My parents told me to be careful as I walked to the door and then they disappeared, leaving only Connie and me alone in the foyer. She looked so timid and small, uncertain of what she wanted to say or do, so I said it for her. “I’ll be back in a few days, kid.” Then, in an unplanned move, I stole a kiss. I leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. Not the cheek or the forehead, but right there on the lips, the most sensual, intoxicating part of a woman’s body. To my great relief, she kissed me back. My lips were still tingling as the plane taxied to the gate at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport in Arlington.
I rented a car at the airport, paying cash as I was doing for everything, including the airplane ticket. Hopefully I’d be reimbursed once the case was finished. For now, though, I didn’t want anyone tracking me through my credit cards or badge number. If there was a snitch at the division, they might be watching me. I was pretty much on my own and that was just the way I like it.
I drove over to South Clark Street and parked across from the U.S. Marshals’ state headquarters building. The place where I first met Connie. Wearing a baseball cap over my now-short hair, thanks to my protectee, and dark sunglasses, I was pretty sure no one would recognize me. Most of them didn’t know me anyway, since I was based out of Roanoke. I was waiting on is Chief Deputy Jacquetta Krauss. I needed to look her in the eyes to see if she was the one who betrayed her oath of office. If I thought she had, then I had to find a way to prove it. But first, I had to find a way to protect Connie. The only way to do that was to find the information her father had hidden.
The Feds had subpoenaed his and his wife’s bank accounts, ruling out kickbacks, payoffs, etc. They’d checked for a safety deposit box and neither one of them had one, so whatever evidence Yarbrough had, must be in their house, or perhaps he gave it to a friend for safekeeping. The FBI would have gone down every avenue, checking with family and friends, but maybe I’d get lucky. It had happened before. I had an eye for seeing things others looked right over. The guys called it my “proofreader” eye.
It was lunchtime and people began coming out of the buildings, heading to their favorite restaurant for lunch. I had no idea whether Krauss would go out for lunch or not, but I was prepared to sit here all day until she came out. If she didn’t leave for lunch, than plan B would be to send a note up to her, asking her to come find me.
I sat there watching people come and go out of the building and foolishly let my mind drift back to those beautiful blue eyes saying goodbye to me this morning. Connie hadn’t put in her contacts yet and I’d caught a glimpse of the real Contessa. I’d actually gasped. Those eyes with their infinite shades of blue swirling with dark specks of emotions— sad, yet caring— were still haunting me hours later. Shake it off and concentrate, damn it. Connie was in mourning, for her parents and her wife. I would never take advantage of that. I couldn’t allow myself to feel anything toward her except to see her as just another case. I’d already overstepped the boundaries of decorum and was perilously close to violating my oath. That was dangerous on so many levels, not the least of which was putting her life at risk because I was too horny to concentrate. It’s just hormones, don’t let them take control.
I spotted Krauss exiting the building. She was wearing a business suit but strangely had on tennis shoes. I say strange because instead of walking, she waved over a taxi cab and got in. I started my car and pulled out slowly, falling in behind them. They drove across town, turned onto South Four Mile Run Drive, and the cab let her out at a baseball park. I pulled into the parking lot and parked, then followed her on foot. Little kids of every shape and size, wearing cherub-sized baseball suits and safety helmets, where chasing after softballs, running the bases, and having a very good time. Krauss stopped at the fence for a moment, waving at what I guessed was her kid, before sitting down in the stands.
I waited a few minutes to see if anyone was going to join her. Satisfied that she wasn’t meeting anyone, I climbed the stairs and sat down beside her. She glanced at me, but she didn’t seem to recognize me.
“Is that your son at bat?” I asked.
“Yes, that’s my Jayme,” she replied, never taking her eyes off of her son.
Jayme, who looked to be five or six, hit the ball resting on the tee and it bounced toward third base. The little tyke ran toward first base and jumped onto the mound, as excited as if he had just won the World Series.
“He’s very good, CD,” I said casually.
She jerked her head around and looked at me. “Do I know you?”
I pulled my sunglasses and cap off and frowned. “Yes, I believe you do.”
“What the hell? What are you doing here? Where’s your protectee?”
“You have a leak in your department, Chief. And for all I know, it could be you.”
Her eyes narrowed, and her cheeks flushed angrily. “What kind of bullshit accusation is that?”
She seemed genuinely insulted. A person couldn’t make their cheeks turn that shade of red at will. My gut told me she wasn’t the leak but I was still cautious.
“My protectee is safe and completely off the grid. And she’s going to stay that way until I know my own people aren’t trying to kill her. What have you done to find the mole?”
“I’ve asked for an internal investigation. If there is a leak, they will be found.”
“Are you having them investigate both divisions? It could just as easily be someone in SOIB.”
She turned back to the ballfield. “I don’t think it’s anyone in your division because of the protectee,” she said as she waved at her son. “SOIB most likely wouldn’t have known about the witness, since she’s not a minor and she wasn’t sexually assaulted. It’s rare that we exchange case information between departments. You were the exception to that rule.”
“Gee, wasn’t I the lucky one?” I retorted sarcastically.
“I imagine your protectee thinks so,” Krauss said.
I opened my mouth to counter but couldn’t think of a comeback.
“Listen, my son is about to bat again, so let’s cut to the chase,” she said, looking at me. “As long as you keep me in the loop on your protectee, I will support the restrictions you have in place. But I need to be able to contact you.”
As my father would say, either fish or cut bait. I hate to fish. Do I trust this woman with not only Connie’s life but my own as well? Did I have a choice? The first night at my parents’ home, as Connie slept, I ran to the mall and bought two prepaid mobile phones; one for Connie, and one for me. Only my parents and Connie had my number.
“Got something to write on? I’d rather you not put my phone number in your cell phone address book.”
She nodded and rifled through her purse, pulling out a pen and a small notepad. She handed them to me, and I wrote down my phone number and handed it back.
“You can keep sending reports to my email, I made sure that address was untraceable.” Thanks to a few tricks I learned from the cyber division. “Also, I think there were two shooters in that house. One went out the front, the other, for reasons I can’t fathom, went out the back.”
“You seem sure of that. Want to tell me how you came to think that?”
“No, I don’t. Just check it out, please.”
She cocked her head, “So, what are you going to do now?”
I stood up and smoothed my jeans down. “I plan to solve this case. Enjoy your game, Chief.”
“Be careful, Deputy,” she said as I walked away.
***
Three and a half hours later, and I was home in Roanoke. I drove straight to my apartment on Circle Brook Drive, driving around the block, looking for anyone suspicious. Then I parked my car, went inside the building and took the stairs up to the fifth floor. The door was locked, and there was no indication that anyone had tried to get in. There was no one in the hallway, and the ambient noises sounded familiar. I let myself in, leaving the lights off, and picked up the baseball bat I kept by the door. I locked the door and sli
d the security chain into place, then I looked around. Everything looked normal. I swept through the apartment, checking all the possible hiding places, then I walked into the bedroom. With the bat at the ready, I swung the closet door open, prepared to swing. Nothing jumped out at me, and I was beginning to relax.
I reached down and picked up the lockbox that held my back up gun. Unlocking the box with the key I kept on my keyring, I retrieved the gun and its side holster. I grabbed a belt from the closet and put it on. Then I inserted the holster inside my waistband on my firing-side hip and snapped it to my belt. Checking the gun to make sure the safety was on, I inserted a clip and slid it into the holster. I put the box back in the closet and left the apartment.
Driving across town, I checked into the hotel I had used last week. I had several hours to kill until midnight, so I made two calls using the hotel phone. One was for room service. The other was for a different kind of service.
“How do you want it tonight, baby?” she asked as she set her bag of tricks down on the table.
“Slow and deliberate,” I answered.
She pouted. “So, we don’t want to scream tonight?”
“No, we want to purge.”
“Ah. Someone’s got you all riled up, have they?”
“Not like that. She doesn’t know,” I admitted. Telling the prostitute my deepest secret desire was another way of purging. For some reason, I trusted her to keep my secret.
“Ah. Well, I’ve got just what you need, baby. Stand perfectly still,” she said as she unbuttoned my jeans. “And try not to think of her.”
“Reverse psychology won’t work with me,” I stated, envisioning Connie’s luminous blue eyes. Damn it!
“Uh huh. Keep thinking that,” she said as she slipped her hand inside and teased my lower abs with her fingers.
I inhaled sharply, surprised by my body’s instant response to her touch. She unzipped my jeans and let them fall to the floor. Running her hand inside my shorts, she teased me again, then ran her fingers up under my shirt and cupped my breasts.
“Oh, so warm and round,” she cooed, pinching my tip. “Let’s get that shirt off. I need to see those perfect orbs of flesh.”
That was easier said than done. She continued massaging my breasts until they throbbed, sending sparks of excitement through my body. My hands shook as I hurriedly unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it to the floor. Then I pulled my tank top up over my head, gasping by the time it fell to the floor.
“Oh, yes. Just as I remembered. Firm, eager, biteable.” She kissed the underside of my right breast, then bit the tip.
“Oh, man,” I moaned, arching my back.
With her lips sucking my breast, she guided me down to the bed and climbed on top of me. The pressure intensified immediately as she caressed my abdomen. I was so ready to pop that I was writhing under her touch. “Please,” I begged.
“Are you still thinking about her?” she asked, plunging her fingers deep inside and stroking my clit.
“Yes!” I was so close the pleasure was bordered on painful.
She started to withdraw her fingers and I bucked up, trying to force the climax. “I meant no! I’m not,” I panted breathlessly, thinking about Connie’s soft lips against mine. Damn it!
“Okay, baby, I believe you,” she said, disappearing between my legs.
The pinpricks of pleasure convulsed into an explosion of ecstasy. “Oh, God. Connie!”
***
Oh, God. Connie? It was a fluke that I’d called her name. The only thing I could figure was that the prostitute had set me up. As I walked through Connie’s parents’ house, I tried to convince myself of that. It wasn’t working.
It was after midnight and the only illumination in the house came from the street lights. If I didn’t want to run into something and break my leg, I needed to let everything else go and concentrate on my surroundings. The house was still an active crime scene and probably would be for another week or more, but everything deemed evidence had been removed already. I could only hope that they had missed something. I put on rubber gloves and walked into the kitchen first, careful not to disturb the evidence markers. My father surmised that there had been two intruders based on the time spent searching for the proof. One to kill the occupants and one to search for the incriminating evidence. What they hadn’t counted on was Connie coming back early. I believe they let her live in case they couldn’t find what they were looking for. Her father could have left it with someone to give to her if he died. It had happened before. If that was what he had done then Mr. Yarbrough probably saved her life. But if that was so, why had they tried to kill us on the road? If that first hit had been a straight on broadside, Connie would be dead. If I hadn’t pulled Connie out of the car, the second hit would have killed her, for sure. So, what had changed? What had made killing her more important than finding the evidence?
The crime scene cleaners had already been here and cleaned up the blood, but the outline of where Mrs. Yarbrough’s body had lain was still on the kitchen floor. The question was, who paid for the bioremediation cleanup? Connie hadn’t mentioned it and it was usually left up to the family to pay for cleanup, even when it was a crime scene. I pulled out my burner phone and texted my question to Krauss. Then I began looking in the unusual and unlikely places. Places you wouldn’t think a man in his early fifties would consider; like feminine products in the bathroom of his twenty-five-year-old daughter. It was a long shot but I had to start somewhere.
I searched the kitchen and living room to no avail. The bedrooms were next. I went through the Yarbroughs’ bedroom and bathroom, the guest bedroom, and finally, Connie’s room at the end of the hallway. You could learn a lot from a person’s bedroom. This one looked like it had been frozen in time. Her bed had been made, which told me right off that she wasn’t a slob like I was. Her dresser had a selection of makeup laid out, ready to use, and a framed picture of Meredith and Connie together at their college graduation. I had a twinge of jealousy that immediately frustrated the hell out of me. Jealous of a dead girl… what is wrong with me? There was something about that photo. I’ll be damn. That’s me in the background. Damn, that’s surreal.
Shaking off the drama, I opened her dresser drawer and hurriedly stepped back. It was her underwear drawer. “Ah, hell,” I mumbled, raking my fingers through my hair, cursing again when the rubber glove pulled on my hair. I felt like a pervert, leering at her panties. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing that I felt. Damn that prostitute!
I slammed the drawer shut and walked into the bathroom. I put the lid down and sat on the stool with my head down and my hands clasped together. You’re a grown-ass woman, get hold of yourself, damn it. I sat for a moment, chastising myself until I finally realized that Connie’s life may very well depend on me being in control of my hormones. Besides, I knew without a doubt that I didn’t stand a chance in hell of being involved with her in any way other than friendship. I was only attracted to her because she was like a wounded bird, fragile and scared. But once she had healed, she would fly away. I’d gone down that path before, and I wouldn’t do it again. It hurt too damn much. My problem was that I was attracted to fragile women, the scared yet brave women who just needed a little extra care and support. It was a fatal flaw of mine that in all these years had never worked out for me.
While sitting there, shoring up my resolve, I glanced at the violet bathmat. It matched the shower curtain, vanity accessory set and the guest towels. Obviously, Connie liked purple. I got up and looked into the shower. Hair shampoo and body wash stood in the caddy, with a luffa sponge hanging down off the side. The tiles in the shower seemed to be intact, the grout had not been repaired or changed.
I turned back to the sink and opened the cabinet doors. The usual cleaning supplies, extra bars of unopened soap, and the feminine products I was looking for. I knew before I picked up the bag of tampons that I wouldn’t find anything. Someone had already gone through them, the techs most likely, and wasn’t conc
erned with how they went back in the bag.
I picked up one of the bars of soap and shook it, not expecting to hear anything. The soap was made of coconut oil and came in a pack of three. One of the soaps was missing. I went looking for the other bar of soap. Had she used it? I looked back in the shower and didn’t find it. I went back into the Yarbroughs’ bathroom, but the only soap in there was Irish Spring for him and body soap for her. I hadn’t checked the guest bathroom in the hallway yet. It was outside of the guest bedroom.
The guest bathroom was small, with just a toilet and a sink with a pedestal base. Liquid hand soap sat on the rectangular basin. There were no cabinets except for the over-the-toilet storage rack holding assorted hand towels and a roll of toilet paper. I pulled everything out, and there it was. Wedged behind and under a hand towel was a bar of soap still in its box, just like the kind Connie had in her bathroom. I picked up the box and opened it, pulling the soap out. Then I shook it. It rattled.
Chapter Twelve
Amanda Sanders (Connie Yarbrough-Morrison)
I watched Hettie get into the cab and drive away. I wanted to tell her not to go, that we could figure out something else. But then she kissed me and all reasoning left my brain. She kissed me, and I liked it. How could I like it when I was still in mourning for my wife?
Hettie had only been gone for an hour when I picked up the phone she had left for me in the bedroom. I gazed at it, wishing I had the courage to call her. I was so confused. I placed the phone on the bed and pulled my necklace from around my neck and removed my wedding ring. Kissing my wedding band, I slipped it on my finger.
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