Page 1 of Raging Inferno

Prologue

Detective Presley Parrish stared at the evidence spread atop her desk, willing it to talk to her. She had to be missing some clue to last week’s homicide case which had suddenly been dropped in her lap. The crucial first forty-eight hours had passed days ago without one solid lead. She needed to solve it before it was relegated to the dustbin known as the cold case files.

Presley was good at solving puzzles and connecting the dots. If there was a clue, she would find it. She had the original detective’s notes but wanted a fresh look at everything without bias before she read his conclusion. The first thing she would focus on was motive. Who would benefit from the death? That detail could mean the difference between capturing a killer or letting one roam free on the streets.

With papers spread in front of her, she dove in. Several suspects had been interviewed, including Jerry Newman, Bob Davis, and Rich Wingo. Each had an alibi, but how would they stand up to scrutiny?

“Parrish, can you come into my office?”

She glanced up, slightly irritated that she’d been interrupted. Her eyes widened in surprise as she looked around the now-empty room. Everyone had cleared out while she’d been engrossed in forensic evidence, photos, and witness testimonies. Nice to be able to leave early, but they didn’t have a homicide to solve.

Someone cleared his throat, and she jerked her head toward the sound. Captain Ed Smith stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the door frame.

Tamping down her frustration—it wouldn’t be wise to cross the boss—she pushed from her desk and stood. “Sure.”

As she walked by him, the punch of his aftershave almost knocked her over. He rarely wore it at work. In small doses, it would smell divine. The captain must’ve bathed in it.

Many women throughout the department thought he was handsome with his salt-and-pepper hair and chocolate-colored eyes. Some even swooned and fanned themselves when he walked by. Presley didn’t see it. He did nothing for her. Besides, he was married.

Captain Smith pulled out the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

She dutifully sat.

“Are you thirsty?”

Presley realized she’d worked through dinner. In fact, she didn’t remember eating anything other than the bagel she’d grabbed on the run for breakfast.

Before she could answer, he announced, “I’m going to get us something to drink from the vending machine.”

Irritation caused her to fidget, and she glanced around, trying to figure out why he’d called her into his office. Was he going to reprimand her for something? If not, she needed to get back to her desk. The murder wasn’t going to solve itself.

No papers cluttered his desktop, so he didn’t want her advice on an active investigation. Was he going to push her on the case she’d gotten—she checked her watch—three hours ago? Surely not. It wasn’t her fault the last detective had run into a brick wall and needed help.

“Here you go. I know how you like your Diet Coke.”

She took the bottle from his hand and tipped it to her lips. She did love the stuffandwould mainline it into her veins if possible for the caffeine hit.

Captain Smith chuckled. “You must’ve been parched.”

Presley glanced at the bottle, realizing she’d downed half of it. She discreetly hid a burp. “Sorry, Captain. I was thirstier than I realized.”

“Call me Ed, Presley.”

Um, what? He was asking her to address him by his given name? She couldn’t do it. Her first name sounded weird, coming from his lips. Everyone around the precinct called her Elvis. She hated it, but the more she complained, the more they harassed her. They even hummed “Jail House Rock” whenever she brought in a suspect. She’d learned to live with it.

“Your eyes are a beautiful shade of blue, like the sky on a clear day.”

Presley swung her gaze to Ed—no, Captain Aftershave—no . . . what was his name? She couldn’t think because the move had caused her head to whirl as if she were clinging for dear life on a playground spinner, waiting for it to stop. When it did, she blinked at him, but his features contorted like Jim Carrey’s face inThe Mask. Oddly, his skin was the same shade of green too.

“Presley, have you eaten today?”

The captain’s mouth was moving, but the words sounded as if they were spoken at one end of a mile-long tunnel, taking their sweet time reaching her. Something about food or crude or nude—good grief. She hoped he wasn’t talking about getting naked. That thought made her want to vomit. So did contemplating eating anything. Her stomach rocked and rolled. Presley feared she’d be sick.

Not wanting to hurl in front of her boss, she pushed back her chair. “S’cuse me.” Lurching to her feet, she swayed as the world tilted and reached for something to steady herself. Instead, powerful arms wrapped around her.

“Woah, there, sweetheart. You don’t look well. I’m taking you home.”

Presley wanted to argue, but her tongue felt too big for her mouth, and she wasn’t sure she could walk, let alone drive. “Case, solve,” she managed.

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