Dying in Detroit (A Bright & Fletcher Mystery) Read online

  Dying in Detroit

  By Jonathan Watkins

  Book two of the Bright & Fletcher Mysteries

  Issabella Bright has had it with bailing her handsome-but-unpredictable boyfriend-slash-partner out of the drunk tank, with him messing up their court schedule and with his buttinsky female best friend. But Darren’s latest story is no flustered excuse—the glad-handing stranger who blew into his office is none other than Mister Unreliable himself: Issabella’s long-absent father.

  And the only thing he’s brought with him is trouble.

  No sooner does Howard Bright appear than a psychopath begins waging a campaign of terror aimed directly at Darren—and Issabella. Stalking the stalker to discover his motive—never mind his identity—could very well mean lights out for Bright & Fletcher. But Darren will put his safety, reputation and personal fortune on the line if it means protecting Issabella.

  Don’t miss Issabella and Darren’s first case in Motor City Shakedown, available now!

  63,450 words

  Dear Reader,

  Here in North America, we’re swinging back around to cozy days spent inside reading, while some of you (picture me waving at you, Australia) are headed into summer beach days. Whatever weather you’re enjoying—or not enjoying, as the case may be—a good book is always in order, and I have a few that may be just what you’re looking for.

  This month, we’ve got a particular emphasis on the mystery and romantic suspense genres. We also have the first in several new series and are introducing four new-to-Carina authors!

  Barreling onto the scene with a new series, new genre and a new pen name, Piper J. Drake offers explosive (at times literally) action and an endearing romance in the first book in her new romantic suspense Safeguard series, Hidden Impact. Meet military-veteran-turned-mercenary Gabriel Diaz. Betrayed, injured and building a new mercenary team, the last thing he expects to do is sweep Maylin Cheng off her feet—and out of the path of the car that tries to kill her. But now that he’s fallen for her, he’s all in to protect her at all costs, while helping find her kidnapped sister.

  The always incredible Josh Lanyon joins Piper in the romantic suspense category, with a charming and loveable male/male romance, Jefferson Blythe, Esquire. With only an outdated copy of Esquire’s Europe in Style to guide him, Jefferson Blythe sets out to see the world and runs straight into death, danger...and the boy next door.

  And making her debut, Mia Kay brings us her romantic suspense Soft Target. Wounded FBI agent Gray Harper will honor his dead partner by returning to work—as soon as the Bureau shrink clears him for duty. In the meantime, a long vacation in his best friend’s hometown sounds like the perfect distraction. But Nate Mathis has another plan. His twin sister, Maggie, has a stalker, and Gray’s the only one Nate trusts to catch the bastard.

  In a contemporary romance that unexpectedly hooked the entire Carina Press acquisitions team from the first page, Lucy Parker brings everything we love about romance and our heroines to the page—and the stage—in her debut book, Act Like It. Enter our heroine stage right: she’s the darling of the London press. Enter the hero stage left: he’s public enemy number one. They barely tolerate each other—and they’re about to become the most mismatched couple on the West End stage.

  Two new authors join Carina Press with new mystery series. Debut author Lisa Q. Mathews is first on the scene with The Ladies Smythe & Westin series. In Cardiac Arrest, Summer Smythe, a twentysomething party girl making a fresh start in a ritzy Florida retirement community, teams up with her neighbor, feisty senior Dorothy Westin, to clear her name in the murder of her popular—but heartless—cardiologist boss.

  Jonathan Watkins debuts with Carina with his previously self-published and newly reedited and revised Bright & Fletcher Mysteries. As soon as criminal defense lawyer Issabella Bright’s long-lost father blows into the Motor City, kidnapping, ransom and murder follow him and threaten to tear asunder the work-and-romance partnership she’s built with the man who will go to any length to keep her safe. And that man, Darren Fletcher, soon learns that shielding Issabella from danger could swiftly end with his Dying in Detroit.

  Weather (ha, get it?) you’re under a blanket keeping warm on your couch or enjoying the sun of your summer, these books will keep you company for a few hours and provide some take-you-away entertainment.

  Coming in December: Hitting both physical and digital shelves just in time for Thanksgiving here in the States is book two of Shannon Stacey’s combustible Boston Fire series, Controlled Burn. Also in December: Caitlyn McFarland ties up her dragon-shifter romance trilogy, male/male author Annabeth Albert joins the Carina team and Kate Willoughby is back with a terrific new hockey romance.

  Until next time, here’s wishing you a wonderful month of books you love, remember and recommend.

  Happy reading!

  Angela James

  Editorial Director, Carina Press

  Dedication

  for Carrie

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Excerpt from Isolated Judgment by Jonathan Watkins

  Acknowledgments

  Also by Jonathan Watkins

  About the Author

  About Motor City Shakedown

  About The Joe Gale Mystery Series

  About the Tough Justice Series

  Excerpt from Tough Justice: Exposed by Carla Cassidy

  About the Tough Justice 8 part reading experience

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Darren Fletcher was nursing his first Crown and Seven of the afternoon when the man with the very white smile rapped his knuckles on the open office door.

  “Darren Fletcher?”

  “I am,” Darren answered, rising out of his chair. He reached over his desk to shake the stranger’s hand.

  Closer now, Darren could see that the man’s eyes were a faint, ethereal blue. He was one of those guys who, through a combination of platinum club genetics and regular tanning, walked around in his fifties looking distinguished as opposed to old. He was square-jawed and tall, dressed in a cotton button-up and lovose-fit jeans. His deeply tanned skin made his easy smile that much brighter. Darren couldn’t smell him from this distance, but he guessed the man either smelled like the beach or some cologne that women would describe as “tasteful.”

  “Fantastic,” the man said, and gestured toward one of the two leather armchairs facing Darren’s desk. “May I?”

  “You bet.”

  “I was hoping you’d have time to talk without an appointment.”

  “You’re in luck. My afternoon’s free. I’ve been filling it with mixed drinks and idleness. You want one?”

  “Do you off
er all your clients drinks in the afternoon?” The man’s friendly smile remained. But there was a hint, somewhere in the inflection of his voice, that it wasn’t an offhand question.

  “You’re not a client, yet. People who make appointments beforehand get me clean and sober. Walk-ins take their chances.”

  “Fair enough. Scotch on the rocks?”

  Darren stood and turned around to the bar that was set into the wall behind his desk.

  “This is a nice location. Big rooms, lots of windows. Downtown, so you don’t have to drive to court. Am I right?”

  “We like it, yeah.”

  “Bright and Fletcher. Does that mean this is a two-lawyer firm, or are there people under you?”

  “Just me and Izzy.”

  “Izzy?”

  “Issabella Bright. Of the Bright side of Bright and Fletcher.”

  Darren turned around, the man’s drink poured and his own freshened. His guest took the offered scotch with a polite nod and sipped it cautiously. He settled back in his chair and nodded with approval.

  “Very good. Thank you.”

  “Florida.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Just a guess. You’re a retiree from something professional with a college degree behind it. Hit it big in the nineties and punched out early. So now it’s Florida in the winter and back here to be around family and friends in the summer. Maybe a little condo near the lake. Golf when the mood strikes you. Cardio at the club, because you care about being fit enough to enjoy what you’ve got. Lighter on the red meat than you used to be, but still no stranger to a good filet and a few scotches in the evening. No ring or tan line on the finger, so either widower or divorcée. Maybe a regular girl for fun and games, but no one who’s getting written into the will. A Franklin or a David—but you insist on Frank or Dave because you’re a regular guy. I’ll probably just keep talking until you interrupt—”

  “Howard.” The man laughed. “But yes, it’s Howie. Because I’m a regular guy.”

  “And the rest?”

  “Well, not Florida. Not that I haven’t been. But lately it’s been Arizona. Yes on the golf and the broken marriage. The steaks and scotch? You bet. But I’m afraid you’re off the mark on the money part. I never hit it big enough to call it a game and retire. I’m currently on the short end of things, financially speaking.”

  “Then I guess we have nothing to talk about, Howie.”

  Howie’s very white smile drained away at that, and Darren let the moment stretch on between them. Finally, Howie barked with laughter.

  “That was good,” he said, and shook his head ruefully. “A joker, huh? You had me for a second.”

  “It’s probably the booze.”

  Howie seemed content to ask idle questions about Darren’s practice and Darren sat loosely in his chair answering them. He’d been in practice with Issabella Bright for six months. They were strictly criminal defense and the two of them had made headlines the year before. Darren rattled off the story of how he and Issabella had met on a case where the client had been framed by a police department SWAT team. Those same cops had been running a heroin trafficking business. When Darren and Issabella had taken the case, they’d become targets. In the end, Darren had been shot, the crooked cops wound up dead and the two lawyers were the talk of the town. He’d told and retold the story hundreds of times, perfecting it, embellishing here and there, until it was easily the best story in his arsenal.

  “That is crazy,” Howie exclaimed, shaking his head. “I mean, you couldn’t make something like that up. Wow.”

  Darren smiled and rattled the ice in his glass.

  “So why do you need a criminal defense attorney, Howie?”

  Howie’s expression shifted and he looked contemplative. “Do you normally charge for this kind of sit down?”

  Darren shrugged and chewed a piece of ice. “I dunno. Usually I meet my clients in jail. There’s more indigent defense than there are paying customers. I don’t have a lot of policies, really. I think Issabella charges as a matter of course. But she’s...you know. Organized. Professional. Smart. Pick one, they all fit.”

  “You’re not much of a salesman are you?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Well, look, I’m hungry,” Howie said, setting his empty glass down on the desk. “So how about you pick a good place. I’ll foot the tab for dinner and drinks. And you listen to my story. If it’s not something you can help with, we still get a good meal and some laughs out of it.”

  It was Darren’s turn to smile.

  “Howie, you’re singing my song.”

  * * *

  Roast was an upscale steak and drinks spot tucked into the first floor of the Westin-Book Cadillac Hotel, a short walk from Darren’s office. He and Howie took seats at the bar, bathed in the golden glow of the tinted running lights and big mirrors hung behind the rows of liquor.

  The steaks came and for a little while they didn’t talk much as they ate. Darren stuck a little red potato in his mouth, and while he chewed he wondered if any of the things he was doing that day would turn out to be constructive.

  None of that, he chided himself. Good food and a little banter is all the constructiveness you need.

  Howie finished his glass and gave the bartender a nod.

  “Alright, so here’s the situation,” he said, pushing his empty plate to the side and turning on his stool to look at Darren. The bronze hue of his cheeks had pinkened with the drinks.

  “Hit me,” Darren agreed. “The whole ugly truth. But don’t tell me you’re guilty.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Once you do that, my hands get tied.”

  “Like...”

  “Like I can’t walk into court and tell a jury you’re innocent. That’s perjury. You tell me you did something bad, and all I can do is try and knock down the other side’s evidence. I can’t offer alibis or explanations I know are false. Anyway, now you know. Just lay out the rest of it.”

  Howie flashed his very bright smile at the bartender as his drink was delivered.

  “Okay. So, like I said, I’ve been out in Arizona lately. Maricopa County.”

  “Phoenix, right?”

  “Yep. It’s the county where the hard-ass sheriff is at. The guy who makes the inmates wear pink. Had them on the chain gang for a while. Real old school. But that’s not the point. I was out there trying to scare up some business, right? You ever been?”

  “Closest I got was Texas,” Darren said. He’d finished his meal, and he pushed the plate forward a little bit so the bartender would know to take it when he passed by.

  “Well, I was in the real estate business,” Howie continued. “Which, let’s face it, that’s a hell of a thing with the economy today. And Maricopa is eating that shit sandwich like you wouldn’t believe. All the yuppies moved in, bought their McMansions and then the market fell away. It’s just a wasteland, seriously. But I found a sweet spot, and all the right elements were there—this little corner was still be alive, might actually bring in buyers, and—”

  “So you’re a what? A contractor?”

  “Development. You just have to have an eye for the right time and place. So, I had a few sites scoped out, perfect for development. That was right before everything went tits up. People were still returning my phone calls, you know? One of the sites I figured would be a strip mall. Other two were fit for subdivisions. All three cherry, just perfect. So I get into business with this builder. Local guy, family’s been there since cowboy and Indian days, right? So he’s going to do the building and I’m going to handle the permits, promotion, greasing the right hands and getting butts in the seats.”

  “You mean sales?”

  “In a word, sure,” Howie agreed, and Darren could immediately see how that was true. Howie was one of tho
se relaxed, happy talkers who could get people around to what he wanted. Darren sipped his drink and told himself to watch for the moment when their conversation turned into a sales pitch. If that’s what this afternoon turned out to be, he’d call for the check, amble home and write it all off as an interesting, if unproductive, day. As days went, Darren preferred interesting over productive every time.

  “You know I don’t practice in Arizona, right?” he said.

  “Of course. This is just backstory. So, I’m getting the sites prepped and I’m greasing the right official hands. I’ve got an outfit running advertisements to out-of-staters. The builder is happy. I’m happy. It’s all running like clockwork. I figure I have maybe another six months, a year tops before all the units are sold and I’m pretty much coasting after that. I’ll pack up shop and go relax for a while, maybe—”

  “But.”

  “What?”

  “You hit the point in your story where you’re supposed to say ‘but.’ The wrinkle in the seam. The snake in the grass. The little unfortunate thing that brought you here.”

  Howie nodded and his very white smile became sheepish. He scratched his chin and sighed.

  “The money situation went south on us.”

  “Okay.”

  “See, when you build on a commercial scale there’s what’s called a builder’s fund. All the funds that have been invested or loaned are put in this fund and the bank holds on to it. The bank kind of releases little bits of it here and there for the builder to get everything built. Like a staged process, right? You get the sewers done, so the bank sends in an inspector to verify it. If it’s kosher, then the bank releases the funds you need for the next thing that has to be built. If it all goes smooth, eventually the whole thing gets built and everyone’s happy. You follow?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Someone raided the building fund.”

  “How do you—”

  “And people are thinking you’re the guy who did it.”

  “Hold on. Things aren’t that simple.”

  Darren rattled the ice in his glass to get the bartender’s attention. “You’re talking to a criminal lawyer, Howie. That means someone thinks you did something bad. Not too many dots to connect to see that there are a bunch of people in Arizona who suspect maybe you absconded with however much was in that fund. Thing is, I still don’t understand why you’re sitting here buying me steak and spirits. I don’t work in Arizona. And if this is a federal issue, you need a lawyer who specializes in that. Either way, I’m not the guy to pull your fat out of the fire.”