Best Served Cold (Otter Creek Book 6) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  About the Author

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  About the Author

  BEST SERVED COLD

  Rebecca Deel

  Editor: Jack Williams

  Cover Designer: Melody Simmons

  Copyright © 2015 Rebecca Deel

  All rights reserved.

  To my amazing husband.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Pain exploded at the back of U.S. Marshal Stella Grayson’s head. She dropped to her knees with a soft groan, purse slipping from her hands. From the obsidian darkness, a booted foot slammed into her ribs, hard and fast. The momentum of the kick flung her against the outer wall of the apartment.

  More kicks to her torso followed. Stella blocked the strikes, her movements too slow to be effective. She rolled, hoping to move out of range. Hard hands grabbed Stella, yanked her upright and shoved her back against the wall.

  A sliver of moonlight filtered through the curtains and revealed a man six feet tall wearing a black stocking mask. One large hand wrapped around her throat and squeezed. His other hand fisted and plowed into her jaw. Her head snapped to the side, stars flashing behind her eyelids. Another punch, this one to her cheek. When he released her, Stella collapsed to the floor, pain swamping her body.

  A harsh whisper reached her ears. “You shouldn’t have interfered.”

  Heavy footsteps raced through the door. “U.S. Marshal. Hands up.” Seconds later, a gun discharged. A groan was followed by the sound of solid weight hitting the ground.

  A body. From her position flat on the ground, Stella fought to open her eyes. Failed. Footsteps rushed from the apartment.

  The copper scent of blood and the stink of cordite assaulted her nose. She forced herself to focus, not an easy task when every muscle in her body hurt and her head pounded.

  She listened for the signs of someone lurking nearby and heard nothing except the hum of the heating system. She didn’t sense anyone watching her. No choice but to chance an unknown assailant realizing she was conscious. Stella raised her eyelids a fraction of an inch and frowned. Pitch black except for a slice of moonlight. She took another minute to assess her situation and gather her strength. Moving in slow motion, she drew herself to her hands and knees. The room pitched and swayed.

  Pervasive weakness almost dragged her body to the floor. She hung her head, breathed. The overpowering scent of death filled her nostrils. She fought back the nausea. Crime scene. Only rookies puked at crime scenes.

  After her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Stella scanned her living room. Remains of a shattered lamp lay near the end table. Her rocking chair rested on its side. Books littered the floor, the contents of her purse scattered near the door. Her Sig Sauer had skidded under the end table.

  She continued to scan the disarray in her turtle-speed search for the body. No mistaking that stench.

  She rose to her knees and turned. Stella froze. A man in a dark suit lay sprawled face down on the floor, head facing away from her. Dread curled in her gut as she stood. She stumbled from the body in a wide circuit around the room to preserve the scene. She needed to see the man’s face.

  She dragged in a ragged breath. Ty Barnes’ blue eyes stared at nothing, his white shirt stained with blood. She closed her eyes. Who would tell his wife?

  Stella lurched toward the kitchen phone and dialed 911. After stating her name and badge number, she reported the assault and murder. Assured officers were en route, she grabbed her cell phone and called her partner, Deke Creed.

  His deep rumble came through the speaker. “What up, Stel?”

  “I was ambushed at my apartment. Ty Barnes tried to help and now he’s dead, murdered in my living room.”

  “Did you see the attacker?”

  She heard thumps and Deke’s wife’s soft murmur in the background. “Not enough to help.” Her voice quivered before she gained control again. “It was dark and the guy wore a ski mask.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’ll live.” She sat on a chair. “I haven’t hurt this much since the academy.”

  “I’m leaving right now. I’ll be at your place in a few minutes.”

  She ended the call, buried her face in her hands, and flinched at the pain from the facial bruises. In the distance, the sound of sirens pierced the peaceful Nashville night. When an authoritative pounding rattled her front door, Stella rose on shaky legs and admitted the Metro Nashville police officers.

  “Marshal Grayson?” the dark-haired one asked.

  “That’s right.” She stepped back. “The homicide victim is Tyler Barnes.”

  “You know him?” the blond asked.

  “He’s my boss.”

  A soft whistle. “Detectives are on the way, ma’am. I’ll stay with you in the kitchen while Carter secures the scene.”

  Standard stuff, she reminded herself. At least if the perp returned, she had backup. Stella resumed her seat and glanced at the stove clock. Just after midnight. She’d parked in the lot ten minutes earlier. Seemed like a lifetime.

  A second siren cut off. A moment later, low male voices murmured by the front door.

  A man wearing a jacket and loose tie strode into the kitchen, his blond hair rumpled as if he’d run his hands through the strands many times over the course
of his shift. “Marshal Grayson, I’m Detective Cal Taylor. An ambulance will be here soon.” He knelt beside her, scanning her face. Taylor whistled. “Perp did a number on you.”

  A small smile curved her mouth. “I feel it.”

  “How serious are your injuries?”

  “Lots of bruising.” She drew in a deeper breath which she regretted. “Maybe cracked ribs. More things hurt as the minutes pass.”

  “I bet. I understand the deceased is your boss, Tyler Barnes.”

  She blinked back the tears that stung her eyes. “Yes.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “I worked late and arrived at home about 11:50. I let myself into the apartment. As soon as I closed the door, a man hit the back of my head.”

  Taylor’s gaze sharpened. “You’re sure it was a man?”

  “Positive. Six feet tall. Not an ounce of flab on him. Hard hands.”

  “Did you recognize him?”

  She paused, thought through the assault. “Something about him was familiar, but I don’t know what.”

  “Did he say anything to you?”

  “He told me I shouldn’t have interfered.”

  “Do you have any idea what he was referring to? A case, maybe?”

  “Probably. Nothing else makes sense.” He had a job to do, but her head throbbed. Her body ached and she really needed to lie down somewhere soft and flat.

  “Why was Barnes here?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I left him at the office. He tried to help and ended up dying. He has a wife and three kids, Detective.”

  “I’m sorry, Marshal Grayson.”

  “Please, it’s Stella.”

  “Stella, then. We’ll transport you to the hospital as soon as the ambulance arrives. Is there someone you want me to call?”

  Her thoughts turned to Nate Armstrong, the Delta operative she’d been dating for two months. He’d been deployed on a mission with Fortress Security. She wasn’t sure he was back in country yet. “I called my partner, Marshal Deke Creed. He’ll arrive soon.”

  “Do you remember anything else which might help me find the perp?”

  “I’m having a hard time concentrating.”

  Taylor pulled out a card and laid it next to her hand. “I’ll be in touch, but if you think of anything, call me. We take it personally when we lose one of our own.” He gave a small smile. “Even if it is a fed.”

  A commotion at her door drew her attention to the front of the apartment. Her partner, Deke, strode into the room, badge displayed on his hand. “Deke.”

  He turned his gaze to the detective. “U.S. Marshal Deke Creed.”

  “Cal Taylor, homicide.” Taylor’s eyes assessed Stella’s partner. “I’m sorry for your loss, Marshal Creed.”

  “Ty was a good man.”

  “Will your office want to notify his family?”

  Deke sighed, rubbed his hand over his jaw. “Yeah, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Does the weapon on the floor belong to the perp, Stella?”

  “That’s my Sig.”

  “We’ll run a ballistics test on it.”

  She nodded. “I didn’t shoot him, Detective.”

  “Then a ballistics test will clear you. As you know it takes time to finish with crime scenes. I’ll catch up with you at the hospital.”

  Nate Armstrong slapped his hand on the nightstand, searching for his ringing cell phone. Locating the cell with its offensive wakeup call, he squinted at the screen. His eyebrows rose. Late for Creed to call.

  His stomach knotted and he sat up in a hurry. Stella. Had something happened to her? That possibility had populated his worst nightmares in the last two months. Nate thumbed the answer button. “Armstrong.”

  “It’s Deke. Stella’s in trouble.”

  Adrenaline surged into his system as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and punched the speaker button. “What happened? Is she all right?” he asked, grabbing a pair of black jeans and a black t-shirt from his dresser.

  “She was ambushed in her apartment. The perp beat her and killed our boss in her living room.”

  He stilled. “How bad are her injuries?”

  “A lot of bruising, maybe cracked ribs. She’s been transported to St. Thomas Hospital, Mid-Town.”

  Nate yanked on his jeans and t-shirt while Deke recounted what information he knew. After tying his combat boots, he opened his closet door and grabbed his Go bag. “Does she know who the assailant is?”

  “No. This will be ugly, Nate. Stella doesn’t know why Ty was at her apartment, much less who to trust or why she was targeted.”

  “She’s positive she was the target?”

  “Oh, yeah. The perp told her she shouldn’t have interfered.”

  “Do you know what he was referring to?”

  “No, and neither does Stella.”

  He grabbed his Sig and several magazines along with his backup piece. He slid his Ka-Bar into his Go bag. All the rest of his work tools were packed. “I’m four hours away, Deke. Don’t leave her side until I get there.” Didn’t matter if Deke resented orders from him. Stella mattered to Nate. Since he couldn’t be at her side for a few hours, he needed someone he trusted to protect her.

  “I won’t,” he promised.

  “I don’t care how you clear it, but I want access to her room.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Show your ID to the marshal on her door. I’ll contact you when she’s assigned a room.”

  Nate’s jaw clenched. “Is this marshal someone you trust with Stella’s life?”

  “I’m driving to the hospital now. I won’t leave her side so it doesn’t matter who’s on the door. No one will have another shot at her. You have my word.”

  “Copy that.”

  Nate stuffed several changes of clothes into his duffel bag. He grabbed his phone and punched in Josh Cahill’s number. His friend growled a greeting.

  “Wakey, wakey, newlywed.”

  “Armstrong, do you know what time it is? I got off shift a couple hours ago.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Quit whining. It’s not like Otter Creek, Tennessee is a den of terrorists. You were probably bored stiff.”

  “Right. I’ll take you on patrol with me one night. You didn’t call to harass me. What’s up?”

  “Stella’s in trouble.”

  “Talk to me.”

  He gave his friend a rundown of the situation. “She needs to heal before we run the perp to ground. Would Kelter let me stay at the cabin with Stella?” Josh’s brother-in-law owned a cabin Nate and his teammates stayed in during the summer. Located outside of Nashville, the cabin was close enough for her to stay involved in the investigation, but isolated enough to suit Nate. He wouldn’t give Stella’s assailant another crack at her.

  “I’m sure it won’t be a problem. He’s on third shift tonight. I’ll call him, see if he can meet you at the station on your way out of town. Will you need the rest of Durango?”

  Nate’s Delta unit was as tight as family. All of them would come if he asked. “Not sure. I won’t know until I see Stella and find out what’s happening. Major, Deke doesn’t know why she was targeted.”

  “I’ll alert the rest of the team. We’ll be ready to roll if you need us. Keep in touch, Nate,” his unit commander ordered. “We have your back and Stella’s.”

  “Roger that.” He grabbed his gear, locked up, and stored his bags in his SUV. After a stop to fill his gas tank and buy a large coffee, Nate drove to the police station in the center of town. Rod Kelter, Josh’s brother-in-law and one of two Otter Creek police detectives, waited at the curb.

  As soon as Nate parked, Rod handed over a set of keys. “Meg and I were at the cabin last weekend. Pantry’s stocked. You’ll need perishables. Sorry to hear about Stella, Nate. Tell her we’re thinking about her.”

  “Will do. Thanks, man.”

  “If we can help, let us know.”

  With a nod, Nate backed into the town square and drove out of town. When he
reached cruising speed on Highway 18, he called Deke. “I’ll arrive at the hospital about four o’clock.”

  “Perfect. I’m outside Stella’s examination room. You concentrate on getting here in one piece. I’ll keep her safe.”

  “I’m counting on you, Deke.” His voice sounded thick to his own ears.

  A pause from the marshal. “You really care about her, don’t you?”

  “Stay with her and get me clearance.”

  “Already working on it. See you in a few hours.”

  Nate sipped his coffee and sailed past the posted speed limit. Thirty minutes into the journey, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the readout on the SUV’s dashboard. “Hey, Rio.” Should have known Durango’s medic would be the first to touch base with him about Stella.

  “What do you know about Stella’s injuries?”

  “Just speculation from Deke. Bruising, maybe cracked ribs.”

  “Soft tissue damage. She’ll be sore for a while.”

  “Her boss showed up at her place. The assailant killed him.”

  A soft whistle came from the speaker. “Does Stella know what prompted the attack?”

  “Not according to Deke.”

  “Josh said you’re taking Stella to Rod’s cabin.”

  “She needs a safe place to recover.”

  “If her injuries aren’t bad, she will be released today, tomorrow at the latest. Quinn and I are loading up. We’ll arrive an hour behind you. Josh and Alex are on standby.”

  He smiled. Durango considered Stella one of their own. His teammates would take this attack personally, just as they would anyone who hurt Josh’s wife, Del, or Alex’s wife, Ivy.

  “We’ll figure out who hurt her, Nate. By the time Durango’s finished with him, he’ll wish he never looked Stella’s direction much less laid a hand on her.”

  Rio might be a medic, but he was as tough as any other member of their Delta unit. He hated anyone mistreating a woman. “I have first dibs on him.”

  “Quinn and I will meet you at the cabin. Rod told us where the spare key is located. What do you want us to pick up at the grocery store?”

  Nate thought a moment, then said, “Fresh vegetables including potatoes to bake, soft fruit, chicken breasts, ginger ale in case she’s nauseated. If you find a lean roast, pick that up as well.”