Kindred: Kingpin (The Kindred Series Book 1) Page 2

  “Get inside and lock the doors and windows,” Soran instructs and she can hear him shuffling around on the other side of the call, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Thanks,” she replies, her voice trembling in relief.

  She does what he says, getting into her apartment as quickly as she can before turning and locking the door. She reaches for the passage lights, almost expecting someone to be standing there when she turns it on. Tara laughs at herself when her heart jumps as the lights turn on – the hallway empty, as usual.

  She goes about checking the room windows, almost jumping out of her skin when she feels something brush against her leg. It’s only her calico cat, Nibbles, who also jumps at the sound she lets out.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” she tells him, picking him up to soothe him. She hugs him to her chest as she goes about checking the rest of the apartment.

  Fifteen minutes later, her cell-phone rings, Soran’s personal contact number flashing on the screen.

  “No one’s in the car,” Soran tells her when she answers, “I’m outside your apartment now. I’ll wait for a while; see if anyone decides to show up. Let me know if you hear anything strange.”

  Tara almost wants to run down and camp out in the cruiser with him but she shakes the feeling away, “Okay. Thank you. Stay safe. Let me know if you need anything.”

  She ends the call and takes a few calming breathes before she begins to get ready for bed. The hot shower helps ease her nerves and eventually she goes to bed, Nibbles curled up next to her. She usually leaves a window open for him to come and go through but Tara doesn’t chance it tonight.

  In the morning, her alarm wakes her as usual. When she checks her phone, she sees a text from Soran letting her know that he’d waited as long as he could but no one had come back to the car, so eventually he’d left. When Tara steps outside to check, the van is nowhere to be seen.

  She shakes off the feeling of uneasiness that tingles at the back of her neck and prepares for the day ahead. Tara knows she won’t have time to go to the club, isn’t even sure she’ll be able to gain access to it for a second time – so she puts the story out of her head for the time being.

  She shuffles about her apartment in a distracted haze, almost forgetting to feed Nibbles when he meows indignantly, reminding her of her responsibilities. She sets some food out for him and makes sure his favourite toys are within sight before she gives him a quick ear scratch and leaves for work.

  It’s still quite early – around 6:30AM – and the sky is still a cool grey, streaks of pink dusting the clouds as the sun rises. The air is crispy, well into autumn and Tara feels the cool air wake her from her distracted stupor. She sets off in the direction of the bus stop nearest to her apartment, sliding her earphones on and hitting play on a random playlist as she walks.

  The walk isn’t long – usually around ten minutes – and when she gets to the bus-stop, she has a few minutes to spare before the next scheduled bus arrives. Tara nods her head along absentmindedly to a song coming through her earphones when she spots a strange man across the road.

  He is dressed head to toe in black – black pants, black boots, black turtleneck and a black leather jacket – with a pair of expensive looking black sunglasses over his eyes. His hair – dark brown and slicked back with a few pieces framing his face – is artfully styled and compliments the strong line of his jaw. He is strange, not for the way he looks, but for the way he looks in her neighbourhood; far too put together, expensive and aloof in her neighbourhood filled with mostly old folk and students struggling to pay their rent.

  For a moment she thinks the man is staring at her, but then he pulls out a phone and begins to fiddle with it. Tara scoffs at her own paranoia, chastising herself for working herself up. The bus arrives a moment later and she quickly forgets about the man across the street as she scrambles to find a good seat for the hour commute.

  When she finally arrives at the publications office, she barely makes it into the building before Rossin spots her and beckons her over.

  “Good morning,” Tara greets the woman, giving her a small and polite smile.

  “Morrigan,” Rossin says in her sharp tone, “I have a lead for you.”

  “Shoot,” Tara nods as she pulls out her phone to begin a voice recording.

  “There was a body found downtown, near the alleyway behind Michel’s Bar,” Tara’s eyes widen at the news, “A supposed mugging but I want you to go down and see for yourself. It’s still fresh, only reported about an hour ago so you need to leave now if we want to run the scoop.”

  “Alright,” Tara nods, “Eric coming with me or am I going alone?”

  “Lancaster’s on another story at the moment. You can handle this alone, right?”

  “Yeah,” Tara nods, “Do you want me to fill out the paperwork for the vehicle before or after I go?”

  “Do it after,” Rossin tells her, “Dominic will let you take one of the vans.”

  “Okay,” Tara replies, “I’ll debrief you when I get back,” she turns towards their building’s parking garage, informing their security guard – Dominic – of the situation. He lets her go without hassle, Rossin having sent her out without filling forms more times than Dominic would care to make a fuss over.

  When Tara gets to the address Rossin texts her, police cars are lining the street and the entire area surrounding the scene is taped off. Police officers surround the area by the dozens and block her path when Tara tries to get closer to the scene. She can’t see much passed them, just a large cloth placed over where she assumes the body is. The alleyway is filthy, lined with garbage bags and litter that permeate the air with a pungent, ripe odor that has Tara almost gagging at the smell. Her heart immediately aches for the person who died here in the worst place she can imagine dying, with some stranger discovering her body. No family, friends, lovers, no comfortable bed – or even a bed – to drift away on.

  When one of the officers spies her looking at the crime scene, he makes his way over to her and it’s then that Tara spots the familiar slant of his eyes.

  “Soran!” she greets him in surprise, “Are you on this case?”

  “Yeah,” Soran sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. She eyes the puffy swell of his eyes and the dark bags underneath them and immediately feels horrible for making him drive out to quell her paranoia, “Rossin sent you,” he says rather than asks.

  “Yeah,” Tara replies anyway and pulls out her phone, motioning to it and clicking the voice record button when Soran nods his consent, “Have you identified the person?”

  “No,” Soran sighs, “She didn’t have any form of identification on her.”

  “She?” Tara furrows her brows, “Think this might have been a gender-based crime?” she knows there’s been a spike of female related crimes lately – rape and abuse mostly – and wonders if it’s related to that.

  “I don’t think so,” he replies, “She was shot in the back,” he explains, “Looks like a simple mugging because she doesn’t have anything valuable on her but the perp got lucky, shot her spine and paralyzed her, it seems. She bled out here,” Soran grimaces.

  “That’s such a horrible way to go,” Tara mutters and she has hot tears lining her eyes before she can blink them away. She tries to force them back but a few escape and Soran chuckles when she tries to wipe at them surreptitiously.

  “Why are you on this one?” Soran asks curiously, “You don’t do violent crime stories.”

  “Rossin asked me to,” Tara shrugs, “So you have nothing else for me?”

  “Nope,” he replies, “But I’ll give you a call when we do. It’s gonna take a while to identify her.”

  Tara gets the specifics of the crime – where it happened, when they estimate that she was found, possible leads – but what Soran gives her isn’t nearly enough for a story – maybe a news blast but not the stories that she’s used to writing. She wanders around the area for a bit, speaking to the shop owners near where the body was found
but with no description or photograph of the woman, she essentially has no leads.

  Tara returns to the publications building with a promise from Soran that he’ll give her more on the case once solid details start coming in. She sets to work on one of her climate crisis stories – focusing on the rural mining towns in her area. Rossin keeps her on the Downtown Murder Case, as they’ve creatively named it – but otherwise the story is put on hold.

  Days go by and the police don’t find anything new.

  When Lillian calls to tell her that she’s in town for a few days, Tara jumps at the opportunity to distract herself from her recent dead end leads. She offers her apartment so that Lillian doesn’t have to stay at a hotel and when she pulls her door open one Friday night to find a familiar pair of green eyes staring down at her, Tara grins excitedly.

  “Lee!” she squeals, pulling her friend into a tight hug. With the increase in workload on both their parts, Tara hasn’t seen her friend in almost three months – a stark contrast to seeing each other every day during their schooling days.

  “Hi, Tara,” the blonde woman replies as she returns the hug.

  Tara ushers her into the apartment, peaking outside once more before she closes the door; the incident a few nights prior having left her paranoid.

  “How’ve you been?” Lillian asks as she sets her overnight bag in Tara’s room, leaning down to give Nibbles a quick head scratch.

  “Busy,” Tara chuckles, “But good. And you?”

  “Also busy,” Lillian lets out a tired huff of laughter, “The hospital’s given us a few days off so I thought I’d come visit you.”

  “Not going back home?” Tara asks as she wanders over to the kitchen to boil some water for coffee.

  Lillian shakes her head, “Not enough time to see everyone and I wanted a quiet weekend just this once.”

  “You’re welcome to stay here until you have to head back,” Tara offers, “I have a few things to do tomorrow morning but after that we can go out.”

  “I heard that you managed to get into Tempest,” Lillian eyes her with a raised brow.

  “For work,” Tara chuckles, “How did you find out?”

  “Your dad and my dad like to gossip about us when they get together,” Lillian snickers, “Apparently your dad wouldn’t shut up about how successful you are here in the city, mingling with all the A-Listers.”

  Tara rolls her eyes, filling Lillian’s coffee with two spoons of sugar before handing it to her, “He’s worse than a woman,” she scoffs, “I suppose he’s also complained about how he’s already almost fifty with no grandchildren.”

  “Wouldn’t know,” Lillian shrugs, “I don’t let my parents’ even broach the subject with me.”

  “I wish they’d lay off just a little bit,” Tara sighs into her cup, “Work’s already so hectic without him making me feel like I’m letting the family down because I’m already twenty-four and without children,” she says the last part in a shrill imitation of her great aunt Mary.

  “I know the feeling,” Lillian chuckles, “But they mean well. They just want us to be happy.”

  “I suppose.”

  They fall into a companionable silence for a while and Tara’s aimlessly scrolling through her phone when Lillian clears her throat. Tara looks up at her friend curiously and waits for her to speak.

  “So I may be seeing someone,” Lillian tells her in a hesitant voice.

  “What?” Tara shrieks, bug-eyed in surprise, “When? Who?”

  “He’s a doctor at the hospital,” Lillian chuckles, “It’s nothing too serious just yet, we’ve only been on one date, but he seems really nice.”

  “Is he?” and Tara nods in the direction of Lillian’s left elbow, where the blonde’s Mark sits in the crook.

  Lillian shakes her head, “No,” she gives Tara a sad smile, “But I think I want to give him a chance.”

  “I’m happy for you,” a genuine smile warms Tara’s features, “I hope it works out.”

  “Me too,” Lillian says and then after a beat of silence, “What about you? You seem to be really close with Eric…”

  “You know I’m waiting, Lee,” Tara tells her with a patient smile, “And Eric is a work colleague, nothing more. He knows that.”

  Lillian wants to argue further but decides against it when she sees the sad look in Tara’s eyes. She knows the other woman is waiting to find her Kindred and that no amount of persuasion is going to change her mind. She lets the topic fall in favour of another and tries not to stare at Tara’s Mark – always so proud and on display.

  The next day, Tara and Lillian go out for drinks at one of the local bars. They’re seated outside, overlooking the bustling street corner when Tara spots a familiar tuft of dark hair. It’s the same man from before – who she’d seen at the bus stop – and this time he’s accompanied by another man who’s dressed in a simple white button-up and slacks, the sleeves rolled up to reveal a lean arm with an expensive looking watch adorning it. They’re both leaned against a car, appearing to be waiting for someone.

  Tara stares at the man in the white shirt with rapt attention, eyes seemingly unable to drift away from him.

  “You okay?” Lillian asks, eyes following Tara’s and when they land on the attractive men a few feet away, she snickers, “You’re not being subtle.”

  Tara doesn’t reply, simply continues to stare at the man. He has on a pair of black sunglasses that cover most of his face but she can tell that he’s incredibly attractive with his strong jaw, high cheekbones and plump lips. He’s nothing like the type of man she’s usually attracted to – he looks much too arrogant and confident – so Tara doesn’t understand why she can’t bring herself to look away from him.

  When his head lifts and he turns in her direction, Tara feels her heart thump erratically. He may not be looking at her – she can’t tell with the sunglasses – but her heart thrums anyway. It’s only when the other man looks up and points in her direction, does Tara feel her blood run cold.

  “We have to go,” Tara tells Lillian, hastily throwing a few notes onto the table to cover their bill and pulling her friend along as she makes for the exit.

  “What?” Lillian’s eyes are blown wide with shock, “Why do we need to leave? And why did that guy point at you?”

  “I’ll explain later,” Tara huffs and she rounds the corner just in time to see the two men rushing into the bar. She ducks behind a few people, head dipped low as she pulls Lillian out the back entrance.

  They make it to the main road just in time as a taxi pulls up to the curb and Tara shoves Lillian in, sliding alongside her as she stresses out her address to the driver between breathes.

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Lillian snaps angrily.

  “At home,” Tara tells her, eyes warily flitting over to the driver. Lillian doesn’t press her, simply let’s Tara be until they’re in the safety of her friend’s apartment.

  “Explain,” Are the first words out Lillian’s mouth when Tara closes the front door of her apartment. She watches with narrowed eyes as her friend locks it hastily.

  “I think I’m being followed.”

  It takes Lillian a moment to process her friend’s words, “What did you do?” she snaps, “Who’s following you.”

  Tara flinches at her friend’s tone, giving her a guilty smile when she says, “So there was this drug tip-off-”

  “Tara!” Lillian yells in exasperation, “Why are you covering drug stories? You can barely open a can of tinned beans let alone defend yourself!”

  “I didn’t think it would get out of hand,” Tara shrugs and even as she says it, the reporter knows she’s lying. She simply didn’t think it through, just acted because someone asked for help.

  “Tell me why you think you’re being followed,” Lillian demands.

  So Tara tells her about the drug tip-off, about her trip to club Tempest, about her conversation with Sola and her observations of the club. She tells Lillian about the car parked ou
tside her apartment and about the man in black, the same man from today.

  “That sounds really fishy,” Lillian nods, “Do you have any idea who could be behind it?”

  “No idea,” Tara sighs in defeat, “I haven’t had a chance to go back.”

  “You’re going to go back?” Lillian asks and her tone is disapproving.

  “It’s my job, Lee,” Tara sighs, “I can’t not pursue it.”

  Lillian sees the familiar stubborn set of Tara’s jaw and knows that she’s already lost this battle. She sighs, “Just be careful. And I know someone who does self defense classes, I’ll call him tomorrow and book you a few.”

  “You know I can’t afford self defense classes,” Tara frowns.

  Lillian dismisses her with a wave of her hand, “He owes me a favour, you won’t have to pay.”