her head in the tiny office. "You busy?"
"Nah, just doing some research." He quickly closed the search he'd been doing.
"This isn't more of your crazy conspiracy theories, is it?" she asked, exasperated.
"Leave it, Davis," Tom growled. He wasn't having this argument again.
She shrugged, defeated. Davis didn’t really like to talk about it either, he knew. "All right. We’ve got a case down on South Broadway."
Bradley squashed his excitement before it could show. It was too soon for it to be Tanya's work. Still, it was the waiting that killed him. "Let's go," he said, and reached for his jacket.
"Yes, Daddy, I'm fine." Tanya sighed into her cell phone. "It's just a cracked rib, they said it would only take a couple weeks to heal." She rolled her eyes, looking up at the roof of her own car.
She had filled the gas tank of the stolen one and returned it to the exact same spot in the parking garage she’d taken it from. The whole process had only taken four hours, and the owner would probably never even know it was gone.
The hospital had been worse. They had taken one look at her too-big clothes and the bruise and tried to pump her for information. The fact that she had no ID to match the fake name she gave and paid in cash didn't help, either. But after a long argument, she had managed to get away with nothing more than a pamphlet on how to get help for domestic abuse. She was used to the routine.
"Well, you know I worry. What you're doing is really dangerous." Her dad's voice was full of concern and love. As irritating as he was being, she felt better just to hear it.
"I know." She sighed again.
"When do you think you'll be able to visit again?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
It made Tanya smile. "A week? Maybe two. Depends on how long it takes to get reported. Longer means I did a good job."
"That's right." Her father had been the one to point it out in the first place. "Mom was asking, that's all."
"How's she doing?"
"Oh, she's alright." She could hear her father’s weary smile. "They've got her doing overtime at the hospital again. I keep telling her that if she just told them no, they'd hire more people to help her out, but you know how she is."
She did. Her mother was somehow simultaneously a doormat and a martyr, not a good combination. "Give her kisses, okay? Tell her I'll stop by when I get this next story done."
"Will do. Do you need me to wire some money?" he asked.
Tanya bit down on her irritation—he knew she hated it when he offered to help. "Nope. Turns out drug dealers carry a lot of cash!" She grinned because for once her excuse was true.
"That's my girl," he chuckled.
Tanya was lying on her hotel bed and scrolling through the internet on her new iPhone (purchased with funds courtesy of Jimmy the drug dealer) when she got the text she was waiting for.
She knew the number, so she jumped up and grabbed her jacket and purse, cramming the iPhone inside her packed bag next to the bed. Check out time. A short drive later, Tanya fished out her camera and approached the same warehouse, but this time she went for the front door. It had the usual yellow tape stretched out in front, and they had even gone so far as to post a guard at the door. Looks like the St. Louis Police Department has rookies to spare. She chuckled as she ducked under the tape.
She gave him an innocent smile, the one that usually got boys to smile back. He didn't. Okay… obviously this one’s a hardcore motard. Time to switch gears. "Hello sir, I'm a member of the press and I'd like to ask some questions about this investigation." She flashed him her press badge, but he looked unimpressed.
"No one is allowed inside the restricted area," he parroted.
"I don't need to get inside the building," she pointed out patiently. "I just want to talk—"
"I'm sorry ma'am, but I'm afraid I have to ask you to step outside the tape," he said, extending a hand as if to make her back up.
Tanya resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Look, the people of this city have the right to know what's going on here," she raised her voice in the hopes of being heard by someone within. At this point, he decided to try the hands-on approach and grabbed her arm.
She was about to hand his ass to him when a voice called from inside the nest. "What is it, Lee?"
"Just a vulture, sir," Lee shouted back over his shoulder.
"Snarky redhead with a press badge?"
Lee stopped trying to show her out and really looked at her. "Yes, sir," he said, bemused.
A man ducked under the tape, coming out into the street. Tanya smiled. Here, at least, was one place where TV and real life agreed. Detective Bradley looked like all the detectives she had ever watched on screen: short, a little thick around the middle, balding with a horseshoe mustache to compensate.
He smiled at her. "Cooper. I knew you'd show up eventually."
"Detective Bradley. Just doing my job, like you." She shot a glare at Lee.
"Of course." Bradley turned to him and said, "Why don't you see if Dr. Chase needs some help?" he suggested. "There's a lot of bodies."
The rookie looked between Tanya and Bradley, clearly torn between his sense of duty and the desire to get the cooler job. "Sure," he said at last, returning Tanya’s glare before he ducked through the taped doorway.
"Wow. Any greener and he could lead the St. Patrick's Day parade," she muttered.
Bradley chuckled. "Well, you know. Better for this sort of investigation."
She lifted an eyebrow. "And what kind of investigation would that be?"
"The kind you show up to and poke your nose around. Twenty-six bodies, no signs of trauma. Seventeen males, nine females, various ages but no one over forty, all looked in good health," he rattled off.
"Drugs?" she suggested.
He frowned. "Well, we found some cocaine, but we think they were only dealing. It was all kept in one place."
"So what's the story gonna be?" she asked, moving out of the way as a gurney rolled out the door, the first of many bodies on it. It certainly wouldn’t be the truth that he suggested to his colleagues, and she knew he would have to come up with something convincing for them.
He sighed. "Carbon monoxide? Looks like they all went in their sleep."
"Why aren't they pink then?" She gestured toward the body.
"They aren’t always. Maybe some other gas, though. We don't know yet. We'll need the coroner to do some tests back in the lab," he argued. This was his way of saying he'd think of something later. "And you? I imagine you have some kind of crazy story explaining how twenty-six people mysteriously die at once with no visible cause of death. What is it this time, aliens?"
"Nope, cult." She grinned. "I checked, there have been a lot of disappearances and deaths in this area. I think they were practicing human sacrifice," she said dramatically.
Laughing, Bradley shook his head. "So what, they all drank the kool aid and went to bed?"
"Exactly," she agreed.
He rubbed his mustache thoughtfully. "So then, where would the leader of this cult be?"
Tanya shrugged. "Took out the trash and got the hell out of Dodge," she suggested. "Maybe he wanted a clean break so he just wrapped everything up and left. He's probably long gone, hiding out in some dump somewhere."
Bradley's eyes twinkled at the riddle. It was a game they played—she left him breadcrumbs so he would be the one to close her cases, making sure no one dug any deeper. Four years ago when she had started