Storm Lines Read online

  “Sounds like Carla,” Marley said, flipping on lights in her apartment. “It was good of you to check in with her, though.”

  “I didn’t want her to worry.”

  Marley stopped in the hallway that led to the living room, a soft glow from a table lamp lighting her face.

  “You’re a good person, Devon Wolfe.”

  “I try, Bridget Marlowe.”

  Marley slid her hands around Devon’s waist. Devon pulled her in, holding her close around the waist with one arm and cupping the back of her neck with the other. Without thinking, she began kneading the muscles in the back of Marley’s neck, chasing the tension as Marley rumbled her approval. When Marley tilted her face up to Devon’s, their lips met in a powerful, sweet kiss. The spark in Devon’s chest flared and the words finally, finally, finally echoed through her head.

  Kissing Marley was a kind of perfection. Devon let go of the need to know what was happening, let go of worry, let go of the need to breathe. Marley pressed their bodies together, heat flaring along Devon’s skin where they touched. She kissed the sounds that came out of Marley’s mouth as she spanned her hand across Marley’s lower back and pressed her closer.

  Then Marley was walking backward, tugging Devon to the couch where they fell into the cushions, laughing as their legs tangled, as they fought for breath and for control. Marley gave a sly grin as she pushed Devon back into the cushions, straddling her thighs. Devon loved that fire in Marley’s eyes, loved the tussle for control and her willingness to give it.

  She loved it even more when Marley leaned over her, caging her with her arms on either side of Devon’s head and said, “Yes?”

  “Yes,” Devon breathed.

  Yes to Marley’s searing kiss, yes to the tilt of Devon’s hips that made Marley groan and press her deeper into the cushions. Yes to the heat in her belly that felt dangerously and wonderfully out of control. Yes to tasting the skin of Marley’s neck. Yes to Marley’s thigh between her legs, to the rhythm of their breath and bodies together.

  It felt like hours when the rhythm slowed, the kisses gentled. No connection lost, though, as Marley leaned back, cheeks flushed and eyes shining.

  “I didn’t ask how far you go on a first date.”

  Devon laughed, fingers tangled in Marley’s hair, tracing lines across her scalp.

  “I don’t have any hard and fast rules.”

  Marley groaned and buried her face in Devon’s neck. “Don’t say hard and fast right now when I decided stopping was the best idea.”

  Devon laughed again, loving the feeling of Marley’s breath against her skin. She gently massaged the back of Marley’s neck, listening as their heartbeats slowed to a steady rhythm.

  “I want you,” Marley said, words muffled against Devon’s neck. “But I don’t want to rush this.”

  “Me, too,” Devon said, kissing Marley’s temple. “To both.”

  Devon closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the feeling of being wrapped up in Marley. She didn’t know how much time had passed, but Marley’s breathing was slow and rhythmic.

  “You’re falling asleep,” Devon said quietly.

  “Me? No,” Marley mumbled. Then, after a moment, “Okay, yes.”

  Devon laughed, and Marley broke their connection and pushed back. She was adorably flushed and sleepy.

  “I should head home,” Devon said.

  Marley sighed. “I guess.” She looked hopefully at Devon. “It was a good first date, wasn’t it? There will be a second.”

  Devon tugged her down for the gentlest kiss. “Definitely,” she said when she let her go. She wanted Marley to hear the promise with her voice and her kiss. “Definitely a second date.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Marley awkwardly pulled the door to the precinct open, wishing she’d said yes to the cardboard tray at the drive-thru window as she juggled two coffees and a bag of creamer and sugar. She was early to work after a heavy night’s sleep and an early wake-up. Her body felt electrified today, her skin sensitive, her brain firing rapidly, her muscles feeling poised, ready to strike.

  She knew some of it was her date with Devon the night before. Marley’s breath caught in her throat as she could feel Devon beneath her, smell her skin. She tried hard not to grin and blush as she walked through the office, saying good morning and pretending she wasn’t thinking of Devon.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d stopped with a woman when it had felt that good. Marley knew the dance, the progression of touch and movement, the search for skin, the need to be closer, feel more, and harder and…

  And this wasn’t helping.

  Marley put the cups of coffee down on her desk, cursing herself for saying no to double-cupping the coffee, even though it was better for the environment.

  “For me? You shouldn’t have.”

  Superman swaggered up to her desk, grabbing a chair from another cubicle and having a seat.

  “Come on in to my office,” she mumbled at him. “And that’s not for you, so don’t touch.”

  Superman put a hand to his chest, feigning hurt. “Are you…are you cheating on me? Is there someone else?”

  Marley rolled her eyes. “It’s for Arnie. I gave him something to work on last night, and he said he’d have something this morning.” Marley unlocked her laptop from the filing cabinet and started booting it up. The ancient brick of a machine took forever.

  “You full-time with the drug enforcement guys, then? Like a promotion?”

  Marley looked up at Superman, one of her only real friends at work. He had stood by her last summer when others had turned their backs. She heard the hint of real hurt in his tone. Maybe jealousy, too.

  “Just this investigation,” Marley said, refusing to give in to the surge of guilt. She wasn’t doing anything wrong, and if Superman’s ego was so fragile he couldn’t handle her working for another division for a while, that wasn’t her problem. Marley needed to see this case through, end of story.

  “Then you’re back to mighty street cop? Like the rest of us?”

  “Yeah,” Marley said, distracted as she logged in. “Then I’m back to the streets with you guys.”

  She opened her internal email account and scrolled through messages, most of them administrative or minute. But she zoomed in on Arnie’s name, an email he’d sent at three in the morning. The message in the body of his email was short.

  We got her.

  Excitement surged in Marley’s stomach as she double clicked the attachment. She was vaguely aware of Superman getting up to leave and mumbled a goodbye at him. Marley scanned the document, everything Arnie had found on Mace.

  Holly Anne Mason, AKA Mace, born in Ottawa, Ontario, on December 1, 1995. Her mother was a stay-at-home mom and her father was a foreign diplomat with the RCMP. Arnie had made a note that “foreign diplomat with the RCMP” likely meant he worked for CSIS, the Canadian Secret Intelligence Service, but Arnie didn’t have clearance to look into those files. He had noted, however, all the places she had lived up until she was eighteen: Alabama, Dubai, Germany, New York, Brazil.

  Holly Mason had a combination of home schooling, private schooling, and international schools. She was a few credits short of graduating with a degree in computer science from MIT. In 2010, Holly Mason seemed to drop out of the trackable record, and Mace made her first appearance as a handle in chat groups a year later. These groups all seemed political in nature, platforms that fed and shaped the disenfranchised and discontented.

  Marley drank her coffee as she scrolled through the notes. Mace showed up on RCMP files for the first time early in 2012. Marley scanned this list, already familiar with Mace’s illegal political antics. There were a few other notes and queries from regional police services, most in British Columbia, but nothing that jumped out at Marley as relevant.

  The only other item of interest Arnie had helpfully highlighted for her was a Biology and Applied Human Sciences degree awarded to Ashlee H. Vincent from EdX, an international conglom
erate of universities and colleges that offered everything from free online courses to master’s programs. Marley was confused until she saw Arnie’s note. Mace had used a fake name but her own Social Insurance Number to register for the courses. Apparently she’d tried to go in and change that number later, but Arnie had cracked the hack pretty easily.

  Marley scanned the list of courses Mace had taken under the name of Ashlee H. Vincent: Proteins in the Body, Biological Secrets of Life, The Essentials of Cells and Tissues, Virology 101, Welcome to the Immune System, Using Math to Solve for Viruses. One course title that sent a chill along Marley’s spine: The Power of the Virus: Looking At Disease from a New Perspective.

  Marley stared at the screen. She was sure she was looking at the birthplace of Opioid Z. Yes, there was more to the story, including how Mace and Randolph West had joined forces and how and why it had shown up in her town and on her streets. But they only had the word of some Windsor drug dealers to connect Mace and Randolph. And Aimee.

  Marley leaned back in her chair. She breathed, took a sip of coffee, and decided what to do next. First, forward the email to Simms and ask if he was available to meet. Second, take Arnie his coffee and offer her thanks. This was the break they had been needing.

  Arnie was tapping away in his cubicle when Marley walked over. She wondered if he’d ever left. There was so much she didn’t know about her colleague. But maybe he liked it that way.

  “Hey, Arnie.”

  Arnie looked up and offered a small smile. “You got the info package on Mace?”

  “I just finished reading it. Twice. It’s exactly what we needed. Thank you.” She handed him the cup of coffee and accompanying creamer and sugar. “I didn’t know what you took in your coffee.”

  “Wow, thanks,” Arnie said, his eyes lighting up at the coffee. “And not a problem. It was fun. She gave me a bit of a chase.”

  “Quick question. Was there a last known address on Mace?”

  “Only her parents’ address in Ottawa. I think she’s gotten better at hiding her tracks in the last few years. I’m guessing she’s using a stolen ID for things like credit cards and housing rental and cell phones. Did you want me to keep digging?”

  “Maybe. Put a hold on it for now. I’m going to take this to Simms, and then we’ll see.”

  “Yeah, okay,” Arnie said, sounding a little disappointed.

  Marley felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, and she fished it out. It was Simms, saying he and Crawford were meeting in the sergeant’s office and they wanted Marley to join them for an update.

  “I should get going,” Marley said. “Thanks again, Arnie. I really appreciate it.”

  “Any time, Marley,” Arnie said. “And…” He stopped and cleared his throat. “And I wanted to say that what you did at Pride last year was really brave. I volunteer on the Pride committee, just doing website maintenance, but it meant a lot to me that you spoke up.” He adjusted his purple frames on his face. “Not all of us can.”

  “Thanks for saying that, Arnie. It’s been pretty weird for me around here since then. So, that was pretty great to hear.”

  Arnie ducked his head and went back to his monitors, obviously a more comfortable place for him.

  “Let me know if you need me to search for anything else around Mace. I think there’s more if you want me to dig.”

  “Will do,” Marley said.

  Things were going right, Marley thought as she walked to Crawford’s office. This case was moving, work seemed like a good fit for once, Carla and Aimee were safe, and she’d had an amazing first date with Devon. Marley hesitated outside Crawford’s door, risking rebuke from her supervisor to send a quick text to Devon.

  Good morning. I can’t stop thinking about date #1. And I really shouldn’t think about date #2 while I’m at work.

  She was putting her phone back in her pocket when Devon’s response came through.

  Thanks for the morning blush and smile as I walk into work. See you tonight?

  Marley confirmed she’d see Devon later, then tried to school her expression before she walked into the office.

  Crawford greeted her with a wave to take a seat across from him at the desk next to Simms, who didn’t look up from the laptop he had perched on the edge of Crawford’s desk.

  “Excellent work following this lead, Marlowe,” Crawford said. “We’re just going through it now.”

  “Thanks, boss,” Marley said. She wondered why this was back on Crawford’s desk but decided not to push.

  “This is good. Excellent, even,” Simms muttered, scrolling up and down through the document Arnie had prepared. “We’ve got Salik coming in so we can update, redacting the info he doesn’t need, of course.”

  “This information does make it look like we’ve found our drug developer,” Marley said. “And we’ve heard enough whisperings about viruses and vaccinations that maybe Salik can identify what’s going on with this opioid.”

  “Thirty-two new cases of withdrawal symptoms in the last four days.”

  “It’s increasing,” Marley said.

  “It is. Salik is hoping it will reach its peak soon. The production stopped six weeks ago, and the withdrawal symptoms were sporadic at first but then increased with less and less access to opioid Z. But with no real way of determining how much was already on the street before Fleming Street was shut down, Public Health is just guessing.”

  “It will get worse before it gets better,” Marley said. “Still no deaths?”

  “None, thankfully. But we’ve got some stirring hysteria this virus is infectious, something Public Health hasn’t been able to prove or disprove.”

  “Shit,” Marley said.

  “Indeed.”

  “No known address for Mace? Nothing local?” Simms said, seemingly unaware of the conversation going on around him.

  “No, I double-checked with Arnie this morning. We’ve only got the address of the parents in Ottawa. Arnie thinks she’s using a fake ID. He’s offered to dig but said it could take some time.”

  “Let’s start with the parents,” Simms said, then he looked up at Crawford. “Unless you think the RCMP need to hear it first.”

  That’s why Crawford was involved. They’d discovered Mace’s real identity, but since she showed up as a person of interest in several RCMP cases outside Ontario, there must be rules as to who had priority over the information.

  “It seems to me if you were to call the parents at the same time I called the RCMP, that would satisfy protocol.”

  Simms shot Crawford a grin before he turned to Marley.

  “Wanna make a phone call? I bet you’re better with parents than I am.”

  Because she was a woman. Because she was softer, kinder, listened better. Because real cop work should be left to the guys.

  Marley breathed, anchored to the tingle in her spine that had been there all morning. Something was happening, an energy, movement. This case but also more.

  “We could also use verification,” Simms went on, without waiting for a reply. “An updated sketch of Mace, since all we have is her scowling high school graduation picture.”

  Marley tensed but said nothing.

  “We have verification through Miss West that she was in Windsor,” Crawford said.

  “That’s not enough to go on. That could have been almost a year ago. We need details about that interaction. What colour her hair was, things she talked about, what kind of boots she was wearing, style of phone, tattoos. Details that might help us track her down.”

  Details Aimee might have. Still, she said nothing.

  “Are you making a request to question a witness?” Crawford said.

  Simms glanced at Marley, then back to Crawford.

  “Yes.”

  “What do you think, Marlowe?” Crawford said.

  “I don’t make decisions for Aimee West. You will have to put a request in through her grandmother.”

  She was satisfied with the steadiness of her tone and how well she’d hidde
n her irritation. Simms didn’t seem to feel the need to do the same.

  “A witness literally living at your girlfriend’s house, and you won’t let her be questioned,” Simms said, sounding disgusted.

  So many ways to interpret that disgust. So many ways to take offense.

  “It’s not my decision to make, Simms. Put in the request and see what Ms. Slessinger says.”

  “Process,” Simms spat out, going back to his laptop screen, like he could no longer stand looking at Marley. “We’ll take time with process while this opioid thing continues to get out of hand.”

  “We’ll follow process because that’s what our job demands, Constable Simms,” Crawford said.

  Simms closed his laptop and stood up.

  “Don’t worry about calling the Mason parents,” he said. “I’ll do that myself. I’m sure Crawford could use you on cleanup duty tonight.”

  With that confusing parting shot and the slightest of nods to his boss, Simms left the room.

  The ensuing silence was uncomfortable.

  “Damned if you do and damned if you don’t,” Crawford said eventually.

  “Sir?”

  “Don’t follow the rules, squad is mad. Follow the rules, squad is mad.”

  He was right. Marley felt like she was always chafing against a constantly shifting grain.

  “I can’t win, I guess.”

  “My advice, Constable Marlowe, is to discover what game you’re wanting to play. That will give you the measure of whether or not you’re winning.”

  He might not particularly like her as a cop, but her sergeant gave some good advice.

  “What did he mean about cleanup duty?” Marley said, leaving the rest to think about later.

  “I sent out an email this morning about the storm coming in tonight. A line of storms is coming up from the American Midwest starting late this afternoon. Heavy rain and high winds are predicted into tomorrow morning, so we’re looking at potential street closures, flooding, and power outages. It’s going to be all hands on deck tonight.”

  “Okay, I’m in. And sorry, I was pretty focused on getting Arnie’s information this morning.”