Page 1 of Veiled Justice (The Other Detective #1)

Helga knew something was wrong soon after she took her first sip of champagne. Almost immediately her body started to react sluggishly and she struggled to put one foot in front of the other. Her ears were ringing; her eyes couldn’t focus.

A warm arm slipped around her waist; one she hadn’t asked for.

The arm was strong and propelled her effortlessly out of the stuffy party and into the fresh night air of the ornate gardens.

She was dimly aware of loud bangs followed by approving gasps of wonder, more bangs, more gasps.

Fireworks, she thought, not gunfire. No one oohed and aahed at gunfire.

She staggered a little and the arm around her tightened to keep her upright. ‘Just hold on to me, baby,’ the voice said and confusion flooded her because she recognised it – didn’t she?

She shouldn’t have accepted the champagne flute because she was on duty; now her client was vulnerable and it was all her fault.

A stupid mistake, a rookie error, one her parents would hold over her for years.

She was too young to be on assignment, but she’d wanted so much to prove she could do it.

She’d grabbed the off-the-books job eagerly, hoping it would lead to glory.

Instead, this was going to set her back significantly.

This particular job had been a babysitting snoozefest from the start and it should have been a doddle, nothing more than a spoiled rich kid wanting to look tough.

It had rapidly become clear that Helga was little more than an ogre accessory for a brat with too much money and not enough manners.

She’d already stepped in when he’d got too handsy with one of the women.

Her client hadn’t enjoyed that. She’d pointed out that she wasn’t here to facilitate rape but to keep the client safe: that included future reprisals for stupid horny actions.

She’d just wanted to do the job and leave, show her parents she could be trusted, but instead she’d fallen at the first hurdle.

The night had been so long and so utterly boring.

It was nearly over, and a tiny sip of alcohol shouldn’t have affected her in the slightest – ogres metabolised alcohol faster than humans.

Even so, she should have refused when she was offered the glass, but the temptation was there and her shift was so nearly over. Besides, she could handle her drink…

It wasn’t the alcohol she should have been wary of. Her drink had been spiked, no doubt with a potion of some kind. Some human men had ogre fetishes, and bigger, stronger women were a turn-on. The foulest of them called it bestiality.

She knew the company that she was keeping here. She’d seen the sneers, the looks of disdain, and in some eyes she’d seen a weird eagerness that she now understood.

Now she was drugged and she was probably about to be raped.

She felt oddly matter of fact about that. She should have been screaming, fighting, but everything was just so damned off. Her tongue was thick and leaden and, try as she might, no scream would come out.

She had weapons. She would draw one if only she could get her damned body to respond but it was all she could do to stumble and breathe, to claw onto consciousness so at least she’d be a witness to what happened to her.

And afterwards, when her limbs were working again, she’d kill her attacker for what he was about to do to her unwilling body. The thought made her smile inside.

The arm around her stopped guiding her and shoved her to the hard ground. She fell face first and her nose crunched. Pain exploded and blood poured from her nostrils. He turned her over and made a tutting sound, then wiped away the blood like it just wouldn’t do.

When he stood over her, she knew his face. He drew a dagger – and that was when real fear trickled through her, sluggish mind or not. Because that was when she realised it wasn’t rape on the cards but murder.

She hadn’t even drawn her weapons.

Her parents were going to be so disappointed in her.