When the Serpent Strikes: A Cimarron/Melbourne Thriller - Book Two Read online

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events or locales in this novel are either the product of the author's imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  When the Serpent Strikes

  by

  Vanessa Prelatte

  ©2016 H&S Underveq, LLC.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.

  For information address:

  H & S Underveq, LLC

  1525 Park Manor Blvd., STE 295

  Pittsburgh, PA 15205

  Cover art by Victoria Cooper. All rights assigned to and reserved by H&S Underveq, LLC.

  Books in this series

  When the Tiger Kills

  When the Serpent Strikes

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  “Now the serpent was more crafty than any other wild creature that the Lord God had made.” (Genesis 3:1)

  Prologue: Silence reigned over the reading areas, book stacks, and hallways of the library. Normally, he wouldn't have been caught dead in a place like this. He liked to be where the action was. But pretty soon, there would be plenty of action here. Action and noise. That would be more like it.

  He crossed over to the men's room, entered, and took a quick look around. Deserted. Perfect. Shrugging off his backpack, he reached inside and pulled out the components of the AR-15. With the ease of long practice, he began to assemble the rifle. When he had finished, he stroked the weapon lovingly. It was an older model, but that was fine; it had been easier to convert this one from semi to full automatic than one of the newer models would have been. Reaching inside his jacket, he checked his backup weapon. The butt of the Glock 42 nestled into his palm as if he had been born with it attached. He nodded to himself, satisfied that all was ready. He was locked and loaded and ready to go.

  It was going to be quite a party. He could hardly wait.

  Chapter 1

  It sucked to be short. That's what Jolene Skornac was thinking as she scrambled off the school bus and walked up to the gate that barred the way to the back entrance of the library. Lifting the latch, she entered the overgrown courtyard and walked quickly up the steps to the door. Once she reached it, she turned, waved good-bye to the bus driver, and passed inside. Walking through the foyer, she paused before passing through the inner doors into the library. Years of having to deal with bullies had made her cautious. The garbage can next to the door had a flat top with a fairly small hole in the center. As usual, she pulled it directly in front of one of the doors and dropped her backpack in front of it. Using the backpack as a step, she climbed on top of the garbage can, balancing her feet on the edges. Putting her face close to the window in the door, Jolene scanned the interior of the library.

  Old Mr. Windsinger was perched on the edge of his usual seat, poring through a magazine. Mrs. Danilow was curled up on an easy chair to the left of him, engrossed in a romance novel. She could see an older man, whose name she didn't know, browsing through the new books on the table just in front of the circulation desk.

  The librarian, Mrs. Stuka, was manning one of the check-out stations, and Mrs. Sorrenten, one of the volunteers, was at the other. But there was no one from her junior high school, no one she had to worry about. The coast was clear, and she was just about to climb down, put the garbage can back, and go inside, when she caught sight of him, disappearing in to the men's room. The weirdo. She'd seen him before, a couple of different times. She didn't know why he even bothered to come to the library. He never got a book or a newspaper or a magazine to read. Never used the computers, either. He just walked around, staring at everything with those creepy eyes of his. But this time, after he'd taken his usual stroll around the reading areas and the book stacks, he didn't walk straight to the exit as he normally did. Instead, he made a beeline for the men's room and disappeared inside.

  Once he was out of sight, Jolene scooted down from her perch, put the garbage can back in the corner, and pushed the swinging doors open. She'd planned on stopping a the circulation desk for a moment to say hello to Mrs. Stuka and chat with Mrs. Sorrenten, but she changed her mind when she saw another man enter through the front doors and approach her favorite volunteer. She recognized the man; it was Mrs. Sorrenten's nephew. He came and picked her up every Friday, took her home to have dinner with him and his family. That was nice of him. So she just waved to Mrs. Stuka and headed back to her hideout, a study carrel placed perpendicular to the wall in the back left-hand corner of the library.

  When she reached the study carrel, she walked around to the opposite side, pulled the chair out, and took her backpack off. The chair was old and hard and rickety, which was probably why she'd never seen anyone except herself use this particular workstation. It didn't bother her, though. The chair might be hard, but the carpet underneath the study carrel was soft and cushy, making it reasonably comfortable for someone who preferred to sit on the floor. As was her habit, she pulled the chair out, ducked her head down, and crawled underneath the desk. Pushing her backpack so that it rested against the modesty panel at the rear of the workstation, she turned around, grasped the front legs of the chair and pulled it back into place. Now she was safe, practically invisible, enclosed in her own little world. Content, she pulled out her tablet, powered it up, leaned back against the backpack, and was soon engrossed in one of the sources for her research paper.

  When the popping noises began, she surfaced reluctantly from her intense concentration, an annoyed frown on her face. But she barely had enough time to register the fact that the sounds she heard after the popping noises were screams of terror before she felt something strike the study carrel she was sheltered under, and the breath was knocked out of her when a bullet slammed through the modesty panel, right into her back.

  *****

  He was a murder cop, but murder was not uppermost in Rafe Melbourne's mind as he watched the puffy clouds from the window of the private jet that was bearing him back home from Pittsburgh to Colorado. A voice in his ear caused him to turn away from the view.

  The voice belonged to Brody, Tyrell Lewellen's best friend, who was growling, “I don't care how many Super Bowls they've won, Rafe. The Steelers are still a bunch of losers!”

  “You're just jealous, Brody,” Rafe retorted from his seat across the aisle.

  “But right on target, as usual,” said Ty Lewellen. His father, who, like Ty, could never be induced to grant a word of praise to any other NFL team except his beloved Broncos, nodded in agreement.

  Rafe, meanwhile, decided to ignore them, so he stretched out his long legs, closed his eyes, and pretended to go to sleep. It sure paid to win a bet with Sloan Lewellen, he mused. He'd flown out via commercial airline a week before for a lo
ng- awaited visit with his family in Pittsburgh. He'd enjoyed his entire time in the 'Burgh immensely. But the best had been yesterday, when Sloan had flown out with Ty and Brody in order to pay off a bet he'd lost with Rafe.

  He'd told his brother, Gabe, merely that a friend of his had scored box seat tickets to a Steelers game and had invited Rafe, Gabe, and Gabe's teenage son, Sean, to attend the game with him. His brother had been suitably impressed. Box seat tickets to a Steelers game were hard to come by, unless you were willing to pay big bucks to a scalper. The Black and Gold habitually sold out the season, and the waiting list to buy a seat license was miles long. So the tickets were a big deal all by themselves. But Rafe thought that Gabe's jaw was going to drop all the way to the ground when a limo as long as a whale and stuffed to the gills with the latest technology pulled up in front of his house, and Sloan Lewellen jumped out to greet them. After the introductions had been made, Sloan had ushered them inside the limo, where he had introduced Gabe to his son, Tyrell, and Brody, Ty's best friend.

  They'd taken the limo up to Mount Washington first, where Sloan had paid for dinner for all of them at one of the posh restaurants overlooking the Point, the place where the three rivers of Pittsburgh met. After they'd enjoyed dinner as well as the spectacular view, the limo driver had picked them up again and proceeded over to Heinz Field for the Thursday night game. Rafe thought that Gabe's eyes were going to bulge out of their sockets when he realized that their seats were in one of the luxury boxes, courtesy of a business associate of Sloan's.

  The Steelers had obliged by trouncing their opponents soundly, so that was also cause for celebration. They'd dropped off Gabe and Sean at home after the game and spent the night at one of the fancy downtown hotels – again, courtesy of Sloan. He'd had a farewell breakfast with Gabe that morning, and now he, Sloan, Ty, and Brody were on their way back home again in one of the jets owned by Lewellen Air, the charter airline founded and operated by Ty Lewellen.

  He smiled to himself as he remembered his breakfast conversation with Gabe. After they'd placed their orders, his brother had asked, “So – how did you happen to meet Sloan Lewellen?”

  “He's my partner's father-in-law,” Rafe had responded casually.

  “Your partner is married to Tyrell Lewellen? Seriously?”

  “Yep.”

  “Wow. I had no idea.”

  That was typical of his brother, Rafe reflected. Gabe had many sterling qualities, but he was insular. He wasn't much interested in what happened outside the confines of Pittsburgh. Though how he could have missed the story about the way his partner, Dawn Cimarron, had helped to rescue Tyrell Lewellen from a pair of kidnappers just a few years back, Rafe couldn't imagine. The story had made national headlines.

  After his first exclamation, Gabe had tried to appear to be nonchalant about his brother's connection with the major stockholder and CEO of the Lewellen Group, one of the largest conglomerates in the country. But Rafe could tell he was impressed. And that was balm to his soul. Gabe, along with their father, had scoffed at him when he'd told them he wanted to follow in his Uncle Nick's footsteps and become a cop.

  “There's no money in a career in law-enforcement!” his father had growled. Gabe had stood behind him and nodded in agreement, acting as if he were decades older than Rafe, rather than only two years his senior.

  Since then, Gabe had made a nice living for himself as a computer systems analyst, grossing well over a hundred grand per year, which was considerably more than Rafe was earning as a sergeant with the Mountpelier Police Department. So, in addition to the usual sibling rivalry between them, Rafe had had to endure the fact that Gabe tended to treat him with a degree of condescension throughout their adult lives. It hadn't been easy to bear.

  It had been nice to see some respect in his big brother's eyes for a change. But now it was time to shift his mind into another gear. After the weekend was over, he was back on the job. Rafe sighed contentedly and wondered if his partner had caught any interesting cases while he'd been away.

  *****

  In his office at Lewellen Air, Cal Skornac, Tyrell Lewellen's right-hand man, scowled with annoyance as he read the text from his wife, Tess: Running late. You'll have 2 pick up Jolene at the library.

  It never failed. Tess never seemed to have a problem when it came to picking up Ben or Diana or the twins from their various sports practices, but there always seemed to be some sort of emergency on the days that Jolene needed to be picked up from the library.

  They were like oil and water, Tess and Jolene, he mused. Total opposites. Tess had a fantastic relationship with their older daughter, Diana. But Diana was a lot like Tess. Tall, blonde, athletic, outgoing, popular. Jolene, on the other hand, despised sports. She was shy and withdrawn, sensitive and retiring. A brilliant student, though. Nothing but straight A's. Which was why he had insisted that her request to be dropped off at the local library after school to work on her research paper be granted.

  “Why can't she just walk across the street to the high school and work on it there?” Tess had said. “She could sit in the bleachers and write the paper in the gym and watch Diana practice at the same time. Then she could ride home later with Diana and her friends. It's the perfect solution.”

  For Tess, maybe. But not for Jolene. She needed peace and quiet in order to study and do her school work. A noisy gym was hardly ideal for that. And as for riding home with Diana and her friends - as much as he loved his older daughter, he had to admit that she and her friends were not always kind to Jolene. He'd spoken to Diana about it on a number of occasions, but to no avail. If Jolene was forced to ride home with them, she'd invariably arrive home in tears from their teasing. When he'd remonstrated with Diana about it, she'd just shrugged her shoulders and said, “Oh, Jolene's way too sensitive, Dad. She has to stop being such a baby and toughen up a little. For crying out loud, she'll be leaving the junior high at the end of this year and entering high school next year. Believe me, she'll have to deal with far worse than a little good-natured teasing once that happens.”

  He would have said more, but unfortunately, his wife had sided with Diana, and he wouldn't go against her in front of the children. So when Jolene had come up with the idea of having the school bus drop her off at the library on the days that Tess's job as a real estate agent did not permit her to be home immediately after school let out, he'd supported her. He'd even gone into school himself to fill out the necessary forms and permission slips. Life had been a lot more peaceful ever since. Except that it always ended up being him who had to pick Jolene up on the days she was dropped off at the library. And it was a long drive for him from work; the library was all the way on the other side of town.

  On top of that, he'd had an uneasy feeling ever since Jolene had left grade school and entered the junior high a few years back. That all was not right with his younger daughter. He'd tried to voice his feelings to Tess a couple of times, but she'd just shrugged it off. There was nothing wrong with Jolene, she'd insisted. She was just going through a stage right now; she'd grow out of it.

  Sighing, Cal finished up the report he was working on and crossed the room to file it away in its proper place. Then he switched his office light off and walked out to the reception area of Lewellen Air. He said good night to Milly, the receptionist, commenting that he had to leave a little early to go pick up one of his kids at the library.

  She'd raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. Walking out the front door, he crossed to the parking lot, got into his car, and began the long drive across town to the library.

  He was almost there, only a few blocks away, when he realized that the air was alive with what sounded like a million sirens, all going off at once.

  *****

  Dawn Cimarron took another sip of coffee, leaned back in her chair, and continued poring over the case file in her hand. When her boss, Lt. Westbrooke, walked into the bullpen after spending most of the day tied up in meetings, however, Dawn put the file aside and waited expectantl
y.

  “Looking over some cold cases, Cimarron?” Lieutenant Westbrooke inquired, indicating the stack of files on Dawn's desk.

  Dawn nodded and looked up at the lieutenant. It was a long way up. Dawn was no shrimp at five foot eight. But she was dwarfed by her lieutenant. Moetua “Moe” Westbrooke was a commanding six feet tall in her stockinged feet. On her face was clearly stamped her mixed Polynesian and African Amercan heritage.

  “It's been pretty quiet around here lately,” Dawn said in response to the lieutenant's question. “Good thing, too, what with Rafe being away on vacation and all. Only open case we had was the Porphirro case, and I tied up all the loose ends on that one this morning. So I thought I'd see if I could turn up anything new on one of these cold cases,” she said.

  The lieutenant picked up the top case file, the one Dawn had just been examining. Raising her eyebrows, she said, “The Reyerborne case. That one was Nick Melbourne's white whale, wasn't it?”

  Dawn glanced at the photograph on her desk before answering. It was a picture of her with her friend and mentor, Lieutenant Nick Melbourne, Moe Westbrooke's predecessor as head of the Homicide Unit in the Mountpelier Police Department. The picture had been taken ten years before, upon Dawn's graduation from the police academy.

  She'd worn her thick dark hair short back then. All pressed and polished in her uniform, with her cap squared off on her head, she'd gazed at the camera with an intent and serious look upon her face. Nick Melbourne stood beside her, looking like a slightly older and more distinguished edition of Dawn's current partner - Nick's nephew, Rafe Melbourne.

  Turning her gaze from the photograph to her lieutenant, Dawn answered her question.

  “Yes. The Reyerborne case haunted Nick. He worked at it steadily over the years, refusing to give up on it. And just before he died, one of the last things he did was to make Rafe and me promise to take it out and work it periodically, see if we could shake anything new out of it.”