Sylver and Gold Read online

  Sylver and Gold

  Synopsis

  Boston Homicide Detective Reid Sylver closes every case that comes her way. Her secret? She can talk to the dead.

  Reid’s perfect record has earned her the freedom to work with the only partner she can tolerate: a scarred one-eyed mastiff called Mugshot. Then the new boss saddles her with rookie London Gold. How will she keep her gift a secret with this ambitious rookie underfoot?

  London Gold has dreamed of being a homicide detective since long before she became a cop. Now she has a chance to learn from the woman she’s idolized for years. Breaking through the detective’s tough shell won’t be easy, but she’s determined to learn the secret behind Reid's success.

  Both women are surprised by their chemistry as they work feverishly to find a tech-savvy killer who stalks his victims from afar. Just one problem: the killer's now stalking them.

  Praise for Michelle Larkin

  Endangered

  “What a unique and interesting story. Good for fans of urban fantasy and shapeshifters. This was fun, and funny, with a great cast of characters. Plenty of action and great chemistry between the main characters. Loved the world building and can’t wait to read more.”—Kat Adams, Bookseller (QBD Books, Australia)

  “When X-Men meets Twilight, the outcome is this wholly enjoyable paranormal fantasy. Grab this book, suspend disbelief and cosy in for feel-good impossibilities.”—reviewer@large

  “This was a very impressive novel. It was a skillfully crafted story, and one does not have to look too far to see parallels in today’s America.”—Kitty Kat’s Book Review Blog

  “Endangered by Michelle Larkin is a delightful novel with some heavy moments but enough lightheartedness to keep you thoroughly entertained.”—Romantic Reader Blog

  “What I liked most about this novel was its tone, mostly linked to Aspen’s sense of humor and the banter between the characters in times of danger…[T]he rhythm, the humor, the interesting and endearing characters were enough to keep me hooked…”—Jude in the Stars

  Unexpected Partners

  “There is a lot of action in this story that will keep you interested and sometimes on the edge of your seat as you read…I liked the main characters and could see the chemistry between the two, and enjoyed the way the romance was treated throughout the story. The secondary characters were also well-developed and made the tale better.”—Rainbow Reflections

  Sylver and Gold

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Sylver and Gold

  © 2020 By Michelle Larkin. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-612-4

  This Electronic Original Is Published By

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, NY 12185

  First Edition: August 2020

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Ruth Sternglantz

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design by Tammy Seidick

  eBook Design by Toni Whitaker

  By the Author

  Mercy

  Unexpected Partners

  Endangered

  Sylver and Gold

  Acknowledgments

  Endless thanks to my editor, Ruth Sternglantz, for her steady guidance, humor, and support.

  A standing ovation goes to the very talented Tammy Seidick for designing yet another beautiful book cover.

  Heartfelt gratitude to my writing confidant and sounding board in life, Deb Roberts-Arthur, who has become one of my dearest and most cherished friends.

  A sincere thank you to Della for her quick wit, wry humor, and wonderful feedback.

  And, finally, I’m deeply appreciative of my sons, Levi and Jett, for anchoring me in the precious moments of our day-to-day lives and teaching me that pinkie promises are worth more than gold.

  This book is dedicated to Ruth Sternglantz—the best literary compass an author could ever want.

  Chapter One

  Detective Reid Sylver stepped inside her captain’s office and tossed him an oatmeal muffin. He caught it one-handed and set it on a paper plate. She pulled up a chair on the other side of his desk and took a swig from the mug of coffee he’d prepared for her—black, with just a pinch of cinnamon.

  “Was beginning to think you wouldn’t show,” Cap said without looking up as he peeled the paper from his muffin.

  Reid glanced at the clock on the wall behind his desk: 4:38 a.m. Eight minutes late for their breakfast and workout routine was a new record for her. “Bakery opened late,” she lied. The owner of the hottest bakery in Boston always handed her a bag with two oatmeal muffins as she passed on her morning walk to work. She returned the favor by making sure his car never got towed from the one-way street where it was illegally parked.

  Chewing, she took one last look around the captain’s office before finally meeting his gaze. They held eye contact for long seconds in silence. Reid had briefly considered not showing up at all this morning, but she didn’t roll like that. Cap deserved better.

  “Should I congratulate you or offer my condolences?” he asked, breaking the moment.

  She threw a glance at Mugshot, who cocked his head and returned her gaze from his dog bed in the corner, an old tennis ball lodged firmly in his mouth. “He worked hard for that title,” she said proudly. They’d spent the weekend competing in Petaluma, California. Mug had won first place in the World’s Ugliest Dog contest.

  “Had a feeling the votes might swing in your favor.” He opened a drawer, withdrew a red gift bag, and slid it across the desk.

  “What’s this?”

  “Just open it.” He set a second gift bag on the floor and called Mug over.

  Reid reached inside and pulled out a gray sweatshirt. I’m with ugly was stitched in navy blue across the front. She watched as Cap slid a sweatshirt over Mug’s head that read Ugly and damn proud. He worked Mug’s front paws into the small holes provided, for a perfect fit, digging into the gift bag again to hand Mug a new tennis ball.

  Mug spit out the old tennis ball and trotted over with the new one. He set the ball in Reid’s lap and gazed up expectantly with his one remaining eye. Some asshole biker had set him on fire as a pup. Ironically enough, Mug’s breeding papers listed him as pick of the litter—a show-quality brindle bullmastiff. But nobody in their right mind would believe that now because he was a wrinkly, scarred, nearly furless mess. His ears were burned to nubs. One eye was sunken and sealed shut, damaged beyond repair by the flames.

  “We’ll play fetch later,” she promised. “Thanks, Cap.” Finished with her muffin, she stood and extended her hand across the desk, her vision blurred by tears.

  Cap stood from his chair and returned the gesture with the calloused grip of a hardworking cop. “Catch up with you later, Sylver.”

  With Mug on her heels, she walked to the door. From this point forward, Reid would be heading to the gym alone.

  From behind her, Cap said, “You really think there’s something on the other side?”

  “I don’t think, sir.” She turned to face him. “I know.”

  He studied her. �
�All these years, and we’ve never really talked about what you do. I didn’t want to know the details because, well, it scares the hell out of me.” He slid his hands in his pockets, shrugged, and looked at the floor. “I’m real sorry about that.”

  “No need to apologize, Cap.”

  “You deserve an apology. I just…” He looked her square in the eye. “I just want you to know, I think what you do is amazing. Gift or no gift, you’re one hell of a detective, Sylver. Don’t ever forget that.”

  All she could manage was a nod as she stepped out from his office and shut the door.

  Mug followed her to the gym, happily chewing his new tennis ball as he kept pace on the treadmill beside her. They’d just finished mile three when the sound of a gunshot cracked like a whip through the air. She powered down both treadmills, withdrew her earbuds, and wiped the sweat from her face with the towel around her neck.

  This was the part she was dreading the most. No way around it. Someone had to find the captain and call it in. As a homicide detective, she’d certainly seen more than her fair share of bodies. But this one was personal.

  She’d been working under the captain’s leadership for thirteen years. It hadn’t taken him long to figure out something was up when she breezed through her own cases and then dug up cold cases, solving those in record time, too. She thought back to the day he’d called her into his office, closed the door firmly behind her, and instructed her to take a seat.

  “What the hell is going on here, Sylver?” he asked.

  “Boyle’s being a whiney little dickwad, Cap.”

  He set his hands on his hips, towering above her. “Did you just use dickwad to describe a fellow detective to your commanding officer?”

  “I could throw out some alternative descriptions if you want,” she said, unapologetic. “Dickwad is the only G-rated word I could come up with on short notice.”

  Shaking his head, Cap took a seat behind his desk. He leaned back in his leather chair and pierced her with a look of disapproval, bewilderment, and just a hint of admiration—an expression with which she was already well acquainted. He finally shook his head and chuckled, surprising her. “Off the record, I don’t disagree with your assessment of said dickwad.”

  Boyle had held the record for cases solved six years in a row. She’d effectively ousted him from his throne. Now his nose was out of joint, and he was stomping around like an angry toddler.

  “I’ve read your reports, Sylver. Things just aren’t adding up. I need you to be frank with me. How the hell are you solving these cases?”

  “What’s on the line, sir?”

  “Your ass. My ass.” He threw his hands up in frustration. “The communal ass of this department.”

  She thought for a long moment before warning him. “You won’t like it.”

  “Does it involve you being corrupt?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then lay it on me.”

  She sighed. “I can talk to the dead, Cap.”

  He laughed heartily and slapped his desk.

  But she said nothing more and looked away, embarrassed.

  He stopped laughing. The room was quiet, save for the ticking clock behind his desk. “Jesus Christ. You’re not joking, are you?”

  “I’ll hand in my resignation first thing tomorrow,” she said, standing. Conversations like this would only lead to mandatory sessions with the department shrink. She refused to go down that road.

  “Just hold on a minute.” Cap ran a hand over his face. “I’m not done with you yet, Sylver. Sit down.”

  She did.

  “So you’re telling me—”

  “I can talk to dead people,” she finished for him. “Spirits. Ghosts. Apparitions. Whatever you want to call them.”

  “Christ. Really?”

  “Really.” She watched as he struggled to come to terms with this new information. She made a point of never telling anyone about her ability. She knew from experience it changed the way people looked at her. “By the way, your mom says you should never use the Lord’s name in vain.”

  The captain narrowed his eyes. “You could’ve just pulled that out of your ass.”

  “She also wants you to know she’s grateful you’ve kept her rosebush alive all this time. She loves the roses you leave at her grave every year.”

  “Christ almighty.” The captain glanced at the ceiling. “Sorry, Ma.” He stood and paced the length of the room before turning to her. “How long’s this been going on?”

  “As long as I can remember.”

  “So, what, you interview a homicide victim, and they tell you who killed them and where to find the evidence?”

  She nodded. That was pretty much the gist of it.

  “Do you actually see them when they talk to you?”

  She nodded again. “They look just like regular people. The only difference is—”

  He held up his hand. “Forget it. I don’t want to know.” He paced the room some more, visibly stressed. “You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”

  “Want me to cancel the press release I had scheduled for this afternoon?”

  He stood in front of her, leaned against the front of his desk, and crossed his arms. “We need to find a way to plug up the holes in your reports before someone else figures this out.”

  “We?” she said, taken aback. “As in…you and me?”

  “I’ll keep you on Homicide. You keep…doing whatever it is you do. We’ll meet here every morning before shift and write your reports together. I’ll help you cover your tracks.”

  She hesitated. “What’s the catch?”

  “No talk about anything otherworldly.”

  Sensing there was more, she waited for him to go on.

  “After we’re finished dotting our i’s and crossing our t’s, we’ll hit the gym. You can help me get back in shape.” He patted his ample gut. “Wife’s on a health kick and wants me to lose some weight.”

  Reid squinted. “That’s it?” she asked, suspicious.

  “That’s it.”

  She stood. They shook hands to seal the deal. As she turned to leave, Cap called out, “Zero four thirty. Sharp.”

  “But, Cap, shift doesn’t start till seven.”

  “Those are the terms.” He returned to his leather chair. “Take it or leave it.”

  And that was how thirteen years of muffins, cinnamon coffee, and workouts began—the best mornings of her life, by far. When Cap revealed he’d been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor and that his neurological demise was imminent, he’d informed her of his plan to take his own life. He couldn’t bring himself to do it at home or in his car—too painful a reminder for his wife. Sitting behind the desk from which he’d supervised countless detectives for nineteen years was where he wanted to be during his final moments.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat as she realized her only friend in the world was now gone. He was the first person—the only person, ever, in her life—to have her back.

  Reid left Mug in the gym and then waited by Cap’s side until the medical examiners arrived.

  Dr. Fred Grady, Chief ME, stepped inside and locked eyes on Reid. They’d sent the big gun for this one. No one messed around when it involved the death of a cop. “You found him?” Fred asked.

  She nodded.

  “Did he leave a note? Anything like that?”

  “None that I found.”

  “You see him this morning?”

  She nodded again. “We usually work out together. Said he wasn’t feeling well, that he’d catch up with me later.” Always best to stick with as much of the truth as possible.

  Fred shook his head. She knew he and the captain went back a long time. His sadness was palpable. “Sorry you had to see him like this, Sylver.”

  “You, too, Fred.” She cast one last look at the captain. “Take good care of him, huh?”

  “Will do.”

  With a heavy feeling in her chest, she retrieved Mug from the gym, exited th
rough the rear of the building, and drove home in an unmarked car. She set her duffel on the kitchen table, unzipped it, and stared at the two red gift bags inside.

  As if sensing her grief, Mug leaned against her leg in his characteristic show of support. She’d been wrong to think she’d lost her only friend. Mug was still here. She reached out to give him a reassuring pat on the back. Ever her faithful companion, he was her rock in life.

  Reid slipped the sweatshirt over her head and grabbed a dry tennis ball from a bin near the back door. She played a long game of fetch with Mug in the backyard as a cold November breeze dried her tears.

  * * *

  Reid’s cell vibrated noisily on the nightstand. Tennis ball in mouth, Mug pawed at her from his place on the bed until she leaned over and picked it up. “Sylver,” she answered, yawning.

  “You coming in today or what?” Boyle asked.

  She sat up and threw a glance at the bedside clock: 5:22 a.m. “What the hell, Boyle? Why’re you calling me so damn early?”

  “Because nobody’s seen you in over a week. Better get your ass in here. Today.”

  She rubbed her temples, trying in vain to stave off the imminent hangover. “Or what?”

  “Or you’ll have the entire squad running lights and sirens to your house and breaking down your door.”

  Shit. She hung up on Boyle without another word.

  Reid gazed longingly at the empty beer bottles on her nightstand. Looked like her plans with Sam Adams would have to be postponed until tonight. She swung her feet over the side of the bed, waited until the room stopped spinning, and headed to the shower.