Raines of Fire: The Alexa Raines Chronicles Read Online Free

“I’m the private investigator that Edgar Faust hired,” she added, before the officer—a chubby, baby-faced twenty five year-old man who looked as fit as a package of Oreos—could ask. 
    “Oh,” he said.  “Uh, well— “He stepped aside, or rather she stepped forward and he made room for her.  The body was covered with a canvas sheet, but even that couldn’t hide the fact that the ground around it was drenched with blood. 
    “Who is it ?” Alexa asked.  The officer--“Doyle” was printed on his nametag—stammered something incomprehensible, but Alexa wasn’t listening any more.  She went up to the body and lifted the corner of the tarp.  And, for the first time in a very long time, nearly threw up.  For thousands of years Alexa had witnessed the ravages of war and the horrible atrocities that man was capable of.  What she witnessed now was a new low and threatened to overwhelm even her jaded senses.
    The body had been skinned, the muscles sliced from their tendons.  The hair and face were separated from the skull, but had been carelessly slapped back onto the bones, so that she—at least, from what Alexa could tell of the body, it was a woman—looked like she was wearing a rubber mask the wrong way.  The woman had been strangled with her own intestines.  Alexa replaced the tarp before the scowling coroner could tell her to.  There was nothing she could get from this, except feeling ill. 
    Whoever had done this was one sick puppy , Alexa thought.  She stood up and went over to Doyle.  “Do you have any suspects?” she asked. 
    “Well, I’m not supposed—“
    A sign behind Doyle caught her eye, as did the man wielding it:  “REPENT YE HEATHENS”, painted in blood-red letters on a sheet of poster board tacked onto a stick, and a man dressed in a cheap suit howling something about the vengeance of the Lords.   Alexa turned back to Doyle.  The stiff smile on his face told her that yes, this strange man was a suspect.  “Who’s he?” she asked.
    “I told you—“
    The crowd that had gathered around the official perimeter had, up until now, been quiet, rubbernecking politely the way people in small towns did.  But now there was a screech of pure rage, and a woman came running at the man in the cheap suit, and she tackled him, breaking the stick and tearing the poster.  She gouged at his eyes, while he had his hands around her throat—but by this time the police and Alexa had descended upon the pair and while two officers pinned the man to the ground, Alexa pulled the woman off.  “What’re you—“Alexa began, before she realized who it was.  “Felicia?” she sputtered.
     
    The woman—olive-skinned, raven-hair, gold eyes—was shocked into stopping.  “Alexa,” she gasped.  Then she slapped Alexa across the face and stormed off.  The shock of seeing Felicia Grant after ten years hurt Alexa more than the slap.  The surprising thing was, she found herself running after Felicia anyway. 
     

Chapter Eight 
     
    “I’m sorry—“
    “I fucking thought you were dead!” Felicia shouted.  “I mourned you for years.  Every time I saw someone with your hair, I had to make sure it wasn’t you.  And I still see you reflected in mirrors—I still smell your perfume—I still hear your fucking voice in my head—and I keep telling myself, ‘No, she’s dead, move on,’ and every time I think I might finally be over you, it’s bam, another reminder of what we had.  And now you’re here?”
    Alexa was half-running after Felicia, who never broke out of an angry, stiff-legged walk.  They were headed away from the houses, towards the other end of the park, where there was a row of shops.  Alexa felt a few stares following them as they left the crime scene, but most of the onlookers were still more curious about the dead body, which was fine by her.  This part of the country, in her experience, didn’t look too kindly on girls who liked girls.
    “Look,