by Ciana Stone
He almost refuted that statement and perhaps he would have. If she had not kissed, stroked, licked, bit and sucked, probed and teased him into near insanity before screwing his brains out.
By the time she finished with him, he had no energy to do anything but lie there, breathing hard. He was barely aware of her moving on the bed until her lips met his for a soft kiss.
"Thanks, John," she whispered just before he felt the sting of the needle and the burn of the drug in the side of his neck. "Don't—" Was all he had time to say before darkness claimed him.
Chapter Four
Heritage Ranch - Texas
Despite the voice coming through her earpiece, she heard the crunch of gravel, the space between the sounds identifying the man who walked up the drive to her cottage. She didn't need to see him to know it was Russell. His pace was measured, steady, not rushed, much like the man. It took something to strip away that control he wore like a suit of armor.
"No later than the end of next week," Naomie said, then added. "Russ is here, I need to go. I'll call you tomorrow. Okay, bye."
She ended the call, removed the Bluetooth earpiece, and lay it on the table beside the porch swing, alongside her phone and empty teacup. She met him as he stepped onto the porch.
"Did I interrupt?"
"Just chatting with Amber. It looks like I'll be going to D.C. at the end of next week and I wanted to make sure her offer of a bed was still –what's wrong?"
"Am I that transparent?"
"Only to someone who knows you well. Come," she took his hand and led him to the porch swing. Tell me."
"I spoke with Rich today, and we're going to invest in Kal's project."
"You are? Wow, that's – well, it's a surprise. I thought you weren't convinced it would work?"
"I wasn't At least on the scale he originally planned. This isn't like Vegas or the coast of California. We're too far from Dallas or Austin or even Houston to make it an attractive place to want to move. And it's not what you would call a prime vacation location."
"But?"
"Did you hear a but in my voice?"
"I did."
"Damn woman, remind me to never play poker with you. Yes, there is a but. Kal agreed to scale back a bit and rather than a city, start with a resort. He's met with architects and engineers and believes we could make a success of a resort."
"What kind of resort?"
"A place people can go to relax, take a horse ride, fish, boat, or swim. We could hold rodeos which always draws a crowd, create an open-air arena for music, and even try a throwback and have a drive-in for movies."
"Oh, can I go? That sounds fantastic."
"Really?"
"Really. I think it's a great idea. And it's still green?"
"One hundred percent."
"What changed your mind?"
"You."
"I didn't say anything."
"No, but you offered to invest in it to help them."
"They're my friends."
"And that's all it takes, isn't it? If you care about someone, you'll give them your last dime."
"Money isn't everything, Russ, and you know it. I can always make more money. Hell, I have patents that pay me an absurd amount of money every year, and I don't do a darn thing but collect the checks. So, I've got more than I need, and they need more to make their dream come true. How could I not offer to help?"
"Naomie, you are the most giving person I've ever known, and every day I'm with you makes me want to be a better man than I was the day before."
"I think you're pretty damn good the way you are."
"And I think I can be better. So, after talking with Rich, Heritage is going to buy in."
"Have you told Cici and Kal?"
"Yes. They're excited."
"Oh, I can imagine. Kal was devastated when his friend Edward pulled out, and Cici basically divested herself of every asset she had to try and make up the difference. I felt so bad for them. I know it started as his dream, but it became hers too along the way."
"I know what you mean. I never dreamed I'd see Cici married and with a child. Not to mention happy being a wife and mother. She wore the hat of legal hatchet man for Heritage for too long. It's time for her to have her own dreams, and Kal seems to bring out a goodness in her I didn't know was there."
"You're so proud of her, aren't you?"
"Does it show?"
"Yes, and I'm glad it does." Naomie climbed onto Russell's lap, straddling his legs and placing her hands on the top of his shoulder. "You're wearing that hero hat very well, Mr. Walker."
"Mr. Walker?"
"Well, what does a girl call a hero?"
"Whatever she wants, as long as she calls him."
Naomie's hands move to the buttons on his shirt. "Wanna save a damsel in distress, Mr. Walker?"
"Are you in distress, Ms. Taylor?"
"Oh, yes. Severe."
"Well, we can't have that."
He brushed her hands aside, pulled her top over her head, and let it fall. "It's been way too long since I've seen you," he said as his hands drifted up to cup her breasts.
"You see me every day," her breath hitched as his tongue moved over one nipple.
"Not naked," he argued. "I need you naked."
He grabbed her rear and stood, letting her slide down his body before her feet touched the floor. The moment they did, he unbuttoned her shorts and shoved them down. Naomie stepped out of them and backed away.
She felt a tingle dance over her skin as he unfastened his belt and unzipped his jeans. He closed in on her, and she bumped back against the porch railing. "Now you can't get away," he said as he wrapped one arm around her and lifted her to sit on the rail.
"As if I'd want to. Get in me." She wrapped her legs around him.
Russell swept her up and carried her inside. Naomie curled around him like a snake when he set her down, one leg hooked around his while her arms wound around his neck. His hands tightened on her ass as their lips met.
Within a minute, his pants were shoved down his thighs, and her legs were wrapped around his waist. Despite what he often claimed, that he was old, Russ still had plenty enough to hold her aloft, guide himself into her warmth and back her up against the door.
With one curl of his pelvis, he coaxed a groan from her. "More," she purred and reached her hands up, hooking her fingertips on the doorframe.
That was apparently the gas on the fire because he dug his fingers into the flesh of her ass, and stroked hard and fast. Naomie completely lost touch with everything around her. The third time she succumbed to the heat, she moaned his name and the sound tipped the scales beyond recovery, sending him over the edge to take the plunge with her. He pinned her against the door and rode out the storm of sensation. It took them nearly a minute to move. Russ stepped back, and she slid off him.
"Whoa," she hung on as her knees gave way. "Wow."
He smiled at her. "I'd intended this to last a little longer."
"It will," she smiled and walked around him. "In round two."
"Is there going to be a round two?" he followed her into the bathroom, and she turned on the shower.
Naomie turned, plastered herself against him and pulled his head down for a kiss. When it ended, she reached between them. "How do you feel about watching a woman masturbate in the shower?"
His groan was followed by a sexy smile. That, and the condition of his anatomy currently swelling in her hand told her there was indeed going to be a round two.
Washington, D.C.
John woke with a jerk to realize he was no longer bound. A quick glance at the clock told him it was almost 8 a.m. He cursed and got up to check the apartment. She wasn't there. Damn, what did she give him to knock him out that long?
And how had she managed to get in? He didn't have a clue. He knew he should pick up the phone that moment and call in, have a team dispatched to go over the building with a fine-tooth comb. But he couldn't. He wasn't prepared to admit to anyone that the H
ood had gotten into his apartment undetected, or that she had tied him up and tortured him with one of the best sexual experiences of his life.
Just thinking about it had him immediately rising to attention. The woman was going to drive him completely out of his mind.
His phone rang, and he hurried to the bedroom. It was the Bureau. A case he'd been assigned to a few years back had suffered a setback. The criminal, now in prison, was being granted a hearing on a claim the evidence against him was tainted.
John rushed to shower, dress and head for the Bureau, his thoughts, for once on something other than the Hood.
As he drove, he thought about the case that was now in jeopardy. Five years ago, right after he joined the Bureau, he was assigned to a team tasked with the apprehension of a serial killer dubbed the Surgeon. There were five murders attributed to the Surgeon, and in each, a woman between the ages of twenty-five and thirty was abducted, sexually abused for at least a week and then dismembered. While alive.
Once there was no more life left in his victims, the Surgeon stitched them back together, but not in their original forms. What was left in a public place to be found was a macabre sculpture of flesh to challenge the worst horrors anyone had seen.
It took six months, but finally, the team caught a break. Someone recorded the killer placing his last victim and followed him back to a residence in the outskirts of a city in Maryland called Rockville.
The operation, the arrest, everything was clean. John knew it. They'd been meticulous. Winfred Maddox, aka The Surgeon, was convicted and sentenced to death. He now resided on death row, awaiting execution.
What could have convinced a judge to grant that scum a hearing?
The answer to that question came when he reached the Bureau. His partner, Tom Westbrook, greeted him as soon as he stepped from the elevator. "I guess you heard?"
"I heard they were giving the Surgeon a hearing. I'm just having a hard time believing it." John started for his office, but Tom stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Walk with me."
"Whatever it is you have to say, I get the feeling I'm not going to like it."
"I don't imagine so. The question of what prompted this new hearing is being asked by the families of his victims. In fact, there are three sets of parents here, and since all the other members of the task force are currently on assignment elsewhere, it falls to you to speak with them and help them understand."
John stopped walking. "I don't know why he was granted a hearing."
"Chain of custody."
"No." John couldn't accept that. "We didn't screw up."
"The judge seems to think the defense has a compelling argument to the contrary." Tom gave John a quick rundown of the filing, the Judge who heard and ruled on it and the date set for the hearing.
"Shit."
"To say the least. Listen, we put them in the conference room next to Hudson's office. The brass wants you to explain it to them, along with assuring them that we'll do all we can."
"To what?"
"Just all we can, man. Comfort them if you can."
John watched his partner walk away and stood there for a few moments. How in the hell did you explain to people who had lost daughters in the most horrible way imaginable that the monster who butchered their children was being given a chance at release?
He didn't know, but he better find the answer fast because they were waiting. John turned and headed for the conference room.
Six heads turned in his direction the moment he entered. At least four voices shot questions before he had a chance to introduce himself. John walked to the head of the table and held up both hands, palms out.
"Good morning. I'm Special Agent John Rushing and I'm here to answer whatever questions I can, but please, one at a time."
He took a seat and looked at a short, balding man two seats down on his right who had his hand raised. "Yes?"
"I'm Sam Dunwoody, and this is my wife, Anita," Mr. Dunwoody gestured to the chubby blonde woman with the swollen, red eyes who sat beside him. "How can that monster be getting a new trial?"
Several others at the table murmured support for that question. John waited for them to fall silent before speaking.
"Okay, here are the facts as I know them. Winfred Maddox's attorney filed for a hearing, claiming a break in the chain of custody of evidence collected at Maddow's home that linked him to the murders. Judge Ernest Brantford granted the hearing, and it is scheduled for a week from today."
"What does that mean a break in the chain of custody?" A woman sitting across from the Dunwoody couple asked. John remembered her. Clara Meeks. She was a widower, and her daughter, Melanie, the Surgeon's third victim, was her only child.
John collected his thoughts. He needed to be clear, concise, and straightforward in his explanation. It came to him as he greeted her.
"Mrs. Meeks, I'm sorry to put you through this." He looked around the room. "To put any of you though this. Let me see if I can explain what this means.
"In a case like this, the victims were killed in one place and moved to another where they were found. Thus, forensics looked for trace evidence at the scenes where the bodies were found. We also collected evidence from the home and the vehicle of Winfred Maddox.
"Now, for the sake of explanation, let's use one piece of evidence collected. A large cleaver. Here's the way the chain of custody works.
"One. After the scene is photographed and documented, an officer collects the cleaver, puts it into a container, and then gives it to a forensics technician.
"Two. The forensics technician takes the cleaver to the lab, collects fingerprints and other evidence from it, then gives it and all the evidence collected from it to the evidence clerk.
"Three. The evidence clerk places the evidence in storage until it's needed, and documents everyone who has accessed the original evidence.
"Now, the chain of custody requires that from the first moment the evidence is collected, every transfer of that evidence from one person to another must be documented, along with anyone who has access to it, to examine or study it." He looked around the table and paused for effect.
"Not only does every transfer have to be documented, but it has to be provable that absolutely no one else could have accessed the evidence without there being a record of it.
"So, if the defense questions the chain of custody of the evidence, it can be proven that the cleaver in the evidence room is, in fact, the same cleaver found at the scene. But-- and here's where it's pertinent to us today – if there are discrepancies and it can't be proven who had that cleaver at a particular point in time, then the chain of custody is broken, and the defendant can ask to have the resulting evidence declared inadmissible."
"But we know he did it. There was other evidence." Another parent, a father, argued.
"True. But we do not, at present, know what evidence is being challenged. I will look into it, and the Bureau will keep you updated."
"And that's it?" Dunwoody asked. "You'll keep us updated? What are you going to do to keep that monster from getting off?"
"Everything we can, sir." John understood they had reached the moment in the meeting when things were about to get very emotional, and that made reasoning with people difficult. It was best to end it now because beyond what he'd told them, he had nothing else to say and could not make promises.
"If you'll excuse me."
He didn't wait for a response, he just left the room and hurried down the hall to his office. His partner Tom was waiting. "Well?"
"Well, that sucked. What's next?"
"We start backtracking, checking evidence logs, and interviewing everyone who had access. We have to prove the defense is wrong."
"We will." There was no way John could live with Winfred Maddox being released. No way.
"Then let's get to it. Anything you need to do before we head over to evidence?"
"No, let's go."
Together they left the building and opted to take John's car. The e
vidence was stored at the police department in Rockville, Maryland, where the last victim was found and where Maddox lived.
"So, anything new on The Hood?" Tom asked as they rode.
John looked over at the side mirror, pretending to be focused on traffic to avoid looking at his partner. Suddenly, all he could think about was all those pages the Hood had left for him, lying in those plastic sleeves in his apartment.
Pages filled with information he didn't want anyone to read. Despite every professional and honorable instinct inside him screaming no, he wanted to go home, and destroy them. Burn them and send the ashes down the garbage disposal.
However, chances were, he wouldn't be getting home early today. With traffic, it would take more than an hour to reach Rockville and who knew how long to go through the logs and evidence.
"Nothing, I've heard." He finally answered Tom's question, choosing his words carefully so that he wasn't technically telling a lie. He hadn't been told anything.
"How the hell could she have done it by herself? There's just no way."
"Then why haven't we turned up anything that would point us in anyone else's direction?"
Tom shook his head. "I don't know, but man, if she did it alone, then she's one freaking smart woman, maybe the smartest criminal in history."
John was shocked at how it stabbed him to hear Tom call her a criminal. But that's precisely what she was. She'd stolen millions. Regardless of what she claimed her motivations to be, she'd broken the law, and it was his job to help bring her to justice.
Not let her screw his brains out. He cut a look over at his partner. "No one's that smart. We'll get her."
"We better. The way I hear it, the brass is getting a lot of heat on this."
"They're always getting heat."
"True. Still, you'd think we'd have made more progress by now."
"One day at a time, partner."
"From your lips. Oh, I guess you didn't check your desk before we left."
"For what?"
"An invitation. You're one of six people in the department invited to a gala this coming weekend at the Smithsonian. The Deputy Director threw your name in the hat. You can bring a plus one, or so I hear."