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    Try Dying (Episode Six: The Nightshade Cases)
    Try Dying (Episode Six: The Nightshade Cases)
    Try Dying (Episode Six: The Nightshade Cases)
    Ebook119 pages1 hour

    Try Dying (Episode Six: The Nightshade Cases)

    By Patti Larsen

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    About this ebook

    Kinsey has the worst taste in men, at least according to Gerri. Especially when the charming, handsome guy she falls for happens to be a con artist and criminal who just can’t seem to stay dead...

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPatti Larsen
    Release dateAug 7, 2014
    ISBN9781927464724
    Try Dying (Episode Six: The Nightshade Cases)
    Author

    Patti Larsen

    About me, huh? Well, my official bio reads like this: Patti Larsen is a multiple award-winning author with a passion for the voices in her head. But that sounds so freaking formal, doesn’t it? I’m a storyteller who hears character's demands so loudly I have to write them down. I love the idea of sports even though sports hate me. I’ve dabbled in everything from improv theater to film making and writing TV shows, singing in an all girl band to running my own hair salon.But always, always, writing books calls me home.I’ve had my sights set on world literary domination for a while now. Which means getting my books out there, to you, my darling readers. It’s the coolest thing ever, this job of mine, being able to tell stories I love, only to see them all shiny and happy in your hands... thank you for reading.As for the rest of it, I’m short (permanent), slightly round (changeable) and blonde (for ever and ever). I love to talk one on one about the deepest topics and can’t seem to stop seeing the big picture. I happily live on Prince Edward Island, Canada, home to Anne of Green Gables and the most beautiful red beaches in the world, with my pug overlord and overlady, six lazy cats and Gypsy Vanner gelding, Fynn.

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      Book preview

      Try Dying (Episode Six - Patti Larsen

      Try Dying

      The Nightshade Cases: Book Six

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2014 by Patti Larsen

      Find out more about Patti Larsen at http://www.pattilarsen.com/home

      ***

      Smashwords 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 person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Edited by Annetta Ribken www.wordwebbing.com

      Proofed by Jessica Bufkin

      ***

      Chapter One

      It was impossible to scream with the filthy rag stuck in his mouth. He tried anyway, choking on the dustiness of the dirty cloth, jaw working in an attempt to spit it from lips as dry as the desert.

      The car came to a sudden halt, throwing him forward to the front of the trunk. His shoulder ground against the tire iron on the floor hard enough to make lights dance before his eyes, driving him to the brink of unconsciousness from the pain.

      If only it would be enough to knock him out so he could avoid the next few minutes. But luck abandoned him long ago, well before he left New York. Ages before he fled Las Vegas for Silver City. Luck, it seemed, hated him.

      The feeling was mutual.

      Doors slammed, rocking the car, the dark and heat of the trunk suffocating. He prayed the lid would never open, that he would simply lie there in the stifling, dead air and suffocate. The click of the lock, the sound of muttering voices, and light shone in around the edges of his blindfold.

      Hands grasped him, pulled him free of the small space, dumping him on the ground. Someone’s foot impacted his ribs, all the air whooshing from his lungs from the unexpected blow. But it was a half-hearted kick, without much intent behind it. They had far more serious injuries to inflict.

      He shook his head, the blindfold loose from the roughness of his journey, trying to dislodge it. To at least see where they’d taken him as he was dragged by his armpits, one foreign hand on either side of his body, through dust that filled his nose and made it impossible to breathe.

      Suddenly, death by suffocation didn’t sound like the best option. Anything but that.

      He collapsed for a second time, snorting out the dirt blocking his breathing, feeling the vibration in the ground as someone approached from in front of him. Rough hands jerked loose the blindfold. A brilliant light from overhead made him wince as he flinched, blinking into the cold, white of a single flashlight aimed in his face.

      His eyes adjusted slowly after the dazzling beam dropped away. Hands frisked him, someone muttered over his wallet.

      You brought the wrong one. An Irish accent, another kick, this one fierce. Boss’ll be pissed. He felt his ribs crunch under the silver-capped toe of his assailant’s cowboy boot, lifting him half off the ground and flipping him at the same time. He landed with a grunt on his back, gazing up into the grim, furious face of the man he knew would come looking for him someday.

      And down the barrel of a gun.

      Being shot was the worst, the absolute worst, especially if they left him to bleed out. It could take hours. His eyes begged the man with the weapon to make it clean, but it was far too late to ask for mercy.

      Twice the thick finger on the trigger squeezed. His body jumped with the first bullet, the lights going out as it entered his brain, a perfect, round hole in the center of his forehead. He didn’t feel the second, slightly up and to the right, following its partner.

      His body lay quiet and empty. The men retreated, two separate cars driving off, leaving him there to rot in the California night.

      ***

      He groaned as light returned, turning his head. Two metal circles, the compressed remains of bullets, dropped from his forehead as the holes sealed. He gagged out the filthy cloth at last, coughing into the dirt, wiping absently at the blood trails, still fresh enough to trickle over his brow and into his eye.

      It took about a minute to get his breath, to gain enough energy to heave himself to his knees. He slapped at the grime ground into his clothes.

      Shit, he said to the night. I loved these pants.

      A quick look around, head aching from the healing still going on inside his skull, he made it to his feet and staggered toward the edge of the empty lot. It was quiet here, a down-on-its-luck part of the city. He laughed a little, patting his coat pocket for his flask, groaning when he realized it had gone missing in the time he’d been captured, dragged here—wherever here was—and killed.

      He was so wrapped up in the loss of his fix, he didn’t notice the bus coming toward him as he stepped into the street. Only when the horn blared, the tires screeching in response to his stupid move, did he look up with a resigned sigh.

      Well, fuck, he said.

      And died all over again.

      ***

      Chapter Two

      Gerri stepped out of her Charger, already frowning at the scene before her. It was damned late, or really freaking early, whichever she could call on at 3:30 in the morning. She suppressed a yawn and the annoyance that came from being dragged out of bed so early before crossing the street to the bus pulled over to the side of the road.

      CSI Tommy Binks waved to her from where he took what looked like blood samples from the grill of the huge public transport vehicle, streetlights reflecting from his wire-rim glasses. Gerri joined him, gaze travelling over the other techs combing the scene for evidence, to the sight of a familiar brunette in a MEDICAL EXAMINER jacket crouched over a body on the sidewalk. A rather crumpled and damaged body from what the detective could tell from here. The scent of blood reached her, woke her hunger, and she caught herself wondering if Belle’s Diner was open this early and if they had their steak breakfast on special.

      Morning, detective. Binks never seemed to change, whether at this ungodly time of the day or halfway through the afternoon, his voice as level and cheerful as ever. The soft lisp actually sounded soothing this morning for some reason, his rabbit-like nose twitch rather endearing. What the hell was wrong with her?

      Binksy. She looked away, knowing he’d be frowning at her for the nickname, but unable to help herself or the oddly jovial good humor taking her over. At a crime scene? And yet, this one seemed cut and dried, an accident, not murder. So why did the captain call her out to deal with this then?

      Not your typical case, the CSI said, going back to work. Gerri watched with fascination she’d never admit to him as he painstakingly scraped blood and bits of flesh from the front of the bus. She had no idea how anyone had the patience to do his job. She was an action kind of girl, herself. Speaking of which, she missed her run last night and really needed to get out and stretch her legs.

      Who the hell called us in on this? Gerri didn’t turn around at the acid tone of her partner who slouched his way to her side, his three-inch advantage on her reduced from his irritated posture.

      That would be Captain Dominic King, Gerri said, all sweetness and light, reaching for her cell phone. But I’m happy to call him and let him know you’re whining again. I’m sure that will make his morning. Detective Jackson Pierce just glared at her and turned away, handsome face pale and eyes rather bloodshot. Hung over, Pierce? Gerri spoke a little louder, right in his ear. Jackson flinched from her, scowl deeper, though he winced as though the act of scrunching up his forehead hurt.

      Good. She hoped he suffered, the jackass.

      Grinning, she offered Binks a jaunty wave before crossing the distance from where the bus was parked to the space Dr. Rachel Hunter occupied. Gerri glanced back at

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