Broken Rules:Book 3 in The Broken Road Series(10)

By: Melissa Huie


“Kate, her roommate said that that phone was brand new. And we checked the line. It’s never been shut off.” Rick’s deep voice, thick with exhaustion, came through. I’d heard what he wasn’t saying, loud and clear.

“I guess we’re going to Vegas.” I sighed, and threw my Jeep into reverse.





Chapter 2



Kate

A week later. ...





VEGAS WAS A BUST. The dead hooker’s roommate had no further information on the Yankee strip club connection, but forensics was able to trace Reggie’s cell phone number to a motel outside Tulsa, Oklahoma. We moved in, but got there too late. We found a destroyed cell phone, along with another dead woman, with no I. D. We ran her fingerprints and picture through our facial recognition software, but so far, there had been no hits. We left Vegas feeling dejected, with nothing but more pieces to a freaking jigsaw puzzle.

I gripped my pink and black polka dot carry-on, and wheeled it through the jetway, eager to get my space. My five foot, five-inch frame could fit into most spaces pretty comfortably; however, even I had issues being in the middle seat, next to two three-hundred pound, unwashed gorillas. Despite what the TV shows always portrayed, there were no private planes for this chick. Hell, the only time I got to ride on those luxury birds was when I flew with one of the big men in charge. I heaved a sigh of relief when I exited Baltimore-Washington International Airport, and headed toward the long-term parking. There was nothing more I wanted to do than to take a shower, eat some dinner, and sleep for a week. Megan and Shane’s wedding was the first day I’d had off in over ten months, and my brain was fried. Not to mention, my body was dragging with each step.

I hefted my bag into the back of the Jeep, texted my brother that I was on my way, and started the fifteen-minute drive to his place. Truly, I picked the house of least resistance, as the trek to my parents’ house was only ten minutes longer. Being clucked over by my mom would’ve been amazing, but I knew she started her shift at the diner before the crack of dawn. And while it was not officially my bedroom, most of my clothes and personal crap were at Cole’s. I second-guessed the decision the minute I drove down Holiday Street. The street was lined up and down with random vehicles, and my spot in the driveway was taken by a jacked up black Chevy truck. I groaned and slammed my hand into the wheel. Are you fucking kidding me?

I pulled in behind Cole’s blue truck, and wrestled with the exhaustion threatening to overtake me. Hopefully, the jokers would roll out soon so I could get some sleep. I got out, slamming the door harder than necessary, and grabbed my bags. Easing the door open, my eyes widened at the scene. Every available seat in the small living room was taken up by big guys, glued to the Ravens-Steelers Thursday night game on the 60” TV above the mantel. The shouts were so loud, that my entrance into the house went unnoticed, until Jax, Cole’s brown brindle Pitbull, barked his welcome.

“Hey, sis,” Cole called from his spot on the brown leather recliner, his eyes returning to the game. “There’s pizza and beer in the kitchen.”

I nodded, and dragged my bag down the hall, flicking on the lights as I closed the door behind me. The volume penetrated the thin walls, and I groaned in frustration. I looked longingly at my bed, but the shouts from the living room told me that there was no chance of going to sleep anytime soon, so I headed into the attached bathroom. As the hot water heated, I stared into the mirror, horrified at what I saw. The bags under my eyes, and unusually pale skin tone showed the stress I’d been under. The damn case had been my life for so fucking long, it was all knew anymore.

Something needed to change. The case needed to come to a close before I fucking cracked.

I stepped into the shower and let the hot water wash away the airplane funk, the travel dust, and some of the tension from my shoulders. After twenty minutes, and using up all the hot water, I finally emerged from the steam-filled room. I quickly got dressed in a pair of yoga pants, sports bra, and my favorite gray hoodie, to beat the chill in the air. I was detangling my chestnut locks when the door knob started to rattle.

“What?” I called, but no one responded. Probably some poor slob looking for the bathroom. But the door knob rattled again. “You’ve got to be joking,” I muttered, and stormed across the room, flinging open the door.