Family Ties Read online

  FAMILY TIES

  By

  Jamie Hill

  ISBN: 978-0-9867514-2-4

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Books We Love Ltd.

  (Electronic Book Publishers)

  192 Lakeside Greens Drive

  Chestermere, Alberta, T1X 1C2

  Canada

  Copyright 2010 by Jamie Hill 2010

  Cover art by Michelle Lee Copyright 2012

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  Chapter One

  Judging by the smell of the bloated body, it'd been lying in the alley for at least a day. Brady Marshall stepped around a stack of trash cans and squatted next to the corpse. He held his fingertips to the pulse points in the man's neck. As expected, there was no pulse. The gesture was a formality done for the benefit of the crowd gathered outside the Pink Banana Club. "Did anyone call 911?"

  "I did." The petite blonde waitress, whose terrified screams had summoned him moments before, stepped forward. "Aren't you a cop?"

  "Yeah." Brady stood up and glanced around the alley. "But I'm not a homicide cop."

  "Homicide?" The woman repeated.

  Her boss moved up behind her. "He's a vice cop." The club owner didn't hide the disgust in his voice. He screwed up his face, making the pock marks stand out more prominent.

  Brady flashed a personable smile and raised his hands. "Just here for a couple of drinks, Warren. I'm not looking for trouble."

  Warren Clifton snickered and shook his head at the dead body. "Trouble has a way of finding you, Marshall."

  "What a thing to say!" Brady feigned indignation. "That hurts, Warren, it really does. What do you think about getting these nice people back inside the club, and I'll wait out here until someone comes to take over the scene?"

  "Yeah, all right." Warren ushered the gawkers back into the building. He looked at Brady one last time, muttering, "Can we try to keep this out of the club, Marshall?"

  Brady lit a cigarette and shrugged as he blew a puff of smoke into the air. "Not my case, man. I'll put in a good word for you, but there'll be questions."

  "I know." Obviously irritated, Warren tossed one last look at the body and stepped inside.

  Watching him go, Brady thought about the club owner for a moment. Warren was a decent guy. He ran a clean establishment, seemed to treat his help respectably and didn't have many run-ins with Brady's section of the law. There were plenty of clubs in town whose owners couldn't say the same. It was one reason he chose to frequent the Pink Banana on his occasional evening off.

  Wailing sirens pierced the air. They brought his attention back to the body on the ground in front of him. He didn't have much information to pass along, but he'd tell them what he knew. He wanted to head back inside, finish his drink and catch a little more of the show.

  Two cars, their red lights flashing, pulled into the alley, one a marked police car and one unmarked. Brady took one last drag, before dropping his cigarette and crushing it under the toe of his boot. He approached the unmarked car and smiled at the tall, buxom brunette who emerged. "Hey, Mel. Looks like your lucky night."

  Detective Melanie Curtis glanced at him before she sought out the body. "What are you doing here, Marshall?"

  "Having a drink. A waitress took out the trash and hollered when she found our friend, here. I had her call it in, and said I'd stay with the scene until you showed."

  "What's it look like?" The detective took a step closer to the corpse. "A bum, a drunk?"

  Brady shrugged. "Dressed pretty nice to be a bum, but he doesn't smell so great. I didn't touch anything other than checking for a pulse on his neck, but I believe I detected a small bullet hole in front of his left ear."

  Curtis dropped to one knee and peered at the body. "Son-of-a-bitch! So much for getting home at a decent hour." She looked up at one of the uniformed officers awaiting her orders. "Cordon off the area and start searching the alley." To the other uniform she said, "Get the medical examiner over here. You'll need to knock on the doors of surrounding businesses and take statements. See if anybody saw or heard anything. Find out the last time anyone from the club was out here." She looked at Brady. "You're welcome to stay and help."

  He grinned at her and shook his head. "No, thanks. It's my night off, and I've had a couple drinks." He extended a hand and pulled her to her feet. Mel was a good looking woman, though she usually wore nondescript, dark pant suits when she worked. She kept her thick brown hair pulled into a ponytail.

  Brady had worked several cases with her, and they were friends, nothing more. She sometimes gave him the feeling she'd be interested in pursuing a relationship, but he'd never thought office romances were a good idea. He faced the door to the club. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go have a couple more drinks."

  "Thanks for nothing, Marshall," Curtis called after him.

  Brady didn't turn around, just waved as he walked back inside the club. He felt a twinge of guilt, but it was unnecessary. Off duty and drinking, he had no business working a case. "Speaking of drinking," he muttered to himself, noticing his clean, empty table. There was a brand new bourbon and seven in front of him before that waitress—what was her name?—Julie, that was it, before Julie discovered drop-dead Fred in the alley. He scanned the room, but Julie was nowhere in sight.

  "Excuse me." He reached for the arm of another waitress.

  The dark-haired woman whirled around angrily, jerking away from his grasp. "What's your problem, buddy?" Fury sparked from her shiny brown eyes.

  Brady was floored. He'd never seen such an attractive combination of goddess and hellcat as the woman standing before him. She was tall, just an inch or two shorter than his six-two build. Her curly black hair, fair skin and rose-colored lips reminded him of a gypsy princess. But the scorching look she flashed made him think she might deck him at any moment. "Whoa!" He lifted his hands. "No problem, really, other than I left the table for a few minutes and my drink disappeared."

  She narrowed her eyes and looked him up and down. "You a cop?"

  "Is it stamped on my forehead, or something?" He tried to flash her one of his patented smiles but she continued to glower.

  "Yeah, actually it is." She took a step closer. "Oh, sorry, that says 'asshole', not 'cop'."

  Brady crossed his arms and looked at her patiently. He realized waitresses in places like this, must get groped and hit on regularly, especially ones who looked like her. "I'm sorry I grabbed you. I didn't mean anything by it."

  She stared at him another moment, then licked her thumb and ran it across his forehead. "Well, I'm sorry, too. That was a smudge. Maybe it didn't say 'asshole' after all."

  Brady laughed and the woman's lips curved up, seemingly against her wishes. She was pretty when she scowled, but she was a knockout when she let herself smile.

  He tried to compose himself. "I haven't seen you here before."

  She rolled her eyes. "Wow, that's original. Want to know how many times I've heard that line?"

  He grinned. "It's not a line, it's an observation."

  Nodding slowly, she added, "I've only been working here about a week."

  "Name's Marshall, Brady Marshall." For some reason he stammered, and the realization bothered him. He paused to take a calming breath. "Brady."

  "I don't think we'll be friendly enough to be on a first name basis, officer."

  "Detective," he corrected. "I don't see why not. I'm a regular here. Your friends can tell you I'm a decent guy."
>
  She shrugged. "I don't have many friends in this place, Detective. Come on, where would you like to sit? Up front by the stage?"

  "Back here is fine." He snagged a table closer to the bar than the stage and swung his leg over a chair.

  She stopped and looked at him. "You can see the show better up front. There are plenty of tables."

  "This is fine." Brady leaned his chair back so it touched the wall. "So what do the friends you do have call you?"

  She finally allowed a smile. "Gina."

  "Gina," he repeated and nodded. The name suited her. Tiny butterflies fluttered around in his gut and he tried to ignore them.

  "What were you drinking, Detective? I'm afraid I tossed your first drink when I came on shift. I'll get you another, on the house."

  "Well, it wasn't my first drink. But I'll take bourbon and seven when you get back around."

  "Anything to eat?"

  "Not now, thanks."

  "Be right back." Gina walked off toward the bar and Brady watched her go. She was definitely the most interesting woman he'd run across in a long time. Something about her intrigued him, in ways he wasn't sure he understood. The beginnings of an erection tented his trousers and Brady shifted in his chair. That he understood.

  Music started and he peered at the stage. A dancer in a short, white nurse's uniform strutted into the spotlight and gyrated around the pole positioned center-stage. She had blazing red hair and a set of knockers that were ready to burst out of her costume. Brady watched for a moment then returned his attention to Gina, who chatted with the bartender across the room.

  Her hair was coal black, and fell into loose ringlets around her shoulders. It had a glossy shine, looking very pretty and natural. He looked back at the stage, where the stripper was making her way out of her uniform. The dancer's hair color rivaled Yosemite Sam's.

  "You like redheads?"

  Brady jumped as Gina set his drink in front of him. He'd been staring off into space, and missed her arrival. "They're okay. I like more natural-looking hair, I guess."

  Gina checked out the dancer. "She reminds me of Magenta, the red-haired chick on the Rocky Horror Picture Show."

  Brady chuckled. "I was thinking more of Yosemite Sam."

  She laughed out loud. "Shit, man! Don't tell her that. Her self-esteem would go right in the crapper."

  He grinned and looked at her thoughtfully. "Don't women appreciate honesty? I mean, I used to highlight my hair a few years back, until a friend told me it wasn't cool to have hair colors that didn't appear in nature."

  Gina made a face and shrugged. "This your lady friend we're talking about?"

  He returned the shrug. "She was a lady, yeah, but she wasn't 'my' anything. Actually, she's now the wife of a good buddy."

  "To each her own, I guess. Personally, I like a guy who spiffs himself up a bit. But I don't care much for cops."

  Brady fiddled with his swizzle stick. "Good to know."

  She stared at him flatly. "Get you anything else right now?"

  "No, thanks."

  "Enjoy the show." She turned and walked away.

  He watched her hips swivel and admired the way her ass looked in tight jeans. "I certainly will," he murmured. He looked back at the stage. Nurse Sam, as he was thinking of her now, had stripped to nothing but fishnet stockings held up by a garter belt and a thong. Her full breasts bobbed as she humped the pole on stage. The sight of her didn't do anything for him. In fact, all Brady could think was, with life preservers like those on board, the woman would never drown.

  He found himself searching the room until his gaze again landed on Gina. She waited on a table full of men, laughing and joking with them. To his surprise, Brady felt a stab of jealousy. Where the hell did that come from? He'd just met the woman. Sure, he found her attractive, but if the truth were known he found much of the world's population of women attractive. The feelings seemed to be mutual. To the casual observer, Brady was not a lonely man.

  He studied Gina's return to the bar where she turned in the drink orders from her last table. She wore very little make-up, but came across as polished just the same. She moved fluidly, gracefully, and seemed comfortable chatting up a group of men at a strip club.

  He sipped his drink and remembered how she jumped and got angry when he grabbed her arm. Maybe she wasn't as comfortable as she let on, or she preferred people at a distance.

  "Turn it off, Detective," he muttered to himself, something that was easier said than done. When he was alone in a crowd Brady usually analyzed people, trying to figure out what made them tick. Just then, he didn't want to think that hard. He'd recently wrapped up a stressful case, and tonight, he intended to relax and unwind, drop-dead Fred notwithstanding.

  He looked at the stage, where Nurse Sam wound up her part of the show by shaking her ass at a group of Asian businessmen. They seemed pleased with her, judging by the amount of money they tossed onto the stage. Maybe I do need to move closer to the front. Perhaps he could lose himself in the bevy of naked beauties that were sure to parade before him. Even that idea didn't hold great appeal. He looked around again until he found Gina, and watched her instead.

  She had a Cindy Crawford-type beauty mark on her cheek, just above her lip. Brady found it sexy, for some reason. Her full, pouty lips—he could easily explain the attraction to them. For just a moment, he wondered how they'd taste pressed against his own, and imagined himself nibbling on them before pushing them open and exploring her mouth with his tongue.

  She remained at the bar, looking out over the crowd, so he continued his scrutiny. Large silver hoops dangled from her ears, adding to her gypsy-like appearance. His gaze lowered to the pastel plaid shirt she wore knotted at the waist over a yellow crop-top. The shirts were filled out nicely. Maybe not as much as Nurse Sam would have filled them out, but Gina's breasts looked very nice and natural. Her jeans were low-rise, and Brady was surprised to see a shiny silver navel ring in the gap between shirt and jeans.

  His surprise grew along with his erection when she turned around and reached above the bar for something. He caught a glimpse of a medium-sized butterfly tattoo across her lower back.

  He'd been in the strip club for close to two hours, but watching Gina had provided his only stimulation of the night. Brady shifted positions for comfort and thought about what exactly had flicked his Bic. He'd seen lots of women with tattoos and body piercings before. There were plenty in his line of work, and a good number of those sightings had been purely for pleasure. But something about this particular woman continued to intrigue him.

  She didn't like cops, an attitude that amused him. He'd dealt with it before, and usually diffused those situations easily. Gina's appealing mix of wholesomeness and sexiness interested him, and her devil-may-care attitude made the effort seem worthwhile.

  Then there was her amazing set of hips. Christ! His erection twitched. There was nothing sexier than a tiny waist over a full, round butt. They used to call it an hourglass figure. Brady called it something he'd like to get his hands on. His dick throbbed pleasantly as he continued to watch Gina work.

  He took another drink and his ice shifted, splashing amber-colored liquid down his shirt and jacket. Swabbing himself with the tiny napkin-slash-coaster on his table, he felt himself blush profusely when he realized Gina was watching him. Her chocolate brown eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement. He tossed the tiny napkin on the table and smiled at her sheepishly.

  She made her way over to him and tossed a stack of bigger napkins on the table. "Get you a bib?"

  "Uh, no, I'm doing fine, thanks." For the second time that night he heard himself stammer. She definitely had him off his stride. "I can't believe you saw me do that."

  "The show's up there." Gina pointed to where a woman in a Catwoman costume took the stage. "But every time I look at you, you're watching me."

  He looked at the stage quickly and then back at Gina. "I don't much like cats."

  "Too bad!" she purred, leaning into him. "I h
ave a beautiful cat. Her name is Pussy."

  Brady coughed and felt his face flush again. "You're, uh, kidding me."

  "Do I look like I'm kidding?" Gina batted her eyes at him. "But seriously, you're creeping me out, Detective. I suggest you watch the stage, or I'll have the bouncer show you the door."

  Brady opened his mouth to protest and offer some sort of explanation when the front door opened and two uniformed officers, followed by Melanie Curtis, entered the club. He sighed and shoved his drink away. "Looks like there's a different show to watch, now."

  * * * *

  Gina studied the woman who marched in with the two uniforms on her heels. Even without her sidekicks, she was obviously a cop. Dark jacket, stiff manner—hell, Gina would bet the farm there was a gun in a shoulder holster under that jacket. She glanced around, but Julie was still recovering from her shock in the back room, so there was no one to bet. Gina knew she was right about the woman. She had a sense for cops, always had.

  Plainclothes division probably made the broad a detective. Gina looked briefly at Brady Marshall, noticing he didn't look surprised or unhappy to see the other detective come in. He was smiling. Well, good for him. Maybe he'd get lucky tonight. He certainly wasn't getting anywhere with her, Gina thought smugly, not that he'd actually put the moves on. But guys in these places were all alike.

  "We're going to start questioning the patrons of this fine establishment," the lady cop said to Brady.

  He tossed back the rest of his drink. "You can't wait until Catwoman is done?" They both looked at the stage, where the female cat had bared everything not covered by her black G-string, and was shimmying around for the pleasure of the crowd.

  "How much do you suppose a boob job like that costs?" the female detective wondered aloud, shaking her head.

  Brady chuckled. "Worth every penny, my dear. Worth every penny."

  "You're so full of shit." She sat at his table and looked up at Gina. "Can I get a diet soda, please? And then I need to ask you a few questions."