Gunnar's Guardian Read online

  GUNNAR’S GUARDIAN

  By

  Pandora Pine

  Gunnar’s Guardian

  Copyright © Pandora Pine 2020

  All Rights Reserved

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First Digital Edition: May 2020

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  Kennedy

  June, 2000…

  Tiago had finally gone too far. I was sitting in the center of what used to be the living room with blood dripping down my chin and my left eye swollen to the point that I could no longer see out of it. There wasn’t much to see anyway. Not anymore.

  Furniture was overturned and the glass coffee table was shattered. Wicked shards of glass littered the living room rug, twinkling like stars in the glow of the television. There was blood on some of the broken pieces. It had been my mother who’d broken the glass. Tiago’s right hook to the face sent her sprawling. She’d gotten her right forearm in front of her face a spilt-second before it hit the glass.

  I’d seen the fear in Tiago’s eyes when he grabbed my bleeding mother and dragged her toward the bedroom they shared. She’d gone kicking and screaming, knocking a lamp and the end table over in the process. The table tipped onto its top, leaving the legs sticking up like a beetle on its back. I could see the blood trail she’d left as he’d hustled her off.

  The fight had started over homework. My mother asked me to get working on it. I said no. There were ten minutes left in Buffy the Vampire Slayer and I was mad for Spike. He made my heart pound in my chest and gave me a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach that I couldn’t explain, but wanted more of.

  Tiago hit me for daring to say no to the order. For once, my mother stepped in between the two of us and she’d gotten hit so hard that the glass-topped table had broken her fall and probably her arm.

  Ten minutes ago, life was normal. Well, as normal as things were in this place. My mom had known Tiago for a week before letting him move in with us. That had been almost six months ago. Being fast on her feet with men was her usual way. Kitty Lynch was never without a man.

  My real father was dead. Lost at sea in a fishing accident. That was life in New Bedford, Massachusetts. When the fleet left the harbor, there was no guarantee any of them would come home.

  It was always the same when my mom moved in a new boyfriend. The men were nice to me for the first day or two. Then shit hit the fan. I was slapped. Beaten. Burned with cigarettes. One asshole even tried to touch me down there, but I wasn’t having any of that. I punched him in the junk and then he punched me in the face. I woke up three days later in the hospital, but at least he was gone. The house didn’t stay empty of a man for long.

  Rinse. Repeat. Second verse, same as the first.

  Loud cries from the back of the house brought me back to the present. It was my mother screaming for help.

  “No, Tiago! Don’t! Stop! Noooooooooo!” My mother’s cry ended on what sounds to me like a gurgle. Even at ten years old, I knew what that sound meant. I was an orphan. If I didn’t move and move fast, Tiago would kill me too.

  I wobbled to my feet, my brain scrambling for a place to hide. In a two-bedroom apartment, there weren’t many places a kid my size could go. The broom closet was my only option. I looked longingly at the front door but knew that other people would get hurt if I dragged neighbors into our fight. This was my fault. I needed to deal with it like a man.

  Stumbling, I moved toward the kitchen. That’s when all hell broke loose. Tiago bellowed from the bedroom. His rampaging footfalls were getting closer and closer. “I’ll kill you too! You motherfucking bastard!”

  Frozen. Just like a deer in the headlights. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. This was how my life was going to end. Maybe now I’d get to meet my father for the first time. My eyes slipped shut as I prayed for my end to be quick and painless.

  Tiago roared again. This time he was closer. My eyes flew open and I saw the knife. It was shining from the reflection of the bare kitchen bulb. My mother’s blood formed pregnant droplets at the tip before slowly falling to the floor. It reminded me of the opening to CSI.

  I wasn’t supposed to watch that show, but on nights when Tiago was passed out drunk, I’d sneak into the living room and watch it. Gil Grissom and his team were heroes. They’d help a kid like me. If they knew I existed. If they actually existed.

  The blade rose again. I knew if I didn’t do something to defend myself it would be my blood mixed with hers on the blade of that kitchen knife. I backed away from Tiago as he advanced toward me. My right leg bumped against something. It was the chair he sat in for meals. Grabbing it, I threw it toward him. Tiago had been charging at me so hard that the chair only bounced off his hip, skittering into what was left of the living room.

  I was exposed. There was nowhere else to run. Tiago tightened his grip on the blade. I backed into the kitchen sink. There were no dirty dishes in it. Nor were there clean dishes drying in the rack. That was one of Tiago’s rules. There was nothing to use against him. No weapons. I was trapped. I did the only thing I could do. “Hail Mary, full of grace…”

  As if my small prayer worked, the front door to the apartment splintered open. There were shouts of “POLICE!” Officers with guns drawn swarmed the room and then Tiago. One of them grabbed me, pulling me to the side. Asked if I was all right. My mother was dead. I was bleeding and could only see out of one eye. No, I was not all right.

  A neighbor must have called the cops. Probably Mrs. Simonson from next door. She was a sweet old woman, but always had her nose in everyone else’s business. Her gossiping ways may have saved my life that night. I was never able to thank her.

  Everything happened at light speed after that. Tiago was arrested and taken out of the apartment. They brought my mother out next. She was on a gurney the EMTs brought into the apartment and zipped into a black bag that looked like it should be holding suits, not a human being. Not my mother. I wasn’t able to say goodbye. The officer watching over me said they couldn’t afford to have me contaminate the scene. Gil Grissom would have told me the same thing.

  On television I would have had this dramatic last scene with my mother. I’d vow to never sleep until her killer was brought to justice. Later on in the episode there would be bitter and cutting lines I would deliver to Tiago when I finally faced him. He’d pay for what he’d done.

  None of those things happened. The officer, Garcia, her name was, brought me back to my room, which had survived the confrontation undamaged. She’d told me to pack my things and handed me a black plastic garbage bag.

  I stuffed all my clean clothes into the bag, along with Baxter, a worn teddy bear my mother had gotten me for Christmas two years ago. I knew I was going to have to be a man now, but this
bear was the only thing I had left of her. The last thing that went into the bag was a picture of the two of us together, sitting on the couch. Before Tiago. Before everything went to hell.

  Officer Garcia walked me out of the apartment for what I knew would be the last time. I didn’t bother to turn back. There was nothing there I wanted to remember.

  A woman from Child Protective Services was waiting outside. The dark neighborhood was illuminated with blue and white police lights bouncing around in concert with the red lights from the ambulance. There was no need for it to hurry away. Nothing could be done for my mother now.

  I was introduced to the CPS worker. Her name was Patricia, but she insisted I call her Patti. She got me seated in her car before stuffing my things into the trunk. It was fitting everything I owned in the world was in a garbage bag. This had been a garbage life. Like attracts like, as my mother used to say. I never understood what she’d meant, until that moment.

  Patti pulled the car away from the curb and started chattering to me about the weather and something called Gloucester. I had no idea what a Gloucester was, so I shut my eyes and thought of Buffy and Spike. Unbelievably, I felt myself drift off to sleep.

  A car door shutting startled me awake. It took a moment for me to remember where I was. Then it came to me. Tiago had murdered my mother. I was in some social worker’s car.

  The driver’s side backdoor opened, and Patti reached for me. I managed to get my seatbelt off and climb out of the car. What I saw surprised me. I figured I was bound for some orphanage, but instead I was in a neighborhood with houses. A family was standing in the driveway with smiles on their faces.

  “I’m Mandy McCoy and this is my husband, David.” The woman looked like she was in her late thirties, but it was hard to tell in the dark. She was blonde with blue or green eyes, slender and wearing an ugly floral print bathrobe that went all the way to her toes. Mandy was older than my mother. My heart pinched as my mind supplied the image of her in a body bag being wheeled out of our shitty apartment.

  David was tall, probably over six feet. His sandy blond hair was sticking up in the back and his bathrobe wasn’t tied. The belt hung down his long legs. He wore glasses and a kind smile I knew was filled with pity.

  “Hi,” I managed to say. It sounded more like a squeak. To say I was scared was an understatement. Who were these people? What was I doing here?

  “These are our sons Ozzy, Dallas, and Hennessey.” She pointed to the three young boys who were huddled around David.

  I took my time studying the kids. Ozzy was tall and skinny with a wicked scar running down the side of his left cheek. He looked mean. Dallas wore a brave smile. It was obvious he was terrified of something. Maybe me. Hennessy had longish dirty blond hair. He stood there with his arms crossed over his thin chest, looking like he was pissed at something. Probably me.

  One of these things didn’t look like the others. It was obvious Hennessey was Mandy’s real son. Ozzy, with his jet-black hair, and Dallas, with his flaming red locks, didn’t look anything like Mandy or David.

  “This is going to be your new home, Kennedy,” Patti said. “Mandy and David are going to be your foster parents.”

  Oh. That explained why Ozzy and Dallas didn’t look like the McCoys or each other. They were foster kids. Shit, if they were foster kids, that meant I was too. My heart sunk even further.

  It was too much. Even though I was a man now, I started to cry.

  Mandy rushed to my side. Kneeling in front of me she put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s going to be all right. You’re safe here. Safe. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. I promise.” She smiled at me through tears of her own. “You’re going to be all right.”

  Nothing would ever be all right again.

  1

  Kennedy

  June 2020…

  It had been a long-ass shift. Making matters worse, was the fact that it wasn’t even my shift to take. Anders March had banged in sick and I was the dumbass who agreed to take his patrol car for him on the Charlie shift, 10:00 p.m. until 7:00 a.m., on a night when lunacy was par for the course.

  Christ, I’ve never been much of a martyr, but here I was, Detective Kennedy Lynch, on patrol. Adding insult to injury was the fact that I had to be in my blues, instead of dressed in jeans and a wife-beater, my usual attire when I was roaming the streets as a member of the Vice Squad. Hookers and blow were my jam. So to speak.

  Last night had been the first night of the full Strawberry Moon. Who the fuck was it who named these damned moons? Whoever it was should have their head examined. Sweet, succulent strawberries had nothing in common with the lunatic madness brought on by the full moon.

  The only thing worse than a full moon was a full blood moon in the heat of summer. It was only the second week in June, but Gloucester, Massachusetts had been above ninety degrees for the last week or so, with no sign of relief in sight.

  The “blood” moon had certainly lived up to its name. There had been two stabbings, a shooting, and some kind of dust up between rival drug gangs, who’d thankfully decided to use their fists instead of bullets and blades. I’d spent more time in the ER at Gloucester Memorial Hospital tonight than I had in the last month.

  What I wanted to do more than anything was peel this sweaty, stinking uniform off my body, take a cool shower, and then a nap in my bedroom with the air conditioner set to deep freeze. At that temperature, it was too cold for penguins. My second shift of the day started at 3:00 p.m. At least then I’d be back in my usual uniform. My second skin.

  Turning onto my street, I knew my dreams of a nap were not to be. Sitting in front of the townhouse next to mine was a small U-Haul truck and one teenager perched on the loading ramp looking sulky. The minute he saw my Gloucester Police SUV, he bolted from the ramp, running to the driver’s side of the truck.

  What the fuck was up with this guy? My cop radar was on high alert, until I parked the car in my driveway and shut off the ignition. I heard the dying strains of some hip-hop bullshit playing loud enough to rupture my eardrums before the sound was turned off. The kid must have thought I was here on a noise complaint.

  “Sorry, Officer,” the kid muttered with a too-bright smile. He never made eye contact before quickly ducking into the back of the truck.

  It didn’t hit me until he walked into the back of the U-Haul and came out with a suitcase, that this guy was my new neighbor. The end unit next to my townhouse had been for sale since the week before Christmas. My retired neighbors were off to spend their golden years in the Sunshine State. The house had been empty, but for a few open houses, since then.

  Motherfucking fuck. The last thing I needed was some kid living next door having loud, obnoxious parties with his loud, obnoxious friends. A deep frown furrowed my face.

  “Shit, you’re not here to arrest me, are you, officer?” The last word was sneered like it tasted bad in his mouth. He stood with his hands on his slim hips and an incredulous look in his startling green eyes.

  The kid was a string-bean. He stood about five foot, eight inches and looked like he needed a sandwich. Maybe more than one. I couldn’t decide if his flaming red hair or his emerald green eyes were his best feature. It sure as hell wasn’t his smart mouth with its full lips. His attire consisted of baggy jeans and a Pink Floyd concert tee. Unless he’d gone as a toddler, there was no way this kid had attended a Pink Floyd show. The thought of that alone got under my skin.

  With those words, I was back in cop-mode. Who did this kid think he was, acting like this? “I’ll give you one opportunity to adjust your own attitude before I do it for you. If I were here to arrest you, you’d already be in cuffs.” I paused, caught in the glitter of his hard, green eyes. “I’m your neighbor, dumbass.” It wasn’t how I’d planned to end my tirade, but if I’d gotten much closer to the snot-nosed brat I wouldn’t have been be able to keep my hands off him.

  Instead of backing down, I could see my words lit a fire in the kid, who wasn’t actually a kid. Once
I was standing nearly toe to toe with him, I could see he was in his early twenties. “Adjust my attitude? Check your own, Boomer!” He scoffed openly at me.

  Boomer? How the hell old did this kid think I was? Up until that moment, I’d thought I looked a bit younger than my thirty years. That wasn’t the point. Or was it? The little bastard was just trying to goad me. “I’m not the one with the attitude here, son.” I drew out that last word. My hands were fisted on my hips and I was using every inch of my 6’3” frame to tower over him.

  “I’m not your son, asshole!” He shouted. His voice echoing in the box truck. The anger in his voice was real. So was the hurt in his eyes. “I’m no one’s son,” he muttered to himself.

  What the hell did that mean? Had his father died? Disowned him? Kicked him out? I took a step back, waiting for my training to kick in. “Look, I’m sorry. We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot.” I took a deep breath, all the while watching his body language. The anger had drained from his eyes, replaced by sadness and something else. Maybe confusion. His body was coiled and ready to strike. His hands were still balled into fists.

  “Wrong foot, my ass.” There wasn’t as much heat behind his words.

  “I’m Detective Kennedy Lynch. I work for the Gloucester Police Department.” The department was big on community policing, so I figured I should do what I could to leave him with a favorable opinion of the department.

  “Detective?” he snorted. “So why the hell do you look like you spent the morning directing traffic?” A devious smile curved his lips.

  I could feel my anger start to roil in my gut again. There was no way I was going to rise to this kid’s bait. “It’s called sacrifice. Some asshole called out sick. He works patrol. Instead of getting a good night’s sleep before my actual shift starts, I took someone else’s so that your delicate ass could sleep peacefully last night.” I didn’t know why I felt the need to explain myself to this amoeba. He looked like the kind of kid who had never heard the word sacrifice before, let alone tried it on for size.