Carolina Rain

  Carolina Rain

  By

  RICK MURCER

  AMAZON KINDLE EDITION

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Murcer Press, LLC

  Edited by

  Jan Green-thewordverve.com

  Rebecca Stroud

  Carrie Murgittroyd

  Interior book design by

  Bob Houston eBook Formatting

  Carolina Rain © 2012 Rick Murcer

  All rights reserved

  www.rickmurcer.com

  Amazon Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. The ebook contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This ebook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To Josie, Molly, and Charlie. You light up my life

  To JC, who helps me keep it together. He’s my joy

  To Max, the best and laziest writing black Lab alive

  CHAPTER-1

  The wind whistled out of Michigan’s northwest, screaming over Sophie Lee’s shoulder as she slowly exited the FBI’s black SUV. She barely felt the March chill. It could never match the cold that haunted her insides, freezing her very soul.

  CSI Special Agent Alex Downs crawled out of the passenger side as his assistant, Dean Mikus, exited through the back. Neither looked happy to be there . . . and who could blame them? She was sure they felt the same emptiness that was impossible to put into words, yet more real than their thoughts could have imagined. That’s how it was when you lost someone close, real close. Sophie had become too familiar with that feeling over the last three years and to say she hated it was far more than an understatement. She loathed the emptiness that today offered.

  She pulled her black fur coat a little tighter and cast her eyes toward the dark asphalt of the parking lot, wondering how this could still be happening. She’d thought herself able to awaken from this nightmare, but reality is a selfish wench. Sophie knew that too. And now they were here to see special agent, special cop, and special man, Manfred Robert Williams, one last time.

  This was freaking crazy.

  The man had been invincible, the Guardian of the damned Universe, Captain America in a tie, for crying out loud. People like that don’t die, not here, not in her world. But no one lives forever, he’d said it himself, and more than once. How prophetic. Good God she hated that he was right . . . again.

  Sophie moved to the front of the vehicle and stared up at the silver aluminum sign scripted on the red brick wall:

  ELLIS FUNERAL HOME

  Sighing, she felt the rush, again. That rush of horrendous hopelessness that only shows itself in situations like this. The tears came again and, this time, she let them.

  Dean Mikus joined her on the right, stroking his groomed beard in silence, eyes glistening. She felt his heart break for her when he brushed gently at the tiny stream on her cheek. She never believed anyone but Manny could comfort her that way, but the new CSI was full of surprises, and she liked most of them.

  Alex moved to her other side. He had his left hand in his trench-coat pocket, still self-conscious about what was underneath the black glove. But she didn’t think that was so much on his mind. Instead, her friend was shaking his head as if he was searching for the end of this ruse. Hell, they all were. But you don’t always get what you want. She reached a gloved hand to both men, and they each grasped one in silence.

  “I don’t know if I can do this, you know?” she whispered.

  “None of us do, but I’ll be damned if he ships out of here without me saying goodbye,” said Alex softly.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Sophie replied. “I told him I wouldn’t speak to him again if he left this life before me.” She swallowed hard. “Funny. Now all I do is talk to him.”

  Dean sighed, adjusting his red paisley stocking hat. “I know this is kind of cliché but he’d want us to live life large and not mourn too much. He’s with the God he believed in and, if you follow that line of thinking, having a much better day than us.”

  “I know. But that doesn’t help missing him so much. I want to kick his ass and to hold him so tight he’d choke, both at the same time,” said Sophie.

  She squeezed Dean’s hand a bit tighter. “Do you think God will let me smack him around a little when I get there, to Heaven?”

  Alex gave her a sad smile. “I think Manny would tell you that you need to work on getting there first.”

  Shaking her head at that thought, fresh tears shone in her eyes.

  Another FBI unit pulled up and parked beside them. Sophie watched as Chloe Franson Williams stepped out of the passenger-side door, her red hair flowing free in the wind. She wore the blank stare that had been engraved on her face since they were all told Manny had passed some three days ago after spending seven weeks struggling for his life. The knife wound had simply done too much damage and, when the doctors finally had no choice but to go in and try to repair the damage close to his aorta, the surgery had killed him.

  Her heart broke a little more. One night. One night. It was all Manny and Chloe had enjoyed as a married couple. That wasn’t right, no matter Who ran the universe. Sophie had told Manny’s God a thousand times how unfair that was. He hadn’t answered her yet. But He’d have to eventually because she wasn’t going away.

  Chloe was followed quickly by Jen Williams, Manny’s daughter. She was the spitting image of her mother, Louise, who had died tragically almost two years ago. She was strong like Louise too. She moved next to Chloe, took her hand, and then gave her a reassuring smile. Strong wasn’t the word for it.

  Josh Corner, the director of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit—where Manny, Alex, Dean, Chloe, and she worked—slid out from behind the wheel and closed the door. He looked their way with those riveting, cobalt-blue eyes and nodded. He may have loved Manny as much as any of them. He was a tough leader but had a heart the size of Lake Michigan and Manny had helped him through a thing or two. Hard life decisions, like family before profession, and Josh had expressed his gratitude openly. He called Manny the best man he’d met. Sophie felt tears well up for a third time. Maybe more for Josh than her, but then again . . .

  The six drew together, directed by some ordained force in the universe, and huddled close. Sophie didn’t think it was to get away from the wind and cold but, instead, to gather strength for the next part of this miserable journey. They needed it; the next few hours were going to be a true depiction of hell on earth, maybe worse.

  What the hell is wrong with a world where the good guys die and the bad guys live to laugh about it?

  “This is a dumb question, but are you ready to go inside?” asked Josh, his voice quiet and strong. All eyes turned to Chloe and Jen. They both nodded without conviction.

  That was almost the last straw as Sophie felt something give inside. She gritted her teeth and her spirit. She couldn’t break no
w, not now. She had to be what Manny had said she was: a warrior. She bit her lip and found more strength.

  Josh looked over Sophie’s shoulder and she glanced to see what he was looking at. She looked again. There were hundreds of people coming down Michigan Avenue on both sides of the street. They were dressed in black; the civilians, that is. But the other color, police dress blue, was just short of incredible. There were at least three hundred cops, adorned in full dress uniform, heading toward the front of the funeral home. It was hard to tear her eyes away but, when she did, she saw that Josh was scanning the crowd, not just looking at it. She frowned. Manny was still teaching, and this was a Manny lesson, without fail. He’d told her not to look at a situation like others did, but to notice the things that were subtle. Eye movement, hand placement, posture, frowns, laughs, twitches. They all helped to tell a story that only good cops could see, or better yet, feel.

  Josh noticed her gaze and she saw the corners of his mouth turn up and then down so quickly she wondered if she’d seen it at all.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  “What was what?”

  “That look.”

  “Oh. I’m looking for someone. He said he’d meet us here. But I don’t see him, so we should go inside.”

  Taking Chloe’s arm, Josh turned up the sidewalk and headed for the side entrance of the funeral home. Alex held out his arm for Jen and she took it, holding tight. Dean turned his head, offered a small grin, and Sophie looped her arm through his. She didn’t care how odd it may have looked, this caravan of twos. She only knew it made them all feel better to be touching someone else, especially someone who cared for you.

  Sophie took two steps and then felt a massive hand on her arm, pulling her from Dean’s grip and sending her into a defense stance that would have made her combat instructors proud.

  She focused on the giant of a man and felt her jaw drop. It was the only opening he seemed to need. He snatched her up like a three-year-old and began to squeeze.

  CHAPTER-2

  Sitting on the deck of the oceanfront condo, Lily felt her body fall into rhythm with the waves as they toiled endlessly to the bright sands of Kure Beach. She’d loved North Carolina from the first moment her dad had brought her here on a long-awaited vacation. There were a myriad of other popular beaches he could have opted for, but this one was perfect. And she guessed he’d hoped it would be therapeutic for her. Her father knew she was “broken” even back then, but there is no blindness like that of a father to a daughter’s “imperfection.” He’d taught her that one . . . and had taught it well.

  The beach was quiet on this barrier island, and even though there were a few more houses and condos than she remembered, Kure Beach was still the epitome of a beach town. Her life had been spent around water, but this part of the Atlantic Ocean had not stopped calling to her. Her dad had said that kind of thing could happen and she believed him. He’d never lied to her; at least she still had that.

  Glancing down at her gloved-hand, she rubbed it together with the other, winced, and then turned back to the beach. After watching the dolphins dive for an early meal, she focused on the aged Kure Beach Fishing Pier standing tall to the south of her. It looked rickety, with its weather-faded veneer, but had survived several hurricanes and still stood fast. She glanced at her leg and wondered when she’d do the same. The doctors said it would be a few more weeks, maybe even two months, but the strength would return fully. That was a good thing for her. She was going to need strength.

  Turning back to the pier and squinting into the bright morning sunlight, she noticed the huge brown pelicans nestled on the top of the painted light towers running down the center of the long dock. The birds weren’t in their normal fishing mode but, instead, chose to see how many of the numerous fishermen and women would offer them something that wasn’t going to end up in a frying pan or a freezer. Something for nothing. How enterprising. But was she so different? She’d come a long way since the incident back home and had truly had to rely on others for everything, up to now. There were times, even with the pile of pain pills and constant flow of meds via IVs designed to dim the pain—and her senses she guessed—that she was still totally coherent. Completely. It may have driven some people mad to think that clearly and not to have command or control over their movements. As always, however, she exercised great patience induced by a hope that everything she was going through would evaporate the desire that had always subsisted.

  Desire? It was far more than that, was it not? It was as if she’d been programmed from birth to feel, if feel was the proper term, like she did. Destined, if one believed in such horseshit, to be the counterbalance to all that was proper and supposedly moral. Whatever the hell that meant.

  The world stank of cops who killed the innocent, priests who raped young men, pastors who left their wife for the church secretary. Presidents, kings, and queens who lied without guilt, and parents who held secrets dark enough to plummet them into the recesses of a God-forsaken jail. Those contradictions told her that morality was in the eye of the beholder and she was free to exercise her choices.

  She supposed there were men and women who practiced what they preached but they were as rare as gold and twice as shiny. No. For the vast majority of pathetic lives, the human race consisted of liars and self-indulgent hypocrites. Not that it really mattered to her anymore because, after all of those years of living in denial, she was now honest about herself . . . and her “urges.” Lily sighed. Maybe she wasn’t so out of whack after all. Maybe she was the pure one. Time would tell.

  The morning breeze freshened and she pulled the blue hoodie a little tighter. Late March had some warm days but today wasn’t one of them. If anything was true about the Carolinas, it was the propensity for sudden changes in weather, specifically in the spring, before the famous Southern heat crept over and strangled the region. But cooler weather was okay, for now. When it was right, she’d help turn that summer fire into an inferno.

  Rising from the padded deck chair, she grabbed the cane that looked like a crooked stick from some fantasy movie and began the tedious journey back inside. She grimaced with each labored step, but the smile inside grew brighter. She’d already started to think about her first lover, really think about him.

  Finally reaching the sliding glass door, she plopped on the couch, stretching for her laptop as she settled in. After hitting the enter button, his face came into view. He was young and more than good looking, even with that Ivy League persona . . . and he had money. Why did the perverts always have money? A real pervert, according to his weekend pay-for-fun friends on the Carolina coast.

  The blood pulsed through her veins at the thought of getting him alone. She wondered if he’d feel the same when the day was over. She laughed. She didn’t think he’d be feeling much at all, but she was sure she’d come fully alive. In fact, she was counting on it.

  “We shall see,” she whispered as she blew the screen a kiss. “We shall see, indeed.”

  CHAPTER-3

  “Where you been all my life, girl?” whispered the voice elicit with the Caribbean accent Sophie had grown to love.

  “Braxton Smythe. It’s good to see you. Now put me down before I kick your ass in front of all of these people,” she whispered back, smiling in spite of the reason they were all gathered at the funeral home.

  Huge ebony hands lowered her to the asphalt. The giant of a man had to bend down almost horizontally from the waist to comply with her request.

  She looked up at his face and felt the momentary joy escape her like a deflating balloon. His dark eyes were clear, but held no ability to hide the pain that haunted his thoughts . . . just like the rest of the lives that Manny Williams had touched.

  An old song about knowing him was to love him raced across Sophie’s mind. Braxton had known Manny just a day or two and had visited him several times in the hospital but that hardly called for a trip to the man’s funeral. Yet, here he was.

  “Good to see ya all too.
I hate da reason but you be looking good to me, all of you.”

  “It’s good to see you too,” said Josh.

  Sophie watched the two exchange looks and nods and was struck with how close and yet far away people’s lives were to one another. The two men hadn’t known each other for long but they were obvious friends, brought together by circumstances and their encounters with Manny. And perhaps it was more than that. She frowned. She couldn’t put a finger on it but, like Manny used to say, it would come to her.

  Just then, Gavin Crosby, Lansing’s police chief, his son, Mike, who was the department's new lead detective, and Frank Wymer, the larger-than-life detective she’d worked with a couple of times previously approached the somber group, all wearing the same look of this can't be happening. Flashes of how Manny had impacted each of their worlds came to life in her thoughts, and for the tenth time in four days, she suddenly felt overwhelmed. She wanted to scream, and her tears wanted to break free, but she wouldn’t allow it, not now. Tonight, in her apartment, maybe then.

  “I’m glad we caught up. We’d like to walk in to . . . this . . . place with you all,” said Gavin.

  Gavin looked as stoic as ever—especially dressed in his formal royal-blue uniform—only his voice gave away his emotion. It had faltered to a soft whisper she’d only heard from him one other time. His voice and actions had been identical when he’d spoken at the funeral of his deceased wife, Stella. He had loved Manny as a son.

  She glanced at Chloe and saw her nod her head and smile another lost, polite smile. But as Sophie turned away from Manny’s wife, more heartbreak squeezing what was already too full of a heart, she noticed Braxton scanning the crowd. For no reason she could think of, she turned to Josh, who was doing the same. They were in sync; Braxton to the right, Josh to the left. Following Josh's eyes, she saw who he was looking at, not where.