Cuffed & Collared Read Online Free

his eyebrows.
    “Club Nemesis? That’s the goddess of divine retribution. So, what is this? A strip club or something? Not my style since college, you know that.”
    “Not a strip club. It’s different,” his friend had claimed with a sly, drunken grin. “When you get tired of being the big shot litigator, stop by. You’ll sleep like a baby afterward, I promise.”
    Kyle had tossed the card aside dismissively when Jazz wouldn’t divulge more. The memory of that night jarred him out of his miserable stupor. What had he done with the card? Reaching over to the side table, he yanked open the drawer. The card lay inside, slightly crinkled. Snatching it up, he studied it again with his more sober eyes. There still wasn’t anything to indicate what the club was like or what relevance it might have. Yet a feeling grew in the pit of his stomach that this piece of information might be critical to solving Jazz’s murder.
    He should call the cop, Sergeant Malloy. Of course he should, but first he’d look into the club himself. He was a man who got things done, and at that moment, finding who killed his friend was paramount.

Chapter Two
    “Hi, Pops.” Regan sauntered into her father’s living room and was gratified to see him sitting in his wheelchair watching television. There was something very comforting in this mundane predictability. It was especially true given the long, wretched day she’d had.
    He turned the large wheels of his chair with the power of his massive arms in order to see her. “It’s past ten, and I bet you skipped dinner again.”
    “Since when don’t peanut butter crackers out of the vending machine chased down by a cold cup of coffee count as dinner?” she asked.
    “Since it’s your dinner we’re talking about, not mine,” her father retorted. Jack Malloy had been a cop for more than ten years before a drug dealer put him in that wheelchair while resisting arrest. “Lucky for you, I ordered take-out.”
    She had meant to only make a quick check on her father before going upstairs to her apartment on the second floor of his duplex, but the smell of Chinese food lured her into the room. “I suppose a few spring rolls and some sesame chicken wouldn’t hurt.” Sitting down on the sofa, she snatched up a carton and a pair of chopsticks to dig in. It was just what she needed. Bless her Pops.
    Muting the TV with his remote, her father asked, “Got something big going on down at the station, have you?”
    “A serial killer,” she replied with a mouthful of food.
    Her father’s eyes went wide. “Christ, Jesus, you’re not serious?” Unlike her mother’s side or her cousins, the Callaghans, her father was recent to America, having immigrated as a child. He still had a bit of Irish in his voice.
    When she nodded to indicate she was indeed serious, he shook his head in dismay, although a glimmer of excitement lit his eyes. It gave Regan great satisfaction, knowing her work added some meaning to her father’s otherwise restricted life. With dead legs and a dead wife, he worked hard to keep active and interested in things and not wallow in the house.
    “We haven’t had such a thing around here since the Strangler. You’re sure?”
    Regan swallowed hard. “Why does everyone keep asking me that question?” Like her lieutenant. Fuller was a good cop and a good boss, but he was skeptical of her theories. “I’m as sure as I can be with only two victims. The M.O. for both murders is too similar and two bizarre for it to be anything else, unless we find a close connection between the vics to indicate it was directed solely at the two of them,” she conceded.
    No such tie between Morales and Bennington had been uncovered, however, and her gut told her one wouldn’t be. Although the men were of a type, a rare type in her experience, they were too dissimilar to imply a personal relationship between them.
    Her father pursed his lips and nodded gravely. “There’ll be hell to pay when it