her either, although Michelle was technically her boss.
“I’ll see how fast I can get something. Let’s see what kind of missing persons come in within the next few hours. Judging from the rings and nice clothing, she had a few bucks. Whoever did this wasn’t out to rob her. That rock alone would’ve made a thief very happy,” Michelle told Brice. She was simply repeating the things Lucille had just told her, but Michelle knew that Lucille was going to keep the information to herself, so she took the liberty of sharing. Michelle saw Brice as a collegial friend, unlike Lucille, who viewed Brice as a big pain in her ass.
“But why take the time to take all of her identification?” Brice asked.
“That’s a good question, Simpson. I guess you’ll be the one figuring it all out,” Lucille answered. “This one is all yours, right?”
* * *
Brice got the call a few hours after he left the crime scene. The woman had been identified as Desiree Turner, a nurse at Brooklyn Hospital. Brice turned to his computer and punched in the name. He squinted at the screen when the woman’s list of known associates and family members popped up. Brice sighed and pushed back in his seat.
“Big K,” he whispered. “Kevin fucking Turner. I remember you. How could I forget your reign over Brooklyn back then?” Brice mumbled.
He punched a few more keys and moved closer to the screen to make sure he was reading it correctly. “So, they let you out after all that time. I thought they gave your ass life,” Brice grumbled.
Once again, his street ties related back to his work. It was inevitable for Brice, who thought of himself as a simple Brooklyn kid turned cop. Brice wasn’t called the hood detective for nothing. He’d always kept one foot in the hood and one step ahead of criminals. He was known on the streets as Simp, and on any given day, a person wouldn’t be able to decipher a difference between Brice the detective and the local corner boy. It always worked to his advantage. Brice had the swagger of a rapper and the smarts of a genius. He had always been into fashion, so to say he was a snazzy dresser like most Brooklyn dudes was an understatement. He definitely didn’t subscribe to the NYPD detective–obligatory sand-colored trench coat, dress shirt, slacks, and a tie. Never. Not for Brice. He wore his name brand jeans, whichever sneaker was out, or Timbs in the winter. Brice wasn’t about to give up his street cred for the job.
Brice reviewed some more information and found out that his victim was the wife of former drug kingpin Kevin “Big K” Turner, who had recently been released from prison after serving sixteen years. Brice rubbed his chin and squinted his eyes.
“So, she survived amongst his enemies the entire time he was locked up, and as soon as he gets home, she’s shot dead with no apparent motive,” he mumbled as he flipped to the next screen on his computer and compared the information to a file he’d pulled from the archives.
“Hey, Cuomo. Come with me somewhere,” Brice yelled out to an older white detective that he sometimes took in the field with him to give him an edge in the hood. One thing about the bad guys in the hood—they never really fucked with white cops, especially the fat, balding, older ones.
Chapter 3
Cheyenne
When the landline phone in her apartment rang in the middle of the night, Cheyenne immediately knew something was wrong. Her mother was the only person who called her at the apartment she shared with a roommate in Austin, Texas. Anyone else contacted Cheyenne on her cell phone, which hardly rang during those days.
“Cheyenne,” Amber, Cheyenne’s roommate, called out in the darkness of her bedroom.
“Hmm,” Cheyenne moaned, although she was awake from the phone ringing anyway. She was cranky because she had already been tossing and turning, feeling like something was off. She’d chalked it up to pre-test jitters. They had an early start the next day with their first round of exams upon them, so Cheyenne had written off the feeling that had kept her up tossing and turning most of the night. Neither she nor Amber wanted to be up that late.
“The phone is for you. It’s your father,” Amber grumbled, annoyed.
Cheyenne flung her blanket off, wishing that they had spent the few extra dollars on a cordless phone instead of the stupid landline that plugged into the wall.
“Thanks,” she groaned out as she brushed past Amber, stomping her way to the living room. Cheyenne’s heart-rate sped up. Her father never called her, much less this time of the night. Within a millisecond, no less than five hundred thoughts shot through her mind.
“Hello?” Cheyenne huffed into the receiver, squeezing it so tight her knuckles paled. It was her father, for sure. Her heart stopped beating for a few seconds, and her legs had suddenly gone weak. He was practically screaming into the phone, his words a garble of highs and lows.
“Daddy? I can’t understand you. What are you saying?” Cheyenne asked urgently. She was definitely jolted into full wakefulness now. Something was wrong, that much she knew. Her father continued sobbing into the phone. Cheyenne’s body went ice cold, and her teeth began to chatter. She had never heard her father cry in her life. Even when he’d been snatched away from their family and locked up like an animal, he hadn’t shed a tear.
“What? What are you saying? Something happened to who?” Cheyenne asked, her voice going so high-pitched it hurt her own ears.
Amber was standing in front of Cheyenne now with wide eyes. She was moving her lips to silently ask Cheyenne if everything was okay. Cheyenne put her hand up in a halting motion to Amber.
“Okay, calm down,” Cheyenne said, her voice cracking. She heard her father take a deep, shaky, wet breath. He started speaking again. She was finally able to understand what he was saying.
“Something bad happened to Mommy?” Cheyenne asked calmly at first, not really registering what he was saying. Her face crumpled in confusion. There was no way something bad could happen to her mother. She was the best person on earth. Nothing bad could happen to her. Then, suddenly what her father was telling her finally settled into Cheyenne’s brain.
“Something bad like what?” she asked, her words coming out slowly. She held the phone tightly to her ear.
No!” she screamed so loudly Amber jumped and looked like she’d seen a ghost.
Her father had said, “Cheyenne, your mother is gone.”
Cheyenne collapsed to the floor like someone had kicked her legs out from under her. There was no way she could live without her mother. She was and always had been Cheyenne’s whole world.
* * *
Cheyenne still didn’t know how she’d made it from Texas to Brooklyn in one piece. Amber had come along to make sure she got there safely. Amber was just a sweetheart like that. The entire trip home was a blur for Cheyenne. Bus, train, plane—all a blur. Amber and Cheyenne didn’t talk much, but their unspoken body language let Cheyenne know that she wasn’t imagining things. Her mother was dead. Murdered. She wasn’t going to believe it until she saw it. Proof was what she needed, but definitely not what she wanted.
According to her father, no one knew anything about the circumstances surrounding her mother’s death, except that she had been murdered. Shot to death. No robbery, no motive. Just cold-blooded murder.
Kelsi, Cheyenne’s best friend from childhood, hadn’t called Cheyenne after she spoke to her father. Cheyenne had checked her cell phone several times as she traveled, but she had never gotten a call from Kelsi. That was odd, but Cheyenne figured Kelsi was probably just as distraught as she was. After all, Kelsi had practically been raised in the Turner home. She was more like Cheyenne’s sister than her friend.
When Cheyenne arrived at her building, there was a candlelight shrine outside dedicated to her mother. Her father met her outside. As soon as Cheyenne stepped out of the cab, she started screaming. It was real. Her mother, her best friend, her whole world was gone. Dead. Cheyenne’s legs refused to work,