Broken Justice, Blind Love: A romantic suspense

By RENA Koontz

Trish Kleerey is a by-the-book cop who views the world in starkly defined terms of right and wrong. Commit a crime and face the consequences. Period. But her strict moral code is challenged when her investigation into a series of gruesome murders incriminates Bryan DeJewel, the mysterious but hot and sexy fitness club owner she's developing feel

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rena Koontz
• Release date: Feb 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088120378

Book preview

1

She lay dead at the bottom of the steps, contorted like a used bread tie. One tennis shoe had come off halfway through her descent and stood out on the uncarpeted stair like an oil stain on an otherwise pristine driveway. Its mate remained on the woman’s foot, which had rotated backward, pointing the toes inward instead of out.

It was obvious the woman was dead. Her face was pale, translucent even, as if an outline of her jaw and facial bones might be visible if looked at closely. Police Officer Trish Kleerey checked for signs of life anyway, careful to slip into nitrile gloves first. No wrist pulse. Nothing from the carotid artery in the neck. The woman’s lifeless eyes remained open in astonishment, as wide as bottle caps. Death had surprised her.

Trish held her breath against the odor of decomposition, like rotting cabbage, and scrutinized her surroundings, peering into the empty sunroom to her right, then the vacant family room on her left. The living area, its stone fireplace cold for months, spilled into an empty dining area. Visible sweeper tracks ridged the beige pile carpet. No footprints left by a killer disturbed the straight lines.

Of all days for Conner, her partner, to be in court and she riding patrol solo. A second pair of eyes at this crime scene could be helpful.

All windows and doors appeared closed, at least from her present vantage point just inside the stained-glass door. The radio clipped to her shoulder epaulet pinged. Officer Kleerey, homicide is on the way. Secure the scene and await their arrival. Copy?

She touched the transmit button. Copy. 10-4 dispatch. There wasn’t much to secure. A vacant house that had been on the market for months, one dead woman and herself—both of them motionless. If she could explore the house, search the premises for clues and employ her investigative skills, it might take the edge off her hunger for answers. She was the primary officer—first to arrive—on this murder scene. Not her first dead body, but her first homicide. Two of the three others had been natural causes discovered when family members couldn’t reach their loved ones, and the third killed in a car crash and dead at the scene.

But this woman with fear on her face was a puzzle begging to be solved. This was what she had trained for, where she dreamed to take her career. She knew what to do, where to start, how to preserve any evidence. But homicide detectives were en route. Her job as a patrolman here in Recanturr was to do exactly what she’d done, report the incident and make sure nothing was disturbed.

Thirty minutes earlier as she contemplated where to stop for lunch, she drove past this residence on routine patrol and noticed the loose window screen on the side of the house flapping in the high winds. Spring in Northwestern Pennsylvania could be unpredictable, one day requiring overcoats and scarves and the next, teasing residents with a taste of summer. The upcoming weather forecast predicted this front would move through with two-days of storms, allowing March to exit like a lion. The screen would end up in the next county.

Trish had parked her cruiser in the driveway, struggled to yank the errant screen from its mounting, again cursing Conner’s absence, and carried it to the front porch, intent on laying it flat and contacting the real estate agent listed on the ‘For Sale’ sign swinging from a post on the front lawn. They could collect it and store it.

Was it curiosity or a sense of evil that edged up her spine when she stood? She turned and peered through the oval glass window of the front door. That’s when she saw the body. One swift kick with her booted foot had freed the key in the lockbox. She’d stepped inside and gagged at the stench that pinched her nose.

Before calling it in, she’d walked the outside perimeter of the house to secure the scene. All windows and doors were undisturbed. Then she returned to the woman, wondering how long she’d lain there and not wanting to leave her alone any longer.

Her career goal to make homicide detective could take its baby steps in this house. But she knew better than to tramp on her colleagues’ toes. Some of the men already resented her. She’d graduated first in her class academically, received the expert marksmanship award on the firing range, and held her own on the department’s softball team and obstacle course. She’d scaled a six-foot wall while wearing a thirteen-pound gun belt and dragged a one-hundred and fifty-pound dummy to safety. No easy task for her one-hundred-and-ten-pound frame.

She exhaled. None of that mattered now. She wasn’t a detective yet. Better to make extensive notes of her observations of the victim and the scene and file her report. There would be other opportunities to lead an investigation. Besides, she had dinner plans with her best friend and she didn’t want the additional paperwork, which would force her to cancel again. Kandee complained the last time Trish postponed their pre-arranged dinner due to work. She didn’t understand that crime didn’t pay attention to a schedule and a cop couldn’t always clock out at the end of an eight-hour shift. Kandee intimated that she’d made a special effort to carve out time for Trish, time that could have been spent with her new boyfriend, and Trish had wasted the evening by cancelling.

That conversation bordered on hurtful, but Trish dismissed it as bad moods on both their parts. This evening had been her idea and was meant to mend fences with her best friend. She didn’t want to be accused of wasting any more of Kandee’s precious time with Dwayne. Trish hadn’t met this new boyfriend yet but that wasn’t the issue. Kandee seemed different about this guy, guarded, close to defensive when Trish asked what she thought were normal girlfriend questions. He was in real estate, she knew that much, but Kandee hadn’t offered much information about how and where Dwayne made his living. Maybe she could learn more tonight. She’d have to gauge Kandee’s mood first.

Tugging the door closed behind her, Trish strolled to the patrol car to retrieve her clipboard and await homicide. This woman wouldn’t be the reason she lost her homicide virginity.

Kandee regarded her reflection in the mirror. It was just a simple slap. The impact against her tooth caused her lip to bleed but only a tiny bit. No big deal. She’d endured much worse and she could argue that it was her fault. She shouldn’t have mentioned his ex-wife’s infidelity. Dwayne was so sensitive about it. Kandee had never given him any reason to distrust her and yet he was suspicious of her every move. Sometimes, it was difficult not to talk back.

She leaned closer, canting her chin upward. Two fingerprints along her jaw line remained visible from where he’d squeezed her face last week, but those could easily be covered with makeup. The split lip and swelling presented more of a challenge. Especially since Trish Kleerey was already wary of Dwayne. Her cop’s eagle eye spotted the fingerprints on Kandee’s face the minute those two ran into each other at the grocery store last week and kissed hello. She’d raised a skeptical eyebrow when Kandee explained Dwayne had been overzealous with his lovemaking. He was an incredible lover when he wanted to be, but the marks were from her hesitation to answer his question about a social media friend. At Dwayne’s insistence, she unfriended the boy who spent four years sitting in the desk behind her in high school, despite her argument that he was married with kids and lived on the other side of the country.

Gently, Kandee dabbed beige concealer on her mouth and dug for her lip pencil. If she cancelled dinner tonight, Trish would ask why. Besides, Kandee had thrown a hissy fit the last time Trish cancelled. She outlined her lips and inspected her mouth. The combination of the liner and her darkest lip gloss worked well. She’d have to remember to dab carefully with a napkin at dinner so as not to wipe if off.

Kandee smiled and waved when she spotted Trish sitting in the restaurant’s back booth. Trish always kept her back to a wall in public venues. Ever the cop. Even as children, Trish strived to be aware of her surroundings, checking out the bleachers while she led the cheering squad on the football field and constantly scanning the room at high school dances, as if one of the pimpled teens would suddenly morph into a murderer. No one was surprised, especially not Kandee, when Trish graduated college first in her class with a degree in criminology and applied to various police departments. Recanturr Police snatched her up instantly, a no-brainer on their part, Kandee thought. The job pleased Kandee as well since the City of Recanturr was seventy miles north of their hometown and they’d relocated together. Trish and Kandee grew up in Pittsburgh and loved the city, often making overnight trips back to the ’Burgh. Well, at least they used to, before Trish began working full time.

Damn, Trish was still in uniform, which meant she’d worked later than planned. Kandee hated meeting her in cop mode. She’d chopped her short dark hair in an asymmetrical style with one side above her left ear and the right side to her jawbone. She supposed it fit neatly beneath Trish’s police hat, but Kandee thought the look was too severe. But then, Kandee had always been the girlie one of the two, using makeup and nail polish in middle school and devouring fashion magazines. Trish was a natural beauty with flawless skin, high cheekbones, and heart-shaped lips. She’d resisted Kandee’s attempts to maximize any of her assets. She refused to pierce her ears, balked at Kandee’s pushup bras, choosing instead to wear baggy clothes, and declined to put her five-foot-five frame into high heels. The rigid almost military Recanturr police dress code suited Trish—no jewelry, no nail polish and the barest of makeup. Kandee had always envied Trish’s lush, natural curly eyelashes and visualized even now how a touch of shadow and mascara would make her mahogany brown eyes pop.

She leaned over to plant a light kiss on her best friend’s cheek, careful to use the left side of her mouth. She plopped into the bench seat opposite Trish and immediately propped her chin in her hand, splaying her fingers out. Sorry to keep you waiting. What’s with the uniform? Are you in a time crunch?

Trish’s eyes narrowed. No, I just got off duty and didn’t want to take time to change because I didn’t want to be late. I’m heading to the gym after dinner but I’m in no hurry. Tonight is just about us girls. It’s good to see you.

Oh, good. Do you know what you’re going to order? She opened the oversized menu and held it in front of her face. Seconds later, three fingers appeared at the top of the plastic-encased food list and nudged it down toward the table.

Trish stared at her. What’s wrong?

She withered under Trish’s stare. Nothing. I’m starving, that’s all. Why do you think something is wrong?

Trish shrugged. Well, you’re acting oddly and, her eyes roamed Kandee’s face slowly, studying it, you look like something is off.

Kandee rolled her eyes. Please turn off your cop radar and be my girlfriend for a change. I’m fine. Let’s order.

Trish backed off, but only until the waitress delivered steaming cups of tomato soup and gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches. So, how’s Dwayne? When do I get to meet him?

He’s fine. He’s working a lot this week, so I haven’t seen him that much. He’s been busy. With your schedule and his, I’ve no idea when the two of you can meet.

Oh? Well, busy is good, I guess. Has he sold a couple of houses?

No, but he’s had several showings. The housing market’s in a slump right now.

When was the last time he made a sale?

She leveled her gaze on Trish. Why?

Trish’s badge was polished to a high sheen and the light reflected off it when she shrugged her shoulders. Just curious.

The housing market is very unpredictable. A real estate agent can close on multiple sales in one month and not have any in another. That’s the nature of the business.

So, he hasn’t made any sales this month? And none last month, as I recall. Does that upset him? Make him mad?

This wasn’t their first conversation about Dwayne and it wasn’t the only time that Trish seemed hell-bent on putting him down. Trish hadn’t even given him a chance, hadn’t met him yet, but already she’d formed a negative opinion of him. She could be so unfair sometimes. Kandee ignored her questions and bit into her sandwich, wincing when the hot, gooey cheese touched her lip. She dropped the bread and grabbed her napkin.

What happened to your mouth? Trish’s right eyebrow arched with the question.

I just burned it with the cheese.

No, it was swollen when you arrived. What happened?

Kandee faked a chuckle. It was stupid, really. I dropped my earring and leaned over to pick it up and hit my face on the corner of the bureau.

Which earring?

Wh-what do you mean, which earring?

Trish lowered her spoon and leaned back, crossing her arms beneath her chest. Kandee recognized this posture. She now sat across from Patrolman Kleerey, firmly planted in interrogation mode.

You are a master of minutia, my friend. You insert details into the simplest of sentences. Yet you can’t tell me which earring you lost. You didn’t say right or left, you didn’t offer hoop or stud, you didn’t provide any detail. So, what really happened to your lip? Did Dwayne hit you?

A chill crept down Kandee’s spine. Dammit. The real question, Trish, is what happened to you? I don’t even know you anymore. Ever since you put on that damn uniform, I’ve watched you transform into something cold and calculating, constantly looking for the negative, always seeing the bad. People make mistakes. You should know that. You made a whopper years ago. No one is perfect and that goes for Dwayne. But you’re so caught up in yourself, in your, your police presence, you can’t see good in anyone. Do you even feel anymore? Are you capable of normal, human emotions?

She rose, balling up her napkin and throwing it to the table, willing herself not to burst into tears. I hit my face on the corner of the bureau, Officer Kleerey. If you want to turn that into a federal case, I don’t think I have time for dinner. She pointed a shaking finger at Trish, already regretting her words The next time we meet, please bring my best friend instead of the cops. Or don’t bother calling.

She pivoted and stormed out of the restaurant, her pulse racing. Hell’s fire. Why did Trish always have to push so hard? It was an accident. He swung with his hand open. It was a simple slap.

Trish’s stomach dropped as she watched her lifelong friend bolt from the restaurant, her high heels clicking on the hardwood floor and her auburn ponytail swinging wildly as she hurried away. What just happened? It wasn’t as if she was interrogating Kandee, she’d simply asked a question. A question she was certain she knew the answer to. She had this ability to sense things, like a psychic, although she didn’t put much stock in them. But it was true. It was as if she possessed a sixth sense, some kind of telepathy that warned her of trouble before it happened. It made her an outstanding police officer and had already saved her and her partner from life-threatening danger. She couldn’t explain how she knew the door to the crack house was booby-trapped but she felt it and she’d begged her partner, Conner, to trust her. He hesitated, then acquiesced, and they backed off the front porch seconds before the device exploded. The force knocked them to the ground, flat on their backs, and they ached for days but they survived. And they snagged a solid arrest when the suspect tried to run out the back door.

Good cop, yes. Good friend? Apparently not. When had she forgotten how to be one of the girls?

2

Trish paid for the tab for both meals and left the restaurant. Even fighting cross-town traffic, she’d still have time for a modified workout. A half hour at the gym would be better than nothing, and the workout would be good for her brain. She needed to clear her head, release the jumble of thoughts about Kandee and what she might be mixed up in, and forget the astonished look plastered across the dead woman’s face from this morning.

The drive took longer than she expected and only a few stragglers remained in the weight room. By now, most of the gym members were accustomed to her arriving in her police uniform and they barely noticed her as she made her way to her locker. In under five minutes, she changed into her gym clothes. She adjusted the incline on the treadmill and began to run on the moving belt. Fast. Sprinting for a full minute before slowing and then ramping it up again. Breathing hard. Running. Leaving it all behind.

After twenty minutes the pre-programmed High Intensity Interval Training slowed to a stop. But she wasn’t ready to be done. She loaded up the barbell for some chest work. Drive the bar to the ceiling. Hard. Drop it to her chest and hold before shoving it upward again. Three sets of ten and then bust out the jump rope. One-hundred jumps for a cardio burst and then back down on the bench. They called it beast mode, and she owned the zone. Sweat plastered her shirt between her shoulder blades and her exercise bra became a soggy harness. She gasped for breath. No other thoughts now than to slow down her heart rate, relax her lungs.

She opened her eyes slowly, already feeling better, and blinked to focus. Most of the gym lights were off. The classic rock music that usually blared from the sound system to motivate the weightlifters was silent. No one grunted beneath heavy weights, no sound of barbells clanging to the floor. In fact, no sound at all except running water.

She sat up straighter on the weight bench and surveyed the place. She was alone in the gym. The water, coming from the direction of the men’s locker room, turned off with a squeal and the building grew eerily silent.

Trish rose and stepped toward the locker room, wiping sweat from the back of her neck. Bryan?

He appeared in the doorway, water rivulets running down his legs to his bare feet, a towel slung low around his hips. Droplets clung to the shadow of a beard until he wiped his face with a second towel, then dragged it over his dark, naturally curly hair. It fell in waves around his head, one errant wisp tumbling onto his forehead.

Bryan owned the gym and some speculated he lived there, opening the doors at five every morning and locking them at eleven each night, seven days a week. She’d heard that his goal was to keep it open 24/7 but that would be an impossible schedule for one man. He couldn’t have much of a private life.

The sight of him half-naked jarred her. She’d wondered about Bryan, about his body that he worked so hard to keep tight. He wasn’t muscle bound and over developed like some weightlifting enthusiasts. Square, broad shoulders topped a smattering of dark chest hairs. Wet nipples peaked in the cool air. His flat stomach rippled like a washboard, just as she’d imagined. She lifted her gaze from the edge of the towel, riding provocatively low below his waist, avoiding affirmation about the rest of her fantasy.

He smiled at her, water dripping from his hair, tiny laugh lines accenting his cocoa eyes. You okay, Kleerey?

She cleared her throat. Was the heat emanating from him, the steamy shower, or her overactive hormones. Whatever the source, she was still sweating.

Where is everybody?

He rumpled his hair with the towel again. You were pretty into it. Must not’ve heard the closing announcement. Didn’t stop when half the lights automatically shut off. Looked like you needed to work it out, so I just let you go.

Bryan rarely spoke a complete sentence, as if he was in a hurry to finish a conversation.

Oh crap, I didn’t notice. I’m sorry. I was…kind of out of it, I guess.

Not a problem. Bad day?

Something like that.

Still need to lift?

No, thanks, I’ve kept you long enough. I’ll just get out of here already.

Better wait for me to walk you to that hot red sports car of yours. Open the door without the code and you’ll set off the alarm. The locals charge for false alarms. Just be a minute.

She walked to her locker to retrieve her clothes, slipping into a pair of sweatpants. A shower would have to wait. Bryan disappeared into the locker room and she tried not to think about him toweling himself dry, rubbing the soft terrycloth down his long legs, or dragging it across his tight butt. Yeah, she’d noticed. Most every woman who belonged to this facility ogled Bryan from behind. Some blatantly flirted. He seemed immune to it all. Probably smart that the owner didn’t get involved with a member.

She’d heard rumors that he was married, that he was gay, that he’d served time for drugs. More than a year ago, she joined the gym after deciding her workouts at the Recanturr police facility were counterproductive. Sweat soaked tanks clinging to her chest or her protruding nipples in the cooler cardio room proved to be a distraction—make that an attraction—for her comrades. Twice she’d been on a weight bench, her feet spread wide for balance, and a colleague had positioned himself between her legs claiming he had a question to ask her. She heard the snickers from the other men.

At the age of twenty-seven, she knew they were looking to get a rise out of her and shore up their own insecurities. So, even though the membership fee at the police gym was free, paying to belong to the Firm and Fun Fitness Center was much more desirable. Bryan gave discounts to seniors, teachers, military, law enforcement and other public servants, which helped. And he kept an eye on the clients, cognizant that not every member worked out at the same level and ensuring that the female as well as the less-fit male patrons felt comfortable. She’d seen him instructing newbies on the proper use of machines and coaching more advanced members.

She tried to arrive, do her scheduled workout tracked on her private progress chart, and exit with minimal interaction with the other members. It was just easier that way. But that didn’t keep her from hearing the gossip when she was there.

You good?

She jumped at his words.

Easy, Kleerey. Glad you aren’t carrying. You mighta killed me.

Sorry, I was lost in thought. She waited for him to key the security panel and unlock the rear door, ignoring the tantalizing whiff of his cologne. It reminded her of apple pie.

She looked over her shoulder after he switched off the remaining lights and the recessed security bulbs popped on, plunging the gym into an eerie abyss. He swung open the door, walked outside and turned to wait for her. Damn, Kleerey, I’m afraid to let you go home alone. You need a drink or something? Not like you not to focus.

She ran her hand through her sweaty hair. I’m sorry. I discovered a dead body today and then had a disagreement with my best friend. What I need is a good hot soak in the tub and for this day to be over.

Dead body? Where?

On my patrol route. It’s been the lead story on the news all afternoon. I found her shortly before the lunch hour and I swear the news media beat the forensic team to the scene. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it.

Once inside these walls, my world is the gym, Kleerey. He locked the door, keyed the alarm from his phone, and tugged the handle for reassurance. Where’d you say this was?

A vacant house for sale on South Main.

He looked at her, his eyebrows raised. Two story? Single entry? Fenced in backyard? I think the number was 222?

She blinked in the dim shadows cast by the parking lot lights. Yes. How do you know that?

They walked toward her car. Been shopping around for a house. Checked that one out. Maybe the asking price will come down now.

You want to move into a two-story house with a backyard? They’d reached her car and she unlocked the driver’s door.

No, I’m not moving. Just house hunting. Hoping to swing it. We’ll see. You sure you don’t need something?

She shrugged. A friend, maybe. Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.

He waited until she settled in the driver’s seat and started the engine. That’s doable too. He tapped twice on the rooftop. See ya.

She shifted her car into gear and exited the parking lot, glimpsing Bryan in the rearview mirror strolling to his shiny black pickup in the farthest corner of the lot. Well, that quashed one rumor. He didn’t live at the gym. Where did he live if he was in the market to relocate? The South Main house was big, four bedrooms and three bathrooms. It would be a lot of house for one man. Maybe he was married and had a family if the fenced backyard appealed to him. That might discredit another rumor, that he was a hot single guy always looking for action. Wow! The other women at the gym would be so disappointed.

She laughed as her apartment complex