To rise from ashes, one must be a phoenix.
Detective Leila Wells has apprehended every criminal to cross her path, except for one. And when Bryan Foster returns, he devastates her world. To cope, she finds release in street fighting. Successes with her fighting partner grant them an invitation to participate in the Rulers of the Realms Fighting Tag Tournament. But as she fights, a power begins to rise within herâa dark and angry blaze urging her toward revenge.
To rise from ashes, one must be a phoenix.
Detective Leila Wells has apprehended every criminal to cross her path, except for one. And when Bryan Foster returns, he devastates her world. To cope, she finds release in street fighting. Successes with her fighting partner grant them an invitation to participate in the Rulers of the Realms Fighting Tag Tournament. But as she fights, a power begins to rise within herâa dark and angry blaze urging her toward revenge.
Even though this murderer had butchered two families, he wasnât the sadistic Bryan Foster.
Metal trash cans crashed to the ground, scattering their contents as the suspect barreled through. Leila Wells smirked at the obstacleâhis fourth attempt at slowing her and David Neal, Jr., her partner, down. The two detectives vaulted over the garbage cans and continued their pursuit.
Since he bolted at the sight of them at his apartment, the chase had spanned two blocks, snaking through alleywaysâalleyways she knew like the back of her hand. David, behind her, enjoyed the chase like a hound after a scared rabbit.
His adrenaline, Leila thought.
Up ahead, the alleyway branched into two separate paths. Leila ran over the map in her headâeventually, both pathways crossed again. Knowing David would likely guess at her plan, she turned down the right one.
âMove!â she ordered the two men standing in the middle of the alley. They flattened against the walls of the lane. She charged through and kept running.
She kept track of her location relative to the othersâ. On the map in her head, two red dots traveled down paths, and both lights raced toward the crossroads. Since the suspect and David would be close to reaching it, Leila pumped her arms harder.
Near the intersection of their alleys, pounding footfalls and panting grew louder. By the sounds of his running, the suspect neared her exit. She lunged.
Within seconds, Leila collided with the running manâknocking him off his feetâand sent them both to the ground.
Only stunned for a second, the criminal scrambled back to his feet. It was enough. Leila quickly jumped up and kicked the man across his face, sending him cartwheeling.
Leila landed into the Tiger stance of her Five-Animals Kung Fu, ready for his next attempt to evade capture. Cradling his nose, the man rolled in pain, moaning. Not many could take a kick to the face and keep going, so maybe she shouldâve dealt a lesser blow.
David slowed to a jog as he met them. âI had him,â he said, breathless.
She straightened and walked over to the downed man. âSure you did.â She threw handcuffs on the manâs wrists as she Mirandized him.
âAnd now you wonât let me arrest him?â
Leila smiled. âI got him; heâs my collar.â She led him back the way they came to their unmarked car. David sighed behind her but followed.
***
The stationâs locker room with its drab navy blue and gray color scheme and metal lockers dating back to the eighties wasnât aesthetically pleasing, but it did provide Leila some isolation. David dealt with the apprehended criminalâwho, courtesy of her boot, sported a broken noseâso she had time to herself.
After redoing her black hair into a smoother ponytail, she waited a moment to see if anyone would come in, then she pulled a thin notebook out from under a folded NYPD hoodie. Her private case notes. Flipping it to the middle page, the written numbers one to twelve were marked through while thirteen was untouched⌠until tomorrow began. She heaved as her hazel eyes traveled up to the number at the top: 14.
Thirteen days since 12 became 14. Almost two weeks since Bryan Foster killed Detectives Penny Uehl and Jamie Washington, and no hint of that killer resurfacing.
Paper crinkled as Leilaâs hands clenched. She shut her eyes against the memory, but the images, sounds, and smells came anyway.
Burnt flesh. Vacant eyes staring at the equally dead clocks Foster hung around the room, each frozen on either the time of her kidnapping or her time of death. Uehlâs mouth agape in a scream. A sudden gunshot; Washingtonâs body thudding onto the tile floor. Fresh, dark blood pooling around his head. Gunpowder, body odor, the sickeningly sweet smell of Washingtonâs brain matterâŚ
Leila took in a sharp breath to prevent from getting sick again. She had visited many murder scenes, but the smell that accompanied headshots was the worst.
Like most times, her frustration and disgust turned into anger, which became stored by internal heat. Leila looked into the mirror, seeing the darkness broiling within. Her face remained calm only because those emotions were now muted. That dark side emerged whenever she needed itâabsorbing the horrors of her job and powering her throughâputting her rage in reserve.
Saving it to release on Foster.
That man. With the way he left his horrendous killings, it remained a mystery how he continued to elude capture. Foster played on psychology. No one escaped him; no one survived. The victims were chosen because of how their deaths would affect others. Â
It wasnât how he killed his victims, where he put them, or how many he murdered, but the way he got under the skin. Every kill he made personal. Heâd snatch a cop, a copâs family, or someone well-known in the community, and then heâd lead Leila and her squad on a goose-chase as he tortured his victimâor victims. Heâd make the pursuers think they were almost thereâtheyâd have rescue right at their fingertipsâonly to find another trail, or if they bored him, a body.
All the people he had killed or families and communities he had ruined had been despicable but killing Penny Uehl and causing Jamie Washingtonâs suicide will be his downfall. For it involved Leila.
Sheâd show him what a mistake it was involving her. She would catch Bryan Fosterâthe most-wanted person in the States. It would be known nationwideâperhaps internationallyâthat no criminal could escape Leila Wells.
âWhat was that today?â
Leila jumped, not hearing the door open. She stashed her notebook back under the hoodie and shut her locker. If someone discovered her private notes, sheâd be taken off any future Foster cases. She smiled innocently at David leaning against the doorway. âWhat was what?â
âTackling my criminal.â
âThatâs part of my jobâstopping felons. Besides, you were too slow.â
The brown-eyed, brown-haired man walked in and grabbed her around the waist. âI wouldâve gotten him.â
âIn thirty minutes, if I hadnât taken that shortcut,â Leila said.
Leila wouldnât be one of the âSuper Copsâ or share the record of only one lost criminalâBryan Fosterâif not for her partner, David Neal, Jr. With a fierce drive and constant optimism, he was the most logical and levelheaded of the duo. Well⌠mostly. He never hesitated in throwing himself toward danger to save an innocent, but heâd still be cautious.
When their partnership began turning romantic five years ago, and they proved to the captain that they could continue working together, he allowed them to date and keep their positions.
âAbout that.â He poked her in the head as he spoke. âI wish you would let me into that head of yours sometimes.â
She scowled. âYou wouldnât like what you found, but why? You figured out what I was doing.â
âI guessed,â he corrected.
âYouâve been around me too long to be surprised at anything I do.â
âThat other side of you is a surprise; sometimes I canât tell what youâre going to do,â he said.
âIâm not stressed out orââ she began.
âPissed off,â he added. Â
Leila rolled her eyes. Three weeks ago in her apartment, he mentioned her temper wasnât healthy for her, and she lost it. His backing away empowered her dark side. âIâm in control now.â
âMaking sure. I donât want to see you change like that again. If we were in the kitchen you mightâve stuck a knife in me. That Psycho killing-music probably wouldâve played in the background.â
âI scared you?â
âYou worried me,â David corrected. He nipped her ear. âYou canât intimidate me.â
She squirmed out of his arms and cut her eyes at him. âI canât?â she challenged.
He grinned with that crooked, charming smile. âNope. Iâm bulletproof. I pretend Iâm worried to guilt-trip you and pull out your nurturing side.â
Leila smiledâshe could always rely on his snarky attitude to lighten her spirits. âYouâre terrible.â
âBut youâre smiling.â
She matched his snark. âOnly because you expected me to, and I pity you.â
He pretended to wince. âOuch. I guess I havenât restrained that temper enough. You still burn me.â
Leila hit him in the stomachânot hard. He recoiled, and she smiled. âYou canât restrain fire.â
Heath Fonda, the third of their squad, poked his head in. He stood slightly taller than her and David with short-cropped blond hair. His love of bench pressing gave his big frame enormous arms and chest. âHey, lovebirds, stop hitting each other, and come on. The captain has called all of us.â
That didnât bode well.
She followed Heath out of the locker room, David behind her.
The precinct buzzed like a beehive in constant movement and noise. Phones rang, the sound lost among the noise of officers speaking to victims, answering calls, and other personnel. People snaked through the narrow aisles between the desks, loaded with papers or coffee cups in hand. Other officers escorted criminals to and from the interrogation room. If the hive ever grew silent, David would be the first of the bees to die from lack of busyness.Â
In a somber but eager lineâsince this kind of meeting only occurred when something major happenedâeach stepped into his office. The black decal on the door reading Captain Colin Sullivan wasnât needed. Because of the 5th Precinctâs nearly flawless incarceration record, all in New York City knew the name of the police captain. Once they were in, David shut the door behind him.
DeMarcus Dixonâthe fourth of their squadâwith skin as dark as tar and the shortest of the four, sat before the captainâs heavy desk. Fast and stout as an NFL Running Back, he could plow a criminal overâhe shared their cockiness, too.
Completely bald, Captain Sullivan carried a little extra weight around his middle. He looked older than a man in his early forties. Only ten years separated him from Leila, and she was thirty-two.
DeMarcus turned to greet them with a smile. âSo, how long did it take the Super Cops to catch our butcher?â
âNine minutes and fifty-two seconds,â David boasted.
âHa!â DeMarcus turned on Heath. âMy guess was closer! You owe me five bucks.â
David looked at the blond man. âWhat did you guess?â
âAbout fifteen minutes. D said ten,â Heath said.
âSuch faith you have in us.â
Leila got straight to business. âWhatâs happened, Captain?â
Captain Sullivan had a smile on his lips as the men joked around as usual, but now the smile dropped and his eyes hardened, becoming seriousâall humor gone. âBryan Foster is back.â
She jolted still like electricity had shot down her spine. Silence enveloped the room. Because she had just been thinking about Foster, fate must be on her side. This was Leilaâs chance to finally get him.
David grabbing her hand pulled her back to the present, out of her dreams of catching Foster and the praise she would receive.
âWhere?â Heath asked.
The captain shook his head. âHeâs only just been sighted. When we get an exact location, you four will be the first ones notified.â
His blue eyes encompassed Leila and David both. âBut we wonât lose our heads over this, right? Do not make this case a personal vendetta.â
David saluted to smooth over the tension. âSir, yes, sir! Keep our heads attached at all times!â
He shook his head ruefully. âUntil then, business carries on like usual,â the captain concluded. âLei. David. I need to speak with you.â
âBusted,â DeMarcus whispered as he and Heath headed out of the room.
After they left, the captain ran a hand down his face as he sighedâa habit of his. His blue eyes were strained from a sleepless night.
âI know getting Foster means more to you two than Heath or D⌠which is why Iâm ordering you to take the rest of the evening and tomorrow off.â
Leila frowned. The captain revealed that Foster roamed the streets againâthe opportunity sheâd been waiting weeks forâand he now forced a break? And he refrained from looking at her or David.
David picked up on it too. âSomethingâs bothering youâŚâ
A quick smile ghosted his lips. âDamn cops, I canât keep anything from you.â
âWe are the best for a reason,â Leila said.
âI know.â The captain sighed heavily and ran a hand down his face again. âThings arenât getting any better from here on out. I donât know what or how, but it starts next week. Call it detectiveâs instinct.â
She needed an elaboration, but David speaking took her chance. âFreedom for an evening and two days⌠What do I do with it?â
âSomething that keeps you away from here. Iâll see you two Monday. Enjoy your weekend.â
To satisfy him, they hurried out of his office to do as he said. Leila tried to pay attention to Davidâs suggestions for their weekend, but her mind lay elsewhere.
No matter what reason lay behind the captainâs order, Bryan Foster was close, and she wouldnât let him escape this time.
"Out of the ashes the phoenix rises; a phoenix must die to be reborn. You're a phoenix. You find strength in destruction."
Detective Leila Wells has everything figured out, her life is going well and she is damn good at her job. When a serial killer that's been on her radar returns and changes her life forever, she has to find a new outlet for her rage. She becomes engrossed in the world of street fighting and gets invited to a tag tournament. Leila is trying to move on, but things are not right here, has someone brought everyone here for a reason? Leila has to find out.
"When death comes into someone's life, the fake tears wash away façades and reveal their true selves. But you had no mask to wash away; your tears just dried to shield your lamenting soul."
Ascension of the Phoenix is a book I was not expecting. I started it with the outlook of another detective story all about revenge. I was not expecting to find a story about an incredibly strong, fierce, loyal, and completely bad-ass woman learning to find herself again. Revenge is a theme that floats throughout the story, but it isn't the full focus and it made Leila's character more likable. The story started a little slow and took awhile to find its footing, having to explain the intricacies of Leila's life. I found myself shocked and enthralled when the setting changed to a fighting tournament. Since I know next to nothing about fighting and the many different styles there are, I found myself comparing the storyline with my love of fighting games, the likes of Mortal Kombat and Tekken. I loved the explanation of all the different fights, I felt like I was in the crowd cheering the competitors on. Piro did a wonderful job expressing the different ways people grieve and showing the different ways grief can change a person. I enjoyed how the voice in Leila's head changed and kept trying to help her become who she needed to be but didn't like the idea that it kept referring to a man that could come into her life and help put her pieces back together. As if the thought of her being able to put herself back together wasn't an option.
" A gentle murmur warmed her even more and gave her the strength to keep struggling against the doubts and insecurities she couldn't face."
I recommend this story to those who enjoy a book with a strong female lead and for those who enjoy different kinds of fighting. Maybe those with a love of fighting games like myself will find the same joy I found while turning through the pages. I think Piro did a wonderful job creating characters you want to know more about, and I look forward to see what Leila gets up to in the coming sequels!