could barely hear him begging for his life. And I wanted him to beg—how I wanted him to beg. I smiled, even though he couldn’t see my face, covered by the ski mask I wore, because I saw his. Saw the horror etched in every line. Saw the knowledge that his was not going to be the painless drift into death everyone hopes for. It was going to be terrifying, degrading—everything he deserved.

  “Why are you doing this to me!” His scream echoed around us. “I didn’t do anything!”

  “I know,” I said softly. “You didn’t do anything.”

  “I don’t u-understand.”

  “You will.”

  I leaned in, pressing my lips to his ear and, as I emptied death’s cocktail into his blood stream, I whispered a name. A name that filled his eyes with horror, followed by… acceptance, as if he’d known this day would come. A name that he would carry into eternity. I watched as his face contorted into a mask of pain. The thick tendons in his neck stood out beneath his skin, and every muscle in his body tensed as he struggled to draw breath. When he began to convulse and foam at the mouth, satisfaction u
nfurled in my belly like a sleeping cat and I hugged it to me, let it enfold me.

  He’d been right. This day had come. It would be coming for them all.

  Chapter one

  “Will—”

  “Get out of the car, Scott.” Will was perfectly calm. A sure sign Scott was in trouble.

  “Will—”

  “Get out of the car, Scott.”

  “No.” Scott crossed his arms in defiance, like a petulant child.

  “Get out—”

  “Please don’t make me do this!”

  “You promised—”

  “I know I did,” Scott agreed readily, hating the pathetic whine in his voice. “But I can’t. I just can’t.”

  “You can,” Will replied with a reassuring smile. “You can and you will. Because if, you chicken shit son-of-a-bitch, you don’t, I’m going to cut you off.”

  “Cut me off?”

  “That’s right. Let me spell it out for you. Marcus and Todd have asked us to be their groomsmen, among the duties of which is the execution of a half-decent, slash vaguely recognizable, foxtrot. Now, as the closest you and I have ever come to the aforementioned is watching Dancing with the Stars, we are taking as many lessons as required to fulfil the brief we’ve been given. In short, oh love of my life, if you ever want to tap this sweet ass again, you have exactly ten seconds to get yours out of the car and into that dance studio.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me.”

  “Fuck.”

  Scott scrubbed his fingers through his hair and growled low in his throat. Dance lessons? As much as he loved Todd and Marcus, he could quite cheerfully strangle the pair of them. The extent of his dancing prowess was a little bump and grind in the occasional nightclub, and you didn’t have to be Derek Hough for that. He glanced out of the windshield at the giant pink neon sign informing passers-by that they could make total dicks of themselves above the cupcake shop. Very subtle.

  “Scott.” The warning in Will’s voice was clear, and Scott didn’t need to be a detective to know his patience was wearing thin. He’d heard that tone way too many times over the two years they’d been together to mistake it.

  “What if someone sees us?” Was that whiny little bitch really him?

  “Scott!” This time his name was said through gritted teeth.

  “Alright, alright.” Scott sighed heavily. “Unclench for God’s sake.” He unbuckled his seat belt then grabbed at the door handle. Yes, of course, he was getting out, but he was damn well gonna take his time about it. “You owe me big for this one, Harrison,” he complained. Apparently that whiney little bitch was him, and he didn’t give a shit. As he pulled ineffectually at the handle, he sent a prayer up to the Gods of the rhythmically challenged to save him from his hideous fate. When his cell began to ring at the same time as he swung the passenger door open, if he said he didn’t have a big ole grin on his face, he’d have been lying.

  “Don’t do it,” Will growled as Scott fumbled in his pocket for his cell. “Don’t you dare do it.”

  “We’re on call,” Scott drawled and quickly jabbed at the screen to answer the call. “Yep… uh-huh… okay… we’re on our way.” He slammed the passenger door shut and settled back into his seat. “Thank you, Jesus.”

  Will spat out a few choice words, got back behind the wheel and slammed the driver’s door. “Jesus won’t save you next time, Turner,” he grumbled as he started the engine. “What have we got?”

  “Dead body.”

  “How convenient.”

  Scott clasped his hand to his chest. “It wasn’t me!”

  “Can you account for your whereabouts?”

  “Hilarious,” Scott drawled. “Just drive.”

  Will pulled out into the flow of traffic and turned on the dashboard light. “Where to?”

  “Quincy Lane,” Scott replied.

  “Yupper side? Don’t usually get much business that way.”

  “Robbery gone wrong?”

  Will put his foot down. “What did they say on the phone?”

  “It was Lieberman.”

  “Ah, yes, Lieberman.” Will nodded sagely. “A man of few words.”

  “A man of few words?” Scott scoffed. “The guy’s practically a mime!”

  “Only around you.”

  “What’re you talking about?” Scott half-turned in his seat and frowned at Will.

  “Oh, come on,” Will replied. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen him stammer his way through a sentence every time he talks to you. Or how he looks at you all moony-eyed when he thinks you’re not watching.”

  “Don’t be stupid.” Scott adjusted his position and returned his gaze to the road. He saw Will glance at him out of the corner of his eye, but he refused to acknowledge it.

  “Oh my God!” Will exclaimed. “You have noticed!”

  “Watch the goddamn road.” Scott ignored Will’s chuckle and stared straight ahead. Of course, he’d noticed. He wasn’t blind, or dead, one of which he would have had to be not to notice the younger man’s crush. Was he flattered? Of course. He had an ego like everyone else for Christ’s sake, one that didn’t mind a little stroke every now and then. Was he going to give the kid a hard time about it? C’mon, he could be an asshole, but he wasn’t cruel. As far as he was concerned, Lieberman could moon all he wanted. He just hadn’t realized Will had noticed, too.

  You seriously thought he wouldn’t?

  Scott inwardly rolled his eyes at his own idiocy. Of course, he was going to notice. He noticed everything. In fact, if he was honest with himself, Scott was surprised it had taken Will this long to say something. The giant man-child wasn’t usually against having fun at his expense.

  “Why didn’t you say something?” Will asked, weaving his way through traffic.

  “And have you milk it ‘til it was dry?” Scott drawled. “Then drag poor Lieberman into your game?”

  “I am deeply offended that you think I would make fun of Lieberman and his big ole man crush on you.”

  “What’s wrong, Harrison?” Scott turned to look at his lover and raised an eyebrow. “Does he remind you of another newbie who had a big ole man crush on me?”

  “Please.” Will drew out the word. “You only wished I had a crush on you.”

  “Bullshit.” Scott grinned as Will mumbled something unintelligible and took his hand off the wheel long enough to flip him the bird—which Scott figured was the most intelligent response he was going to get right now. Will always favored the mature approach when he knew he was losing, even though, technically, Scott’s accusation wasn’t entirely true. Yes, Will had a crush on him, and he had a crush on Will, they just didn’t know it. Their partners knew what lie beneath their constant bitchy backbiting, but they’d both denied it until they were blue in the face. They’d probably still be denying it if it hadn’t been for the Laurel Heights case.

  Scott closed his eyes and let the memory washed over him. It was just almost two years ago that they’d gone undercover in the gated community of Laurel Heights. Scott had been undercover before, that wasn’t the problem. But pretending to be in love with Will Harrison, that was new. At first. He heaved a sigh and opened his eyes.

  Falling in love with Will had been the only good thing to come out of that shitstorm of swinging, bondage and one resident’s penchant for torture and murder. Thankfully, they’d caught Jay Randall and got Todd out of there. It had cost Scott a kidney, but it was a small price to pay. Todd and Marcus, after a shitload of therapy, were now planning their wedding.

  Jay Randall, who was sentenced to life without parole, had died a year ago. Stabbed during an altercation in the prison yard. Of course, there were no witnesses, but Scott was sure it had been a hit, and he had more than an inkling who’d organized it. Not that he was in a hurry to pursue any lines of enquiry. Jay Randall was a human cockroach, who deserved everything he got. He’d hurt enough people when he was alive, and Scott wouldn’t let him ruin anyone else’s life now he was dead.
<
br />   His gaze skimmed Will’s profile, alternately thrown into light and dark by the streetlamps as they sped along. He hadn’t even told Will what he knew—and never would. Randall was dead, that’s all that mattered. Scott gave himself a mental slap. Laurel Heights was the last thing he needed uppermost in his mind when he walked into a fresh crime scene.

  Will turned the corner into a suburban side street, then took the second left into a small cul de sac. As they drove towards the circle of police cars, Scott took in their surroundings. There were four large houses set in a semi-circle, with perfectly manicured lawns and paved driveways, very modern and obviously expensive. It certainly didn’t look like the type of neighborhood that was used to being highlighted by the flashing red and blue of White Plains’ finest. Scott unclipped his seat belt as Will pulled the car to a stop in front of the police tape.

  “You ready?” Will said, turning off the engine.

  “Always,” Scott replied, and opened the passenger door. “Let’s do it.”

  Scott stepped out onto the sidewalk and waited for Will to lock the car before they headed toward the line of tape a young patrolman had lifted to allow them access.

  “Evening, sirs,” the officer said with a nod of his head at the open front door of the second house. “Detective Lieberman is with the wife in the living-room, first on the right.”

  “Thanks…?” Will said with a raised eyebrow.

  “Kowalski, sir.”

  “Thanks, Kowalski.” Will flashed his thousand-watt smile at the poor kid.

  Scott rolled his eyes and nudged Will toward the house. “What did you go and do that for?” he mumbled as they walked up the driveway.

  “Do what?”