by Donna Raider
The woman raised her eyebrows. “Wowser?” Mika questioned.
“Sorry, that’s Australian slang for puritan, a prude,” she explained.
“Oh.” Mika chuckled. Her laughter was deep and sexy. “She is pretty strait-laced. When she isn’t working, she spends every moment with her family.”
“Miss King.” Stiles motioned her to join him and Leah.
“Appears I have been summoned.” She squeezed Mika’s arm. “Oh, my. Someone has been working out.” She was looking forward to that drink with Mika. She hurried to the director.
“So, mate,” Ethan Taylor said as he sidled up to Mika, “how do you like working with that smoking bit of fluff?”
“You mean…”
“Leah, of course,” Taylor clarified. “She is smoking hot. I will make it my goal to hit that before the season is over.”
Mika made it her goal to refrain from burying her fist in the man’s face. “How old are you?” the priest asked nonchalantly.
“Old enough to know that is the best-looking piece of…” Taylor suddenly choked and had a coughing fit.
Mika watched as the man finally caught his breath and started to speak.
“Man, I thought I was going to choke to death.” He glared at the priest. “You could’ve helped me, mate. Anyway, what has my age got to do with anything?”
“You behave like a horny, pubescent teenager.” Mika frowned. “You do know Leah is married and has children?”
“Yeah,” Taylor barked. “I heard she’s been married to the same woman for a lot of years. Maybe she’d like something a little different from down under.” He poked Mika in the ribs and snorted. “And I don’t mean Australia.”
It was the priest’s turn to react covertly. She walked toward her wife as Ethan Taylor developed the worst case of teenage acne one could ever possibly imagine.
“Okay, let’s get this show on the road,” Stiles growled as his cast seated themselves around the table. “My God, Taylor, what is wrong with you, man?”
Leah buried her forehead in Mika’s shoulder to hide the laughter welling up inside her. When Carlie burst out laughing, she couldn’t help it, she laughed out loud. The entire cast was soon laughing until tears were running down their faces.
Taylor’s face had broken out as if chicken pox and the measles had fought a battle to gain control of it. Large red pimples and postulant black knots covered the man’s face.
“That’s it.” Stiles stormed out of the room. The cast could hear the man screaming from his office. “I don’t care if he is the most popular male star in Australia; I want him on the next plane home. He has insulted my star, stunk up our casting meeting with his foul body odor and now he has broken out with something that would make even a teenager puke. His personal hygiene is even worse than his manners. I won’t have my ladies subjected to him a minute longer.”
Stiles listened silently for a few moments as Taylor’s agent threatened him with a lawsuit.
“Sue me,” Stiles bellowed. “I will release the video from today’s cast run-through. See how many people want to hire your man after they see it.”
Stiles slammed down the phone and returned to his cast members.
“Let’s call it a day,” Stiles grumbled. “This one is pretty much destroyed. See you all Monday, except for you, Taylor. You’re fired.”
Leah stood up and fell into her wife’s arms, laughing hysterically. “You are so bad,” she whispered. “You have to tell me what angered you enough to do that.”
“I think you know.” Mika held her close, loving the feel of Leah’s laugher against her breasts. Mika loved it when she made Leah laugh. “Let’s go to Joe’s. I’ll buy you a cheap glass of wine.”
“I would love that.” Leah grinned, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.
##
Watcher sat in his car, waiting for Clinton to arrive at his friend’s house. He had rented a nondescript car and replaced the car’s license plates with some he had stolen. The correct plates were in the trunk. He looked at the Catholic magazine he had with him. A photo of Clinton was on the cover. Clinton had been nominated as Priest of the Month for his work in the free clinic in China Town. Watcher finished the article then slid the magazine between his seat and the console. As Clinton pulled up, Watcher got out of his car and walked to meet the other man.
“Ready to meet my friends?” Clinton grinned, holding out his hand to him.
Watcher nodded and let Clinton lead him to the door of the house. For some inexplicable reason, he felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter. A handsome young man met them at the door with a drink in his hand.
“Welcome.” He smiled as he stepped back for them to enter.
Clinton made the introductions and Watcher noticed that the group knew his date as Ben Clive. There were six men including Clinton and Watcher.
After a flirtatious lunch and several drinks, the men moved to a beautifully arranged sitting area with several sofas and love seats. They discussed their various fields of employment and hobbies. Everyone begged Watcher to share the names of the books he had authored, but he shyly declined.
Watcher noticed that it was difficult to keep track of who was with whom. Clinton went to freshen their drinks and an older man moved to sit beside Watcher.
“Hey,” Clinton said, laughing, “he isn’t fair game yet. We are just getting to know each other.”
“You mean you came to the party with nothing to exchange.” The older man grinned salaciously. “That is hardly fair.”
The other men mumbled their agreement with him.
“We will see.” Clinton laughed. “I definitely get the first round with him.”
As drinks were poured and music was added, the men became more amorous with one another. Watcher was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. He didn’t want to kill all of them, just Clinton.
“I have to go,” Watcher whispered into Clinton’s ear as they danced. He shivered as Clinton kissed down his neck, then nipped at his ear.
“We can’t leave now,” Clinton said hoarsely. “The fun is just beginning. After me, which one of them do you want? I will make certain you get him.”
“You mean to dance?” Watcher said softly.
“No, dear, I mean for sex.” Clinton’s smile was almost evil. “We will trade partners all day. It is like a delicious buffet.”
“I don’t want anyone but you.” Watcher tried not to throw up on the man. “I’m leaving.”
Watcher left so quickly, no one had a chance to stop him. Clinton ran after him, but he was in his car before Clinton caught up with him.
“Look.” Watcher frowned. “I think you and I are looking for two different things. I don’t want to be with just anyone. I want to be with just you.”
“You can’t leave me like this,” Clinton begged. “It can be only you and me.”
Watcher scribbled a boat slip number on a piece of paper. “Meet me here. It is where I keep my sailboat. It is in the West Seventy-Ninth Street Boat Basin. Eight in the morning. We will have all day.”
“Sounds good.” Clinton almost leered.
##
Watcher spent the night on his boat, making everything perfect for the next day. He had picked up Danish pastries and donuts for the next morning.
By the time Clinton arrived, the sun was just kissing the sky. Watcher had coffee brewing and the pastries neatly arranged on a serving platter.
Clinton arrived in a pair of shorts and a boating jacket. He truly was very handsome. He carried a sports bag.
“Are you planning on spending the night?” Watcher smiled at him as he took the bag so he could jump onto the boat. The bag was surprisingly heavy.
They drank coffee and ate the pastries as they sailed out of the harbor and into the Atlantic. Around one, Watcher set the boat on automatic and went below deck to open a bottle of bourbon. He wanted to take Clinton as far out to sea as possible.
“I like a man who knows good bourbon.” Clinton toaste
d him after taking a sip of his drink.
After several drinks, Clinton began to get amorous.
“You must know I really like you.” Watcher spoke slowly, as if struggling for the right words.
“Prove it.” Clinton grinned.
“I need to know something first.” Watcher bowed his head as if having difficulty continuing. “Would you explain this?”
He pulled the Catholic magazine from under the chair cushion and tossed it into Clinton’s lap.
The priest dropped his drink and gasped as he saw the photo of himself on the cover. He sat for a long time, searching for the right words to say. He had been stalking this man for over two weeks. He didn’t want to lose his prey.
“I am so sorry,” he said softly. “I should have told you I’m a priest. I was afraid I would scare you away.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be celibate or something?” Watcher faked confusion. “What we are planning to do today, doesn’t that go against everything you believe in?”
“I don’t really believe in all the teachings of the church,” Clinton said. “Frankly, I look at the priest’s job as just another form of employment. The pay is decent for no more than I do. It gives me the opportunity to meet a lot of people, and high standing in the community.”
“But if we become lovers and others find out, won’t that be bad for your standing in the church?” Watcher was enjoying watching the other man squirm.
“No one will find out. We will keep it a secret.” Clinton shrugged. “It’s not like we’re getting married or anything.”
“So, your position as priest is more for your convenience than your belief in God?” Watcher asked slowly. “I mean, what we do…you won’t feel like I have caused you to sin?”
“Heavens, no.” Clinton laughed out loud. “What we do will make me very happy. Can we stop talking about it and do it?”
He grabbed Watcher’s hand and pulled him below deck and into the bedroom. He reached for his sports bag and unzipped it. “I brought some toys.” He grinned wickedly. He pulled out handcuffs, plugs, and various other sex items. “You’re going to like this,” he promised.
They were on the bed, kissing, caressing, touching each other. Watcher picked up the handcuffs and clicked one closed on Clinton’s wrist. “Are these real?” He smiled as he stroked Clinton.
“Yes,” Clinton croaked, almost blind with lust.
Watcher slipped the other handcuff through the iron bars of the headboard and secured Clinton’s other wrist. “You seem to be my prisoner.” He grinned at the sinning priest.
“Yes, you can do anything you want to me.” Clinton gasped, straining to wrap his legs around the other man.
“I certainly can.” Watcher stood and dressed himself amid Clinton’s curses and threats. He went on deck and closed the door so he couldn’t hear the man’s ranting.
He opened the throttle on the boat and trimmed the sails to pick up as much speed as possible. He wanted to get as far into the ocean as he could before he ended his little party with Clinton.
It was dark when he dropped anchor outside the shipping lanes. He turned on his outside lights then went below deck.
“Okay, this has been fun,” Clinton said, as if speaking to a small child. “Why don’t you take these things off and we can have some real fun?”
“Do you know Janet Cantrell?” Watcher stared at him. “The bishop’s wife?”
A light seemed to come on in Clinton’s eyes as he realized the man was dangerous. “She was in my church,” he said cautiously. “Pretty woman. Obviously not my type.”
“Then why did you fuck her?” Watcher’s voice rose slightly. “Was it just for fun or because you had nothing better to do? We both know you like men. So, why Janet?”
“I was trying to get a promotion in the church,” Clinton said honestly. “It was nothing personal.”
“If anyone had found out, it would have destroyed the bishop.” Watcher spoke slowly, as if explaining a difficult problem to a stupid listener.
“No one found out,” Clinton cried. “She was killed in an accident.”
“I found out.” Watcher saw the fear settle on Clinton’s face. “It was no accident. I killed her. I killed her because she broke her marriage vows. I have to kill you because you broke your vows to the church and the Lord.”
Clinton closed his eyes. He wondered if God would listen if he prayed.
“I had to kill a beautiful, loving woman because of what you did,” Watcher growled. “Your death will serve as a sacrifice to her.”
“No! No!” Clinton’s screams were unheard in the vast, black stillness of the ocean.
Watcher prepared the shot he had decided to use to put Clinton to sleep. He talked as he worked.
“I am going to give you a shot of something that will make you sleep.” He grinned. “When you wake, you will be hanging over the side of my boat. I will throw lots of bloody chunks of horse meat over the side to stir up the sharks and any other big feeders that might want a taste of you. I will then lower you into the ocean. I want you to feel the first few bites as they tear off your arms, then eventually, your head.”
Clinton began to kick and jerk against the headboard. Watcher was careful to avoid his thrashing legs as he drove the needle into the man’s chest. “It doesn’t really matter where I inject you, it will be effective.”
After Clinton was unconscious, Watcher tied his ankles together then released his hands. He carried him on deck, tied his feet with a strong rope, and lowered him toward the water. He drank coffee until Clinton began to stir. He opened the barrel of chum he had on deck and began to throw it into the water below Clinton. He ignored the priest as Clinton pleaded and begged him to let him go. “Don’t do this,” Clinton demanded, before starting to cry and beg again.
Watcher frowned as he observed brown stains soaking through Clinton’s shorts and running down his back between his shoulders. The man had defecated on himself.
Soon the water beside the boat was thrashing. Watcher smiled as four fins began to circle the area. He threw in more chum and watched them snatch it from the water. He slowly began to lower Clinton into the churning, black waters. He flinched as something struck the man, taking his right arm. Another strike and the other arm disappeared. Clinton’s screams were silenced as his head went beneath the water. A hard tug on the priest’s body told Watcher Clinton’s head was gone.
Watcher lowered the rope until there was no sign of Clinton’s body. He watched the water thrash and swirl as the big fish fought one another for the fresh meat. Finally, there was silence and the fins moved gracefully away from the boat. He pulled up the rope. There was nothing on it. He cut off a long length of the rope that might have Clinton’s DNA on it and tossed it into the smaller barrel along with Clinton’s clothes and belongings. He stripped everything from his bed and threw the bedclothes into the barrel. He squirted fire starter onto the clothes and sports bag. He tossed Clinton’s watch and other non-burnable paraphernalia overboard. He kept his car keys. He walked completely around the boat to make certain no other boats were within sight then pitched a match into the small barrel.
Watcher poured himself a drink and sat on deck, admiring God’s handiwork. Out here, where mankind’s lights can’t dim it, the heavens are breathtaking, he thought. He finished his drink then went below deck. He put fresh linens on his bed and enjoyed the sleep of the innocent. He was secure in his knowledge that he was doing God’s work.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Marked for Murder swept the ratings again and had been nominated for every Emmy offered in the show’s category.
Mika read the article one of the top magazines had written on her wife. Leah’s incredibly perfect face graced the magazine’s cover, which had resulted in an all-time high in the publication’s sales. Mika recalled thinking that Leah should be on the cover of a magazine.
Ever careful to keep her personal life private, Leah had only agreed to answer certain questions. Yes, she was very h
appily married. Yes, she had children. Beyond that, others knew very little about her and their children. It would be difficult to explain how they looked mid-thirties and had a son older than they were.
There were many reasons they had a baby every five years. The main reason was they wanted to give their babies all the attention and training they needed during the first five years of their lives to set them in the right direction. The second one was so they could move to another part of the world after each set of twins graduated from high school. The time schedule allowed each set of twins to attend the same school for five years and graduate with their friends. They planned almost everything around what was best for their children.
Regina and Matt were at the age where the family could move or commit to five years in New York. Mika was torn.
If the Pope asked her to stay in New York, she would, but secretly she wanted to get her family out of the city where even the church was corrupt.
She studied Leah’s face on the cover of the magazine. She gently traced the tiny scar above Leah’s lip. Mika needed to see her. She sent Leah a text.
Mika: Missing you.
Leah: Meet me at Joe’s in 15.
Mika: Suddenly, my world is perfect.
##
As soon as Mika entered the lounge, Joe poured her a glass of wine and carried it to the booth the priest always used.
As he was greeting Mika, SHE walked in. SHE! Everything about her was uppercase. SHE walked into the bar like a gorgeous, graceful cat on the prowl, her hips swaying suggestively. She slid onto the bar stool as if she were taking her place on a throne. She lifted her chin slightly, knowing every eye in the place was absorbing her beauty. Her posture was straight and regal. Her eyes picked up the reflection of the priest in the mirror. They slid slowly over Mika, as if assessing which of her desires she might fulfill. Leah knew the answer was all of them.
The priest observed her for over half an hour, letting her imagination run wild. A woman like that could do things to a person that shouldn’t even be spoken aloud. Mika thought of how Leah loved her, leaning above her in the darkness, endlessly whispering Mika’s name as she lowered her lips to Mika’s. She filled Mika’s nights with endless ecstasy. No matter how well Mika thought she knew her, Leah always had a slight air of mystery about her. Leah never failed to surprise and amaze her.