by Donna Raider
“I told you what was going to happen if you kept teasing me,” Mika murmured, kissing her again.
“Mission accomplished.” A low, throaty laugh escaped Leah’s lips. “I need this so much,”
Mika engulfed Leah in her wings and began raising them into the universe. Her hands explored Leah as if she was a new world to discover.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Leah brushed her lips against Mika’s, causing a spark that ignited waiting kindling into a raging forest fire. Mika pulled Leah against her, wrapping strong arms around her. Mika gloried in the feel of her body pressed hard against hers. “I love you as I have never loved anything on this Earth,” Mika whispered. Leah’s soft, full lips moved against Mika’s, fanning the flames that were consuming her mind and body. Kissing Leah’s lips was ethereal, a feeling that was too perfect for any world. Her lips were the gates to Mika’s paradise. Tentatively, she traced Leah’s bottom lip with the tip of her tongue, requesting admission to anything Leah was willing to give her.
Leah was willing to give Mika everything. She couldn’t recall when this woman had become her life, the very air she breathed. Life before Mika was another existence, dark and lonely. She was just vaguely aware that she had existed without Mika. It had been a cold and painful existence. Mika had filled her life with love, happiness, and deep, passionate feelings that both thrilled and terrified her. The unquenchable desire she had for Mika was always dominant in everything she did. The need to be close to Mika, to touch her, was worse than any hunger Leah had ever known.
When she was away from Mika, she often transported herself to stand invisibly by her side. Leah loved to watch Mika, to hear her voice, to see the gentle way she interacted with others. Leah was careful never to eavesdrop when Mika was talking to her God.
She pushed all thoughts from her mind as she submerged herself in Mika both mentally and physically. Leah thrilled in the freedom of loving Mika. She was glad their love had no earthly bonds. There was nothing to inhibit their lovemaking. Nothing dictated their positions or movements as they expressed their love for one another. The feel of Mika’s wings, her hands, her lips. Her mind was filled with the pure pleasure of Mika’s touch. Mika made her feel things she had never imagined before. She reciprocated, calling her magic to the surface to meet Mika’s demands and make requests of her own. It had been too long since they had made love like this.
##
As the first rays of the sun kissed the dawn, Mika set them down in their bedroom. They lay down beside each other, clinging to each other. “Thank you, darling,” Leah murmured in Mika’s ear, snuggling deeper into her arms. “I needed that so badly.”
“As did I, My Queen.” Mika kissed her one last kiss before slipping into the contented sleep of a woman whose every desire has been fulfilled.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Detective Carlyle looked at the list of names and addresses the tech guys had given her. They had identified over a dozen men on Clinton’s CD. She debated dividing the list with her partners but decided to interview each one of them herself. Sometimes she’d see a look or a reaction her partners would miss. She took Holly with her and asked Benson to check with CSIs to see if they had found any DNA evidence in Clinton’s apartment. They needed something that was positively Clinton’s DNA. She was certain Janet’s baby was Clinton’s.
Carlie knew she had to eventually talk to Mika about her findings. Those at the church no longer wanted to cooperate with her. She couldn’t get permission to use the church’s database. Mika had always been extremely cooperative and had provided her complete access to the church’s DNA database. For some reason it was now blocked to her.
She had never said anything to Leah about checking Mika’s alibis in all the murders, because she knew her suspicions would end their friendship. Of course, the priest had an alibi for every incident. She was even at the Vatican when Father Williams was murdered. She shook her head at her own stupidity. She knew Mika wouldn’t murder anyone. She was just grasping at straws. Obviously, there was an unknown player. Maybe it was Clinton. She had to find him.
Holly and Carlie arrived at the office of the first name on her list: a middle-aged attorney with a socialite wife and three kids.
Carlie watched his reaction closely as she slid Clinton’s photo across his desk. “Do you know this man?” she asked.
“Yes, I do.” He nodded. “Ben Clive. I handled an accident suit for him. Nothing major, a minor auto collision. It was the other fellow’s fault. We settled out of court. That’s all I know about him.”
“Have you seen him lately?” Carlie asked politely.
“No, that was a couple of years ago. I haven’t seen him since,” the man said, frowning.
“Tell me about this picture?” She slid toward him a photo of the attorney performing fellatio on Clinton.
The attorney’s eyes widened as he gasped at the sight of the photo. “Where did you get this?” he demanded.
“Seems Ben Clive recorded many of his encounters.” Carlie looked at him coldly. “You were one of the lucky ones. See this date right here in the corner? Timestamped ten days ago.”
“Why are you harassing me?” he hissed.
“Ben Clive disappeared about a week ago. We need to find him.” Carlie was still polite. “Do you have any idea where he might be?”
“No! Look, Detective,” the attorney said, now perspiring, “I may have participated in some party sex with Clive, but I know nothing about his disappearance.”
“When was the last time you saw him?” Carlie leaned toward him.
“Saturday a week ago,” the man said softly. “Look, I have a wife and kids, and my reputation—”
“Don’t worry.” Carlie smiled to put him at ease. “We just want to locate Clive. We don’t care what you do in your spare time.
“What did the two of you do, Saturday a week ago?” Carlie continued.
“There was a party.” The attorney relaxed noticeably.
“What kind of party?” the detective pushed for information.
“A partners-exchange party.” The man frowned.
“Enlighten me.” Carlie lifted her eyebrows.
“Everyone brings a partner. We have a nice luncheon and drinks, a little dancing, and then we exchange partners throughout the day until everyone has had a turn with whomever they wish.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s all consensual.”
“Did Clive bring a partner?” Carlie could feel the excitement rise as she realized she might be getting close to something.
“Yes. A college English professor. I’m sorry. I can’t recall his name.”
“Where does he teach?”
“I don’t know. No one ever said.” The man frowned.
“Maybe a trip to the precinct will jog your memory,” Carlie threatened.
“I think his first name was Bryan or Barron or something like that. Honestly, I don’t remember his last name.” The attorney was starting to perspire again. He scribbled a name and phone number on a piece of paper. “It was his party. He probably knows the fellow’s name.”
“Could you give the sketch artist a description of the man?” Carlie asked. “I can send him here or you can come by the station in an hour.”
“I’ll be there.” He nodded. “Oh, Detective, he had a strong English accent.”
Carlie considered calling Leah to ride with her on the next visit. Leah was still angry that Carlie had said the common denominators in the Catholic Murders were the church and Mika. Carlie deeply regretted making the statement to the beautiful actress. She called Leah’s number.
The actress icily declined Carlie’s invitation to ride along. She was still furious that the detective had suggested her wife might be involved with the murders. It had taken all her willpower not to turn the detective into a common garden snake. Carlie knew she had done irreparable damage to their friendship.
Benson texted her the address that went with the phone number the attorney had given her. A real estate developer on
Upper West Side. The offices were opulent and intimidating. The man was handsome, charismatic, and self-assured.
“Tell me, Detective…ah, Carlyle, what brings you to our neck of the woods?”
“Do you know this man?” She slid the photo of Clinton toward him.
“He invested in one of our developments. It turned out very good for him.” The man smiled. “He has made his money back many times over. I believe his name is Ben Clive.”
“He’s missing. We’re trying to find him.” Carlie watched his eyes intently. “Do you have any idea where he might be?”
“No. He was at a party at my house about two weeks ago. I haven’t seen him since.”
“Was anyone with him?” Carlie was surprised at how open the man was.
“Yes. An English professor named Byron Welch.” The man wrinkled his brow. “I had never met him before, and they left abruptly.”
“Byron Welch?” Carlie wrote the name in her notebook. “Were they arguing when they left?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t think Mr. Welch was having a good time and wanted to leave.”
“Do you know where he teaches?” Carlie continued to write in her notebook
“No, I am sorry. I don’t.”
It took Carlie a week to interview all the men on her list. They all told the same story. Some knew more, like the developer, and some knew very little about the man Clinton was dating.
All agreed the man was handsome, with a black beard and mustache. He had collar-length jet-black hair and dark eyes. He was about six foot two and spoke with a heavy English accent.
They put together an artist’s drawing of the man and showed it to each of the men who had attended the sex party. They all agreed on the sketch, and it was circulated throughout the departments.
Officers took the sketch to all the colleges and universities in the area, but no one had ever seen or heard of Byron Welch.
Unfortunately, the man they were looking for no longer existed. Watcher had shaved his beard, removed his brown contacts, and bleached his short-cropped hair gray. He had lost thirty pounds in anticipation of his next assignment. He threw the lift shoes he had worn to add height into the same fire that had burned Janet’s cell phone. There was no hint of the tall, darkly handsome man that had attended the party with Clinton.
##
Archbishop Norman Pelosi arrived in New York on a balmy Monday. He was met at the airport by Bishop Cantrell, two priests, and a driver.
“Welcome to New York, Your Excellency.” Bishop Cantrell bowed and kissed the archbishop’s ring.
“I specifically requested that Priest Mika Cross meet me.” Pelosi wasted no time establishing his authority. “I have a letter for her from the Pope himself.”
“Priest Mika is conducting the celibacy conference,” the bishop informed him. “However, she has arranged to dine with you this evening.”
“This is Deacon Martin Tate,” the bishop introduced the driver. “He will be at your disposal during your stay in New York. He’s an excellent driver and an outstanding manservant.”
Deacon Tate bowed deeply and kissed the archbishop’s ring. “Your Excellency, I am honored to be in your presence and will be happy to serve you in any way you desire.”
Pelosi was impressed with the man’s obvious adoration of him and his desire to serve him.
“Thank you, Deacon Tate.” The archbishop waved toward his luggage. “If you will take care of my bags, I will be most appreciative.”
Martin held the door as the archbishop hefted his corpulent body into the limo. He made certain the man was completely inside, then closed the door.
“You must be tired,” Bishop Cantrell noted. “Would you like to go to your hotel room and rest before dinner?”
“That would be nice,” Pelosi huffed, still breathing heavily due to the exertion of getting from the plane to the limo.
“I will drop you by the church,” Martin addressed the bishop. “Then I can help His Excellency get settled.”
“Thank you.” Bishop Cantrell nodded. He had never met Martin before. He was glad the transportation supervisor had assigned him to the archbishop. The man seemed very efficient and caring.
##
Martin tipped the porter then turned to the archbishop. “Would you like me to unpack for you, Excellency?”
“Yes, but first could you run a little errand for me?” Pelosi smiled.
“Of course.” Martin nodded.
“I like a certain brand of…ah…spirits,” the archbishop said softly, as if sharing a confidence with the driver. “Would you mind getting me two bottles of this?” He handed Martin a piece of paper with the name of an expensive Scotch whiskey written on it.
“Oh, sir, all you have to do is ask the hotel. They’ll bring it to you,” Martin assured him.
“I would rather it didn’t show up on my hotel bill.” Pelosi frowned. “I don’t want the church paying for my spirits.”
He put the paper into Martin’s hand and pushed the man out the door. He did not give the driver the money to pay for the liquor.
It took Martin over an hour to find the Scotch requested. It was extremely expensive. He paid for it in cash and placed the receipt in his wallet.
When he had returned, the archbishop had changed from his travel clothes to a hotel dressing gown. He had ordered room service and was lifting the covers from the dishes to see the food.
“You are a lifesaver.” Pelosi grinned. He motioned for Martin to open the bottle and pour him a glass of Scotch.
“Ice, sir?” Martin asked.
“Neat!” Pelosi barked. “I don’t want it diluted with water. Fill up the glass.”
Martin began to unpack the archbishop’s clothes. He noted his suit jackets were more like tents than jackets. He glanced at the man as he ate. Archbishop Pelosi was the epitome of gluttony.
As Martin placed the archbishop’s toiletries in the bathroom, a letter with the papal seal fell from his travel bag. Martin picked up the dark tan-colored envelope and noticed it was addressed to Priest Mika Cross. This must be the letter he’s delivering to Mika, Martin thought. He carefully placed the envelope back in the travel bag,
Archbishop Pelosi scrutinized the pitiful man who had been assigned to him. He was skinny, almost emaciated. He never took off his chauffer’s cap—probably bald—or his driving gloves. A tooth was darkly discolored, just to the left of his top front teeth. He was a little stooped and had a gimpy leg. It was difficult to tell how tall or how old he was. A pair of cheap, black-rimmed glasses with a scratch across the right lens completed his look of an underling. Pelosi surmised the man must be a volunteer. Surely, the church wouldn’t hire someone who looked as he did.
“I have put away everything, Your Excellency.” Martin beamed at the man. “Would you like to shower, or should I run you a bath?”
“I can take it from here, Martin. Do you know where I’m meeting the Cross family for dinner?”
“Yes, sir. An excellent Italian restaurant.” Martin smiled. “I’m certain you will like it. It’s the best! I will be picking you up at six to take you there.”
“Do you know Mika Cross?” Pelosi queried as he stuffed his mouth.
“Indeed, I do, sir.” Martin’s face lit up as if he were talking about the Messiah. “She is truly a woman of God. She is everything a priest should be. If we had more people like her, we would have no problems anywhere in our church.”
“Isn’t she married?” Pelosi growled. “Some in the church, including myself, frown on that.”
“Yes, sir.” Martin nodded. “But everything about her is perfect. The way she loves God and the church. The way she is committed to her wife and family. The way she conducts himself. The—”
Pelosi waved his hand, hushing Martin. “I can judge the woman for myself.”
“Priest Mika says we should not judge,” Martin said with a frown, “lest we be judged.”
Pelosi stared at the driver. Who is he, to be quoting the Bible t
o me? Pelosi thought.
“Just lay out my black suit,” Pelosi said, ending the conversation. “I’m sure you can tell which shirt and tie go with it.”
When Martin had finished his task, he addressed the archbishop. “Your Excellency, I have placed clean socks and shorts on your bed beside your suit and shirt. If it is agreeable to you, I would like to have dinner before I drive you to the restaurant.”
“Of course.” Pelosi waved a dismissive hand at the man.
##
At six sharp, Martin knocked on Pelosi’s door.
“Come in.” The clergy opened the door. “Can you help me with this tie?”
Martin noticed the man’s clean socks and underwear were still on the bed. So much for a fresh shower, he thought. He caught a whiff of body odor as he tied the archbishop’s tie. Add slothfulness to the man’s list, he thought.
“Perhaps a touch of cologne,” Martin suggested as he stepped into the bathroom to get the bottle he had unpacked.
“Good idea.” Pelosi nodded as Martin misted him.
“Oh, the letter for Mika Cross.” The archbishop walked to the table in his suite and retrieved a stark-white envelope.
Martin frowned when he saw the envelope. Perhaps there were two papal letters for Priest Cross.
##
Martin escorted Pelosi into the restaurant and led him to the table where Mika and Bishop Cantrell were waiting.
“Your Excellency.” Mika clasped the hand the archbishop extended to her and bowed slightly. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”
Bishop Cantrell acknowledged the archbishop, kissing his ring when it was offered to him.
“Would you like to join us for dinner?” Mika invited the driver.
“I don’t think it would be proper for him to dine at our table,” the archbishop interrupted before Martin could answer. “He may sit at the table next to us.”
Martin bowed and silently took a seat at the table behind the archbishop so he would be close if the man needed anything.
The archbishop looked around the table. “Just the three of us?” He raised his eyebrows. “I was hoping to meet your lovely wife.”