Twisted

Chapter 1

Detective Cooper

Present Day

The Charlotte, North Carolina Homicide Division was swamped. They always were this time of year. Summer brought with it humid heat and the stuff of nightmares, though the demographics tended to sway heavily to one side. Drug dealings gone bad, prostitutes found slaughtered in alleys, the occasional domestic violence gone too far.

So when Detective Shawn Cooper pulled up to the sprawling home of the Hale's, he was more invested in this case from the get-go. Very rare, for a wealthy, prominent, white business man to turn up shot in the head in his kitchen. He flipped open his pad, patting his breast pocket for his pen. He was young—only a spritely thirty-five, and only inducted into the homicide division three years ago. Because of his youth, he was more tenacious than his partner, James Haley. Hays, the department called him.

Shawn Cooper could smell his partner's cheap aftershave and the last tendrils of a fried chicken dinner the second his old Ford Taurus pulled up along the sidewalk in front of the traditional, charming southern home. Shawn scribbled down his initial observations before Hays drew any closer and interrupted his thoughts. Already, his mind was jumping to the logical conclusion; the wife had done it. No signs of forced entry, shot right between the eyes in his own kitchen while preparing himself a cocktail.

Hays clapped him on the shoulder, and without a word they strode toward the open front door as the coroner greeted them. Hays went straight for the body, but Shawn's target was Mr. Hale's wife, Maisie. He led himself to the sitting room where he could hear the constant police chatter of deputies' radios.

There Maisie sat in a crisp white armchair covered in splotches of crimson, surrounded by grocery bags, sobbing into her bloodied hands. Pausing at the threshold, he let the scene speak to him. If she was acting, she was doing well. Her eyes were puffy and red, her hair disheveled, and then she clapped a hand to her pretty mouth. A female officer lurched forward, passing Maisie a bucket just in time for her to vomit.

A sign of guilt? Remorse? Shock?

But then Shawn noticed the long, pinkish scar that ran from Maisie's right cheek bone to her upper lip. It was covered well enough in makeup, but still new, as far as scars went. It looked jagged, rough, but it had clearly been stitched and worked on by a professional—a plastic surgeon. Whatever the cause, it did not deter from her beauty one bit. If anything, it made her even more endearing, even more unique. What had caused such a ghastly scar? He made note of it, intending to unearth the reason for its presence on her porcelain face.

The female officer bent to eye level, smoothing her palm over Maisie's shoulder, handing her a tissue. Maisie gracefully accepted and thanked her. Shawn narrowed his eyes. Mrs. Hale was a young, gorgeous woman—the kind that would win beauty pageants with ease and grace. With her long dark locks and those striking blue eyes, it was easy to see why Mr. Hale and her had married; they were a handsome pair.

"How far along?" Officer Layla gently asked to the weeping woman. Maisie Hale sniffled, eyes fluttering, lips twitching, before a new wave of tears coated her pink, round cheeks.

"We...just found out two weeks ago," she whispered, eyes dazed and glossed. Shawn jotted down that interesting tidbit. Pregnant, then. Motive? Had Maisie snapped? Was she having an affair?

"Mrs. Hale?" he asked, taking the lapse in concentration to stride into the sitting room. Layla stood, hand still grasping at Maisie's delicate shoulder, and those round, vivid blue eyes settled on him, knocking the breath from his lungs in an instant. He was a married man, but damn it to hell, she was stunning. Even the sight of her scar faded from his view when those eyes of hers captured his own.