Bending the Rules: Gateway Investigations, #4

By Clara Kendrick

This is the fourth book of the Gateway Investigations series containing 49,000 words of romantic suspense.

 

I am sick to death of my job as a private investigator and ready for a change. Is there a man out there who doesn't cheat, lie, or completely wimp out when the chips are down? If there is, I can't find him, and that absolutely includes the parade of MMA fighters I've been dating recently. Of course, my search for Mr. Nonexistent will have to wait until after I deal with the joker that my boss has ordered me to work with on his current pet project. Not only does he live upstairs, but he's also a lawyer. The fact that he sort of fascinates me is irrelevant. Really. If my boss's daughter wasn't such a good friend, I think I would have walked away…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Clara Kendrick
• Release date: Sep 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9798224871834

Clara Kendrick

Discover the captivating world of Clara Kendrick's romantic suspense. With her masterful storytelling and skillful blend of intrigue, romance, and passion, Kendrick draws readers in and keeps them hooked until the very end. Get ready to be swept away by her thrilling and steamy tales of love and suspense. Signup and follow at: Books2read.com/ClaraKendrick Facebook.com/AuthorClaraKendrick

Book preview

Chapter One

"Wow Dad, you’re actually in your office for once instead of sitting at your usual café table watching the justice center to make sure nobody does anything illegal without your permission."

There was no mistaking that sarcastic voice. Mitch Pulaski would have known his daughter Shawna’s dulcet tones anywhere. Did you speak to Jackson this morning?

For just a moment, Shawna answered quietly.

Shawna’s husband Jackson Handler Junior was sitting in county lockup on rape and murder charges. The poor man was accused of killing thirteen women, but Mitch knew it was all bullshit. They all did. Jackson was a good man. He wasn’t a killer. And that’s why Mitch had dedicated his considerable resources at Gateway Investigations to finding out who had really killed all those poor women.

How did any kid of mine ever become so good looking? Mitch asked Shawna affectionately. I feel like I should make you wear a T-shirt announcing your parentage.

Shawna rolled her eyes. I look like Mom, not like you. That’s why I’m good looking and not ugly as sin. You should be glad you didn’t have a second kid, Shawna informed him. Statistically that one might have looked like you, which would mean the poor thing would be hiding her face all over town.

Ha. Ha.

Yeah? Shawna slapped a stack of files on Mitch’s desk. Well nice try at changing the topic. I know you and everyone else have been trying to keep things light. I appreciate it, really. But I’m a big girl. My husband is in jail. People honestly believe he raped and murdered thirteen people.

Doesn’t make a damn bit of sense, Mitch muttered. There have been three more rape and murder cases since Jackson was put in jail and they are exactly like the previous ones. Someone is still killing.

And we have another suspect in jail!

Shit, Shawna muttered. "How the fuck did he get in here?"

The he Shawna was referring to was a little shit-dick detective named Robin Robertson who had been out to humiliate Mitch Pulaski for years. Unfortunately some idiot at the county police department had put Detective Moron on Jackson Handler’s case.

Robertson strutted into Mitch’s office. He was wearing what might have at one time been called a power suit. The black fabric had been tailored to make Robertson’s narrow shoulders and skinny legs look a little...well, less wimpy. The guy had diamond cuff links, a big fat gold watch, and his badge was hanging out of his pants pocket on a leather folder as though he thought it was akin to a heavyweight championship belt.

Shawna got right in his face. "I’m sorry, but why are you back here? You’re not an employee. You’re not a contractor. You’re not even welcome. So get your scrawny egocentric ass back out to the reception area and wait until I get there."

You know. Robertson gave Shawna a derisive up and down look that made Mitch’s blood boil. Nobody looked at his daughter like that. Nobody. Then Robertson examined his nails like some Hollywood-style villain. You might want to be nicer to the man who has your husband’s fate resting in his hands.

Really? Shawna snorted. Let me make you a promise. If you, anyone, or anything harm one hair on my husband’s head, I will cut off the protruding parts of your body and feed them to my dog while I make you watch. Got it?

There was no doubt in Mitch’s mind that Shawna would do just that. The girl was a lioness. But things were quickly spinning out of control and they still didn’t know why Robertson was gracing them with his royal-pain-in-the-ass presence.

Mitch opened his mouth to speak, but Robertson cut him off. You’d better put a muzzle on this bitch, Robertson snarled.

Robertson stabbed his index finger in Shawna’s direction and took another breath to speak. Unfortunately for him, Shawna had had enough. She grabbed his hand, twisted, pivoted neatly on one foot to turn her body and leverage her weight. In three seconds flat Robertson was flipping ass over teakettle and landing flat on his back on Mitch’s floor.

Shawna stood over him with a glare. "Don’t you ever call me a bitch again. And if you even think about filing an assault complaint against me, I will make you the laughingstock of Saint Louis before you can even finish signing off on your bullshit report. Every woman in town will know that you are a limp-dick moron who is compensating for his lack of skills in the bedroom by wearing expensive clothing and jewelry."

With those final words, Shawna turned on her heel and left Mitch’s office. Mitch lounged back in his chair and waited for Robertson to get his shit together. Having been on the receiving end of one of Shawna’s reversal throws more than once, Mitch knew that Robertson was currently experiencing the sort of loss of breath that made one feel as though one were dying.

When you’re done pissing yourself, Mitch drawled, you can go ahead and get up and tell me why you barged into my office today.

Robertson gasped. I’m going to sue that bitch.

Mitch jumped up from his chair. He closed the distance between himself and Robertson in two strides. Placing his foot on Robertson’s chest, Mitch gradually added weight. "Do not ever call my daughter a bitch again. You got me?"

Get off! Robertson was squirming.

It was disgustingly like fighting with a child. The man had almost no muscle tone. How did he manage to stay on the police force? Didn’t they have physical fitness standards? Mitch shoved himself away and stood with his arms crossed over his chest. "Now. Did you want to say something? Because my patience is wearing very thin."

I thought I would let you know that we’re charging Boone Crawford for those other three murders. Robertson scrambled to his feet. He’s claiming responsibility anyway. He wants to be just like Handler. That’s what he says. Robertson did his best to affect a careless shrug, but the affect was ruined by the fact that he was still gasping for air.

"Crawford says he wants to be like Handler?" Mitch prodded. Or is he saying he wants to be just like the murderer?

Handler. Robertson’s smirk was so damned annoying that Mitch wanted to punch it off his face. Looks like we’ve got this all tied up in a neat little bow.

Boone Crawford was a man that one of Mitch’s agents had caught a few weeks ago while looking into three copycat murders. Gateway Investigations did not believe that the additional murders were copycats. There was too much that tied them solidly to the first thirteen.

And all of that blood evidence is what? Mitch growled. Circumstantial?

The DNA is so convoluted that it might as well not even exist.

Oh yeah, you’re so right, Mitch told Robertson sarcastically. When we find forensic evidence and it confuses us, we should definitely just throw it out. Especially when it doesn’t support your choice of suspect.

Look, I came here to tell you in good faith. Robertson threw up his hands and managed to look both arrogant and supercilious. I didn’t have to do that. So instead of being a poor sport, maybe you should just accept that Handler is going to go to prison, and your daughter will finally have her wedding night once the judge grants a conjugal visit.

That was it. Mitch grabbed hold of Robertson. He shoved the man’s suit jacket up just far enough to expose his waistband, then Mitch yanked the man’s expensive dress shirt from his pants and found the edge of his undershorts. Pulling up as hard as he could, Mitch buried those undershorts in Robertson’s crack like a grade-school bully with the resident nerd.

"Ouch! What are you... Oh my God!" Robertson shrieked as Mitch kept pulling.

Finally, Mitch used the undershorts to frog march Robertson out his office door and down the hallway. The rest of Mitch’s employees were just coming in to work. They all stopped to stare. At first there was stunned silence, then a round of applause broke out.

See how fucking popular you are around here? Mitch asked roughly. He pushed Robertson toward the elevator. Shawna! Push the button!

Shawna didn’t have to be told twice. In fact this was not the first escort out of his office that Mitch had performed, although it was the most dramatic. The elevator dinged as the doors whooshed wide open.

Please see yourself out of our building, Mitch told Robertson.

The man was squeaking and whimpering as he squirmed and no doubt felt his balls retreating into his throat.

Do not come back without an appointment! With those final words, Mitch picked Robertson up and flung him bodily into the elevator.

There was another ding as the doors started to close. At the last second Shawna leaned inside and ran her hand down the control pad to hit every single button in the building between their floor and the parking garage. Then she hit the close button and retreated with a very satisfied smile.

Girl, Mitch said with a broad smile, sometimes I forget just how devious you are.

I thought it might be nice for him to get a view of all of the other floors in the building while he takes a moment to get himself put together. She offered a sweet smile. Then she sobered and pursed her lips. What did he say? Why did he come here?

They’ve charged Boone Crawford with the other three murders.

But they were all done by the same killer! Shawna burst out.

Mitch shook his head. We have to stop focusing on that. We’re running in circles. It’s time to follow the money. We need to know who was paying the professional killer to harass the judge. That’s the person who is framing Jackson for these murders. That’s the person who will know the identity of the real killer. It’s our only chance to get Jackson out of jail and clear his name for good, sweetie.

Shawna bit her lip. She was struggling. Mitch knew that. It had been weeks now since a triumphant Detective Robin Robertson had crashed her wedding reception with a warrant to arrest the groom before he could supposedly flee the country on his honeymoon. Shawna was done waiting. She was done worrying. And most of all, her patience was wearing thin when it came to the wheels of justice.

The wheels are turning sweetheart, Mitch murmured. He tried to hug Shawna, but she pulled away.

They’re turning too slowly for me, Dad. Shawna didn’t sound like herself. She sounded hard and angry. I don’t know how much longer I can hang in there without doing something pretty damn drastic.

Mitch did not want to know what drastic involved, so he tried to remind Shawna that they were working on this. It wasn’t like Gateway Investigations had given up. Juliet is pursuing the money trail. She’s got a lead with that corporate lawyer who gave us the tip off on the professional hit man.

Good for her, Shawna said bitterly. I hope she gets results a lot faster than the rest of them have. It feels like we’ve been waiting for an eternity just to find out what the hell is going on.

Shawna turned and walked back to her desk. Mitch watched her go. He felt helpless and that wasn’t a normal thing for him. He was a man of action. He was someone who worked to get things done. He never sat around and waited for other people to make things happen. He was the one right in the middle, spearheading investigations and getting in the faces of public figures that didn’t do their jobs. But right now he was running out of people to shake down. There was nobody else to accuse or pressure. In the end it came down to truth and what you believed justice really was.

Chapter Two

Sometimes Juliet Tierney could not help but wonder if she had broken a mirror somewhere that she was unaware of. Her luck lately had sucked. There was absolutely no question about it. Although the sucky luck phenomenon hadn’t started just recently. Maybe it had started last year when the new guy had moved into her apartment building.

Juliet liked her building. She liked the fact that there were only four units. The pretty brick structure had once been a large single-family home. It was close to the Saint Louis County Justice Center and that meant it was a short commute for her to work. Her upstairs neighbor was a very quiet single, middle-aged nurse who worked nights and slept during the daytime. On the rare occasions that she wasn’t working, she was an avid enjoyer of cruise ships. The guy who occupied the first-floor apartment across the hall from Juliet was a writer. He wasn’t just quiet. He was a straight-up hermit.

Of course that left the upstairs apartment across the hall, which had been rented by a lawyer. It wasn’t unusual in this part of town. There were plenty of law offices centered around the justice center. But this particular lawyer was single and could not seem to get the message that Juliet just wasn’t interested.

With a deep sigh, she flung her legs over the side of her bed and sat up. She groggily rubbed her eyes and wished that she could just go back to sleep. Maybe when she woke up this stupid Handler case would be over and done with. Juliet was tired of trying to figure out why someone would want to frame Jackson Handler Junior. She was tired of hearing about something in the neighborhood of sixteen grisly rapes and murders. She was tired of thinking about the poor victims and wondering if their families were feeling as confused and conflicted as everyone else in town. And most of all Juliet was sick and tired of her boss−Mitch Pulaski of Gateway Investigations−tasking the whole company with solving this case.

Another day, another dollar. Juliet heaved herself to her feet and staggered into the bathroom. She would not be human until she’d had a shower.

The buzzing of her front door was so loud and so startling that Juliet almost fell over. She turned to stare out her bedroom door toward the horrible noise emanating from the front of her apartment.

Who the hell would ring my bell before eight in the morning? she grumbled. Oh wait. I already know the answer to that one.

With that in mind, Juliet ignored the ringing of the front doorbell and went straight to the shower. She turned on the hot water and climbed underneath the spray. It felt so good that for just a second she managed to forget that her boss had ordered her to work with that