Manhattan Dragon Read online

  He’d lost time. He’d been upstairs at the Stevensons’, then in the blink of an eye he was in the kitchen. Maybe he needed another psych eval. He rubbed his temples. He’d long ago dealt with his abusive upbringing in therapy and so far hadn’t suffered any long-term psychological issues. Could a person have delayed onset PTSD? Maybe. But he wasn’t having flashbacks or anxiety attacks.

  The entire ride back to the precinct, he stewed over his actions and was so deep in thought he didn’t notice his partner, Soren, standing in the door to his office until the man said something.

  “How’d it go last night?”

  Nick snapped out of his reverie. “All right, I guess.”

  “Thanks for covering for me. Rhonda woulda divorced me if I missed our anniversary again for my side hustle.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded check. “Here’s what we agreed on.”

  “Thanks.” He rubbed his eyes. “Hey, can I ask you something about that job?”

  “Sure.” Soren shrugged.

  “You ever have anything weird happen when you’re there?”

  “Weird like what?”

  “Like things move and shit. Like does the air-conditioning blow real hard or something?”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about right now, Nick, but you’re kinda worrying me. What the fuck happened?”

  “Come in and sit down for a minute.”

  Soren took the chair across the desk, and Nick gave him a play-by-play of finding himself in the kitchen and the rumpled comforter.

  “But you checked the video and there was nothing there?”

  “Yeah. One second it’s flat, the next rumpled. The diamonds were still in the safe. Nothing missing.”

  “Did you bookmark the recording?”

  “Yeah, of course I did.”

  “I’ll take a look. I need to run out there this afternoon anyway to review Mr. Stevenson’s security plan for some big gala he’s planning.”

  “Thanks.” He cracked his neck. “I just can’t shake that something about that night was wrong.”

  Soren frowned. “Coming from you, that gives me the willies. Your gut feelings have a habit of saving lives.”

  “I promise you, my instincts are not infallible.”

  “But they’re pretty damned sharp.”

  “I’m not sure about that. I saw a woman this morning I could have sworn I’d met before. She wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

  “So she’s definitely met you before.”

  “Okay smart-ass.”

  Soren’s smile faded. “Seriously, my friend. I think you just need some rest.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “And as for the girl, if she turned you down, she ain’t worth it.” Soren smacked him on the shoulder.

  Nick grinned. “Or maybe she knows what’s good for her. I suck at relationships. Can’t get beyond the dating stage. As soon as it gets serious, I head for the hills.”

  Soren frowned. “Weren’t you serious with that one who…”

  “The one who died. Katy.”

  “Sorry.”

  “That was seventeen years ago. I was barely twenty-one, and the fact is, it was casual. I mourned her, but it wasn’t like I was married to her.” Almost everyone in Manhattan had known someone who’d lost their life on 9/11. Katy had been a good friend, a fun date, and an undeniable hero, but he hadn’t loved her in the way Soren loved Rhonda.

  “And no one special since?”

  He shook his head. “Not my bag. Too busy saving the world.”

  Soren laughed. “Northern Manhattan anyway. You take on almost twice the cases of any other detective in the borough. And that last one. Ugh.”

  The last case he’d cracked had been difficult. Domestic abuse. Husband murdered his wife. Nick had solved the murder just in time to pull the bound teenage daughter from a car her father had set on fire. He’d been awarded the Governor’s Medal of Valor for that one. The honor didn’t help him sleep at night, but knowing the murderer was behind bars did.

  “I like to know I’ve made a difference. And it’s not like I have a Rhonda at home waiting for me.”

  Soren stood and gave him a wink. “Well, don’t work too hard. You know what they say about all work and no play.” He gave a two-fingered salute before slipping out the door and returning to work.

  Nick frowned. “Yeah, it keeps you from getting your heart broken.”

  “Miss Rowan, do you like my picture?”

  Rowan stopped behind Elijah as she navigated the rows of children painting at their desks. For three decades, she’d been running Sunrise House, teaching art to children in the way Alexander had taught her when she was a whelp. Art had come naturally to her brother, but not to her. Only through his patience and perseverance had she learned that bringing a paintbrush to canvas could be an escape. She’d desperately needed an escape back then, from the Obsidian Palace, her mother’s expectations, and from the wants and needs of her native realm of Paragon. Her goal was to provide that same escape to these children.

  She loved these kids. She provided a safe place for them from the time school let out until the early evening when, under the best of circumstances, a parent or relative could be home to meet them. Under the worst circumstances, she was the only real adult influence in their life, and she took that responsibility seriously.

  All the children came from disadvantaged backgrounds. Some were simply poor. That was the best scenario. A poor child who was both healthy and loved was very lucky indeed. It was the neglected kids she tried to focus on. The ones she knew left an empty house and went home to the same. She fed them, provided clothing, paid for their transportation. She had children who came all the way from the Bronx. Everyone was welcome, and she enrolled as many as the large building she owned could hold. Sunrise House was in an ideal location, in close proximity to the train and those in need. She was free now and she was rich, and she applied both those blessings liberally to helping the children of Sunrise House overcome their circumstances.

  “Oh, this is very good, Elijah. I love your use of color and perspective in this piece.” Rowan made sure to put on her most serious face as she assessed Elijah’s painting over his shoulder. The nine-year-old didn’t want a flippant compliment but her undivided attention. He’d painted Sunrise House as many of the children here did. In many ways, this place was home to them. “Tell me about your painting.”

  “I wanted it to look happy since everyone here is always happy.” Elijah turned to look at her, and she could see dusky circles under his dark brown eyes. “This is the sun, and I made just one cloud in the sky because it’s a sunny day. This is Sunrise House, and this is you and me holding hands.”

  “What’s this?” Rowan pointed to the corner of the painting where there was a figure sitting in a dark box.

  “That’s me at home. The lights in our house don’t work anymore, so it’s always dark.”

  “Your family doesn’t have electricity? Is your water working?”

  “Yeah, the water still works.”

  Rowan forced her face to remain impassive for Elijah’s sake. She’d look up his address later and have her lawyer, Adrienne, pay off the family’s bills and get the lights back on. It was something she did regularly.

  “Did you have dinner yet? The chicken is here.” Today was Wednesday. Roasted chicken, white rice, broccoli, salad, fresh fruit, bread. She was firm with the catering company. Healthy, well-balanced meals. “You can go get some if you’re hungry.”

  He jumped out of his chair and raced toward the cafeteria. A few children followed; others stayed with their art. There were two hundred kids in the program with employees and volunteers from the community providing academic help, athletic training, instruction in the arts, and even college preparatory studies for the older teens. This place was her heart and soul. She gave these children what she never had herself from the adults in her life—someone who cared about them and their individual dreams.


  “Miss Valor?”

  Rowan turned to find Adrienne, her lawyer, behind her, clutching his briefcase.

  “Not here.” She notified the head art instructor that she was leaving the floor and then motioned to Adrienne. “Come with me.”

  He nodded and followed her into her private office. Adrienne Sarcosi was a balding man with a fringe of white hair trimmed neatly around the sides of his head. Perceptive blue eyes peered at her from over a nose that roughly resembled a plum tomato and a set of thin lips that seemed to blend into his pale, spotted face. Adrienne was a good friend and an even better lawyer, and what he lacked in traditional good looks, he made up in loyalty and smarts. Rowan had admired him for decades.

  “Did you get it?” she asked once they were safely inside her office.

  “A temporary injunction, yes. Gerald Stevenson can’t evict you until the land lease expires, per your contract.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Don’t get too excited, Rowan. You know how this works. The Stevensons have a lot of money. In my professional opinion, people like that get what they want eventually, and he wants you out sooner rather than later.”

  She cursed. “We should have seen this coming. I should have never bought a building on a land lease.”

  “How could you have known that Gerald and Camilla would buy the land out from under you from the church who’d owned it for almost a century, or that the blank check you offered them wouldn’t be enough to buy it back? You must know this is about gentrification and corporate greed. They don’t want a community center here. I’m sure they plan to bribe the rezoning board and turn this space into a strip mall. The deal was as crooked as they come, and there’s not a single thing we can do about it.”

  “Can’t you find something on Stevenson? Keep him wrapped up in court cases until he lets us stay just to get the bee out of his bonnet?”

  “Suing them would open your corporation up to a level of scrutiny you do not want.” He lowered his chin and gave her a steady glare. She was a dragon who had lived many lives hiding behind Firebrand, Inc. Officially, the company bought and sold art and antiquities. Unofficially, it allowed her to own property that was not attached to her personally, giving her the freedom to change her identity or become invisible on a whim. Adrienne was right; piss Stevenson off and he’d dig into her past. It wouldn’t take long for him to realize she didn’t have one.

  “Did you offer them cash? I have almost unlimited funds, Adrienne. If we can’t bribe Stevenson, can we bribe the companies that plan to move in here?”

  He groaned. “I tried. After some serious digging, I have reason to believe that this is about more than money. Turns out the Stevensons have no intention of managing the property themselves. They’re working on behalf of a corporation called NAVAK, Inc. I can’t find any information on NAVAK. Their records are as tightly sealed as yours are, Rowan. If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if there was another dragon behind the corporate curtain.” He pushed a piece of paper across the table with a logo and an address in the Cayman Islands.

  She lifted the page and took a closer look. The logo was a diamond shape with NAVAK in gothic lettering inside it. She’d never seen anything like it before. “It’s not a dragon. We’re very territorial. I wouldn’t rule out another supernatural entity, but it’s not one I’m aware of, and I’ve been running in these circles for a long time. Maybe it’s a foreign entity buying up American real estate.”

  “Possible.”

  “Anyway, keep trying. And just in case, start shopping for an alternative space of similar size. These kids need stability. I can’t have them with no place to go. Not even for one day.”

  “Of course. But you need to be aware that a space like this is almost unheard of in Manhattan anymore. You bought this building decades ago. I’ll be lucky to find something half the size for twenty times as much as you paid for this.”

  “Money is no object.”

  “I’ll get started right away.”

  “Thank you, Adrienne.”

  She sat down at her desk and examined the logo again. If it was a supernatural corporation, there was one person who might know. She shook her head. No way would she go there. Not unless she was absolutely desperate.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning, Nick awoke to a cold, wet nose assaulting his cheek. “Good morning, Rosco.”

  His German shepherd gave him a lick up the side of the face and chuffed in his general direction.

  “Yeah, yeah. Okay.” He rolled out of bed and pulled on a pair of running shorts and an NYPD T-shirt, then grabbed the leash off the hook by the door of his rent-controlled, one-bedroom apartment. The park was beautiful this time of year, but he had another motivation for the exercise that morning. The woman, Rowan, was on his mind again, had haunted his dreams until he woke up in the middle of the night with his dick in his hand and her face emblazoned on his mind.

  It wasn’t like him to obsess about a woman. Rowan had made it clear she wasn’t interested. What was he, some kind of stalker? He knew nothing about her. Probably would never see her again.

  He pounded the pavement faster, Rosco finding his stride beside him. So he had a little crush. He needed to treat this like one. She was Beyoncé or Gisele. Out of his league and out of his reach. He needed to leave it at that.

  “Hey you, Mistah Nick!”

  He jogged to a halt and waved to Regine under the bike overpass. The homeless woman was a regular fixture on his morning jogs. He’d discovered early on that she liked where she was, liked the freedom of being transient, and wouldn’t entertain any talk of shelters. Occasionally he could convince her to accept small comforts, a coat in the winter, clean blankets, a cup of coffee. Most of all, he liked her. Loved her spirit and her refreshing authenticity. Regine was who she was.

  “Miss Regine, how are you this sunny morning?”

  “Good, good, Mistah Nick. You know, that udda woman who come here, Alice, she brought me this magazine yesterday.” She held up a Cosmo and gave him a wide smile. “Quiz in here about how to know if you’re in love or lust. I say who care? I take either.”

  Nick chuckled. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a Cosmo girl.”

  She laughed until her shoulders shook. “I read to remember all the crazies out there.” She pointed toward the city outside the park.

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Regine. We’re all a little crazy.”

  “Ahhh. You a good man, Nick. When you gonna get yourself a woman?”

  He shrugged. Visions of Rowan stretched out across his sofa sprang up in his noggin like she was taking up residence there. He rubbed his head.

  “Ohhh, Mistah Nick. What that look? I think you in love.”

  He pointed at the scar running through his eyebrow. “Who’d love this ugly mug?”

  “You all right.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Womens only care ’bout you treating ’em right. You treat your woman right?”

  “If I had one, I could tell you.” Rosco bumped his knuckles with his nose and Nick checked the time. “Sorry, Regine. I gotta run. Rosco needs to do his business, and I’m going to be late for work.” He pulled a few bills from his pocket and handed them to her. “Here. You need coffee with that Cosmo.”

  She clucked her tongue. “You a good man, Mistah Nick. I think you be very nice to your woman.”

  “Thanks. I’ll know where to come if I need a reference.” He took off running again, her laugh filling the air.

  No sooner was Nick showered and dressed and in his vehicle than his portable squawked at him. Death scene, not too far from him. Soren was already there with the first responders, and the coroner was on his way. Nick hurried to the address the dispatcher gave him.

  “Nick,” Soren said. “Called you the second I got confirmation. Female, early twenties, found naked by the morning garbage crew, no ID.”

  Nick assessed the scene. The body had been dumped like a used tissue. That’s the first thing
Nick thought when he saw the woman. She was already gray and her position was such that it was pretty clear she’d been disposed of after death. No one alive would remain in the oddly splayed position and, although her wounds were ghastly, there was no blood at the scene.

  “What do you make of this?” Soren asked him.

  “She wasn’t killed here. No blood. What do you think made those marks?”

  “Her wounds? Neck, back, arms, thighs. I haven’t figured that out yet.”

  “It’s like she was pierced ritualistically. The marks are oddly placed.” Nick thought for a moment. “What if it was a fetish thing gone wrong? Those could be hook marks for suspension.”

  “You think this was sex play?”

  Nick shrugged. “It’s possible.”

  “There’s a tat on her wrist.”

  Nick pulled on a pair of gloves and carefully tilted the victim’s arm. A diamond had been tattooed on her inner wrist with the old-timey letters NAVAK filling the interior space. He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture. “You ever seen anything like this?”

  Soren glanced down at his feet.

  “Soren?”

  “Maybe, but, uh…” He looked over his shoulder at the rest of the team combing through the scene.

  Nick dropped the woman’s wrist and peeled off his glove into a garbage bag. “Come on. In here.”

  He led Soren toward a door that read Sunrise House, its letters embossed over the orange face of a rising sun. It was quiet just inside the door, someplace private to talk. He ushered Soren inside. “Spill it.”

  He froze when the closing door wafted the scent of orange peels and smoke over him. Was it possible the woman from the diner had been here? Rowan. He gave his head a shake.

  “Nick? You okay?”

  “The tattoo. Where’ve you seen that tattoo?”

  “Look…” He rubbed his jaw. “I love my wife, okay?”