Unfair Advantage

CHAPTER ONE


Thirteen months later
Pine Mountain Lake
New York

Dani took her coffee out onto the porch, watched the mist twine along the water’s edge like tentacles of some mythical beast. She listened to the forest sounds, sipped her Italian Roast, and put off reading the paper.

Since children began disappearing, Dani couldn’t stand seeing the headlines. Neither could she ignore them.

The phone rang, shattered the sylvan noises of the wind in the trees and the woodland residents. Even as she approached the cordless unit atop the corner table in the living room, Dani suffered a wave of dread. She froze. The hair of her nape prickled. Her mug fell from her hand, clunked on the wood floor, but did not break.

The answering machine picked up on the fourth ring.

“I can’t take your call.” Her voice spoke from the box. “Leave a message.”

A beep, then her friend Ashlyn’s voice. “I know you’re home, and you probably know what I’m calling about. Dani, I know it’s tough. But, that little boy who disappeared a week ago - Michael Allen - his body was found this morning. His mother heard something about you. I don’t know where or how. She came into my shop this morning asking for you. You know what she wants, Dani. Just consider it.”

The machine beeped again.

She stood there immobile with the sickening rush slowly beginning to diminish. How could she do what that woman wanted?

How could she not?



Detective Roarke Larkin sat at his desk studying a stack of statements and photos. His phone rang, he checked the caller ID, ignored it.

His partner looked at the readout, grinned, answered. “Homicide, Detective Tim Fielding.” A few seconds then, “Yes, Miss Irving.” Fielding wiggled his eyebrows.

Roarke shook his head.

“Yeah, uh. Well he’s ...” Tim mouthed to Roarke, “What’s the excuse?”

Roarke wrote ‘dead’’ on a note pad, held it up for viewing.

Fielding flipped him off, lied, “He’s out with some kind of flu. Yes, I’ll tell him you called.” When he hung up, he pounced. “What the fuck, Larkin? That chick is so stacked and hot she makes Jay-lo look like a skinny school marm.”

“She’s got a marital bead on me and I don’t like being in the crosshairs.”

“I’d marry her yesterday.” Tim chewed his yellow number two.

“Welcome to her.” Roarke returned his attention to the files. “Go smoke, Fielding. Your pencil doesn’t deserve that.”

“I need to speak to a detective, please.”

Roarke heard the female voice out in the hall.

Tanzetti said, “Whole room full of ‘em right there.”

“Excuse me,” the same woman’s voice began. Closer now. “I need to speak to Detective Larkin.”

That brought his head up. She stood a few feet away, wearing soft hikers, faded jeans and a short-sleeved tee shirt on about a five foot nine, one-thirty frame. Caramel- and gold-streaked light brown hair cut straight across below the shoulder framed an oval face.

He met her very pale green eyes. Something sizzling and primitive socked him in the gut. “Have we met?”

“My name’s Dani Richards. I’m here on behalf of Sharon Allen.”

Like lightning the name struck him. He rose. “Come sit, Ms. Richards.”

She didn’t. “Perhaps we could speak privately.”

“Sure.” He rounded the desk. “Follow me.”

He took her to an interrogation room, closed the door after her. He stole a covert look at her ass. Perfect upside down heart. His favorite. “Take a chair.” He took one opposite. “What can I do for you?”

Her features were pretty in an elegant way. Too refined for the flashiness of Hollywood beauty. She stared at her lap for a moment. Hesitation?

“Detective Larkin, I went to the morgue with Mrs. Allen.”

He came to full alert. “My partner and I are handling this case. We accompanied her there.”

“She contacted me to return with her.”

“Why?”

“To help find her son’s killer.”

Roarke leaned forward. “Are you a PI, Ms. Richards?”

Those apple green eyes held his. Steady and cool. “No, detective. I have what’s called a sixth sense.”

He felt the bond of fascination severe like a cut rope. “Really?”

She did not reply.

“You’re telling me you have psychic abilities? ESP? That sort of thing?”

She stood. “I told Mrs. Allen this wouldn’t work. Thank you for your time.”

He rose, walked behind her as she exited the room.

Roarke watched her walk away. Wondered why a woman so attractive could have gone crazy.

“So what was that all about?” Fielding asked as Roarke came up to their desks.

He replied, “Just another nut job.”




Dani let the days slide by.

This afternoon she concentrated on her long walk in the mountainous forest. After four hours, she returned home from the hike to see a strange car parked beside hers. Big dark Detective Larkin and a slim blonde man sat on the cabin steps.

Tree-filtered light from the setting sun cast patchwork luminescence and shadow.

Larkin’s physical beauty struck same as the first time. He possessed facial structure as Irish as his name. Rather heroic and impressive. Also a Viking-infused Irish stature. The coloring still surprised her. Black Irish olive skin, rich mahogany hair and the oddest eyes. Not yellow like whiskey. A curious cranberry-brown.

Dani stopped short of the stone walk. “Good evening, detectives.”

“Ms. Richards,” Larkin began. “This is my partner, Detective Tim Fielding. We’ve had some confusing testimony from the victim’s mother. Could you tell us how you came by your knowledge of Michael Allen’s murder?”

“I already did.”

“Take your shots, Miss Richards,” Larkin replied evenly. “Then let’s move on to helping the victim.”

A brief flash of shame came with his words. “Would you gentleman like to come inside?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Detective Fielding responded.

She walked ahead of them up onto the wrap around porch, opened the door. Taking off her hikers, she placed them on the low metal wrack. She knew by the noises they did the same. In the kitchen she started a pot of coffee. The officers entered the kitchen.

“Have a seat, detectives. This will just take a moment.”

Dani set out mugs, fresh cream and sugar. Finished, she sat in one of the wooden chairs across the small white tile-topped table from her guests.

Larkin didn’t open with small talk. “We can’t pretend to believe or accept your methods, Miss Richards. Even though psychic input has become more accepted in investigations. However, a great deal of what you told the victim’s mother were details or suspicions we had not disclosed.”

“That makes me dubious.” She knew it did.

Larkin studied her with those intense, odd-colored eyes. “Would you tell us what happened? From how Mrs. Allen contacted you, to your coming to see me.”

Dani felt the vibrations radiating from her guests. Decided to address them first. “I can’t always get too specific without touching you. However, if you’d let me hold your hand, I’ll give you an idea of what I live with.”

She closed her eyes, concentrated on Fielding when he readily offered his. Images flickered. A jerky stream of disorganized information and impressions hit her. “Detective Fielding, you entered this profession to impress your overbearing father.”

“Fuck me.” He jerked free. His chair scraped the wood floor.

“You idolize your partner because he is what you consider a ‘true cop’.” Dani kept her eyes closed.

“Okay.” Fielding laughed uncomfortably. “Now you’re downing your batting average.”

She opened her eyes. “Timothy. That’s what your mother calls you. Another female relative or a friend of the family used to call you Timmy-doodle. To this day you resent her. You think of them both unconsciously when you deal with women.”

The color had drained from his face. Larkin turned, looked at his partner, and then faced her.

“I can see you struck a few nerves,” he allowed. “A lot of men from our generation have overbearing fathers. Many choose a profession with them in mind. You’re smart.” He studied her. “You could have realized he has a certain unease around pretty women. Attributed it to something Freudian.”

Dani didn’t need her unusual perceptions to tell her he’d be a tough sell. “Would you like me to try you?”

He held out his big hand. She couldn’t help noticing the obvious power and masculine elegance of bone and sinew. Something very visceral sent a warning. Determined, she grasped his hand.

Not even the impact of her life-changing accident prepared her. Graphic images from his past assaulted her. Bloody and bleak. Then she saw herself and him naked, his dark skin and masculine brawn stark against her paler much smaller body. A lightning bolt of perceived sensation sizzled through her with enough potency to make her instantly damp.

She stifled her cry, but jerked her hand from his grasp.

Larkin’s impassive expression had vanished. He regarded her with something like stunned disbelief.

Her face flooded with heat. She must have spoken already. Given that blatant sexual image, it mortified Dani to think what she may have said.

Fielding stared at her, eyes wide, mouth open.

“Tell me what I said,” she whispered.

Muscles danced along Larkin’s lean jaw. “You gave the case numbers of several open homicide investigations.” He pushed back from the table. “Would you excuse my partner and I for just a moment, please?”


Fielding didn’t bother putting on his shoes before he burst from the cabin. Roarke followed shortly. His partner stood, stocking feet, fumbling to light a cigarette. He succeeded, dragged on it several times before he blew out a long plume of smoke.

“Holy shit, Larkin.” He shoved his lighter back in his shirt pocket. “I mean holy-fucking-shit!”

“Keep your voice down.”

Fielding jabbed a finger toward the cabin. “That woman is the genuine article. She godamned quoted the case numbers of our killer’s other victims.”

“I know.” Roarke couldn’t explain what happened. He had so many questions. Not to mention a certain amount of awe.

“Larkin, you tell anyone this, I’ll shoot you.” He shook his head, pulled on the cigarette and exhaled. “She nailed it for me. Everything she said. I never told a soul about my Mom’s cousin calling me Timmy-doodle.” He shook his head again. “I’m freakin’ here. Someone has to explain this to me.”

“We need to calm down, get back in there and handle this like cops.”

“I don’t think I can face her.” Fielding glanced at the cabin. Sucked on the Camel. His words emerged in a cloud. “I know I can’t. You have to cover for me. Don’t tell her I’m out here having kittens.”

“Okay.” Roarke focused. He needed answers. “Get your shoes. Walk it off. I’ll be less than twenty minutes.”

He parked his boots by the door, went inside. She still sat in the kitchen. One of the three mugs she’d put out earlier had disappeared. One sat filled in front of her. The other at the place he’d occupied before. Sliding into the chair, he saw she’d left it black.

“Before you go attributing it to preternatural mind reading, detective,” she smiled just a bit, “you struck me as the kind of guy who’d take things straight.”

Roarke composed his thoughts. “How did Sharon Allen contact you?”

“A few months ago I made the mistake of offering to help a woman find her daughter.” She sipped her coffee. “When the news crews began waving around the fact that a little boy who’d been kidnapped was found murdered, that woman I assisted contacted the boy’s mother with my name.”

“You went to the morgue with her?”

“Yes. The guard gave her some trouble. She guilted him into allowing us to see the boy.” A shudder passed over her. “I touched him.” Her voice faltered. “I went to talk to you with what I’d seen. Which was a mistake. Then I returned to her, wrote down every detail I could recall. Cried with her. And, came home.”

“Miss Richards, have you had this ability all your life?”

“Not until a little over a year ago. I was involved in a car accident. A concussion put me into a coma. Four days later I came to.” She inhaled, soft but shaky. “It became apparent very quickly that something had changed. I struggled to understand and cope.” Her pale eyes seemed to guard a thousand secret agonies. “My old life was, to say the least, incompatible with the transformation. I fashioned another.”

Roarke pulled out his wallet, removed one of his cards, and slid it across the table. He took a swallow of his coffee. “I have to be frank with you, Miss Richards. Providing it works, your help is a Godsend. But explaining it to my superiors - let alone a judge and jury - will present a unique pain in the ass.“ He placed his wallet back into his pocket. “Contact with the dead’s been a cultural titillation since the Victorians. Yet it still stamps an investigation with a certain circus air.”

“I understand.”

“There’s no protocol I’m aware of that pertains to this sort of situation. For now I just ask that you inform us of any travel, and contact if anything further comes to you.” Roarke drank some of the coffee, stood. “Thanks for the coffee. We appreciate your help.”

She rose. He couldn’t avoid noticing the length of her legs in the slim cut jeans. Roarke followed her out onto the porch, trying unsuccessfully to ignore that heart-shaped bottom.

Fielding stood at the lakeshore, likely smoking his fifth Camel.

She stood on the steps as Roarke herded his shaken partner and climbed behind the wheel of the unmarked sedan.

As they drove back down the winding undivided road, Roarke finally said, “You keep puffing like that, I’ll have to take you straight to the ER for oxygen.”

Fielding tossed his cigarette out the window. Roarke stopped the car. His partner swore, slammed the door, but went back and returned with the discarded butt.

Putting it in the ashtray and shoving it closed Fielding demanded, “Happy?”

“I’ll be happy when we catch this sick bastard who’s raping and butchering kids.”

A/N : This is a completed work that I will update in accordance with interest.