Razing Kayne

Razing Kayne - By Julieanne Reeves



PROLOGUE




Santa Barbara California,

Two years ago.



Officer Kayne Dobrescu pulled into his designated parking space, shut off his Titan Sidewinder Softail motorcycle—a holdover from his bachelor days—and let out a heavy sigh, staring at the apartment building his family called home.

God, he was tired. No, exhausted—mentally, physically, emotionally exhausted. He'd just finished the second of back-to-back double shifts, and it had been ten days since he'd had a day off. Officers were discouraged from working so many hours for safety reasons, but the department had been seriously short-staffed lately, and Kayne desperately needed the money. He had a wife and three precious children who depended on him for everything.

He hated how little time he got to spend with them these days. It seemed like he only ever saw them anymore when they were sleeping, and he missed them with every fiber of his being. But he was the sole provider, and they depended on him to keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies, and ensure they were cared for while he worked.

Resigning himself to the inevitable argument that he was sure would ensue sometime tonight between him and his wife, he unstrapped his helmet and climbed off his bike, thinking of the three bright spots in his dreary world. As tired as he was, he wanted to spend time with his kids. So, he'd lock up his gun and dump his duffel bag full of duty gear in his closet, pack up two toddlers and a baby, and head to the park. There he’d spend the afternoon pushing swings, rolling around in the grass, chasing them through the sand, and racing them down the slide; all the while listening to their sweet little voices say, “Again, Papa, do it again!” followed by uncontrollable giggles of delight.

Kayne was grinning by the time he reached the door. He made a big procession of getting his keys out and noisily rattling them as he unlocked the door, knowing they would hear and be ready to pounce. He pushed open the door, bracing for impact.

Deafening silence greeted him.

He glanced toward the corner, only to see the stroller in its usual place. Reason said they could be anywhere, but his gut screamed something was very, very wrong.

Instinct trumped reason. He palmed his service weapon and began searching for the unseen threat. Living room, clear. Kitchen, clear.

Senses on high alert, he eased around the corner and made his way down the hallway. As he reached the bathroom door, an unidentifiable noise stopped him in his tracks. After a moment he heard it again, a soft sob. Oksana.

With little regard to his own safety, he pushed open the door, having no clue what he was about to find within, but needing to know his family was safe. His terrified wife, Oksana, stood over Niki and Natalia's bodies. She was fully dressed and sopping wet. Both children lay prone on the floor, wrapped in towels.

For one brief second Kayne thought she'd looked happy to see him, but then it registered what was wrong. Niki and Natalia lay unmoving, their skin blue, their sightless eyes staring at the ceiling. His children were dead.

“My God, Oksana, what have you done?” A part of him, the cop part, realized there was no chance of bringing them back, but the father in him fell to his knees, needing desperately to try and save his children. Christ, she’d drowned them. She’d f*cking drowned them.

“Call 9-1-1!” he shouted, even as he began to administer C.P.R. He checked Niki, who was closest, and confirmed what he already knew. No pulse, no respiration. Sealing his mouth over his son's, he gave him two quick breaths before turning to his daughter to repeat the process. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered where Tasha was, but, right now, Niki and Natalia needed him. He had to focus on them.

Kayne had no idea how long he'd been administering to his children—breathe for Niki, breathe for Natalia, begin chest compressions on both simultaneously, repeat process—when the unmistakable sound of a bullet being expelled and a new round chambered in a semi-automatic pulled him out of panic.

Kayne stilled and looked over his shoulder at Oksana.

“I'm so sorry.”

Her voice was barely a whisper. The firearm was pointed toward him, held in a violently trembling hand. How the hell had she gotten a hold of his service weapon?

She spoke again, but he couldn’t hear her over the rush of blood pumping through his body. A look of determination crossed her face, and she swiftly turned the gun on herself, placing it against her head. Before he could stop her, before he could do more than shout, “No!” she pulled the trigger, doing the only thing she could to him that was worse than killing him.

Leaving him to live with the knowledge he'd failed his children and his wife.