Rouge 52 (Goderich Girl #2)

By D.L. Miles

When Gwen became an official employee of Sharpe Investigations she thought she would be helping write about the often grisly cases the detectives worked on. She thought she would even meet Angus Sharpe himself, but instead she’s in Vineville working on her blog.
“Official employee” was apparently an overstatement of Angus’s interest in her, and now she’s more of a secret employee, that writes “unofficial” articles about what Sharpe’s agency is doing. And the only contact she has isn’t giving her any quotes. On anything.
With confusing demands from her new boss, Gwen is following Osh around Vineville as Osh awaits further instruction. If she hadn’t signed a one year lease with her friends Lily and Thea she might have quit altogether, but then she would have missed the six foot casket that appears in front of the law offices of Mueller and Moon, body included.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.L. Miles
• Release date: Mar 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005716219

D.L. Miles

Miles is a Sun Scorpio with the heart of a Moon Pisces. She began her publishing journey in 2012, admittedly maybe a little too soon. Her eclectic taste comes through in each book she writes, ranging from soft fantasy romances to dark brooding poetry to serial killers that hold a grudge.For special offers and updates check out her Patreon! www.patreon.com/dlmilesbooks

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Rouge 52

D.L. Miles

Copyright 2021 by D.L. Miles

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cover image by Fidan Babayeva/istock.com. Design by D.L. Miles.

Rouge 52

When Gwen became an official employee of Sharpe Investigations she thought she would be helping write about the often grisly cases the detectives worked on.  She thought she would even meet Angus Sharpe himself, but instead she’s in Vineville working on her blog.

Official employee was apparently an overstatement of Angus’s interest in her, and now she’s more of a secret employee, that writes unofficial articles about what Sharpe’s agency is doing.  And the only contact she has isn’t giving her any quotes. On anything.

With confusing demands from her new boss, Gwen is following Osh around Vineville as Osh awaits further instruction.  If she hadn’t signed a one year lease with her friends Lily and Thea she might have quit altogether, but then she would have missed the six foot casket that appears in front of the law offices of Mueller and Moon, body included.

Also by D.L. Miles

Goderich Girl Novellas

Violet 24

Rouge 52

The Ethereal Crossings

Shadeland

Fenridge

Northcliffe

Glenbrook

The Dark Origins

Shimmering

Igniting

Phasing

The Monarchy

The Argent Star

The Howling Jade

Threads of Chaos

With Cross & Charm

Astral Bodies

Love Notes to Nightmares

The Gifts of Hannah Best

Chapter One

One finger taps down on the backspace key, getting louder and harder with each click. I don’t stop erasing my words until they’re all gone, every single one of them. All 43 of them. I let out a long sigh and lean back in my chair, my knee hitting the box my computer sits on. I steady it without looking, choosing to keep my head back and eyes closed.

Why is this so hard? I whine aloud.

Maybe because you’re slacking off while the rest of us work?

I snap my eyes open to find Brett above me, brow furrowed. There’s a sheen of sweat on his face and his breath is coming out fast as it fans over me; there’s a distinct smell of something fruity mixed with chocolate. His hands are on the back of my chair, threatening to tilt it back too far. I smile at him as my feet flex upwards, only my toes now touching the floor. I am working.

You’ve been sitting here sighing for ten minutes, Brett tells me. That’s not work.

It is if you’re a writer.

Brett rolls his amber-brown eyes and stands, releasing my small wooden chair. The legs slam onto the hardwood floor of my new room, and I scramble to find my own balance as well as that of my laptop. I hadn’t been expecting the sudden release, though I really should have. Once my laptop is safely stable, I stand and stretch my arms high over my head. The heat of an early summer in Vineville is coming through the windows and the two fans I have set up aren’t doing enough to keep the place cool. I think we need some iced coffee.

Move a damn box! Brett yells. I turn to him but before I can even see where he is there’s a pillow coming at my face. It nails my forehead and I stumble back with a shout.

No fair, I call, I wasn’t looking! I toss the pillow onto my mattress, which is still sitting on the floor since my mother refused to let me take my bedframe with me. Something about living on the floor builds character, I suppose.

My eyebrows raise when I see Brett leaning against the doorway, still frowning at me. He’s in a pale pink tank top, tattoos on full display; even the one he always hides on his chest. It’s a dagger, as I always thought, but the blade is twisted and longer than most, and the handle looks intricate. It travels down into his shirt, where all I can see is the darker outline against the pink; I think there are jewels on it.

Uncrossing his arms, Brett places his hands flat on his chest. Stop objectifying me.

I huff. Like I would objectify you.

A sly smile crosses his lips when he shrugs and lets his hands fall to his sides. Then he points at me. I’m not getting you coffee. I’m already helping you move for free, I’m not going to feed your addiction, too.

Now I roll my eyes. With two steps forward I push past him and into the small hallway that opens into the front foyer. Well, what’s supposed to be a foyer; it’s really just a ten-foot square packed with boxes at the moment. Beside it is the kitchen, already set up with dishes and groceries by Lily, and the living room on the left. The windows are open here too, with two more fans blowing in the heat. At least we’re on the fourth floor and get a bit of a breeze coming in. There’s another hallway on the opposite side of the apartment, and two bedrooms, Lily’s and Thea’s.

I look over the few things that are already set up. The television is sitting on a horizontal black bookcase from IKEA, and across from that is a beat-up old couch Thea’s mother wanted to get rid of. It’s got a few tears from her cats, but the colour is still a vibrant red and makes the room brighter surrounded by the dark boxes of…stuff. Most of the boxes belong to Thea and Lily, since I decided to leave a chunk of mine at the storage locker in Goderich.

A shiver travels over my body as I think of opening up locker 24, only a few doors down from my own. With a gulp I let out a loud laugh and look over my shoulder at Brett. I’ll grab the coffee this time, okay? You take it black, right?

Brett eyes me a moment, worry flashing over his features. But thankfully he just nods and adds, Cold brew, please.

I give him the thumbs up. Lily! I call. Going to the café downstairs, what do you want?

Chai latte, please! she shouts from her room. It’s on the right and I barely see her head of blonde hair poke out from beyond the sea of cardboard.

Iced?

Hot.

You want a hot latte when it’s thirty degrees out? Brett questions.

There’s a wide smile on Lily’s lips as she nods. Her long hair is falling towards the floor, making her look a little like Rapunzel. I didn’t know her hair was so long until we were practically signing the lease to this place; I’d only ever seen her in her EMT uniform, and her hair was always in a tight bun or wrapped up in a braid.

I shake my head and throw my hands up. All right then. I head for the door when I hear Thea clear her throat.

It’s a very familiar sound, and one I could pinpoint in my sleep. It’s not the typical ahem that the rest of the world does, it’s more like a song. The girl refuses to let anyone see her as someone that is anything other than perfect; so, she hums a little mm-hmm to get attention.

I’m already in the front doorway to the apartment; the door has been open all day as we took turns bringing boxes up and unpacking. Without turning I ask, Yes, Thea?

You didn’t ask me if I wanted anything.

Because I know what you want.

You don’t know that.

Green tea, iced, with a shot of lemonade and light ice. I twist my neck to see her over my shoulder, and a small part of me gawks at how perfect she looks.

Standing at 5’10", she’s the definition of a curvy bombshell. Her high-waist shorts accent her waist, and the bright yellow crop-top gives it extra emphasis. Not to mention how much more tanned her skin has become during the summer.

You’re not even sweating, I say, noting that her long hair is in a low bun, bangs pinned behind her left ear, how is that possible? Did you move any boxes?

Thea grins, knowing how much I hate the heat and how much she loves it. Brett approaches me and slaps a hand on my shoulder. More than you have. He pushes past me and into the dimly lit hallway.

Where are you going? I question.

I’m grabbing the last thing from the truck, he announces. I quickly step out into the hallway with him and follow towards the stairs. Thea’s kickboxing thing.

I remember telling Thea it was a bad idea to bring her sand weighted punching bag, but she insisted. Mostly, I didn’t want her to bring it because I knew we would have to empty the sand out and carry those up one by one, but also the noise drives me nuts. Every kick and punch she gives that thing is loud enough to scare the birds back home, so I can only imagine how it’ll sound at eleven at night in our small apartment.

With no elevator to help us take things up and down, Brett and I head down the greying tile steps of 549 Summerset Drive. A gentle name for a street that’s so busy. Lily had wanted somewhere quieter, but the fact we live right next to a family owned café convinced her otherwise.

At the bottom of the stairs Brett holds the door open for me. I give him a nod as thanks and we separate. He heads left for the small moving truck we rented; I go right four feet to the front door of the Summer Horizon Café. A bell rings overhead as I push on the door, appreciating the rush of cold air.

Oh yeah, I mutter, that’s the stuff. I can’t wait until we finally get an air conditioner for the apartment.

Like anywhere else that serves coffee and scones, the place smells of both. I inhale deeply through my nose before approaching the small line. It’s only just hitting the lunch rush, so I’ve managed to avoid how busy it actually gets in the afternoon. I pull at the body of my tee-shirt to get some of the cool air everywhere while I can, and decide to redo by ponytail. Long brown bangs blind me a moment before they’re pulled back and out of the way again.

As I move a couple inches forward with each customer, my mind wanders. It always goes to the same place; Osh. I keep wondering what she’s doing in that moment, and if she’s gotten any word from Angus Sharpe. I had asked her to speak to him on my behalf, and convince him that his plan was kind of crazy.

"We want you to keep writing on your blog. You’ll be on the Sharpe Investigations payroll, but you won’t be publicly with us. The fact that the Roundabout Bomber, the original and the