The Queen is Dead: Queen of Miami, #2

By Heidi Lowe

After hearing nothing from Willa in over a year, Layke gets some devastating news that sets her on a dangerous path of vengeance.

 

But not everything is as it seems...

 

The Queen is Dead is the long-awaited (seriously, nearly six years!) sequel to The Queen of Miami.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Heidi Lowe Books
• Release date: Feb 10, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393173618

Heidi Lowe

Heidi Lowe writes steamy lesbian fiction.

Book preview

The Queen is Dead

by Heidi Lowe

Published by Heidi Lowe Books, 2021.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

THE QUEEN IS DEAD

First edition. February 11, 2021

Copyright © 2021 Heidi Lowe

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CONTENTS

Title

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

Books by Heidi Lowe

Blurb

ONE

Layke Owen stared at the woman in the bathroom mirror, and for the first time she noticed the newly present wrinkle on her forehead. She groaned, prodded it hopefully, as though that would somehow return the collagen to her skin. Aware that science didn’t quite work that way, she groaned once more at her failed attempt to reverse the signs of aging.

Inevitable. She was getting old.

She heard movement outside — the creaking of her bedroom door — which prompted her to force a smile, though it never reached her eyes.

She watched through the mirror as Lazlo Ramirez, in nothing but Calvin Klein boxers, crept up behind her, wrapping her in a firm embrace and claiming her neck.

Happy birthday, beautiful, he breathed, his stubble scratching her flesh, his bristly arms prickling her bare torso. Even now, after over a year, she still wasn’t used to that, and doubted she ever would be.

Thank you, she whispered back. If you could let go of me, that would be great, she thought to herself. But her false smile remained, its insincerity going completely unnoticed by Lazlo.

She felt him try to surreptitiously work her bra strap off her shoulder, but she stopped him before he could expose those intimate parts of her. Not on her birthday; she was already having a bad day, what with the wrinkle.

Have you decided what you want yet?

She shook her head, but inside the answer was clear. She’d had the same wish on her thirty-third birthday, the year before. She could never share that with him.

He threaded his fingers through hers, calling attention to the glistening rock he’d placed there a few months prior — a mere eight months into their relationship. It came off easily, so it had that going for it. Just like the one before it, Dustin’s one. Both engagement rings had spent far more time off her hand than on.

I need to be in the office soon, she said, which she hoped would be an explicit enough cue.

He tried with the bra strap again. He was nothing if not optimistic.

Lazlo, she scolded, brushing his hand away again. I’m going to be late.

Finally, defeated, he threw up his hands in surrender, chuckling, his dark features handsome and playful. "Okay, mami chula, no sex before work. I get it."

He stole a kiss from her — a kiss that felt every bit stolen, one she didn’t want to give up — then he left her to get ready for work.

She let out a sigh of relief once the door closed and it was just her with her reflection. In just one month she would be married to him, and he still made her skin crawl.

*****

Happy Birthday to you... The chorus began the second she strutted into the Miami Police Department's Organized Crime Division later that morning. Everyone in the office, detective and police officer alike, had a noisy party blowout which they proceeded to blow incessantly, whilst singing, cheering, and embarrassing the crap out of her.

She laughed, rolling her eyes and feeling her cheeks burn up. She hated the attention but loved her coworkers dearly.

For she’s a jolly good fellow... came next, just when she thought the singing was over.

She fought her way to her desk, fending off her colleagues as they all tried to grab her to dance with them. Adriana Velazquez succeeded, but only for a few seconds, spinning a giggling Layke around while singing, badly.

I hate all of you, she declared, still laughing. Her face lit up even more when Len Corman, her partner of two years, appeared with a cake and one solitary candle. "Okay, now you I like."

The she-devil made it from scratch, Corman said, placing it carefully on her desk. Which means it’ll taste like ass!

He never missed an opportunity to disparage his wife, whom Layke had met several times and was anything but the tyrant he made her out to be. He didn’t mean any of it; their love, she’d seen with her own eyes, ran deep and strong. She dreamed of that herself one day.

Make a wish, Velazquez said, just as Layke was about to blow out the candle.

She held her hair back, closed her eyes tightly, and in spite of herself, made the wish she’d been making ever since the morning she’d woken up to an empty bed and a broken heart.

What did you wish for? Velazquez whispered half an hour later, once half of the cake had been devoured, and everyone had returned to work.

Do you know anything about how birthday wishes work? Layke said with a laugh.

"Oh, come on, you can tell me, soy tu mejor amiga."

I don’t remember assigning you that title. Layke powered up her computer, shaking her head in amusement. Aren’t best friends supposed to warn you about surprise parties?

Point taken, Velazquez conceded. So, did my cousin get you anything special?

Layke felt her stomach do somersaults then, as it often did at the reminder of the familial connection between Lazlo and her close friend and colleague. It was as if she’d purposely chosen the messiest way to rebound — like she enjoyed destroying herself. Why else would she have agreed to the date Velazquez set up with her cousin? Why else would she now be engaged to a man she merely liked but didn’t... couldn’t love?

She knew the answer, of course, though she felt stupid thinking about it. She wouldn’t have cared, wherever she was. She’d left without a word; an impersonal departure to mark what clearly must have been an impersonal love affair. So the revenge-engagement wouldn’t matter to her. Layke’s pretense of living happily ever after was her burden to bear alone.

He’s taking me out to dinner this evening, she said. I told him he didn’t have to make a big deal—

Not make a big deal? Velazquez cackled. "That’s like asking a bee not to buzz, or water not to be wet. Don’t you know Lazlo can’t do anything without making a big deal out of it? He’s been dying to find someone to spoil. En serio, if he wasn’t my cousin, I’d have already married him myself."

Layke made a face. "Well, it is legal..."

Yeah, our moms would totally disown us. Who wants their grand-kids to come out looking like Quasimodo?

For the rest of the morning, Layke worked in relative peace, stayed in the office and tried to forget that forty was vast approaching. She’d yet to start the family her mother craved for her, and her biological clock had started ticking quite out of the blue midway through thirty-three. Ticking so savagely, yet that hadn’t stopped her taking the pill secretly, without Lazlo’s knowledge. As far as he was concerned, they were trying for a baby; as far as she was concerned, there would never be one. Not for a long time, if she could help it. Not until she was sure...

It was just before noon when her cellphone buzzed. She expected the text to be from Lazlo, telling her how much he missed her. She expected to roll her eyes then type out a disingenuous reply of ditto. But when she saw the name Pam Island, she froze. Her hands started shaking as she scrambled to open the message.

I’ve got some news about your friend. Let’s meet, was all it said, but that was enough to cause her stomach to flutter.

*****

In the parking lot of a diner, she found him standing by a dark blue Mercedes c-class sedan, chewing gum and wearing the disgruntled look common on most ex-cops turned private investigators. The weathered face, the graying hair, the jacket that smelled of cigar smoke. She’d given him the moniker Pam Island to throw off any nosy intruders into her phone, but he went by the name of Eric. The car was new, but she paid it no mind.

She stepped out of her car, swallowed down her nerves, and approached, spotting the long brown envelope in his hand.

Layke, he greeted simply, with a nod, his stoic expression unchanging. There was nothing to read, nothing being given away.

You found something? She wasn’t interested in smalltalk. They weren’t friends, and she needed to know. After six months of paying this guy money she could scarcely afford, he’d finally come up with something. The moment of truth.

He nodded again, and this time she saw it. Saw something in his eyes. Something akin to... what? Pity?

She started to panic. Where is she?

I followed a lead I got from an old buddy who lives in Jacksonville. Some people saw her there a couple of months ago... Then another lead led me to Orlando... Here he stopped. For effect, or because he wasn’t good at breaking bad news, Layke couldn’t tell.

Panic rising, Where is she, Eric?

There was an accident. A hit and run...

Where is she? Layke demanded for the third time, but she could already feel the tears clinging to her lashes, the bile in her throat.

I’m sorry, was all he said as he handed her the envelope.

No, she breathed, shaking her head as the tears trickled out. The envelope fell out of her hands, landed on the floor. She didn’t want to pick it up.

The report says she died at the scene, he said, bending down to pick up the envelope and hand it to her again.

He watched as his client fell to pieces in front of him, and for the first time in his career, he felt the overwhelming urge to comfort someone.

*****

No matter how many times she read over the death certificate, the words didn’t change; the name