Dead Air (Savannah Shadows Psychological Thrillers #3)

Chapter 1

chapter

one

The night was oppressively humid with clouds gathering overhead, typical for Savannah in August. Detective Erin Lawson leaned against her unmarked car, the metal still warm beneath her palm despite the late hour.

She wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and checked her watch for the third time in as many minutes. Monica was late.

That last part had raised flags, but Lawson trusted her partner's judgment.

Monica Landry had been with Savannah PD for eight years, two years longer than Lawson herself.

They'd been partners for the last three years, and during the past eleven months, their relationship had evolved beyond the professional boundaries of the force—a fact they kept carefully hidden.

Lawson's phone buzzed. A text from Monica: Two minutes away. Get ready.

Lawson shoved her phone back into her pocket and drew her service weapon, checking it before returning it to her holster.

The Rafferty investigation had been consuming their lives for months now—a drug trafficking operation that reached into the highest echelons of Savannah society.

They were close to a breakthrough. Monica had been working her connections, and it seemed she'd finally hit pay dirt.

She took a long drag from her cigarette, the ember glowing orange in the darkness.

The nicotine did little to calm her frayed nerves.

The distant thrum of an engine broke the night's stillness.

Headlights flashed once, briefly illuminating the crumbling brick facade of the warehouse.

Lawson recognized Monica's silver sedan as it pulled alongside her own unmarked cruiser.

"Thought you'd quit," Monica said, nodding at the cigarette as she opened the door.

Lawson flicked ash onto the pavement. "I quit quitting. What took you so long?" Lawson asked as Monica stepped out.

"Had to shake a tail," Monica replied, glancing nervously over her shoulder. Stray tufts of her usually immaculate dark hair jutted out at wild angles, and her olive complexion looked pale even in the moonlight.

“A tail? What's going on? Why are we meeting here, anyway?" Lawson asked.

"I think someone at the precinct is compromised."

Lawson frowned. "That's a serious accusation."

"I know it is." Monica's eyes darted around the darkness surrounding them. "I've been following the money on the Rafferty case. The deeper I dig, the more convinced I am that someone's protecting their operation from the inside."

"You have proof?" Lawson asked, her pulse quickening.

Monica shook her head. "Not yet. But I have a source meeting me tonight. Says they have evidence—bank records, offshore accounts, the whole nine yards."

"Jesus," Lawson whispered. "When's this meeting?"

"Twenty minutes from now."

"Here? This place is—"

"Neutral ground," Monica interrupted. "My source picked it. Said it would be safe."

A flicker of unease crawled up Lawson's spine. "I don't like this, Mon. It feels off."

Monica reached out, her fingertips brushing against Lawson's wrist—the closest thing to public affection they ever allowed themselves. "Trust me, Erin. This is our chance to break this case wide open."

Lawson checked her watch again. "Fine. Twenty minutes. Then we take what we have to Internal Affairs, with or without your source."

Monica nodded, then tensed suddenly, her eyes fixed on something behind Lawson. "Did you hear that?"

Lawson turned, her hand moving to her holster. The warehouse loomed like a hulking beast, its windows black and empty. "Hear what?"

"I thought I heard—" Monica stopped, shaking her head. "Never mind. Probably just rats."

Lawson wasn't convinced. "Let's wait in my car."

They started toward the car when a sharp crack split the air. Lawson felt something whiz past her ear, followed by the metallic ping of a bullet striking her car door.

"Get down!" she yelled, drawing her weapon and pushing Monica toward the ground. They scrambled behind the cruiser as two more shots rang out, shattering the driver's side window.

"My source," Monica gasped. "It must be a setup."

Lawson peered around the car's bumper, trying to locate the shooter in the darkness. Another shot, this one closer, struck the pavement inches from her foot. The muzzle flash gave away the position—second-floor window of the warehouse.

"I'm calling for backup," Lawson said, reaching for her radio.

"No time," Monica replied, her own weapon drawn now. "We need to move. That car won't shield us for long."

Lawson nodded grimly. "On three, we make for the loading dock entrance. One … two …"

Before she could say "three," Monica was on her feet, sprinting toward the warehouse. Lawson cursed under her breath and followed, keeping low as another shot kicked up dirt at her heels. The loading dock was thirty yards away, exposed ground with no cover.

Lawson stood but a brilliant white floodlight suddenly blazed to life, mounted on the corner of the warehouse. The harsh beam swept across the lot, blinding her. She threw up her arm to shield her eyes, spots dancing in her vision.

In that blinding moment of vulnerability, a shot cracked through the night.

Lawson blinked to clear her vision. As the world came back into focus, she saw Monica standing exposed in the floodlight's merciless glare, her body jerking backward. A dark stain blossomed across her white blouse, spreading with terrifying speed.

"Monica!" Lawson screamed, lunging forward as her partner crumpled to the ground.

A figure emerged from the shadows at the edge of the light—just a silhouette, featureless and dark. Before Lawson could aim, the shooter melted back into the darkness, footsteps fading as they fled into the night.

Lawson reached Monica's side and dropped to her knees beside her fallen partner. Blood soaked Monica's clothes, hot and slick against Lawson's hands as she pressed down on the wound. Monica's eyes were wide with shock, her breathing already shallow and labored.

"I've got a 10-999! Officer down! Send help immediately!" Lawson shouted into her radio. "Warehouse district, old paper mill. Shots fired, officer down. Need immediate medical assistance!"

Monica's eyes fluttered weakly, her breathing shallow and rapid. Lawson pressed her hand against the wound in Monica's chest, feeling warm blood seep between her fingers.

"Stay with me, Mon," Lawson pleaded, tears blurring her vision. "Help is coming. Just stay with me."

"Monica?" Lawson's voice broke. "Monica!"

No response.

Lawson barely registered the approaching sirens, or the shouts of officers securing the perimeter. She remained kneeling beside Monica's body, her hand still futilely trying to stem the flow of blood from a heart that had already stopped beating.

Later, she would remember fragments of the aftermath. Someone pulling her away. The paramedics working frantically. The pronouncement of death at 11:47 p.m. Her supervisor, Captain Richardson, arriving on scene, his face a mask of professional concern as he put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"We'll find who did this," he promised.

Lawson said nothing. Because she knew how corruption worked. It devoured everything, even the truth. Especially the truth.

Monica's source would never be found. The investigation would hit dead end after dead end until investigators eventually shelved it as an unsolved tragedy.

As the ambulance doors closed on Monica's body, Lawson made a silent vow. She would find justice for Monica, even if it took the rest of her life. Even if it meant becoming someone she barely recognized.

Even if it meant becoming someone Monica would have hated.

The first drops of rain began to fall, washing away the blood on the loading dock. But nothing would ever wash away Lawson's memory of this night.

Nor the guilt that would haunt her for years to come.