Tick Tock (A Detective Shakespeare Mystery, Book #2)

  From the Back Cover

  FROM USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR J. ROBERT KENNEDY

  Sometimes Hell is Other People

  Crime Scene tech Frank Brata digs deep and finds the courage to ask his colleague, Sarah, out for coffee after work. Their good time turns into a nightmare when Frank wakes up the next morning covered in blood, with no recollection of what happened, and Sarah’s body floating in the tub. Determined not to go to prison for a crime he’s horrified he may have committed, he scrubs the crime scene clean, and, tormented by text messages from the real killer, begins a race against the clock to solve the murder before his own co-workers, his own friends, solve it first, and find him guilty.

  Billionaire Richard Tate is the toast of the town, loved by everyone but his wife. His plans for a romantic weekend with his mistress ends in disaster, waking the next morning to find her murdered, floating in the tub. After fleeing in a panic, he returns to find the hotel room spotless, and no sign of the body. An envelope found at the scene contains not the expected blackmail note, but something far more sinister.

  Two murders, with the same MO, targeting both the average working man, and the richest of society, sets a rejuvenated Detective Shakespeare, and his new reluctant partner, Amber Trace, after a murderer whose motivations are a mystery, and who appears to be aided by the very people they would least expect—their own.

  Tick Tock, Book #2 in the internationally bestselling Detective Shakespeare Mysteries series, picks up right where Depraved Difference left off, and asks a simple question: What would you do? What would you do if you couldn’t prove your innocence, but knew you weren’t capable of murder? Would you hide the very evidence that might clear you, or would you turn yourself in and trust the system to work?

  From USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy comes the highly anticipated sequel to the smash hit Depraved Difference, Tick Tock. Filled with heart pounding terror and suspense, along with a healthy dose of humor, Tick Tock ‘s twists will keep you guessing right up to the terrifying end.

  About J. Robert Kennedy

  USA Today bestselling author J. Robert Kennedy has been ranked by Amazon as the #1 Bestselling Action Adventure novelist based upon combined sales. He is the author of over twenty international bestsellers including the smash hit James Acton Thrillers series of which the first installment, The Protocol, has been on the bestseller list in the US and UK since its release, including occupying the number one spot for three months.

  He lives with his wife and daughter and writes full-time.

  "If you want fast and furious, if you can cope with a high body count, most of all if you like to be hugely entertained, then you can't do much better than J Robert Kennedy."

  Amazon Vine Voice Reviewer

  Find out more at www.jrobertkennedy.com.

  Join The Insider's Club to be notified when new books are released.

  Books by J. Robert Kennedy

  The James Acton Thrillers

  The Protocol

  Brass Monkey

  Broken Dove

  The Templar's Relic

  Flags of Sin

  The Arab Fall

  The Circle of Eight

  The Venice Code

  Pompeii's Ghosts

  Amazon Burning

  The Riddle

  Blood Relics

  The Special Agent Dylan Kane Thrillers

  Rogue Operator

  Containment Failure

  Cold Warriors

  Death to America

  The Delta Force Unleashed Thrillers

  Payback

  Infidels

  The Detective Shakespeare Mysteries

  Depraved Difference

  Tick Tock

  The Redeemer

  Zander Varga, Vampire Detective Series

  The Turned

  TICK TOCK

  A Detective Shakespeare Mystery

  Book #2

  by

  J. Robert Kennedy

  TICK TOCK

  By J. Robert Kennedy

  Copyright ©2012 J. Robert Kennedy

  Smashwords Edition

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  First Edition

  1.1

  Table of Contents

  The Novel

  Acknowledgements

  Thank You from the Author

  Newsletter

  About the Author

  Also by the Author

  For my mom, the most avid reader, and mystery lover, I know. Thanks for always being there, for always caring, and for always being a mom when I needed it, and a friend when I didn’t.

  ONE

  Today she felt pretty.

  Usually she didn’t. She was about twenty pounds overweight, okay, twenty-five, but this morning’s ritual visit to the scale had shown her down two pounds, adding to the three she had already lost this week since her latest diet had begun. Five pounds was a huge psychological boost, and today she had put on an extra couple of splashes of Estée Lauder Sensuous Nude to celebrate. She always tried to keep herself presentable. Smart outfits, nice faux jewelry as accents, with a couple of real pieces she had managed to buy herself over the years—18 karat gold bangles and a gold-by-the-yard chain from the one trip she had done to Vegas. Her hair was coiffed nicely, her makeup subtle, and she always tried to have a smile on her face, which she found the most difficult part of her effort.

  I just want to be given a chance.

  She knew she was chubby; there was no hiding or denying that. But didn’t she deserve to be happy too? She was like any other young woman. She wanted to be loved. She wanted to love. She wanted to be happy. She had never had a boyfriend. In high school a few boys had gone on dates with her thinking she’d be an easy lay since she’d obviously be desperate, but they had left disappointed. She had been too shy to show her body, and now the opportunities had disappeared.

  She had friends, and they sometimes set her up on blind dates, but they never worked out. Either they weren’t interested in the fat girl, or she would do something to sabotage things from going further. She seemed to be her own worst enemy when it came to rectifying that situation.

  Do I want to be alone?

  No, she didn’t. But it was Friday evening. And she was going home alone. Again.

  The elevator chimed and the doors opened. Frank Brata, one of the techno geeks at the lab stepped on. He smiled at her.

  He’s so cute!

  “Hey, Sarah. Working late?”

  She knew she blushed. She couldn’t help it. Frank was about the only good looking guy that paid any attention to her. She knew he was way out of her league, but he never seemed to judge her. “No rest for the wicked.”

  He chuckled. “Tell me about it. Vinny has me working on the final cleanup from the Eldridge case.” His face clouded over, as if the memory of those events were about to overwhelm him.

  “I know, none of us can believe it.”

  He nodded. “Shakes is taking it really hard.”

  “I can imagine.”

  Suddenly Frank turned t
o face her. “He was such a great guy!” His voice cracked. “He was about the only guy who treated me like I was normal!”

  Her chest felt tight. He thinks he’s not normal? She reached out and touched his arm. He looked down at her hand and she was about to withdraw it when he clasped his other hand over it and gave it a squeeze then let go. She wanted to leave her hand there, to feel the warmth of his touch, the warmth of his arm, but she knew she had to let go.

  The bell chimed and the door opened for the lobby. They both stepped off and Frank turned to her. “Listen, there’s a place I go every Friday after work for coffee. Would you like to join me?”

  She had to stop herself from yelping ‘yes’. She made a show of looking at her watch. “Yes, I suppose I’ve got time.”

  Right, you’ve got until Monday 8 a.m.

  Frank smiled, as if happy with her response. Well, why wouldn’t he be, he invited you, didn’t he? She knew she had to stop the negativity. Frank was a nice guy. She deserved a nice guy. And by the sounds of it, he may be just as insecure as you. “So, how’re the ribs?”

  “Huh?”

  “Your ribs. From being shot.”

  “Oh! Pretty good now. It’s been a couple of weeks. Still a little tender when I try to work out. I find I can’t take deep breaths without gasping. Doc says it’ll be weeks before I’m completely back to normal.”

  “How’d it happen?”

  “You haven’t heard? I thought everyone had by now.”

  She’d heard it a dozen times. But never from him. “Just the rumor mill, and you know how accurate that is. I’d rather hear it from the source.”

  Frank nodded and recounted the incident as they walked to the coffee shop that turned out to be about ten minutes away. By the time they reached there, she had made enough physical contact with him, touching his arm, patting his back, his chest, and any other part she could find an excuse to touch without it seeming creepy, to feel a connection forming. Or was it just her getting her hopes up again? She didn’t know. All she knew was she was having the best time she had had in years.

  As they approached, he took her hand and held open the door. She smiled up at him and he returned the smile. A genuine, heartfelt smile.

  And she melted inside.

  Frank woke, his head pounding. What the hell happened last night? He tried to think back. I left the office. Where did I go? Sarah! And then he remembered. They went for coffee, were having a great time, then nothing.

  But there was something.

  He had the vague memory of kissing. It must have been Sarah. But why don’t I remember? He opened his eyes and sucked in a breath. He was in a bedroom, but not his, the only light coming through the partially closed drapes. Where the hell am I? He checked the bed and was alone. He looked around and found a lamp on a nightstand. He flicked it on. Definitely a chick’s place. He lifted the covers. Naked. He looked on the floor and spotted his clothes lying in a bundle. He grabbed them and headed toward what he guessed was the bathroom. He flicked the light on and squeezed his eyes shut, the sudden change blinding. He tossed his clothes on the counter, found his boxers and yanked them up. He pulled his dress shirt from under his pants and shoved one arm in then the other. Looking in the mirror to button it up, he gasped.

  He was covered in blood.

  His face and neck were splattered with it, his chest clean, but his shirt was stained near the neck, with drops of blood covering most of the front and shoulders. He ripped off the shirt, threw it into the bathtub and jumped back in shock.

  Sarah’s blood-soaked body sat in the tub, half submerged in the dark red water, her lifeless head laying on the tap, facing the wall away from him, the finger of her right hand resting on the edge of the tub, near the wall. Near the wall that had “Frank Brata” written in blood.

  He leaned over the toilet and vomited.

  It was a quiet funeral. Detective Justin Shakespeare wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Obviously the customary funeral afforded a dead cop was out of the question, and he didn’t begrudge the city that. The people he expected to see were there for the most part, including that bastard Vincent Fantino, who had, he had to admit, been a little bit friendlier toward him over the past week. He was shocked to see Aynslee Kai there. I wonder if she’s here in an official capacity. He looked for a camera crew, but there was none. Huh, back to a brunette. He walked over to her.

  “Miss Kai.”

  She looked up from behind a handkerchief. “Detective Shakespeare, how are you?”

  He looked at the casket containing his partner of three years. “About as good as can be expected, I guess.”

  She glanced around. “Not much of a turnout.”

  “Nope. He had no family except the department, and most of them just don’t know what to do, so most ‘had plans’,” replied Shakespeare with air quotes.

  “I can understand that,” said Aynslee. “In fact, I don’t even know why I’m here. I feel ridiculous.”

  “Sometimes you need closure. Perhaps this is it for you.”

  She looked up at him then at the casket. “Yes,” she whispered. “Closure.”

  The priest cleared his throat and the few in attendance turned to pay their final respects to Detective Hayden Eldridge.

  Shakespeare looked around at those assembled.

  Where’s the kid? And Trace? I thought they said they were going to be here?

  Frank sat in a chair in the kitchen of the small apartment, shirtless, pulling at his hair. What am I going to do? Working as a tech in the NYPD, he knew what he should do. He should call it in, and let the system do its job. But the evidence against him was overwhelming, and worse, he couldn’t even say himself whether or not he was innocent. He had no memory after the coffee shop. Had they been attacked, had he been hit over the head? He reached up and checked his skull for bumps, for any evidence of a hit to the head that might explain his memory loss. Nothing. Then I must have been drugged. But if drugged, why? And by who? So they could kill Sarah and have someone to blame seemed the logical explanation.

  And they’ve definitely done their job.

  He looked about him, at the perfectly appointed small apartment. Everything neat, everything in its place, and everything screamed no struggle. Had the struggle occurred in the bathroom? The kitchen and bedroom were immaculate except for the bed and floor, indicating sex had most likely taken place.

  Man, I finally get laid and I can’t remember it.

  He smacked his forehead with his palm, disgusted at what he had just thought. Sarah’s dead, and you’re disappointed you don’t remember having sex with her? Just before you probably killed her?

  And that’s when it hit him. His chest tightened, his ears filled with the rush of blood as the room narrowed around him. I killed her. My life is over. His head dropped into his hands and he sobbed. But I’m only twenty-six! He opened his eyes and watched a tear roll off his nose and onto the pristine floor below. It hit, almost as if in slow motion, the perfect circle it formed immediately marred by the splash radiating outward, as if a flower suddenly opened its petals.

  What am I going to do?

  He grabbed a tissue from a nearby box and blew his nose. He wiped his eyes clear with the back of his hand, and rose.

  There’s no way I’m going to prison.

  Shakespeare made the sign of the cross, said “Amen”, and turned to Aynslee.

  “Can I give you a lift somewhere?”

  “No, that’s okay, the station gave me a driver.” She smirked. “I guess they don’t trust me to drive just yet.”

  “Perfectly understandable.”

  “Well, it’s been over a week. I’m going back on the air Sunday.” She squared her shoulders, took one final look at the casket resting in the ground, and began to walk toward the too empty parking lot. “How are you doing?”

  Shakespeare shrugged his shoulders. “Okay, I guess. I still can’t believe the first person in my career I shoot is my partner.” Vinny walked up and joined them. Sh
akespeare jerked a thumb at him. “I always figured if I was going to shoot someone, it would be him.”

  Aynslee leaned ahead of Shakespeare and gave Vinny a slight smile, which he returned.

  “I’ll give you that one, Shakes.”

  Shakes. I haven’t heard that in years. It had been his nickname throughout his career until the incident five years ago where his diabetes had got the better of him, and he had lost evidence, and in the disgrace that followed Vinny had publicly shamed him, and most of the department shunned him. To this day no one knew his diabetes had driven him to seek food before his blood sugar fell too low, it was his diabetes that had caused him to not think straight and leave important evidence, a murder weapon no less, in the front seat of his car with the window down. Since then, the collegial nickname Shakes had been replaced with things far worse.

  “Fat bastard,” muttered Shakespeare.

  “Huh?” Aynslee looked at him, then at Vinny.

  Vinny seemed to trip over his words. “Uh, yeah, well, I’ll see you back at the station, Shakes, I mean, Justin.” He scurried away, leaving Shakespeare and Aynslee alone in the parking lot.

  “What was that all about?”

  Shakespeare watched Vinny’s car pull away. He turned to Aynslee. “Perhaps I’ll tell you some day.” God knows I need to tell someone.

  She smiled and squeezed his arm, then pointed at a man standing near a corporate limo, the door held open. “That’s my ride. Don’t be a stranger.” She pushed herself up on her tiptoes and gave Shakespeare a peck on the cheek, then strode toward the waiting car.