Revelation: A Blackburn Erotic Thriller (Book 4)

Revelation – Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

First light seeped over Dunbar Bluffs. Detective Morgan Blackburn stood near the drop, her silhouette etched against the strobe of police lights and churning activity. Behind her, the scene throbbed with emergency work: cruisers angled along the lane, engines rumbling beneath clipped voices that cut through the morning air. A helicopter carved slow circles overhead, its spotlight sweeping across fractured rock and scorched brush. The news chopper hovered at the edges, cameras rolling for the morning broadcast.

Death served up for breakfast.

Below where stone met dirt, wreckage burned in violent bursts. Firefighters worked with grim precision, faces tight as they beat back flames and navigated twisted metal. Ash spiraled through the pale light, coating everything in gray dust.

Blackburn scanned the terrain. The debris field spread in a concentrated pattern, fragments already tagged by crime scene techs moving in pairs. Yellow markers sprouted beside pieces of cab frame and blackened vegetation. Everything seemed out of place. Nothing fit.

Officer DeForest shifted nearby, boots scraping gravel. He watched Blackburn, waiting.

She had led the pursuit herself, racing through city streets and out toward this jagged edge. Lilith Halperin’s cab had been diverted. A lover’s shortcut transformed into a death trap once she had stepped inside. Blackburn had arrived expecting something intimate. Instead, she had tracked a runaway vehicle as it careened off course, joining DeForest and Watson just before everything unraveled.

They followed protocol but came up short. The cab had paused just long enough for Blackburn to scramble through the dirt and reach the handles. See her face, her fear. Then it sailed clean off the cliff despite their efforts. Lilith, her new submissive, had been inside.

Blackburn absorbed that loss like ice water in her veins.

DeForest cleared his throat, watching her for direction. Her new puppy needed attention.

“Officer,” Blackburn said, beckoning him closer.

He stepped forward quickly. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Thank you,” she said, voice low. “Your timing saved my life.”

He nodded but avoided her gaze. “I’m glad you’re all right.” His eyes drifted toward the smoking wreckage below. “Wish we could have done more for them.”

Them.

The cab’s driver remained unaccounted for. Early evidence, a frantic 911 call, suggested he lost control well before reaching the bluffs.

Nothing about this case would be simple.

The sun climbed higher, heat pressing down on Dunbar Bluffs. Reporters crowded behind the yellow tape, voices tangling in an insistent chorus of questions. Some scrambled up the hillside, cameras hoisted, determined to capture every angle of destruction below.

Blackburn held her position back from the cliff. Her right arm hugged her ribs, shoulder pulsing where DeForest’s grip had wrenched it moments earlier. She rolled her arm carefully, jaw clenched as pain bloomed through muscle and bone.

Around her, officers coordinated logistics, EMTs threaded between clusters of responders, and crime scene techs documented evidence with mechanical clicks. The noise blurred at the edges of Blackburn’s attention. She monitored her breathing and dissected the last hour in pieces. The car’s plunge looped through her mind. Glass exploding, metal shrieking against stone. Every detail was turned over for examination. She hunted for patterns.

An EMT approached with deliberate steps. “Detective Blackburn? Let’s check that shoulder.” His voice carried professional calm, and his expression was neutral.

She caught his eyes, reading both concern and assessment of her stability. Aftercare. She nodded and allowed him to guide her from the overlook toward the ambulance. Cameras tracked their movement, shutters firing in rapid succession.

Inside the vehicle, Blackburn settled onto the bench seat. The throb in her shoulder faded to familiar background static: unfinished business demanding attention. Images of Lilith flickered through her mind. First terror, then hunger. Her own. Lilith’s face illuminated by the dashboard light as she screamed behind locked doors. The memory sparked no sympathy in Blackburn, only a cold current of satisfaction.

The image scratched the inside of Blackburn’s skull. Not grief, but a cold satisfaction she didn’t bother justifying.

She blinked and pushed that image down. Another memory surfaced: Lilith entering a restaurant just days ago, spine straight, face composed, dark hair spilling over a blouse. Their eyes had locked. Neither broke contact first.

Blackburn released a breath and studied the scene through the ambulance window. Media crews clustered near squad cars and barriers. They shouted to officers by name or barked updates into phones. Every gesture seemed rehearsed. Equipment thrust forward, eager faces scanning for vulnerability or narrative.

A black sedan rolled to a stop beyond the tape. Blackburn identified Chief Hayes before he emerged. The press pack wheeled toward him in unison and pressed forward, hungry for statements.

Hayes stepped out stiffly, adjusting his collar while the questions began without him. He blinked into the noise, already losing ground. He smoothed his coat before turning to face their assault head-on.

The EMT moved her shoulder back and forth, a small pain against tender skin. Blackburn shifted and reached for her phone with her free hand. Her thumb moved across the screen, opening BDSMessages. She angled the display away from the medic’s peripheral vision, her fingers steady as she navigated the deletion process. Each photo dissolved into the digital void. Connections severed with clinical precision. She lifted her gaze to scan the surrounding chaos. Uniforms, flashing lights, curious onlookers. Then she returned to her task, methodical and silent.

With a final tap, she deleted her account. The last traces of her digital footprint vanished from the app, leaving only empty server space behind. She allowed herself the smallest upturn of her lips. Efficient, necessary, another vulnerability eliminated.

The phone vibrated against her palm before she could slip it away. Willow’s name illuminated the screen. Blackburn suppressed the tightness in her jaw and answered.

“Hello.” The word came out weary but controlled.

Willow’s voice spilled through the speaker, high and fractured. “Oh God, I just saw what happened. Are you alright? They said you got hurt.”

Willow Adler. Lover. Suspect.

Blackburn pressed her eyes closed, feeling the ache radiate from her shoulder. She measured her response carefully.

“I’m fine. Just shaken up, nothing serious.” She kept her tone gentle but unyielding.

Willow’s anxiety crackled through the connection, questions tumbling over each other in breathless succession. Blackburn caught movement in her periphery. Officer DeForest approached the ambulance, his jaw jutting forward, leading him toward her.

“Willow,” Blackburn interrupted, her voice low and definitive, “I need to go. I have to speak with Officer DeForest now. I’ll see you soon.”

She disconnected before Willow could form another word and tucked her phone away as DeForest’s shadow fell across the gurney.

Two cameras perched at the scene’s perimeter, their black lenses trained on the ambulance like predatory eyes. Blackburn registered their presence instantly: live footage streaming to whoever cared to watch. She calculated her next move in seconds.

Rising from the gurney, she stepped into DeForest’s space and wrapped her arms around him. His muscles locked beneath her touch before gradually softening into an uncertain return embrace.

“Thank you,” she murmured against the rough fabric of his uniform, her voice calibrated for nearby microphones.

Heat crept up DeForest’s neck as he registered the cameras and the watching officers. “I only did what was needed, Detective,” he said, the words stiff in his throat.

Blackburn drew back but maintained her grip on his shoulders, holding his gaze while camera shutters clicked like insects behind her.

“No, Officer DeForest,” Blackburn said, her voice clear for the microphones. “A dozen officers were here when that cab went over. I was the only one who made a move. You were the only one who pulled me out. Don’t minimize it.”

The cameras lingered, their lenses catching the air that misted the air between them. She held his gaze, something guarded flickering behind her eyes as raw emotion gave way to control. The wind carried the acrid smell of burned rubber, still fresh from the fire. She took a slow breath, tasting tension and exhaust.

“In the confusion that follows, critical things fall through the cracks,” she said, her words nearly lost beneath the distant crash of waves against the rocks below. “The media will turn this into a headline or two. They’ll cut to something else within days. We’ll return to routine: more reports, more cases, another shift.” Her fingers found DeForest’s hand, his skin still cold from the shock. Her touch was steady, firm.

“But listen to me,” Blackburn continued, her tone even but unwavering against the helicopter blades chopping overhead. “Saving my life wasn’t just reflex. You made a decision in a moment when others froze. That trait will matter for the rest of your life.”

Her grip tightened just enough to feel his pulse racing beneath her thumb. “You did more than your job today. You chose to act when it counted and gave someone a chance.” She watched him closely, noting how the rising sun caught the sweat still clinging to his brow. Her words settled between them in the brief silence. Her eyes tracked the cameras circling like predators. They were paying attention.

“Remember this,” Blackburn said, raising her voice so everyone could hear it above the ambient chaos. “This is the difference between just showing up and actually doing something real.”

The cameras tracked every expression and movement, their mechanical whir audible in the lulls between sirens. Blackburn’s gratitude rang genuine but betrayed no indulgence, her jaw set against the hot wind.

She turned back toward DeForest with quiet authority, gravel crunching beneath her shoes. “What you did went beyond what was expected,” she said for the record, projecting her voice toward the cluster of microphones again. “I’ll recommend you directly to Chief Hayes for a Lifesaving Award or Medal of Honor if I can swing it. You risked everything.”

DeForest flushed, the color stark against his pale skin, uncertain what to say. His eyes flicked toward the jagged edge of the bluff, where yellow tape fluttered like warning flags, before meeting hers again. “Thank you, Detective,” he managed, his voice rough with salt water. “But you put yourself at risk too, for strangers in that cab.”

Blackburn nodded, her mouth barely curving into a restrained smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Then maybe we go together to see Chief Hayes,” she replied evenly, brushing dried salt from her sleeve. “Anyone who does what we did deserves recognition.”

Officer DeForest pointed toward the line of emergency vehicles. “Chief Hayes is over there. We could talk to him now, if you want.”

Blackburn followed his gesture. Hayes stood at the center, ringed by reporters and techs. She watched for a moment, then shook her head. “Not yet. Give it a few days. The story’s better when the noise dies down.”

Before DeForest could respond, Chief Hayes broke away from the crowd and crossed the gravel with quick, steady steps. Lines of fatigue cut through his expression as he sized up Blackburn and DeForest.

“Detective Blackburn. Officer DeForest.” His voice carried authority but was edged with something softer. Relief, maybe. “I saw it all on TV. Wild scene.”

Blackburn kept her face unreadable. “What did you see, chief?”

Hayes studied her, then recounted what he’d witnessed. “The pursuit on I-35, car off the cliff at Dunbar Bluffs, your attempt to reach the passengers. And DeForest pulling you back from the edge.” He nodded to the officer beside her.

DeForest shifted awkwardly, color rising in his cheeks. “I was just doing what I was supposed to do, sir.”

Blackburn squeezed his shoulder briefly, controlled. “Don’t sell yourself short,” she said. “You went above and beyond.” Her voice dropped lower. “We did everything we could for them.”

Hayes turned away for a moment as paramedics loaded bodies behind him and camera flashes caught in the morning mist below the bluffs.

Blackburn faced him again, tone clipped but steady. “Sir, I don’t think this was driver error,” she said. “That vehicle wasn’t operating normally.”

Hayes’s composure slipped for an instant. “Again?”

DeForest stepped in quickly, eager to be useful now that attention had shifted from him. “My partner Watson and I were talking with Detective Blackburn when the cab pulled up across the street. I noticed something weird just before it took off,” he said. “The lights in the car flickered like it shorted out, then it accelerated off the road.”

Hayes listened, eyes fixed on nothing in particular as he weighed their words. “The cab came up to you?”

“Practically,” DeForest said. “It’s almost like they were having problems and saw us. Like they wanted our help.”

“So, the cab found you,” he said finally. “Why were you there?”

“I’d been working late again, chief,” Blackburn said. “I’d gone out for a breath of fresh air, and got chatting with patrol.” Believable. Clean.

“With everything that’s happened, we’re not equipped to handle it alone.” He glanced at Blackburn. “We need federal support.”

He left it there for a moment before continuing.

“I’m calling in the FBI,” Hayes said, voice matter-of-fact. “They’ll take the lead on the technical analysis and coordinate with us moving forward.”

Blackburn didn’t protest aloud, but tension flickered across her jawline for an instant before she masked it again.

She knew which agent to contact.

“I understand, chief,” Blackburn said. Her tone carried resignation. “I would prefer to keep this in-house, but I see the need for backup. Especially considering my involvement.”

Chief Hayes nodded, jaw tight. “You understand, detective, but we need every resource on this. Your experience will still drive the case.”

Their conversation ended as Blackburn noticed Reeves breaking away from the barricade. His shirt hung untucked, hair still bearing the styling of a pillow. He looked as if he had been dragged from sleep and thrown into his clothes.

Victor Reeves. Great detective. Almost as smart as Blackburn.

“Excuse me,” Blackburn said quietly, stepping aside.

Hayes and DeForest returned to the chaos while Blackburn moved toward Reeves. Over his shoulder, she caught sight of Cooper and Sinclair by an ambulance. Cooper kept his arms folded tight across his chest, his gaze sweeping the perimeter in arcs. Sinclair stared openly at Blackburn across the distance, almost salivating.

Riley Cooper was a solid, dependable detective. Adam Sinclair was a pathetic sycophant with an unhealthy fixation. One that made him a suspect in these murders, though only in Blackburn’s mind.

Reeves reached her first and pulled her into a brief embrace. The scent of hastily chewed mints could not mask the sleep-breath still clinging to him.

“What were you thinking?” he muttered against her ear, more relief than anger threading through his voice.

Blackburn let him hold on a moment, feeling the slight tremor in his arms. “Same as always,” she replied. “That I am invincible.” The dry humor barely masked her exhaustion.

They broke apart and walked together toward Cooper and Sinclair. Reeves stayed close, his breathing still uneven, eyes scanning her for damage.

Blackburn waved DeForest over with a sharp motion. The young officer responded immediately, boots crunching against loose gravel as he jogged to their side. His uniform bore dark patches of sweat, and bits of debris clung to his knees where he had kneeled beside her earlier.

Blackburn opened her arms for Cooper. He accepted without hesitation, his embrace firm and brief, the leather of his jacket creaking as he stepped back with a curt nod.

Sinclair shifted, hope brightening his features as he waited for his turn.

Instead, Blackburn turned to DeForest. With deliberate formality, she rested a hand on his shoulder and drew him into their circle.

“Gentlemen,” she said, each word precise. “Officer DeForest. This is the man who saved my life.”

Sinclair’s hands dropped to his sides like cut strings. The eager smile dissolved from his face. He hovered at the group’s edge, watching as her attention focused entirely on DeForest’s quiet heroism, leaving him stranded in the periphery.

The detectives gathered loosely around Officer DeForest. Cooper’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder. Sinclair gripped his hand harder than necessary, the lingering tension dissolving in the handshake.

“Thank you, Officer DeForest,” Cooper said. His voice carried genuine respect. “You did good work.”

DeForest ducked his head. Heat crept up his neck, blooming red beneath his collar. “Just doing my job, sir.” He glanced at Blackburn. She tapped his arm once to make him behave.

“I mean yes, thank you, sir.”

Reeves stepped in close. Morning light caught the silver threads in his hair, but his gaze held steady on DeForest. “Be proud,” Reeves told him. The words came unadorned. “You pulled a fellow officer to safety. You’ll remember that every time you put on the badge.” His voice carried the rasp of too many years and too little rest.

While the group congratulated DeForest, Blackburn stepped aside for the EMT to finish her exam. The technician’s fingers pressed carefully along her shoulder, mapping the damage beneath her skin. Blackburn’s jaw twitched, but she kept still.

“How’s the pain?” the EMT asked.

“It’s fine,” Blackburn answered. Her voice remained steady as a stone.

She had survived worse: pain that left its signature in old fractures and bone-deep memories. Yet these officers circled her as if she were made of glass, as if survival here revealed something new about her resilience.

The EMT’s hands hesitated before releasing her arm. “Detective, I recommend getting checked out at the hospital,” she said. “There could be damage I can’t assess here.”

Blackburn started to refuse, but Watson approached before the words formed. His eyes found DeForest first, pride plain in his expression, before turning to Blackburn. He and DeForest had arrived at the parking lot where Blackburn was waiting for Lilith. They knew the reputation of that stretch of asphalt, but respected her badge enough to accept her story of needing solitude.

“Strong work today,” Watson said to her. Then: “DeForest stood tall.”

Blackburn kept it brief. “Thank you, Officer Watson. If possible, give your statement as soon as you can.”

Watson nodded with no need for elaboration. “We’ve both given our statements already,” he said.

She moved toward her car, but Reeves caught her by the arm. Her good arm, or she would have struck him. He guided her toward the ambulance doors.

He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Wipe yourself off before the cameras catch you in good light.”

Blackburn’s laughter broke through, unexpected and sharp as breaking glass.

“You always notice,” she said to Reeves.

For a moment, beneath all the surface routine and camaraderie, something else moved between them: a current of alertness, calculation, mutual understanding held in check by habit and necessity.

She faced the EMT, her tone clipped. “Wipes?” She gestured at the grime coating her face and waited. The EMT handed them over wordlessly.

Blackburn cleaned away the dirt, the antiseptic smell sharp in her nostrils as she became aware of the men moving closer. Their hands brushed against her back and legs, casual at first, testing. Then someone lingered. Sinclair pushed further, fingers sliding through her hair, catching in the tangled strands. The touch crawled across her scalp. She stiffened.

A wave of nausea rose, hot and sudden. Reeves stepped back instinctively as Blackburn turned, shoulders rigid, and vomited hard onto Sinclair’s pants and Cooper’s shoes. The retching echoed across the scene, acid burning her throat.

Shock blanched their faces, surprise turning to disgust. They stepped back fast, leather shoes scraping against the ground. Blackburn steadied herself, wiping her mouth with a single clean motion, the taste of bile still sharp on her tongue. Her expression remained unreadable.

She caught Sinclair’s eye and watched him recoil, satisfaction settling cold in her chest. Some lessons had been learned early: how to end unwanted attention without words.

“Sorry,” she said, voice steady as stone. “Much better.”

“Jesus, you looked just like my kids when they do that,” Reeves said with a smile.

Blackburn glanced at each face, reading the wariness that had replaced their earlier boldness. No one would forget this boundary.

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