by Deanna Lee
"Murder was the first crime man committed against man."
"And it will likely be the last crime man will commit against man,” Kyra whispered in response. “I need a few hours to collect myself. Sign both of us out for an extended rest period."
* * * *
Alex opened the door. “Inspector."
Kyra felt some of the ache start to fade, and she cursed herself for the weakness. What was it about Alex Waters that made her so stupid and reckless with her heart? She let him pull her into his apartment and sighed when he shut the door and took her hand.
She tucked her face against his neck for a moment and then sighed again. “I hope you aren't still mad at me."
He laughed softly and wrapped his arms around her. “You look a little worse for wear."
"When I catch this bastard, I'm going to make him regret every moment he's ever lived.” She pulled him closer. “I need you right now."
He pulled her shirt from her jeans and ran his hands up beneath her vest. “How?"
"Hard, deep, and fast."
She shrugged out of the holster as he guided her down the hall and into the bedroom. Kyra tossed her gun into a chair by the bedroom door and pulled her shirt over her head.
"You are wearing entirely too much,” Alex muttered. “How long do I have you?"
"Three hours.” She curled her fingers into the front of his jeans as he unsnapped the front closure of her bra. “Will it be enough time?"
"It'll have to do."
She laughed softly and unbuckled his belt. Impatient, she unbuttoned and unzipped him quickly and filled her hands with his cock. A soft sound of pleasure escaped her lips as she wrapped her hand around him. His thumbs tweaked her nipples briefly before he dropped his hands to her jeans. With little finesse, he jerked on the buttons until they gave away.
"Watch my buttons. I have to pay extra for those."
Alex grinned and slid his hand into her jeans and panties. He pushed his fingers between her labia and teased her clit before cupping her. Pressing two fingers into her, he pulled her closer. “What a slave to fashion you're turning out to be."
Kyra ground her pussy against his hand as she stroked the silky flesh of his cock. “I'll make you pay for that comment later."
"Sit down.” He guided her to the bed and pushed gently.
Kyra leaned back a little as Alex knelt at her feet. He removed her boots and socks, then jerked her jeans downward and away.
"My, aren't you excited.” Her gaze drifted from his cock up to his face.
He laughed as he pulled his shirt over his head. “It's your fault. You drive me insane, you know."
"Oh, I know.” She slid her fingers into the sides of her panties and scooted out of them as she watched him dispatch his jeans and boxers.
Moving up onto the bed completely, she let one hand drift between her legs, fingers parting her labia, and ran her fingernail along the hard flesh of her clit.
Arching against her hand a little, she looked at him and wet her bottom lip. “Will you eat me?"
"Lady, I'll do anything you want.” Moving onto the bed, he knelt between her parted legs.
She stiffened in anticipation as he lowered his head to the aching flesh of her pussy. He ran his hands down her thighs, spread her legs wider, and feasted. The first brush of his tongue brought a hushed moan from her lips, and her whole body melted at the pleasure of it.
"Oh, yes.” With one hand she touched his head, stroking but applying no pressure. “Just like that."
His tongue delved into her briefly before sweeping upward to tease at her clit. She lifted her hips in response and let her hand drop from his head. Her soft, breathy moans filled the room with each brush of his tongue. Moving and jerking against his mouth, Kyra pulled at him suddenly.
"Alex."
"Tell me."
"Put your cock in me."
"Do you still want it hard?"
"Oh, yes."
"Fast?"
"Definitely."
"Deep?” he asked in a strained voice as he slipped the head of his cock against her entrance.
"As deep as possible."
She could only nod when he pushed deep and hard into her. He pulled from her nearly completely and slammed back into her with the weight of his body.
"Like this?” Alex demanded as he thrust into her again. “Tell me, baby."
"Yes, yes. Fuck me just like that."
Pressing her feet against the bed, she met the movements of his body with hers. Clinging, demanding, and finally begging for everything he had, Kyra felt herself let go. Control slipped, and she shook beneath him. Relief and pleasure made war in her body as he pushed them both relentlessly toward orgasm.
She gasped and stilled when he slipped one hand between them and pressed the pad of this thumb against her clit. Orgasm rushed to the surface and spilled over her, blocking out the world and letting all the things she'd wanted to hide from disappear, if only briefly.
* * * *
"It hasn't been three hours."
He'd lounged in the bed after she'd sprung up to dress.
Kyra sat down on the edge of the bed and grinned. “I need to go home and shower before I go back in."
"You look better.” He brushed her hair out of her face and pulled her down for a kiss. “Much better."
She brushed her mouth over his several times, the teasing kisses making her want to crawl back into bed with him. “Things are too new between us for me. I don't know what to make of you, but I do know that I want to find out."
"Yeah. I get that.” He left the bed and pulled on a pair of boxers as she picked up her gun holster. “We probably didn't pick the best time to start something."
She turned to him and shook her head. “There's always a case. Though I must admit that having a serial killer loose in the city is wreaking havoc with my regular schedule."
"How do you keep it separate?"
"Sometimes I don't.” Kyra picked up the T-shirt. “Stacey Valteau is dead. The bastard dumped her on the side of the highway, naked and abused. She was a good kid, funny and so bright. I could hunt him down and skin him alive for it."
Alex leaned against the wall. “Stacey? God, she can't even be eighteen."
"Turned seventeen in April,” Kyra responded. “I can't think about her on a personal level; I'll never get anything done for her like that. I spent too much time focused on Donna LaRoux's personal life. I wanted to believe that whoever killed her was there, that I didn't have what everyone was already saying I had."
He took her hand as they walked down the hall towards the front door. “Are you a good cop, Kyra?"
"I am."
"Do you give your best to the job?"
"Yes."
"Then everything else will follow. You do the best job you can for Stacey, and her family will be grateful.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. “I've decided that I'm not in this just for the sex. I want more."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah, and you'll just have to deal with it.” He kissed her lips and released her.
* * * *
Deal with it. Kyra mulled those words over as she stopped in front of Ana's apartment building. She looked toward the front door and saw Ana, already dressed in a crisp uniform, coming out of the building. Ana tossed her hat on the console as she got into the vehicle.
"You look thoroughly laid."
Kyra laughed. “Where's the respect?"
"Any woman that sends me off to take a nap like a five-year-old while she plays house with a sexy man gets no respect from me."
"Well, it was so damn good, I don't care if you respect me."
"I was thinking about Stacey Valteau while I was drying my hair.” Ana pulled out her p-pc. “I think she disappointed him or ruined his plans. We should ask Neal Valteau some questions."
"I noticed that you did a very good job comforting him."
Ana pursed her lips. “I was just doing my job."
"Sure you
were."
"You suck."
"Funny, Phil used to say that all the time."
"I've always thought Phil was a stand-up kind of guy."
Kyra nodded; she thought so, too. They made the rest of the drive to the ME's in silence. It was approaching nine o'clock on a Saturday evening, but the parking lot was still full.
All three bodies were out in a large room with teams working and reworking samples and evidence when they entered the main examination room. Kyra walked to Parker, who was working with the last victim, Stacey. Making herself not look at the body, she focused on the ME.
"What are you up to?"
"We're comparing bodies, Inspector. Some educated people in my field call it forensic science. I've brought Dr. Desdemona Marcos in to consult. Tell her what we got, Desi."
A young woman with tiny blue braids pulled off a pair of safety glasses. “All three bodies were cut by the same instrument. We believe the weapon to be some sort of sport knife used for skinning and cleaning animals. The blade is at least eight inches in length; we were able to determine measurement based on Stacey Valteau. The original opinion of a laser scalpel just didn't play when we started working with Stacey. She was stabbed no less than fifty times. The killing area was not the place she was dumped, but you knew that.” She smacked her gum as she motioned them toward Janie Monroe.
"Janie Monroe, the second victim, is special in several ways. First, the external genital bruising is unique to her; neither the third or first was damaged in that way. She's African American, and she was a single mother. Janie is also the oldest of the victims. I was able to get with her mother first thing this morning and got this basic rendition of her tattoo.” She held up a drawing. “I'll be working with Donna LaRoux's stepbrother to get a mock-up of hers. We know next to nothing about the tattoos themselves. The skin removal was so good that until we can catch a break, we won't be able to get an accurate assessment of the artist."
"Aren't they all the same?"
"No, tattooing is an art in several ways. First, of course, is the visual itself. It's got to be positioned well on the skin, properly proportioned to the body part, and the dye itself has to be equally distributed over the same layer of the skin. The better the skin work is, the more professional the artist is."
"Who's the best artist in town?"
"Ivy Johnson on Delis Avenue, but she never works during Mardi Gras.” She smacked her gum again.
"How long does it take to put a tattoo on?"
"These days, about twenty to thirty minutes. It depends on the artist and the equipment. If the artist already has the pattern for the tattoo stored in his ink-wand, the laser impression can be burned into the skin and the color filled in fairly quickly. The smaller the tattoo, of course, the faster the process will go."
"Pain?"
"The laser burn is fast, but it can be intense. No more intense than the old-fashioned way of inking a tattoo into the skin, though."
Kyra nodded. “Good. Anything else?"
"Oh, yeah. We've got some pretty exciting stuff going on.” She motioned them back to Stacey Valteau. “He made a ton of mistakes with her body. It is obvious he lost control. The cutting of the skin on the shoulder blade appears pretty steady to the naked eye, but it's a hack job compared to the others. He also didn't bathe her.” Desi's eyes brightened. “We got DNA. Stacey put up one hell of a fight."
"Good for her.” Ana glanced briefly at the body before dropping her gaze to the floor.
"Any prints?"
"No. But we're still looking.” Desi pulled her safety glasses back on as Parker pulled off the shielded helmet he was wearing and approached them.
"Let's go into my office.” He motioned them ahead of him as he pulled off his gloves and tossed them in a container at the door.
Kyra sat down and waited for him to get settled and begin. He was troubled; that much was certain. She couldn't imagine how the case could get any worse.
"He's escalated to sexual assault."
"Did you get semen?"
"No, but I honestly can't be sure he didn't use an object. The damage is relatively consistent with a penis insertion, but it could have been a similar-shaped object or a sexual aid. The DNA evidence was under her nails. She managed to get quite a bit of skin off of him."
"Results?"
"Nothing in the national database and nothing in the immigration files.” Desi sat down at a compu-station as she spoke. “This is what I can tell you. No one enters the North American Union without a DNA profile on file with their own government, which is then transmitted along with the individual's travel data."
"So, our killer is an undocumented immigrant?” Ana frowned.
"Or,” Desi looked toward Kyra, “an individual that was somehow missed by the system. There are very few unattended births these days, but twenty to thirty years ago that wasn't the case in this area."
Kyra nodded. “Yes."
* * * *
Kyra was in the large conference room pinning Stacey Valteau's picture up next to the other victims when Neal found her.
He was pale, his eyes dark with fury and sadness, as he looked the board over. “How long will he be out there killing women?"
"You don't need to see this.” Kyra maneuvered him out of the room and shut the door. “We're doing everything we can, and trust me when I say that I will not stop searching for him. He'll pay for what he did to all of them."
Neal nodded. “I had to admit my father to the hospital; he started having chest pains. He's stable, but they're keeping him sedated."
Kyra guided him into her office and cast one glance toward Ana as she closed the door. Neal sat down in a chair in front of Kyra's desk and covered his face with his hands. “If you could answer a few questions, it would help."
"Yeah."
"Did Stacey have a tattoo?"
"No ... well, she did. She got a tattoo of a dragon on her shoulder during Mardi Gras this year, but after about two months, she regretted it. She had it removed about four months ago."
"Can you give me the name of the doctor who did the removal?"
"Yeah, shouldn't be a problem."
"Do you know where she got the tattoo?"
"Yeah, a place called Tat's the Way on Bourbon Street."
"Was Stacey seeing anyone?” Kyra shared a glance with Ana.
"She'd had a few relationships in the past year, but she was experimenting and was sort of fickle. Stacey was the average seventeen-year-old in that respect.” He leaned forward and cleared his throat. “Tell me what he did to her."
"Neal..."
"Damn it, Kyra. Just tell me."
"He stabbed her over fifty times with an eight-inch knife of some sort. Then he dumped her on the side of the road."
"Rape?"
"The evidence supports sexual abuse."
He nodded quickly and cleared his throat. “When we can we get the body for burial?"
"I don't know when Parker will be able to release the bodies."
"My dad will want to see her. I don't want him to be shocked. You'll make sure that they do their best to make her presentable?"
"Neal, it would be best if your father didn't see the body.” Ana leaned on Kyra's desk as she spoke. “Convince him that it would be better if he could remember her as she was."
Kyra watched Neal's face, saw the anger and the sadness collide. There was nothing she could do for him that would make his world right again. No amount of justice would ever fill the hole that had been torn into his family.
"We'll need a list of her friends."
"Okay.” He stood and cleared his throat. “If it's okay, I'll transmit that to you this afternoon. You'll want access to her room at my father's house?"
"Yes."
"There's a spare keycard under the fake alligator in the front yard. Take anything you need.” He stood and shoved his hands into his pocket. “Thank you for taking care of her, Kyra. I have faith that you'll do your best."
Kyra was silent unti
l he shut her office door behind him. “Did the warrant for Janie's financials come through?"
"Yes."
"Good. Looks like we're heading for Bourbon Street."
* * * *
Are you angry? Of course you are. I have no excuse for the violence. I was furious with her. How dare she disrespect me? The stupid little bitch took off my work and discarded it like it meant nothing! She could have ruined everything; my whole mission could have been destroyed by her stupidity and vanity.
She's not so vain now. I made sure of that. She didn't leave the world pure and beautiful like the others. The bitch was unworthy of it. I put everything right and took what I needed from her, so you needn't worry. Everything will go as planned.
The choice has been made. She's perfect. You'll be so pleased when you return to me.
Chapter Ten
Tat's the Way was a small tattoo parlor with two old-fashioned barber chairs for the customers. The walls were plastered with hundreds of pictures of tattooed body parts. Kyra chose not to look at them too closely.
"I need to speak with Henry Andrews."
A young girl with jet-black hair and white lipstick glanced up from her work to look at Kyra. “He doesn't work Saturday nights. Come back on Monday."
"Why don't you get on the comm-u and tell him the police are here.” Kyra flipped open her badge.
She shrugged and shouted, “Yo, Henry, the cops are here!"
"Constable Salanti, you can explain obstruction of justice to this young lady while I talk with Henry,” Kyra ground out through clenched teeth as she pushed past the girl and into the curtained area.
Kyra's eyes moved from the bare ass in front of her to the tattoo artist that must be Henry. “I can see you're hard at work."
The young woman jerked up from the table and glared at Kyra. “Do you mind?"
"As a matter of fact, I do.” She pulled out her badge. “How old are you?"
"Old enough.” She pulled up her jeans and glared at Henry. “I'll be in the back when you're finished."
Henry Andrews was average-looking, not the big biker type she'd expected. Round, steel-framed glasses perched on his nose, which was almost too small for his face. He tried to smile for her as he put aside his tools and pulled off his gloves.