by Karin Tabke
“You can’t get a warrant.”
“She doesn’t know that.”
“She won’t call.”
“I think she will.”
“I’ll bet you a Val’s burger.”
He grinned and extended his hand. “That’s a bet I’ll be happy to make.”
They shook on it, and Jack pulled out onto the street.
“I want a face-to-face with Mrs. Welsh,” Stevie said. “I don’t know what her game is but she’s doing the mayor and a serial killing BDSM Master, and that’s one interview I want the front row for.”
Jack handed her his cell and said, “Scroll down to the text with Flynn, there are the senator’s home and cell numbers, as well as his wife’s cell.”
Stevie was about to tell Jack to stop telling her what to do when he said, “Please.”
Shaking her head, she took his phone and said, “I’d rather not give her time to think about what she’s going to say.”
“Agreed. Her Piedmont address is in the text.”
Stevie scrolled down his extensive text list, seeing a few female names along the way. “Who’s Shauna?” Before he could answer, she tapped the MMS icon and the picture of a very naked woman, lying on a bed touching herself, popped up.
Stevie blinked, not sure she was actually seeing what she was seeing but there was no doubt about it. Shauna was naked, wet, and, judging by her little text — So hungry for you, Jacky-Jack, I can’t stop touching myself—wanting some Jack action stat.
White-hot fury erupted when she saw that the date of the picture was last night, or more accurately, three thirty this morning. Mingled with the fury was shame. While she was throwing herself at Jack, his paramours were doing the same thing.
She was such a fool to even entertain the idea that Jack Thornton could manage a relationship.
When she turned scathing eyes on him he looked pissed. He had a lot of nerve to be angry at her. “I hate you,” she breathed.
Without saying a word he pulled over, threw the car into park, then turned to face her. “She’s a woman I dated a few times a few months ago.”
“That’s Jack talk for a woman I fucked a few times a few months ago.”
“Are you going to hold my past against me?”
She looked at the text again and the time. “Um, hello, three thirty this morning is current in my book.”
“I can’t help what women text me.”
“Oh really? How about trying, ‘Don’t text me, Shauna!’”
He extended his hand and she slapped the phone into it as hard as she could. “Look,” he said, holding the screen up, “I didn’t respond.” He pulled up another text from another woman, this one of monstrous breasts. “I didn’t respond to this one either and this came in while you were getting dressed this morning.”
“You know what, Jack? I have no say in who texts you, what they text you, or how you respond to them. But I have a say in how much I can take, and as ashamed as I am to admit it, I’m feeling jealous as hell right now, and I don’t like it.” She exhaled softly and looked straight at him.
“I can’t do this. Work with you and—” She hesitated, then said, “And work on us.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, she looked out the passenger window and forced herself not to cry like a little girl who just found out her kitten died. She wanted to do both, but her emotions were interfering with the case. Each time his cell chirped now, she’d wonder if it were some tramp sending him naked pictures attached to invitations.
She heard him texting. After a few minutes he pulled back onto the road, and said, “Tell me right now that you don’t want me working this case with you and I’ll remove myself.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jack’s question hit like a gut punch. Had last night meant nothing to him?
She swallowed hard. No strings, she had said. Had she subconsciously reneged on her own terms?
She’d been a fool to think he wouldn’t take her at her word. How could she expect him to when obviously she didn’t, either? Last night she had convinced herself it wouldn’t matter in the morning. But it did. It mattered very much.
He had been right about one thing—she hated him right now. Not for last night, that was all her. No, what she hated him for right now was that he was doing nothing to persuade her to un-hate him! And fool that she was, despite it all, the thought of never seeing him again was unbearable.
Their personal issues aside, she didn’t even want to pretend she didn’t want to work with him. Jack was the best. A stellar investigator. She trusted his instincts, his knowledge, and his abilities. He was a true advocate for the victims and their families. Not to mention he had all that great extra Fed muscle behind him.
No, Jack wasn’t the problem, she realized. It was her and her inability to separate her personal feelings for Jack from the case. She could hear her father now: “Only fools allow their emotions to interfere with their investigation.”
Then his ghost called her a fool.
“No,” she said softly, staring at a bum as he picked through a trash can.
“No, what?” Jack asked his voice deep, and very much under control.
“No,” she said, turning to look him in the eye when she said it. “I don’t not want to work with you on this case.”
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“Yes, Jack! I want to work with you on this case. No, I don’t want you to remove yourself. Is that plain enough for you?”
He grinned, his straight white teeth sparkling in the morning sunlight. “Yes.”
He put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. Even though he was focused on the road ahead of him, the grin remained plastered across his face.
“What?” she grumped.
He glanced at her as he merged onto 13. “You can’t take it back.”
“I can, if I want.”
“No, you can’t, it’s an FBI rule.”
“I’m not FBI.”
“You should be, Stevie. You’d be a great asset.”
She smiled at the compliment. Coming from Super Fed that meant a lot. “Thanks, but I don’t want to be an FBI agent.”
“I forgot; you’re going straight to the top of the brass food chain.”
She scowled. He caught it in his peripheral. “Why the scowl?”
She shrugged. “No reason.”
“I thought that was what you wanted?”
“It’s a Cavanaugh condition. Sheriff or chief, nothing less at retirement.”
Jack made a frustrated sound. “That’s bull. What do you want, Stevie?”
She started, surprised by his question. No one had ever asked her that before. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what do you want to do? What did you dream of being as a kid?”
She hadn’t been allowed to dream. “My life was destined to be what it was at conception.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
She had to think about the answer. What she wanted had never been considered. Her choices had been made for her, so she never thought of what-ifs.
“I—I don’t know.”
Jack turned off the highway into the Oakland hills. “If you couldn’t do police work what would you want to do?”
“I enjoy my job.”
“You’re being evasive.”
“I don’t know what I’d do. I never gave it any thought.”
“What happens if you don’t make chief?”
“That’s not an option.”
Jack snorted contemptuously. Not at her, she understood, but the situation. “Says who?”
They pulled up to a large Tudor mansion, then rolled half a block past it.
“Says me.”
When Jack put the car into park, he looked at Stevie and said, “I’m only going to
say this once to clear the air and stop that never-ending brain of yours from creating doubt about where I stand.”
Looking out the window she asked, “Oh? What’s that?”
“Look at me,” he softly said.
She shook her head. He reached over and with his fingers under her chin he turned her to look at him. Lips parted, she caught her breath. The hypnotic intensity of his eyes and the heat his body emanated held her spellbound. He looked good enough to eat. Heat flushed low in her belly and began to spread south.
His lips cracked into a wicked smile. He knew the effect he had on her. She couldn’t help a reciprocal smile. “I sure hope you don’t hate me,” he started, “because I can’t get the image of you coming all over me last night out of my head.” He lowered his eyes to her mouth and bit his bottom lip.
“Jack,” she said nervously. “We can talk about that later.” She wanted to jump his bones right then and there, and his admission made her feel one hundred percent better than she had just a minute ago.
“We’re going to do more than talk about it later.”
He sat back into his seat, took the key out of the ignition, and exited the car. As she came around to meet him they walked down the sidewalk together.
“How do you want to play this?” he asked.
“Good cop,” she said, pointing to him, then pointed at herself. “Bitch cop.”
To say Regina Welsh was not happy to see Stevie was an understatement; that she was charmed to her panties by Special Agent Jack Thornton would not be an overstatement. The senator’s wife could barely keep her hands off him as she graciously welcomed him while devouring him with her eyes. Stevie rolled her eyes as she followed Jack and the salivating cougar down a vast hallway to a study where she pointed to a chair for Stevie, who purposefully took the opposite seat.
Coiffed, regal, and ice-cold, the senator’s wife sat stiffly before them both and directing her question to Jack, asked, “What can I help you with, Special Agent Thornton?”
“We’re investigating the Cain killings,” Stevie began. “We believe an acquaintance of yours, Mario Spoltori, may be involved. We also have reason to believe you may be the next target.”
Mrs. Welsh threw her head back and laughed, the sound more like a high-pitched cackle. It grated on Stevie’s nerves. Pretentious people annoyed her more than most.
“Oh, Detective, that’s priceless.” When she managed to settle down, she realized by Stevie and Jack’s silence they weren’t joking. Her face sobered. “You’re serious?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jack said. Then, in an earnest warm voice, he added, “We’re concerned for your safety.”
She sat back in the chair.
“What is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Spoltori?” Stevie asked.
Mrs. Welsh shrugged. “I know that he’s Mayor Dyer’s money man.”
“Do you have any interaction with him?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been to his residence?”
“If I had no interaction with him, I think that would include not going to his apartment.”
“So that’s a no?”
“Yes, Detective, that is a no.”
It didn’t go unnoticed by Stevie that she knew Spoltori lived in an apartment. She made an entry in her notepad, then asked point-blank, “What is the nature of your relationship with Mayor Dyer?”
Mrs. Welsh squirmed in her chair. “My husband is a supporter.”
“Are you?”
“Of course.”
“Do you know the mayor outside of politics?”
Mrs. Welsh pursed her lips, then absently waved her hand. “I met Donald a decade ago in Washington at a political function.”
“Has Senator Welsh always been a supporter of the mayor’s?”
Stevie watched the truth flicker across Mrs. Welsh’s features right before she lied. “Yes.”
Stevie nodded. “That’s interesting, because I did a little research and your husband backed Clive Markham, the Independent that ran against Mayor Dyer, during the mayoral race three years ago.” Stevie leaned toward her. “What changed his mind?”
Mrs. Welsh stiffened. “I did.”
“How?”
“I introduced them several months ago. John now realizes what a strong candidate Donald is for the party and is happy to throw his support his way.”
“Did Mayor Dyer give you any incentive to sway your husband for that support?”
“Do you mean a bribe?” she asked incredulous.
Stevie nodded. “I guess you could call it that.”
“Of course not!”
“So, if Mayor Dyer had not been regularly servicing you, you still would have persuaded your husband to throw his support the mayor’s way?”
“How dare you!” she seethed.
Stevie sat back in her chair, crossed her right ankle over her left knee and looked at the woman. “Please, Mrs. Welsh, save the theatrics for your husband. I know about you and Mayor Dyer. I get it. You scratch his back, he scratches yours. But what I do need clarification on is your relationship with Mario Spoltori.”
“I have no relationship with him.”
“So, your visit to his apartment yesterday and what transpired during that visit—you would not classify that as any type of relationship?”
Mrs. Welsh sat stone silent as Stevie watched the color trickle from her face.
She pushed.
“Did your husband sanction your visit to Mr. Spoltori’s Oakland apartment or your rendezvous with Mayor Dyer last night?”
Finally the cougar’s claws came out. “How dare you!?” She said again, then stood and pointed to the door. “This conversation is over. If you insist on speaking to me again it will be with my lawyer present. Leave my house.”
Stevie nodded, snapped her pad shut and said, “I’ll go, but I’m giving you the courtesy of letting you know, my next stop is your husband’s office. I’m sure when I bring up your extracurricular activities, he’ll be happy to shed some light on them.”
The senator’s wife looked to Jack for help.
He moved his chair closer to her. “Mrs. Welsh, we need your help.” He reached out to her, taking her hand, and naturally she slid both into his big strong one and sat down. “Can you help me? Please.”
She looked terrified.
“I promise to protect you,” Jack softly said.
“It—it isn’t that easy.”
Jack moved closer. “Tell me what isn’t easy. Tell me why you’re afraid.”
Mrs. Welsh speared Stevie with a glare. “I will when she leaves.”
Jack squeezed her hand and said, “Unfortunately, she’s my partner and we’re required to work together.”
And just like that, the ice walls surrounding the frigid queen bitch melted.
“I met Mario via a chat room.”
“What kind of chat room?” Jack asked.
“An RP room for subs.”
“RP?” Jack asked.
“Role-playing,” Stevie said at the same time Mrs. Welsh said it.
“I was curious. One thing led to another and the next thing I knew, I was having regular, private, instant message conversations with a Master who called himself The Edge. I was intrigued, but afraid that if word got out that Senator Welsh’s wife was a closet submissive, well... You get the picture.”
“What happened?”
“After he relentlessly wooed me?”
Stevie snorted. Jack gave her a look that said; knock it off, but Mrs. Welsh proudly sat up straight.
“It’s true. He was bold and beautiful and he wanted me, not some young thing with fake body parts. I agreed to meet him. I waited at Scott’s at Jack London Square. While I was waiting, Mario came in. He bought me a drink, struck up a conversation, and kept me company as I waited
for The Edge. I should have guessed who he was because he was dominant from the beginning, knowing exactly what I needed. He was persuasive, but I was reluctant. Then he slid a coin across the table to me. I had mailed it to The Edge the previous week. It was our signal. He revealed himself to me, said he had to be sure we both had something to lose before he told me who he was. And then we went back to his place. I had such high expectations. At first I was frustrated because he couldn’t—”
“Get an erection?” Stevie offered.
“Yes,” she wrinkled her nose. “Not until I called him names while he masturbated.”
“What kind of names?”
“Nasty names.”
“Be specific,” Jack urged.
“Dirty cunt. Nasty cunt. Evil bitch cunt.”
Stevie shivered as she recalled the scene. It had disturbed her then, it disturbed her more now. “Did he say anything while he was masturbating and you were saying those things to him?” Stevie asked.
“Not until he ejaculated. He said something, it wasn’t clear, he made a suffering sound. I didn’t give it any thought because many men make pained sounds when they come.”
“The word or words he said, what did they sound like?” Jack urged.
“I don’t really recall.” She shrugged. “Maybe mawmaw or something like that.”
“Momma?” Stevie asked.
“No, it wasn’t that. But I had the feeling it was someone’s name. It creeped me out.”
“Did you stay after that?” Jack softly queried, letting her know by his tone that it was okay if she did.
“Yes! That wasn’t what I went for. He promised me the world on my knees.”
“Did he deliver?” Stevie asked.
Color stained her cheeks. “Yes,” she said hoarsely. “In spades.”
“Did he hurt you?” Jack asked, patting her hand.
“Yes,” she admitted, “but that was part of the play.”
“Did you ever feel afraid?”
“No...”
Jack leaned in to her. “You can tell me.”
Mrs. Welsh loudly exhaled. “He told me if he caught me with anyone else but him he’d make me pay in blood. I didn’t take him seriously because that was part of the play, him being a total Master. Masters don’t share unless they choose to share.”