A Hope City Duet

by Kris Michaels

  “No, but when I’m working through all the shit the day is going to throw at us, I want to have the vision of you on my cock.” He handed her the foil packet.

  She took the condom from him and opened it, sliding back so she could suit him up. She stroked his cock several times, taking him from 'hell yeah, I'm interested' to ‘completely invested’ in zero point two seconds.

  Her teeth raked her bottom lip as she slid onto him. She took her time sheathing his cock in glorious tight heat. He lifted his hands and held her breasts as she moved up and down. Her hips started a back and forth motion when she brought their bodies together. He rolled her nipples between his fingers each time she did it, and fuck him, if she didn’t put her hands over his and without words asked him to roll those tight nubs a little harder. Not with words, but with touch. He squeezed a bit, and she moaned, throwing back her head. Oh, fuck, she picked up the pace. His cock pushed into her again and again. The sensation building in his balls sent an urgent signal to his lust-filled mind. Her movements became erratic, less coordinated, and more needy. He stopped her on a downward effort. “There, stop there.”

  Her eyes popped open, confused. He rocked his hips and thrust into her at a rapid pace. She fell forward. The change of angle lit up the nerve endings of his shaft. He squeezed tight and drove home. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders, and he opened his eyes. The sight above him was one he prayed he’d never forget. Her body dancing and swaying over him, her eyes closed, her mouth open, a blush falling over her face and chest. Her hair fell over her shoulders, brushing his chest as his body filled her. Her eyes opened, and she stared down at him. His breath caught in his throat. She was absolutely beautiful. This woman was vital to his future, he just wasn’t sure how what lay ahead for them would play out. She gasped and her eyes rounded seconds before her body convulsed. The gripping heat took him over the edge, too. She dropped down on top of him, and he wrapped her in his arms.

  The six flights up to the office weren’t as steep as they usually were. That could be due to the fact he’d actually slept, or the woman striding up the steps with him. Okay, it definitely was Kallie.

  On the stairwell landing, she touched his shoulder. “I’m dropping into HR. You get us both coffee and I’ll be up as soon as I’m done doing the paperwork.”

  “You got it.” He winked at her and continued up the stairs when she opened the fourth-floor fire door and headed to HR to complete the paperwork required when officers were in a relationship. Of course, the office rumor mill would spin out of control for a day or so until the next bit of gossip flitted through the offices. You’d think with as much crime as they were working, cops would have more to do than gossip like a yard full of old clucking chickens, but… no. Brock left the stairway at the sixth floor and headed straight for the break room. He waited in line and watched as the last cup was poured and the next pot was made. He nabbed his tankard, his spare for Kallie, and doctored his java while he waited for the brew to finish. Finally, he emptied half the pot into his cup and half into Kallie’s and prepped a new pot before he capped them and headed to his desk.

  He’d just accessed the police department’s intranet to check on the forensic trace report as Kallie worked her way across the bull pen, and he didn’t hide the way he watched her. There was a bit of territorial claim staking on his part, although no one knew… yet.

  “Done?” He slid her tankard toward her.

  “Yep. Clara says, ‘hi’.” She arched her eyebrow at him and took a sip of her coffee.

  “One date. Nothing happened,” he whispered, so only she could hear.

  “But she wanted it to, didn’t she?” her words were just as low as his.

  “No clue. But there was no chemistry on my side.” Would he have fucked her if the opportunity arose? Yeah, but he didn’t invest time in people who were fake, and that woman was as fake as a three-dollar bill.

  She smiled behind her thermal mug. “Good. Is our trace report in the system?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cool. Print it out, and we’ll go over it at Casey’s. I could eat a horse, I’m so hungry.” He watched as she pulled out her cell and scanned the face of the device. She pocketed it again.

  "The ex?"

  She grunted an acknowledgment. "Going to do something about that?"

  "Doing what I can."

  He clicked his mouse several times, sending the report to the printer. “Do they do that a lot in Houston?”

  Her head popped up and she frowned. “Do what?”

  “Eat horses? Here in Hope City, we prefer other sources of protein.” He dodged a playful slug launched in his direction.

  “Don’t be a dick.” She grabbed her coffee cup and stood waiting for him.

  He leaned over pretending to pick up a pen, whispering, “I thought you liked my dick.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Boundaries, Detective King. Not. At. Work.”

  He crossed his arms and stared at her before retorting, “Okay, Clara.”

  She cocked her head and then sighed. “Point taken. We’ll both need to get better at that.”

  “Indeed.”

  They swung by the communal printer and made sure they took only their report before they made the quick trip to the diner, which was packed. He scanned the tables and stopped when Lieutenant Davidson waved them over to the booth he occupied. He nodded to the paperwork in Kallie’s hands. “Trace?”

  “Yep. We brought it with us.”

  A waiter flew by and Brock ordered for both of them as Kallie started to read the report. “God, you’d think all the mumbo jumbo could be simplified,” she muttered before she took a drink of her coffee.

  “That would make too much sense,” Davidson said between bites of his breakfast omelet.

  “Huh.” Kallie’s forehead scrunched. “Looks like Dr. Carpenter is on to something. There were trace amounts of dirt and cement along the front of Samuel’s slacks. Slight wear at the knees, consistent with the minor abrasions to one of his knees. Small scratches to the top of his shoes in the toe area.”

  “She thinks he could have been put to his knees before he died? Execution style? Fuck.”

  “One possibility. He could have gone to his knees when he was killed, too. If the murderer didn’t hold him up, or couldn't because of his size and weight, he’d pitch forward. Then the guy moves away and Samuel falls back to the wall. That scenario would fit, too,” Brock said as he thought.

  “Okay. What else does it say?” Two breakfast specials dropped in front of them with the hallmark efficiency of the diner, and Brock started to eat while Kallie continued to read.

  She turned the page. “That stuff on his face? The stuff the doc said mimicked the look of adipocere? It was identified as a chemical… um… perchloroethylene.”

  “What the fuck is that?”

  “Don’t know. We’ll have to do research.” Kallie reached for a piece of her toast and continued to read the report.

  “Call the forensic investigator. They will be able to tell you.” Davidson leaned back in the booth and took a sip of his coffee.

  “The forensic what?” Kallie’s head snapped up, and she swung her eyes from him to Davidson.

  “Forensic investigator. We have six assigned to the coroner’s office. Mainly they are for the high-profile, unexplained deaths not classified as suspicious. They've been brought in on the drug front due to the workload. They work in conjunction with our office and are great with the technical jargon. Most have advanced degrees and hundreds of hours at death scenes. Who responded to your scene?”

  “Didn’t get one, or at least we cleared the scene before one showed up.” Brock shoveled his scrambled eggs onto a fork.

  “With the Mexican and Dominican gangs waging a turf war, I imagine they were all out. I think I read on the hot sheets there were seven murders the night you got the call on the Treyson case.” Davidson freed his wallet from his suit jacket, produced a twenty, and laid it beside his plate. “Google that
shit. It will get you started. I’ll go put in an official request for a forensics investigator to go through the case since no one appears to have been assigned.”

  “Will do.”

  “You got anything solid yet?”

  Brock shook his head. “We’re still plodding through what we have, trying to sort through the noise to reach the facts.”

  Davidson squared up and leveled his steel grey eyes at him. “Your old man talked to me last night. Asked if we needed additional resources. I told him no.”

  Kallie slid her plate in front of her. “As long as you have Hansen and Bettis going through the elder Treyson’s list of disgruntled associates, we can handle this.”

  “That’s what I thought. Call me if you need anything.” He slid from the booth and dragged his wool coat with him. Brock watch him leave. The man was built like a linebacker and was respected by damn near everyone in the precinct. He was fair and above board. He’d walked more than a mile in detective shoes. He knew the frustrations, the need for high cover, and when to pull a case because there were no more leads to follow.

  He finished his toast in two bites and wiped his hands before he grabbed his phone from his pocket and slid the trace report toward him. He thumbed through the pages until he found the word he needed to type into the search engine. He keyed it in and took a long drink of his coffee, taking the top off, signaling the waiter he needed a refill.

  The waiter shot by, filled his cup and waited for him to open Kallie’s cup, filling that one, too. Brock added his cream and sugar as Kallie watched and shook her head. “You should be five hundred pounds.”

  “Nah, I work out. Sometimes at really weird hours, but I work out.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I like Vito’s gym. Open twenty-four/seven.”

  "Well, imagine seeing you here." Sean McBride slid into Davidson's empty seat.

  "Dude, what brings you to The Desert?"

  "Leg work, man. The cases never end." Sean turned his attention to Kallie. "Hi, I'm Sean McBride. I've had the unfortunate destiny of being this guy's best friend since birth, and you are?"

  Brock apologized quickly, "Shit, sorry. Detective Kallie Redman, meet Detective Sean McBride, HCPD."

  Kallie wiped her hand on her napkin and extended it across the table. "So, you've put up with this guy your entire life? How did you do it?"

  “Man, pure intestinal fortitude, let me tell you.”

  "Hey, I'm right here, you know." Brock tried for mock outrage. It ended up as a laughing snort, which started Sean laughing. God, he missed spending time with his friend.

  "He's a jerk and a dick at times, but I wouldn't have anyone else on my six when I need backup."

  "Awww… love you too, you dork." Brock dodged a wadded-up napkin that Sean pitched at him.

  "You two work together or..."

  Sean left the question open and fuck it, he barged through it. "Kallie is my partner on the Treyson case."

  "Where's Jordan?"

  "Fibbies called him up to work the Grappelli case."

  "Damn, sorry to hear that. He was gone for almost what... three years before?"

  "Yeah." Brock nodded.

  "So, you'll be his partner for the foreseeable future?"

  "No. My partner is coming back from an overseas assignment. We've only got this case together."

  "The case notwithstanding, we have other things we are working on together." Brock stretched his arm over the back of the banquette. A casual move, but one his friend would understand.

  Sean blinked at him and then swung his attention to Kallie before he leveled Brock with a stare. "Holy fuck, your mom is going to be over the moon."

  Brock chuckled. "Yeah, I have dinner at the 'rents tomorrow. What about you? How's things?"

  Sean sighed and rubbed his face. "Chasing my tail and trying to keep an insurance investigator from killing me or herself."

  "Say what now?" Kallie stopped with a fork full of eggs to her mouth.

  "Nothing. Suffice to say I'm happy for the two of you and wish you luck. Call me and we'll set up something." He slid from the booth.

  "No time for breakfast?"

  "Nah, I needed to get some information and then get back to my office. I ran into Lieutenant Davidson as he was entering the precinct. He told me you were here. Call me, shit-head, I mean it. Kallie, it was nice to meet you."

  "Nice to meet you, too, and any advice you can give me dealing with this guy would be appreciated." She laughed at Brock's groan, and Sean clasped her extended hand.

  "We'll talk. I have so many stories to tell you. He was crazy as a teenager."

  "Don't you start, McBride. I have just as much on you."

  "Yeah, but it isn’t my woman asking for intel." He waggled his eyebrows a couple times, and Brock groaned, because, yeah, that was true.

  "Whatever. Take care of yourself." Brock would never admit to the heat he felt in his cheeks.

  Sean winked at him and headed out. "You, too. Both of you."

  He watched Sean leave before he glanced down at Kallie. He decided to leave his arm where it was.

  "He's nice. What precinct does he work for?"

  "Special Investigations up at Briar Hill. He's an Arson Investigator."

  "Arson, huh?"

  "Yeah, he was already on scene when I arrived for Treyson's call out."

  "Speaking of which—" she put her last forkful of eggs in her mouth before she nodded at the phone “—wazzit say about the chemical?”

  Brock removed his arm from the back of the booth and recapped both of their tankards before he picked up his phone, waking it up. “It says the chemical compound is a metal degreaser... and it is used in making other chemicals.” He scrolled up and jolted forward. “Holy fuck. Check this shit out. It is also a common solvent used by dry cleaners.” They stared at each other. His mind ran through the implications. “Dawson killed Samuel for hitting on his woman.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Kallie dropped two twenties next to Davidson’s and exited the booth before he could snatch their mugs. They had that motherfucker. He grabbed both mugs by their handles and palmed his phone to call Davidson.

  “Sir, we are heading downtown. We have a suspect. Dawson Jenkins. Cynthia White's fiancée."

  "Explain the sudden realization." Davidson got right down to business.

  "We believe Treyson may have wanted to bring Cynthia into his polyamorous relationship.”

  “How did you reach that conclusion?”

  “Treyson was picking up his own laundry even though there was a delivery service.”

  “I’m not following.”

  “She was doing the delivery service for a short time, and we believe that is where Treyson met her. Treyson's lovers confirmed he wanted to bring someone new into the relationship, but the person’s partner was an issue.” They jogged to the Crown Vic and Kallie grabbed the mugs so he could drive. He started the car, Kallie hit the laser strobes, and they tore from the parking lot heading to the dry cleaners.

  “So, you’re thinking Treyson hits on laundry girl and wants to bring her into the love fest and fiancé takes issue with the proposition and kills him?”

  “Makes sense, and we have trace evidence that points to him. The chemical on Treyson’s face is one used in dry cleaning solution.”

  Davidson grunted, “I’m sending a patrol as backup.”

  “We make first contact. Have them hold for us if they arrive first.”

  “Got it. Get that bastard.” Davidson hung up, and he dropped his phone in his coat pocket.

  “Dawson works in the back, around the chemicals.” Kallie held onto the dash as he powered around a corner.

  “Yeah.” He slammed on the brakes and switched lanes. “We need to bring them both in and separate them. If she knows anything, she’s not going to talk if he’s around.”

  “We’ll have the patrol bring Dawson in, and we’ll take Cynthia,” she agreed.

  Brock double parked in front of the dry cleaners and motioned th
e patrol car that followed them to watch the rear. The car barreled off and hit the corner on two wheels. He opened his coat to give him access to his weapon and noticed that Kallie had done the same. The windows to the laundry were steamed from the heat inside. He doubted they’d been seen. When they entered there were only four people in the lobby. They herded the people outside with a flash of their badges and their hands on their weapons. Brock jumped the counter with a quick lunge and a palm to the top of the faux marble counter. He turned just in time to watch Kallie vault the obstacle the same way.

  They made their way to where voices were raised in the back.

  “What do you mean it isn’t ready? The tag says it will be ready today.”

  “It would have been ready if Dawson was here. That's on you.”

  “You’re fucking incompetent, Eric. Get that suit and get it into the queue. I’ll process it. I’m going to lose money on this because you can’t read and work simple tags.”

  "You're a money hungry bitch, Cynthia. There are more important things, you know."

  "Yeah, name one." Cynthia's retort zinged back at the other man.

  Brock motioned for Kallie to approach from the other direction. They split up and silently approached the back.

  “What happened to Dawson? He should be here doing this, Cynthia, not me. I’m only supposed to be doing pick-ups until you can hire someone else, and I'm pissed enough about that.”

  “Whine later, will yah? Get your ass going with this suit. Besides, it’s about time you earned some of that money your old man gives you. Fucking silver spoon in your mouth and all you can do is bitch. You can do the pick-ups after you get today’s slips loaded. Dawson will be in tomorrow, and believe me if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll…” Cynthia turned and saw him. Her angry sneer fell immediately. “Detective? You’re not supposed to be back here. Insurance and all that.” The woman visibly jumped when she noticed Kallie coming from the other direction. “What’s going on?”

  “Cynthia, do you know where Dawson is?”

  “Home? He called in sick this morning.” Her attention swung from one to the other. “What’s happening?”