Series: Paige Michaels
Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45808 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)
“Is it good?” Daisy asked, lifting her own glass. When she set it back down on the table, she wondered aloud, “How do Daddies know these things?”
Axel winked. “We make good guesses.”
Chapter Eight
Nicoya had missed Axel when he’d dropped her back at her house. She loved how he’d watched until she was safely inside and waved at him to indicate that everything was good before he’d returned to his job site to finish the day.
On a sugar high from the cupcakes, she’d cleaned her house. It didn’t take much. Nicoya wasn’t home a lot to mess anything up. With the dust wrangled and her laundry folded, she’d settled on the back deck to relax.
She debated how to tell him that her period was over. Would that sound like she was asking for him to make love to her? She didn’t want to sound like she was pushing herself on him.
About six o’clock her phone rang. She groaned at the sight of Trace’s name. There was only one reason the captain would call her.
“Detective Stevens. What’s up, Captain?”
“Sorry to bother you on your day off, Nicoya. We have a hostage situation on Monroe and Fifth Avenues. Shots were fired. A neighbor called it in. The perpetrator will only talk to you.”
“To me?” Nicoya asked in surprise.
“I don’t like it, but we need to talk him out of there peacefully. We aren’t sure who’s inside with him.”
“I’ll change and be on my way,” she promised, already moving to her bedroom to grab clothes out of the closet.
“Wear your tactical gear, Nicoya. Something about this feels wrong. We’ll keep you protected but I want you to be ready if this goes south.”
“Got it, Captain. I’ll be there in a few.”
Nicoya swapped out what she had previously chosen to wear for a shirt sized to fit over her bulletproof vest. It took her a few minutes to dress, and she headed out to her car. As she drove, Nicoya kicked herself for not asking the name of the assailant who had requested her.
After parking at the perimeter of the taped-off area, Nicoya bailed out of her car, grabbing her helmet. She showed her badge over and over until she reached the captain’s side. “Any updates? Who is this guy?”
“He says his name is Ricky Stiles. He hasn’t responded to our last two calls. It’s totally quiet in there,” Captain Trace Barnes reported.
“That’s not good,” she commented. Ricky Stiles… She couldn’t place the name.
“We were getting ready to go in. Since you’re here, try calling him. Maybe he’ll respond to you.”
The captain picked up the megaphone and spoke. “Detective Stevens is here. She will call your phone.”
Nicoya picked up the cellphone they’d been using to communicate and redialed the number that appeared in the contacts. She waited and heard three rings before a male voice answered.
“Nicoya Stevens?”
“Yes. Is this Ricky Stiles? I understand that you requested me to be here.”
“You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked, and she could hear the anger in his voice.
“I’m sorry. Help me remember. Where did we meet?”
“Jefferson Junior High School.”
Nicoya tried to think fast. “Did we go to school together?”
“Yes. You sat in front of me in almost every single class. Stevens. Stiles.” His negative tone continued to deteriorate.
Still clueless, she tried to fill in the pause. “Oh, during the first days of class when the teacher put people in alphabetical order.”
A picture began to form in her head of a quiet student with glasses who was frequently absent. “You were the only one who understood what our geometry teacher taught us.”
“Yeah. That was a class I got to attend. I could follow along there.”
“Ricky? What’s going on in there? Why were there gunshots inside your house?”
“I had to stop my sister.”
“Did you hurt your sister?” Nicoya asked.
“Only to stop her from hurting me.”
The police officers listening to their conversation shifted restlessly. She needed to get in there.
“Are you going to hurt me if I come inside, Ricky?”
“No. You’re the only police officer I know. You weren’t ever afraid of anything.”
“I’m going to come inside now, Ricky. I want you to put the gun down and push it away,” Nicoya requested.
“Okay. I wouldn’t shoot you, Nicoya,” he promised.
Nicoya left the call open with the phone on the roof of the squad car as she headed toward the old house not too far from where she’d grown up. A battered sedan was in the driveway. Walking slowly up the ramp to the front door, she called out, “Ricky, I’m at the door. I’m coming in.”
Pushing open the door, she scanned the area and felt sick. A woman lay on the floor, not moving. There was a knife lying next to her hand. A filthy skeleton of a man sat next to a tipped-over motorized scooter. A gun lay not far from his hand. Judging by the twisted way his legs were angled, Nicoya knew the chair was his.