Zoey 101: An Unexpected Encounter

Chapter 1

Chase Matthews was having a very bad day. So bad, in fact, that he was contemplating walking away from the monstrous case file on his desk, ducking out of the police station and spending a good week on his living room couch with his dog, Winston. Lord, he needed a vacation.

But as Superintendent Trainer liked to remind the men and women on the force, crime didn't take a vacation.

Neither did the sadistic serial killer currently roaming the streets of Chicago and preying on innocent women.

"So, do you want the good news first, or the bad?"

Chase glanced up as his fellow detective and closest friend, Michael Barrett, strode into the office they shared. Most of the other detectives worked out of the bull pen, as Chase had done for most of his now 3 years on the force, but last year Trainer had bestowed the two men with an office after they cracked open a quadruple homicide case that had stumped nearly every cop in the department. The office was cramped and badly lit, but it gave Chase a quiet place to think, and he didn't mind sharing with Michael.

Chase focused on his partner's question, immediately sensing his day was officially going to sink down to Much Worse on his How Bad Can My Day Get? list. So far he'd cleaned up his dog's vomit (poor Rocky had a stomach bug), been spat on by a prostitute he'd brought in for questioning, and then found a two-inch-thick stack of reports he needed to comb through on his desk.

From the look on Michael's face, he got the feeling hooker spit and dog puke might be the least of his problems.

"Good news." Chase sighed, raking his hand through his now Short-Black hair.

"Trainer called in the Feds,". Michael said as he walked over to his desk and flopped down on the edge.

Chase's head jerked up. "For the Spine Killer case?"

"Yep."

"Well, thank God. It's about time he called the FBI for help." While most cops tended to get twitchy and antagonistic when the Feds burst into their jurisdiction, Chase only felt relief. They'd been getting nowhere with the Spine Killer case for months now, banging their heads against the wall and being rewarded with nothing but headaches.

"A task force is being set up," his partner added. "The chief wants both of us on it." Michael paused, a frown creasing his mouth. "But I have a feeling you won't be."

"What the hell are you talking about? I've been living and breathing this case for months."

"Yeah, but you haven't heard the bad news yet."

Wariness climbed up his throat. "All right, hit me."

"Satan Kuyper escaped from prison last night."

The impact of Michael's words hit Chase like a bowling ball to the gut. Just hearing that name-Satan Kuyper-brought a rush of memories to his brain. The ugly sneer on Kuyper's face when Chase had slapped the cuffs on his wrists. The barely veiled hatred on the killer's face at the sentencing hearing, the way had slowly turned his head to focus that hate-filled glare on...

Zoey Brooks. And there it was, another name he'd tried desperately not to think about for seven long years. Not that he'd succeeded. He'd thought about the beautiful dirty blonde headed far too often, usually late at night, when the memory of the forbidden kiss they'd shared woke him from sleep. The dreams were no longer as frequent, but they still came, often enough that he wondered if someone was torturing him.

Zoey had only been 21 when her parents were killed. When Chase, a twenty-three year-old beginner detective, who was now ahead of the agency, due to his great, professional work, had broken every rule in the book and fallen for his star witness.

Chase swallowed and asked, "How did he escape?"

"It was impressive, actually. Got his hands on some pills, induced a seizure, bad enough that the prison had him airlifted to Chicago General, where he swiftly killed a doctor, a nurse and two guards. Then he pulled a Houdini and disappeared."

Chase swore under his breath, then frowned when Michael pulled a piece of paper from the pocket of his sports coat and handed it over. "What's this?" he said warily.

"The address of the Zoey Brooks studio. Do you want to tell her, or should I?" Michael asked.

Chase's heart did an involuntary flip at the notion of seeing her again. He should probably tell Michael to go, let Michael break the news that the killer who'd sworn revenge against her was roaming the streets. Really, Michael should do it. No reason for Chase to unearth long-buried desires and troubling emotions and-

"I'll tell her."