***
Micki stood at Hank’s family tomb. Alone now, the other mourners long gone. So many had come to pay their respects. Much of the force had turned out, plus many faces she had never seen, names he had never mentioned. One person after another had shared a story or memory of how Hank had helped them or given them hope.
He had been a truly remarkable human being.
The cold wind stirred against her legs and she shivered. Drew her coat closer around her. Hank had been the last of his line. He’d had little—police pension, his house and the Nova. With no wife or kids, the pension ceased. He’d left the house to the Jesuits, but the Nova and this tomb to her. From this point forward their families would be entwined, if only in death.
Micki lifted her gaze. A marble angel crouched above the tomb entrance, wings curved protectively, as if to gather close all who came near.
The way Hank had gathered so many close to him. A guardian angel. As Hank had been to her. The way he had always teased.
Micki shivered again and curved her arms around her middle. No angel to watch over her now. She was on her own.
“You okay, Dare?”
She turned. Angelo. “You came back.”
“Never left. We’re partners.”
“Thanks.” She glanced back up at the angel. “I’m fine.”
“You seem different.”
“I’ve got this.”
“I didn’t mean…I know you do. Hell, I’m sorry about Hank.”
The simple words struck like a knife to her heart.
What would you do if you lost what mattered most to you?
Now she knew: You die a little bit with them.
He shifted from one leg to the other. “You were right, Dare. Vanderlund, Chablis, then Schaefer. Those crimes weren’t random, weren’t bizarre coincidences. So, maybe you’re right about this, too. So, we’ll get her and we’ll figure it out.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Placating me. Playing along.”
“Shit, Dare, that’s not—”
“Yeah, it is. Hank had a heart attack and just like that—” She snapped her fingers. “—I’m alone.”
“You’re not alone, Dare.”
Her eyes filled. “No?”
“You’ve got me, partner. You’ve got the force. We’re your family.”
“Yeah.” Micki glanced up at the angel, then back at Carmine. “Throw in a gun and a badge and I suppose I can live with that.”
He smiled, held out his arm. “C’mon. The party’s at Shannon’s. Let’s tip a few in honor of Hank.”
Micki nodded. “In honor of Hank,” she repeated. “Count me in.”
Read an exclusive excerpt to THE FINAL SEVEN, book #1 in The Lightkeepers, an exciting new series starring Detective Micki Dare. Available February, 2016
Chapter One
Detective “Micki” Dee Dare had gotten the call just as she was about to step into the shower. The brass wanted her downtown, ASAP. She’d been forced to resort to what her snake-bit family called a “whore’s bath,” then pull her unruly mass of dishwater blond hair back into a quick ponytail.
Her commander had sounded choked. Really off. She hoped to hell she wasn’t walking into PID ambush. The Public Integrity Division investigated claims of abuse against NOPD officers. Not that she had anything to hide, or had done anything she hoped stayed hidden, but shit happened every effin’ day.
Inside headquarters, she took the lobby to the third floor. The receptionist directed her to the war room down the hall. Feeling more than a bit queasy over the turn of events, she headed that way.
Micki reached the room and stepped inside. Something was definitely up. Too many suits in the room. Some of them looking at her strangely. Very strangely.
She immediately found her superior officer. “Major Nichols, I apologize for not getting here sooner.”
“Actually, you’re right on time. You know Captain O’Shay?”
“Of course.” She nodded in the woman’s direction. “Captain.”
He ran through the introductions: Krohn, the Deputy Chief; Richards, community relations point man; and Roberts, FBI Special Agent in Charge of the New Orleans office.
Okay, nobody from PID. But the Bureau? WTF?
Nichols motioned the chair across from his, though he didn’t meet her eyes. “Take a seat. Chief Howard should be here any moment.”
She sat. Nobody spoke. A strange energy crackled in the air, and every so often she’d catch one of them looking speculatively at her.
What the hell was about to happen?
Chief Howard arrived, striding into the room—polished, confident and oddly exuberant. “Where’s Detective Dare?”
“Chief Howard,” she responded, standing.
He smiled broadly. “There you are. Perfect.” He crossed to her, hand out. “This is a big day for you. We’re thrilled. Absolutely ecstatic.”
She took his hand. “Thank you, Chief.”
Instead of the brief handshake she expected, he pumped her hand, then clasped it between both of his. “I want you to know, we’re expecting great things.”