In Plain Sight - Chap 1

Thank you for stopping by to read our Mystery/Crime Adventure, a joint effort between Lori Mulligan and myself. I have written the first chapter, and Lori will follow with the second—and so on. I hope you will enjoy our posts as we dive into the world of a vigilante.

PLEASE MEET ............

Detective Lena Hart – Late 30’s — She transferred to the city’s homicide division after a high-profile case went sideways in her last precinct. The brass claimed she needed a “fresh start,” but really, she pushed too hard on corruption and made enemies.

She’s Jack’s new partner, trying to adapt to the unspoken rules of the department—and Jack’s gruff, enigmatic way of doing things.

Detective Jack Rourke – Age 40 — He grew up in a very tough neighborhood in the city. At the age of 11, he witnessed the mugging of his older sister – she was killed. Since he was hiding nearby, skipping school, when it happened, he carries the guilt because he thinks he should have done something to stop it.

He sees her face and hears her voice in his dreams. Because of that, he doesn’t sleep much. Instead, he walks the streets, telling himself he’s clearing his head, but is he really?

He’s known for his instincts and street smarts and is respected as a good detective, but he keeps people at arm’s length.

*****

IN PLAIN SIGHT by Lori Mulligan and Begin Again (Carol)

Chapter 1

The click of her heels echoed like gunshots in the empty street.

Marisa kept her eyes forward, though her every instinct screamed to look behind her. Downtown was quiet at this hour — most shops were closed, and the sidewalks were glossy with rain. A neon bar sign flickered above a closed dive, its buzzing pulse making her skin crawl.

She shouldn't have walked alone. She knew it, but of course, she didn't listen to her common sense. Dinner had run long. Too much wine, too many laughs, and now the valet was gone and her car sat two blocks away in the nearest lot — plenty of lights, open space, and safe — or so she'd told herself.

Now, as she walked alone, it didn't feel safe at all. Her thoughts imagined every horror film she'd ever seen. Her purse strap dug into her shoulder as she passed a narrow coffee shop. A man sat alone at the window — mid-forties, long coat, face drawn. His coffee steamed in front of him, untouched. Their eyes met for half a second. He didn't smile. Neither did she. This late at night, in this city, it was best not to make eye contact and to keep moving.

The first time she heard footsteps behind her, she paused near the edge of the shop's light and pulled out her phone. No signal. The second time, the footsteps were closer.

She shivered, pulling her coat tighter as she turned. She saw a man in a long coat and hood, about thirty feet back. His hands were in his pockets. He stopped when she looked and stepped into an entryway.

She turned sharply and crossed the street without checking traffic. A car swerved, horn blaring. She barely noticed. Her heart was racing. She heard the footsteps again. Now she clenched her keys in her fist, each one wedged between her fingers like makeshift claws. The cold metal dug into her skin.

The parking lot was just ahead, past the alley. She didn't look back again. Whether fear or determination, she forced herself to quicken her steps. She slipped into the alley, deciding fast — shorter, faster, over before he could catch up.

It stank of grease and wet garbage. A rusted dumpster leaned against the wall, and her heels skidded on slick pavement. She caught herself, breath ragged. A hand landed on her shoulder. She screamed and twisted, keys slashing forward. The man grabbed her wrist and slammed her into the wall.

She saw a glint — metal, a blade, maybe — but before it could reach her, someone shouted and then collided with her attacker, sending him crashing against the brick. A sickening thud echoed off the walls.

She dropped to her knees. The world spun. Her attacker groaned once, then fell silent. The man who'd saved her stood in the dark, breathing hard. He appeared to be watching her. She couldn't see his face. "Wh-who are you?" she whispered. But he didn't answer. He just turned and vanished into the night.

*****

Later, red and blue lights pulsed against the wet brick. Yellow tape fluttered in the breeze. Uniforms moved like shadows, talking in low tones, scribbling notes, shining flashlights into puddles.

Detective Lena Hart ducked under the tape, her boots splashing. Her hair was still damp — she hadn't had time to pull it back. She'd been halfway through reheating late-night leftovers when dispatch called in an active scene. Probable assault. One deceased.

Now, here she was, getting her bearings. "Victim ID?" she asked an officer. "Name's Marisa Kline. Thirty-two. She's shook up but not injured. Said someone followed her from the restaurant. The guy grabbed her in the alley. Someone else stopped him. Hard." The officer gestured toward the tarp.

"Did she see who?"

"No. Said it happened fast. She was stunned, and her attacker was dead. The other guy disappeared before she could even thank him."

 Lena crouched by the body and lifted the corner of the tarp. A clean, vicious strike caved in the man's head at the temple. There was blood on the bricks behind him. Whoever did this hadn't hesitated. "Weapon?"

"Haven't found one yet."

She nodded, letting the tarp fall back into place. Then, she noticed a figure near the edge of the alley. A man leaning against the building with a coffee in his hand — watching.

"Jack?" she called out.

Detective Jack Rourke turned, lifting the cup slightly in greeting. She approached, frowning. "What are you doing here? You were off tonight."

"I live nearby," he said, voice even. "I was getting coffee when I heard the call. I was curious, so I figured I'd take a look."

Lena raised an eyebrow. "You always grab coffee at midnight?"

Jack smiled, but his face showed his weariness. "City doesn't sleep." Shrugging, he added, "Neither do I."

She glanced back at the alley. "Another vigilante case."

 "Looks that way," Jack mumbled.

"Guy didn't stand a chance."

"Maybe he didn't deserve one." Jack sipped his coffee and stared at the pavement.

Lena studied him for a second, unsure if he was joking. He didn't blink.

He turned toward the flashing lights, steam rising from his cup. "Same city," he muttered. "Different ghost."

He raised his coffee as a salute and mumbled, "Doesn't look like you need me.” As he walked away, he stopped and called out, "Hey, Lena —"

Her thoughts had already shifted to the man lying face down in the alley, but she stopped, answering impatiently, "What now, Jack?"

His eyes met hers a moment longer than was necessary, and then he grumbled, "Watch your back!"