Darker: The Fugitive Read online

  Darker III

  The Fugitive

  M. S. Parker

  Belmonte Publishing, LLC

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 Belmonte Publishing LLC

  Published by Belmonte Publishing LLC

  Contents

  Free Book

  The Darker Trilogy

  1. Nyx

  2. Bradyn

  3. Nyx

  4. Bradyn

  5. Nyx

  6. Bradyn

  7. Nyx

  8. Bradyn

  9. Nyx

  10. Bradyn

  11. Nyx

  12. Bradyn

  13. Nyx

  14. Bradyn

  15. Nyx

  16. Bradyn

  17. Nyx

  18. Nyx

  19. Bradyn

  20. Nyx

  21. Bradyn

  22. Bradyn

  23. Nyx

  24. Bradyn

  25. Nyx

  26. Bradyn

  27. Nyx

  28. Bradyn

  29. Nyx

  30. Nyx

  31. Bradyn

  32. Nyx

  33. Bradyn

  34. Nyx

  35. Bradyn

  Preview: The Boss

  1. Nate

  2. Ashlee

  3. Nate

  The Club Prive Series

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Free Book

  Get my new book for FREE! Click Here to subscriber to my newsletter and start reading the exclusive 200 pages stand-alone steamy romance, His Inspiration.

  The Darker Trilogy

  Thank you for reading Darker: The Fugitive, the final book in my new Darker Trilogy. I highly recommend reading the books in this order:

  Prequel – Darker

  Darker I: The Novice

  Darker II: The Inquirer

  Darker III: The Fugitive (This book)

  One

  Nyx

  The worst thing about being interrogated was the lack of a clock in the room, making it impossible to know how much time had passed since the cops who’d arrested me dumped me here.

  Some people might’ve thought the worst part was the waiting itself, being bored as fuck with nothing to do but stare at the walls, the ceiling, the door, the table…you get the picture. It wasn’t fun, but it wasn’t the worst part.

  Interrogation rooms were usually chilly and damp, at least the ones I’d been in. That meant they also smelled bad too. The good ones only had that musty, basement smell. The bad ones added in piss and vomit that may or may not have been properly cleaned. Even the bad ones, though, weren’t the worst thing about interrogation rooms.

  Maybe it was just me. Maybe I was the only one who hated not knowing how long I’d been inside these four walls. It could’ve been an hour, a month, a decade. Maybe other people just used the time to stare off into space and do their taxes or whatever the hell it was people thought about when they sat in a place like this.

  I never liked having too much time to think. Under normal conditions, that was a bad thing, but being here, like this, it was really bad. The last time I’d been in a police station, I had a fucking panic attack and ended up in a fetal position on the floor. I’d only come out of it because Bradyn had come for me.

  Bradyn Traylor.

  Just thinking his name was enough to bring up his image in my mind. Six feet, six inches of muscled hotness. Golden blond hair, dark blue eyes, dimples, and a face that would’ve been too pretty if he’d kept himself clean-shaven.

  He’d come for me that day and calmed me down, pulling me from the darkness in my head. It hadn’t been the only time, either. Bradyn had kept me grounded a lot in the six weeks I’d known him, and I’d thought he’d be there for more than another six weeks. I’d really started believing the lie we’d told each other, that what we had could be more.

  It wasn’t his lie or my lie. We’d both meant it when we said it, and we’d been acting like that was how things would go. But everything had changed in a single moment.

  “Delia Check, also known as Delia Phoenix, you’re under arrest for the murder of Clancy Traylor.”

  Even though I used Nyx as my first name, I’d only legally changed my last name from Check to Phoenix. Or, rather, I’d changed my last name back to Phoenix. That had been my father’s last name, the one I was born with, the one Art had taken from me. When I turned eighteen, I’d taken it back.

  Hearing it in that way, as if that was my real name and Delia Phoenix was some random alias…it’d been more than a shock. It’d cut deep.

  For about five seconds.

  The crime I’d been arrested for had left me sitting, staring stupidly at the police officers who’d come for me at the restaurant. I’d had to be told twice to stand because I’d been so stunned.

  Stunned by the fact that Clancy Traylor had been murdered.

  Stunned even more that I was being arrested for it only an hour or so later.

  However long it had taken us to drive from the restaurant to the police station, however long I’d been sitting in this room, I still hadn’t been able to figure out what the hell happened.

  I supposed I could’ve asked someone, but I’d learned more than a decade ago that there was a good reason for the Miranda Rights. People thought that, if they were innocent, the best thing to do was tell the cops everything they knew right away. The problem was, the whole “anything you do or say can be held against you” thing doesn’t say that anyone has to include context.

  An annoyed “I’ll kill him” after a bad day suddenly becomes a confession. One sentence out of an entire discussion, taken the wrong way, and you’re automatically called a liar about everything else you said.

  When I’d talked to the police about Art years ago, I hadn’t realized how my words had indeed been used against me. “I hate him” was all it took, and suddenly, my anger was used as the reason I’d made those accusations about him. The moment I’d said those three words, the cops had immediately moved me from victim to criminal. In their eyes, I’d transformed to an angry girl who hadn’t liked the rules her new stepfather made and was then talking shit about him.

  I was pretty sure the cops here were surprised that I hadn’t asked for a lawyer yet, but they weren’t about to mention it. Another thing I’d learned back then. Once that paper was signed saying that I understood my rights, it was on me to decide if I wanted a lawyer or not. They didn’t need to offer one, so they never did.

  If I was smart for keeping my mouth shut, maybe I was stupid for not asking for a lawyer, but I trusted them less than I trusted the cops. I’d met a few good policemen – Bradyn’s friend Maury Nieto for one – but the very few lawyers I trusted were almost a thousand miles away, and as far as I knew, none of them had a license to practice in Georgia.

  My former boss, Carrie Manning, and her friends had shown me that not all lawyers were corrupt assholes, but I didn’t know if I’d have even reached out to them if we hadn’t been so far apart. Carrie knew a lot about my past – probably the most outside my family – but I wouldn’t want to get her involved in this mess, even though I was innocent. I’d already involved too many people who would get hurt if this went as badly as I thought it would.

  Not surprisingly, my faith in the justice system was pretty much nonexistent.

  The door opened, and a pair of detectives walked in. One of them had been with the officers who’d picked me up, but the other was new. I wasn’t
in the precinct where Nieto worked, but a part of me had still had a crazy hope that he’d show up here so I could at least know that I’d be treated fairly.

  “Before we get started, Ms. Check, do you want somethin’ to drink?” The new detective smoothed down his tie as he sat down across from me.

  As much as I hated the use of my old last name, I knew they were trying to get a rise out of me, so I ignored it, answering only their question. “No, thank you.”

  “Detective Carson, you’ve met.” He nodded to the man by the door. “I’m Detective Miles.”

  I kept my hands on my lap and worked to make my face as blank as I could. Body language was something else they’d try to use against me. Crossed arms meant I was aggressive or bored or whatever shit they wanted to tell a jury. Slouching was disrespectful to the person who died, or it meant I was bored. Leaning forward was aggressive too.

  Maybe there was some actual science behind it, but in my opinion, they just made it say whatever they wanted it to say. I’d watched enough true crime shit to know that cops could make anything show guilt or innocence. If the police thought someone was guilty, no matter how that person behaved when being accused of a crime, it was always ‘abnormal’ and made cops suspicious.

  “Now, Ms. Check…you don’t mind if I call you that, do you?” The look he gave me said he knew I minded.

  I shrugged.

  Detective Carson stepped forward, his fist coming down on the table. “Speak.”

  I had a feeling he was going to be the bad cop.

  When I still said nothing, he banged his fist again. “Why’d you kill Clancy Traylor?”

  I kept my lips pressed together. It didn’t matter how much I wanted to deny that I’d hurt Clancy, they’d twist whatever I said.

  “Let’s go with an easier question then,” Carson continued. “Where were you this morning?”

  Nothing.

  He growled under his breath and kept going. “The waitress at the restaurant said you’d been there for forty-five minutes, waiting for someone. Who were you waiting for?”

  I stared at a spot on the table and wondered what it was.

  “Where were you before you were at the restaurant?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Miles tried next. “If you have an alibi, we can get this cleared up right now. Just tell us where you were, and all this can go away.”

  If I’d had a solid alibi for the entire morning, I might’ve considered talking to them, but Bradyn had been asleep when I left, so he couldn’t confirm a timeline. Between the time I left his cabin and arrived at the restaurant, I’d simply been walking around the city, trying to clear my head and prepare myself for meeting my sister.

  Bradyn.

  Shit.

  A sharp pain went through me. He hadn’t liked his father, but this…I gritted my teeth to try to keep my expression from showing anything I was feeling. If he thought I did this…

  No, he wouldn’t.

  He knew the things his dad had done, and he knew me. He had to know I wouldn’t have gone after Clancy, let alone murdered the man. I wanted him to pay for his crimes, literally, which was kind of hard to do if he was dead.

  I supposed Min could try to sue whoever was in charge of Clancy’s estate. I guessed that would be Mrs. Traylor, or maybe Bradyn’s sister, Ashley. It would make things tricky if neither Mrs. Traylor nor Ashley had known about the whole family history. The Traylor estate might never legally be held responsible.

  A pair of fingers snapped in front of my face, and I jumped.

  “Reminiscing about your kill?” Detective Carson asked, his pale eyes cold. “It’s not uncommon. Reliving the pleasure of taking a life.”

  “Or maybe you’re trying to figure out if you could’ve done things differently,” Miles said. “Maybe Clancy did something that set you off. That had to be it. I mean, a crime of passion makes sense. You’re not stupid enough to plan to kill someone in a law firm with a bunch of cameras.”

  A shock went through me, and I prayed that it didn’t show on my face. When he’d said Clancy had been murdered, I’d assumed it’d happened at the Traylor house. He should’ve been in the capital, but it didn’t surprise me that he’d been in Savannah. For someone who loved their job enough to send thugs after anyone who threatened it, he sure wasn’t all in when it came to doing actual work.

  A mistress’s house wouldn’t have surprised me, either. Any man who had a six-month affair with their son’s girlfriend was the sort of man who almost always had a mistress.

  But a law firm? I didn’t need to ask which one. Check & Sons was the only one that made sense. But how had someone killed a man in the middle of a law firm?

  Wait. Cameras? Why would they mention cameras? When I didn’t show up on them, they’d have to let me go.

  “No response?” Carson stood up. “Did you forget about the cameras? Think no one would remember seeing a pretty redhead asking where to find Clancy Traylor? Did you really think your boyfriend wouldn’t recognize you leaving?”

  My…boyfriend? Bradyn?

  How could Bradyn have mistaken another woman for me? My stomach dropped. Had he set me up? Why would he do something like that? But why would he lie about seeing me there?

  None of this made any sense. I felt like I should be able to figure this out, but all my questions and confusion were making it hard to think. The questions from the cops weren’t helping either.

  I needed to think.

  Two

  Bradyn

  Everything sounded muffled, like I was underwater and someone was shouting at me. Nothing was real. It couldn’t be real. Because if it was, then my father was dead. Murdered.

  By the woman I’d been falling for.

  Did that make it my fault?

  My family certainly seemed to think so. Mom and Ashley had been taking turns screaming at me. While one was blaming me for everything, the other was playing the grieving family. Well, not playing, because no matter how shitty my family could be, they had honestly loved my dad. Hell, even I was struggling with grief despite everything.

  “Mr. Traylor, would you mind going over things one more time?” The detective managed to interrupt my mother dressing me down for the third time.

  “–can’t listen to it again.” Ashley sniffled. She grabbed our mom’s arm. “I need some air. We should both get some air.”

  “No!” Mom jerked her arm away. “I want to hear it again! I want to hear how my son got his father killed!”

  “Ma’am, we don’t–”

  “Don’t you ma’am me!” She turned on him, red-rimmed eyes flashing. “My husband was slaughtered by some two-bit whore my son brought into this house!”

  I didn’t tell her that Dad hadn’t been killed here or that I hadn’t technically brought Nyx here either. That wasn’t what she meant. Not really. She meant that I’d brought Nyx into our family. That Nyx wouldn’t have even met Dad if it wasn’t for me. I couldn’t argue with that, so I said nothing.

  “I’m truly sorry for your loss, Mrs. Traylor,” the detective said. “And I’m sorry that I have to ask your son to go through this again, but it’s important that we have all the information we can, make sure the case is a slam dunk.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be a slam dunk?” Ashley asked, cheeks flushed. “You have the bitch on film.”

  Under other circumstances, I might’ve been amused by how unladylike my mom and sister were being. I could count on one hand how many times I’d heard either of them shout or curse. But it wasn’t funny right now. I honestly couldn’t think of anything less funny.

  The detective glanced across the room to where a pair of uniformed officers stood. He lowered his voice and leaned forward slightly. “I can’t really share anythin’ about an ongoin’ investigation, but between us, we do have film of the suspect enterin’ and exitin’ the firm. We also have video of her in the lobby, but there aren’t any cameras in the conference rooms or offices.”

  “What does that mean?” Ash
ley snapped.

  “We don’t have anythin’ that puts her actually with Governor Traylor.” He leaned back in his seat and straightened his jacket. “Now, if you’ll tell me again, Mr. Traylor, what happened this morning.”

  I rubbed my forehead, as if that could somehow take away the pictures that had been burned into my mind. “I got to the firm–”

  “Wait, excuse me,” he said. “Let’s go back a little more. Why were you going to the law firm in the first place?”

  “I-I was going to talk to my dad.” I frowned. “That’s where he was.”

  “How did you know he was there?” The detective jotted something down on his notepad.

  “I went to the house, and the housekeeper told me where he was.” My mind flashed back to the conversation with the woman.

  If I’d gotten the information just a little earlier, could I have made it to the firm in time to save my father? What would have happened if I’d walked into the middle of my father being killed? Would I have been murdered too? Would I have had to hurt or kill…her?

  “Why did you want to talk to Governor Traylor?”

  “I needed to talk to him about a film I’m workin’ on.”

  “You and your damn films!” Mom shouted.