Dixon's Duty Read online

  Table of Contents

  Legal Page

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Epilogue

  New Excerpt

  About the Author

  Publisher Page

  A Totally Bound Publication

  Dixon’s Duty

  ISBN # 978-1-78430-006-7

  ©Copyright Jenna Byrnes 2014

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright April 2014

  Edited by Rebecca Douglas

  Totally Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2014 by Totally Bound Publishing, Newland House, The Point, Weaver Road, Lincoln, LN6 3QN

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Simmering and a Sexometer of 2.

  Kansas City Heat

  DIXON’S DUTY

  Jenna Byrnes

  Book one in the Kansas City Heat series

  A serial rapist and murderer on the loose. Will Kansas City’s finest solve the case before the madman strikes again?

  Detective James Dixon is determined to track down the most recent serial killer terrorising the people of Kansas City. The chase leads him to the Last Chance Bar and Grille, where he meets and immediately falls for the sexy owner, Bryan Scott. But things at the bar aren’t exactly as they seem.

  No one there remembers seeing the latest victim the night before she was brutally murdered. So why do the clues keep pointing back to the Last Chance? When the attacks strike close to home, Dix and Bryan must work together to save the next victim and whatever chance they have for happiness.

  Dedication

  To Jude Mason, always.

  Author’s Note

  While the Kansas City Police Department is definitely a real organisation, the stories you will read in this series are complete works of fiction, with made up characters who are in no way based on actual persons. Likewise, some neighbourhoods and locations are similarly fictional. The stories are simply born from a love of Kansas City, from the stockyards to Arrowhead Stadium, the Plaza to Legends Outlet Mall, and lots of things in between.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Lincoln Navigator: Ford Motor Company

  Golden Globe: Hollywood Foreign Press Association

  Blazer: Chevrolet, General Motors Company

  Red Bull: Red Bull GmbH

  The Royals: Kansas City Royals

  Dodge Ram: Chrysler Group LLC

  Curves: Curves International

  Max Fitness: Fit Cats LLC

  Camel: Reynolds American, Inc.

  ’72 Ford: Ford Motor Company

  Mercury: Ford Motor Company

  Star Trek: CBS Corporation/Paramount Pictures Corporation

  The Wrath of Khan: Paramount Pictures Corporation

  The Voyage Home: Paramount Pictures Corporation

  Burger King: Burger King Holdings Inc.

  Chapter One

  “Time of death was approximately ten to twelve hours ago. I’ll know more when I get her back to the lab and can run specific tests.” Abigail Walters, the medical examiner for the Kansas City Police Department, rose from her crouched position then stepped back from the corpse.

  Detective James Dixon leaned in closer, studying the abrasions around the woman’s neck. Her long blonde hair was splayed around her shoulders, but the reddish-purple marks on her skin were still visible. As were two round scorch marks on her breasts. “Strangled, just like the victim last week. Cigarette burns. Can’t say I like where this is heading.”

  “Nope. Dix, check out her simple black dress and shoes. She doesn’t look like a hooker, more like a business woman out for an evening on the town.”

  He glanced at the victim’s left hand. “No indentations from a wedding ring, not that she’d still have the ring if she was wearing one.” He looked in either direction down the alley they were standing in. “Who knows how many people were through here last night?” He turned to the uniformed officer who’d been first on the scene. “No sign of a purse or handbag of any kind?”

  “No, sir.” The officer shook his head.

  “Let’s keep looking. Have your team scour every inch of this area, including the dumpsters over there. Our perp may have taken what he wanted and ditched the bag.”

  “Look for cigarette butts, too,” the ME added. “We might pull some DNA off them.”

  “We’re on it,” the man answered, then headed to confer with the others on his detail.

  She made notes in a small book. “Very similar MO to the last vic, pretty, mid-thirties, long, light-coloured hair. If it is the same guy, he’s definitely got a ‘type’.”

  Dix waggled his brows. “Better watch out, then. You just described yourself.”

  She tucked the notebook into her pocket while rolling her eyes. “Thanks, dude, but the ‘thirties’ door slammed on me a few years ago. And these gals had blonde hair, not shades of grey. Of course, the colour could have come from a box. ” She tucked a wispy strand that had fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear.

  Facing her, he ducked his head and said quietly, “Your hair is a beautiful, shiny shade of silver, not grey, and I hope you never use bottled colour on it. And as for the ‘thirties’ door being closed”—he shook his head—“well, Abby, you could have fooled me.”

  His gaze scanned up from her military-style boots to the unattractive navy jumpsuit she wore at crime scenes. It sported large KCPD letters on the front and back, and the boxy style successfully hid whether the wearer was male or female.

  Abby laughed. “Dix, if I didn’t know you were gay, I’d either have to jump your bones or bring you up on sexual harassment charges. Can’t decide which would be more fun. I’d love to watch you squirm.”

  He grinned. “Which one of those two choices might make me squirm? Never mind, not sure my heart could take it. It’s been a long dry spell since Raph left. You’re starting to look pretty good to me, jumpsuit notwithstanding.”

  “You are hard up! Sexy beast like you shouldn’t have trouble finding a man. Everybody loves shaggy brown hair that perpetually looks overdue for a trim and a three-day beard growth like yours. And those puppy-dog eyes have the tiniest little crinkles around the corners when you smile. Damn. Now I’m making myself horny.”

  He feigned a horrified expression. “Eye wrinkles? God, that is sexy.”

  “I said crinkles. They’re very sexy on a man. A woman, not so much.”

  “Yeah,” he grumbled. “Got those when that ‘thirt
ies’ door slapped me on the ass on my way out.” He glanced up as his partner approached.

  “Got a witness who says he saw the vic coming out of a bar last night around midnight.” He glanced at the ME. “Hey, Abby.”

  “Mac,” she acknowledged. “If that’s the case, this woman died shortly thereafter. Probably wasn’t time to kill her somewhere else and dump the body.”

  “So she died here,” Dix repeated. He glanced at Steve MacDonald, his partner for the past three years. “Want to let the unis know that? Might make a difference how they process the scene. You and I should take her picture to that bar and see if anyone recognises her.”

  “Let’s do it. I’ll talk to the unit commander then meet you down at the end of the block. Bar’s just around the corner.”

  “Sounds good.” Dix watched Mac walk off before turning back to Abby.

  “How’s his wife doing?” she asked. “Last I heard she was starting chemo.”

  He nodded. “The doc thought he got all the cancer with her lumpectomy, but there was something about a suspicious lymph node. So yeah, chemo. It makes her sick as hell for a few days. Mac said this round is really kicking her butt.”

  “I’m sure it’s rough, but it’s the best option for a good outcome. I’ll keep her in my thoughts.”

  He batted his lashes. “Me too?”

  Abby chuckled. “Always. Go do your thing and let me finish up here. I’ll text you when I have results, or phone you if we get lucky.”

  He kicked at a pebble in his path then headed towards the end of the alley. Over his shoulder he replied, “I won’t hold my breath. I haven’t gotten lucky in a very long time.”

  “You’re due!” she called after him.

  Dix grinned to himself and kept walking.

  Mac was speaking with the captain on scene when Dix approached. His partner looked tired, with definite lines creasing his forehead and the skin around his eyes. Wrinkles, nothing that could be called ‘crinkles’. Worry lines. Lack-of-sleep lines. Dix figured he could take his pick. He couldn’t imagine caring for a spouse with cancer and counted his blessings that the disease hadn’t touched his life. “Ready to do this?” he asked Mac.

  “Yeah.” They fell into step and headed around the next corner. “Place is named Last Call Bar and Grille. Ever heard of it?”

  “No, but I don’t frequent this neighbourhood.”

  “Like I do.” Mac rolled his eyes.

  Dix grinned. His buddy’s longish-blond hair and tweed jacket with patches on the elbows made him look more like a professor than a cop. Mac had three daughters, six granddaughters and a one-year-old grandson who was sure to be spoilt beyond belief. The family was a great support system for his wife Cecile, who’d been stoic since her diagnosis. Dix knew Mac would love to retire and spend more time with his wife and family, but police work didn’t pay that well. He’d work the streets or shove papers around on a desk right up to retirement age, as would Dix, who had a few years longer to go than Mac.

  He paused in front of the neat little sign identifying Last Call and checked it out. “Nice place. Not what I expected.”

  “Yeah,” Mac agreed, opening the door. “Seems decent enough.”

  They stepped inside. The bar was dimly lit, but Dix could tell it was well-tended. “Pretty clean, too.”

  “Yeah. Could have fooled me, ’cause the neighbourhood sucks.”

  Dix thought so, too. He hadn’t figured the bar would be more than a dive, commonplace for the area. This place was no speakeasy—it seemed like more of a restaurant. And from what he could smell, a good one.

  “Afternoon,” the bartender greeted them. “Sit anywhere, as you can see we’re not too busy today.”

  “That’s no shit,” Mac mumbled under his breath.

  There were ten to twelve tables in the joint, and only one was occupied by a young couple eating burgers and fries. A lone man sat at the bar, thin with straggly grey hair. Dix wondered if the old guy was still breathing or if he’d kicked off and no one had realised it yet.

  He couldn’t help noticing the bartender, a handsome man about his own age with similar brown, shaggy hair. Something shined in his eyes, weariness for one thing, but Dix couldn’t put his finger on what else. “Afternoon.” He stepped up to the bar and flashed his badge. “I’m Detective Dixon and this is Detective MacDonald of the KCPD. We’re investigating a murder that took place near here last night. Have you ever seen this woman?” He held up a photo of the deceased.

  “Ugh.” The bartender frowned. “Seriously? It’s disrespectful flashing a photo like that around.”

  Dix smiled grimly. “It’s not disrespectful for such a pretty, young woman to be lying in the morgue with no name? More than likely, someone out there is missing her right about now. Somebody is frantic that she didn’t come home or show up at work today. You don’t think those folks would want us to move heaven and earth to identify her?”

  The man lowered his head. “I’m sorry, you’re right. No, I don’t know her.”

  Mac spoke up. “We have a witness who says she came out of this bar somewhere around midnight last night. Were you working?”

  He sighed. “I’m always working.”

  “And you are—?” Dix prompted.

  “Bryan Scott. I own the place.”

  “You’re the only bartender?”

  “No, I’ve got a couple part time guys, but they only work nights and weekends. Seems like I’m here more than not. Jack worked with me last night.”

  “Anyone else? Waitresses, cooks?”

  “I have three waitresses, only Jaci worked last night. Three cooks. Mike was the only one here.”

  Mac glanced around. “Any of those people working today?”

  Bryan shook his head. “As I said, most of my part-timers work nights and weekends. They have other jobs or are going to college.”

  “We need to show our victim’s picture around, ask if they remember seeing her, noticed her talking to anyone or maybe leaving with someone.”

  “Jaci and Mike will be here tonight at six. Jack doesn’t work again until the weekend.”

  Dix said, “We’ll need his phone number, please. We can run this photo over to him and see if recognises her. I can swing back by tonight and talk to Jaci and Mike.”

  “Whatever you need.” Bryan pulled out his cell phone and looked up a number, then copied it down on a cocktail napkin. “Here you go. Anything else I can do for you, gentlemen?”

  Dix glanced at Mac. “I could use a burger, how about you?”

  “Sure. Hold the onion, extra cheese. Fries and a black coffee, please.”

  Dix smiled at the bartender. “Make that two. We can sit anywhere?”

  The man spread his arm from one side to the next. “Take your pick. I’ll put in your order and bring you that coffee.”

  Dix chose a close table so he could hear any conversations going on. He sat, keeping one eye on the man behind the bar.

  “Something not feel right to you?” Mac followed his gaze.

  “I dunno.” He shrugged. “Maybe this place is busier at night. But if it was this dead last night, the bartender would have remembered seeing a woman as pretty as our vic.”

  “That’s a point. He didn’t seem thrilled to talk to us.”

  “Most people aren’t, my friend.” Dix added sugar to his coffee when it arrived, and continued his observation. A tall man with slicked back, dark hair appeared in the kitchen window. He was wearing a grease-spattered apron so Dix took him for the cook. The man talked to Bryan for a moment, cast a glance in their direction then disappeared again.

  A blond-haired delivery man with a beer logo on his uniform shirt entered through a back door. He spoke with Bryan, and they went over what appeared to be an invoice. Bryan nodded and the man turned to leave. He took his time, glancing around the bar slowly.

  “That’s a muscular young man, right there,” Mac commented. “Check out his physique.”

  Dix shook his head. “He’s, like,
twenty-five. Why would I want to check him out?”

  Mac chuckled. “I was referring to his strength, and the size of his biceps. It takes a strong guy to strangle a woman to death. I wasn’t suggesting you ask him out on a date.”

  “Oh.” Dix felt his face flush. If he was going to admire anyone, it was the owner behind the bar. He was guarded, sure, but lots of folks were when the police came knocking. There was something else about the man, a hint of subtle sexuality. Whatever it was, it caused Dix’s trousers to tent with the first erection he could remember in too long.

  He tried not to think about the hunk behind the bar and turned back to the delivery boy. “Yeah, he looks pretty beefed up. Takes some heft to lift kegs and cases of beer, I suppose.”

  Still grinning, Mac said, “Your mind did not start out there, it went someplace totally different. How long’s it been since that Italian stud of yours took off?”

  “He didn’t ‘take off’,” Dix said petulantly. “He moved back to Italy to be closer to his family. It’s been six months.”

  “That’s a long time to be celibate, man. Not for a married guy, because we get used to it. But for most guys.”

  Dix smiled. “I was married once. I remember what it’s like once the kids start coming.” He stopped talking as the owner approached. He tried not to look at the man’s jean-clad body, but it was distracting.

  Bryan brought two plates and a bottle of ketchup to their table. “Here you go.”

  “Smells great.” Dix looked at his face. “Daytime cook leaves about what time?”

  “My cousin Galen. He gets off between five-thirty and six.”

  Dix nodded. “How often do you get beer deliveries?”

  Bryan folded his arms across his chest. “Don’t miss a trick, do you?”

  He smiled. “Wouldn’t be a very good detective if I did. Just asking. You seem to have a pretty tight-knit little group here. Everyone looking out for one another. Seems like someone might have seen our girl coming in or going out.”

  “Someone did,” Mac added. “Another customer.”

  Bryan shrugged. “Yeah, well we get a lot of patrons through the door. Some are regulars, many are not. It’s a sketchy neighbourhood, we do watch out for our own.”