Free Ashen Rayne (Shadowlands Book 1) by Skye Knizley Page A

as he was when I was in High School. Take us around the block.”
    Rock turned in his seat. “We’re not going back home?”
    Ashley grinned at the older man and leaned forward. “What fun would that be? I want to see what Murphy does now I’ve stirred him up a little. Let’s find a Wi-Fi signal, so I can get some work done while we wait.”
    Rock frowned, but didn’t say anything. A few minutes later, they were sitting a few blocks away in front of a small white house that had a clear view of the police department parking lot. It only took a moment for Ashley to piggyback on the homeowner’s Wi-Fi signal and start doing a background check on Murphy.
    Detective Francis “Frank” Murphy was born and raised in Jacksonville, Florida. He’d been a second string quarterback on his school football team with hopes of playing for the University of Florida, hopes that had been dashed when he didn’t make the cut. He’d graduated with mediocre grades and immediately gone into the police academy after graduation. He’d been hired out of the academy by the Ormond Beach police, and spent three years on the street before being promoted to Detective. Smoak had been his first case after being promoted. After the way he’d fumbled it, he’d ended up suspended for three months. He went back on duty and kept his head down until he was fired for letting Rayne Nightingale walk on narcotics charges for the second time. Miami had hired him at the base detective salary less than two months after he was fired from Ormond.
    Why would anyone hire you? Ashley wondered. Whose fault did you make your troubles out to be?
    Ashley pursed her lips and stared at the screen. The pieces just didn’t fit. Murphy was a lousy cop. Almost all of his solved cases were the result of teamwork, not ability on his part. Most officers with as poor a record as his would have been working the front desk until retirement, but there he was, working missing persons cases in one of the cities with the most kidnappings in America. A lot of those cases would end up being handled by the Feds, but someone had to do the grunt work, and that someone shouldn’t be Frank Murphy.
    With a few deft key strokes, she moved from Murphy’s personnel files to his private accounts. On the surface, he didn’t look out of the ordinary. He lived alone in a modest North Beach apartment, drove an Audi and deposited a small amount of poker winnings every Thursday morning. It was the offshore account he had linked to his checking account that was suspicious as hell. Murphy had been making monthly deposits ranging from five to ten thousand dollars since he’d started at the Miami department.
    “Somebody got you the job and is paying you to do what you do. Be a lousy cop,” Ashley muttered. “I’d like to know who.”
    She put the laptop aside and opened her purse. She removed a notepad and her wallet, scribbled a short note on the pad and tore it off before pulling five crisp twenty-dollar bills from her wallet. She placed them in a small envelope with the note and handed it to Rock.
    “What’s this?” he asked.
    “It’s a tip and a note suggesting they put a better password on their router. Do me a fave and slip it under the doormat, would you?” Ashley replied.
    Rock smiled and did as Ashley requested. When he came back, he leaned over the seat. “What next, Miss?”
    Ashley started to answer when a pair of headlights caught her attention. Murphy’s black Audi A4 sedan was pulling out of the police lot.
    “Follow that car,” she said, pointing. She’d always wanted to say that.
    Rock turned and let the Audi get a short distance ahead before he entered traffic and followed, always at least a block behind the Audi driving at a sedate pace. Ashley sat behind Rock, swallowing her curiosity to ensure Murphy didn’t catch her in his rearview mirror.
    Murphy had left the department heading west, however, three blocks from the station, he turned north, circled the block and