Don't Close Your Eyes (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 1) Read Free Page A

view of my puss as I led Haddad away in handcuffs. The news programs all had me on camera. I hope they were shooting my good side.
    To balance my desire to be an instrument of justice against my damnable feminine attributes, I’ve been forced to concoct a tough-as-nails persona for myself. My fellow detectives know me as cold, tough, and cynical: the kind of woman whose legs couldn’t be pried apart with the Jaws of Life. It’s not the way I’d like it to be but it’s necessary, sadly so, and it works. The titanium veneer allows me to be an effective cop and not a name scratched into the wall above the men’s room urinal. It’s been eighteen months since I made detective and I really think the boys are starting to come around. I’m apolitical, focused, and driven. I’m one of the most determined detectives on the squad. I won’t accept no for an answer, and I run down every lead until there’s absolutely no place to go.
    That’s what good police work is really about: hard work, some brains, and then more hard work. I don’t come across very many Sherlock Holmes types. Genius criminal detectives are few and very far between. The archetype of a good detective is more like Rocky Balboa, a guy with a huge heart who never gives up, no matter how hopeless the circumstances seem. Did I say Rocky Balboa? Well, Rocky Balboa with some brains, but you know what I mean, a guy who keeps coming at you even after you’ve emptied a magazine full of Black Talons into his chest.
    Back to the here and now. It’s Saturday and it’s five-twenty in the morning. Yes, the goddamn morning. That’s right, I said five-twenty. There’s nothing funny about the time of day, or the reason I was forced to chug a double shot of espresso just to shake out the cobwebs. I had just finished the aforementioned bar crawl when the call came in from my CO. There’s nothing quite like a double homicide to start the day. Two dead bodies were found on the Roosevelt Island tram at three-something in the morning. One was shot in the back. The other fatality was not as easily explained.
    My partner, Gus Lido, was half in the bag. Gus looked as if he had slept in his clothes. He was unshaven, his eyes were bloodshot, and he was sporting the most incredible pillow-head hairdo. I’m quite certain he had forgotten to mousse. Despite his apparent lack of energy, Gus’ eyes kept wandering from the road to my left thigh. I should’ve pulled my skirt over my knees, but Gus looked as though he needed something to keep his heart going. Besides, he had been thoughtful enough to stop at Starbucks and bought coffee. In addition, he had prepared mine the way I liked it, with half and half and Sweet’N Low. Moreover, Gus is a stud. He’s actually a bright and caring guy. He’s even prone to an occasional moment of genius and one day . . . well, let’s just wait and see where it goes. But for the meantime, the exposed thigh was definitely keeping him happy. As his partner I wanted him alert and motivated when we got to the tram.
    We got caught behind a granny going cross-town on our way to the crime scene. By my account, there are more seniors on the streets than ever before. I could see the dear old girl clear as a bell. She had silver-blue hair and wore a polyester blouse. Her face was pressed up against the steering wheel. Who else would be up and about at this ungodly hour but an octogenarian? I hit the yelp button. The old dear pulled slowly to the side. Lido almost took the mirror off our unmarked car as he squeezed by. I smiled sympathetically as we passed and the old darling flipped me the bird. I had to smile over her gumption. What’s the deal? Is Florida filled up? Does the early bird special no longer mean anything?
    The sun was just crowning in the east when we arrived at the crime scene. There was barely any standing room on the tramway platform. The crime scene guys as well as the medical examiner were already there and waiting for the okay to