by Chris Taylor
“Stop!” she gasped. “Please, I want to feel your cock.”
He moved slightly. A moment later, his thickness probed once again at her slick entrance. She lifted her hips and met his thrust and in one smooth movement, he embedded himself to the hilt. He groaned in relief.
Clinging to his shoulders, she urged him on. His thrusts came hard and fast and she kept begging him for more. No man had ever felt the way he did, buried deep inside. She panted with exertion, close to orgasm.
He picked up his pace once again and her hips met every thrust. Her fingernails bit into his shoulders and finally she was on the edge. A breath later she was crying out and toppling over, clinging to him for dear life.
With a triumphant yelp, he thrust into her over and over again. All at once he tensed and then growled low in his throat. His warm seed poured into her and she loved the feeling that they were one. As their breathing returned to normal, he rolled sideways and brought her with him.
“That was…” She shook her head, unable to find the words.
“Amazing, wonderful—out of this world,” he supplied.
She smiled tenderly. “Yes to all of that and so much more.”
With her head resting against his chest, she wriggled a little, searching for more room.
“This isn’t the widest couch in the world,” he murmured against her hair, “and my shoulder is kind of sore. Is there somewhere more comfortable we can go?”
She pushed away from him and found her feet. Reaching out, she took his hand, helped him up, and led him down the hall toward her bedroom. She’d left a lamp on earlier, intending to read once she’d finished her wine. The light softly illuminated the room.
“Nice,” he said, looking around at the pastel prints on the walls. The pale pinks and blues matched the color of the bedspread. Cushions in contrasting hues decorated a window seat that looked out onto a small courtyard surrounded by garden.
“Don’t give me credit for the décor.” She winked at him. “The place came fully furnished.”
He smiled and tugged her over toward the bed. “Who cares about the décor? The view is so much better from here.”
Pulling her down beside him, he snuggled her in his arms. Ava spooned into him and sighed with contentment. Thinking back to how he’d arrived at her door, looking so full of despair, she giggled.
“What’s so funny?” he mumbled against her hair.
“I was just thinking how I managed to brighten your mood.”
“Yeah,” he replied softly.
She turned in his arms and looked at him. “You don’t sound altogether convinced.”
His expression grew somber. He kissed her gently on the mouth. “It wasn’t just us and our problems that were playing on my mind.”
She stared at him and ignored the tiny flash of fear. “Talk to me.”
In a heavy voice, Lachlan told her about Martin and the IA investigation and what had happened at the station.
Lachlan’s expression hardened. “I hate that Becker doesn’t have the guts to go against the party line. This is a friend, a colleague who’s being treated like shit. It could happen to any one of us. We need to know the police service and the hierarchy will support us in times like this. Otherwise, what the hell are we doing?” His breath came faster and his eyes flashed. “Tell me, Ava. What the hell are we doing?”
* * *
The illuminated numbers of the clock on Ava’s nightstand read 3:15, but still Lachlan couldn’t get to sleep. The woman in his arms had dozed off hours ago, her breathing slow and deep. He wanted nothing more than to join her and escape, even for a little while, from the nightmare of the day. Even so, sleep continued to elude him.
The faint sound of his phone ringing from the other room startled him. Remembering he’d left it in the pocket of his jeans, he carefully eased his arm out from under the sleeping woman and padded down the hall. He glanced at the screen and frowned. Pam Griffin.
Why the hell would Pam be calling at this time of night? Dread formed in his gut. He’d attended enough crime scenes to know nothing good ever happened after midnight. His body went cold at the thought, but he answered the call.
“Pam? What is it?” he asked, forcing himself to remain calm.
“Oh, Lachlan! Come quickly! It’s Martin! He’s been drinking since early evening and now he’s turned plain mean. Hurry, Lachlan! Hurry! Oh, God! He’s… He’s got a gun!”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lachlan sped through the night, his heart in his throat. The whole time, he murmured a frantic mantra that Martin and his family would be all right. Pam had ended the phone call abruptly and hadn’t picked up when he’d called back. He could only hope she’d been able to talk Martin back under control.
Lachlan hadn’t even taken the time to wake Ava, or write her a note. She was sound asleep and with a bit of luck, he’d sort things out in the Griffin household and be back in bed before she knew he’d left. At least, he hoped that’s how things would pan out.
Taking the corner way too fast, he gritted his teeth as he fought the Ranger’s steering wheel, reminding him suddenly that his collarbone was far from healed. With an effort, he managed to bring the vehicle back under control.
The pale, smooth bark of a gum tree flashed by and a thick patch of silky oak. The trees stood silent and ghostly in the moonlight. So far, the streets were free from traffic and he was thankful for it. It meant he could linger less at each intersection and travel even faster in between.
He turned into Martin’s street and breathed a sigh of relief. All the houses were dark and quiet, including the one belonging to the Griffins. It was like Pam’s panicked phone call had never happened, like somehow it was a dream. He prayed to God that Martin had sobered up and all was once again good with the world.
No, not good. Not with this ongoing IA investigation. Things wouldn’t be good for the Griffin family for a long, long time. But he could only hope for tonight at least, everything had righted.
He came to a stop outside the Griffin residence and climbed out of his car. Striding up the driveway, he remembered the last time he’d been there. Had it only been two weeks since he’d spotted Ava by the pool? So much had happened in such a short time. It made his head spin.
Reaching the front door, he knocked on it gently, not wanting to disturb the children. The hour was late. No doubt the two of them were asleep. To his consternation, his knock went unanswered. The house remained quiet and dark. He knocked again, this time a little louder.
“Pam? Martin? It’s Lachlan. Are you there?” Once again, there was no reply.
He frowned in concern. It had taken him less than fifteen minutes to drive across town. If Martin was as drunk as Pam had implied, he might have passed out, but surely Pam couldn’t have fallen asleep? Perhaps she was upstairs, in the bedroom. Perhaps she hadn’t heard him knock.
Tugging out his phone, he dialed her number and listened. He heard a ringing sound coming from inside the house and realized it was Pam’s phone. It eventually went through to voicemail and he hung up, feeling even more apprehensive. He tried Martin’s number and got the same result.
He turned the doorknob and it moved beneath his fingers. Stepping into the entryway, he felt around for a light. His fingers grazed the switch and he flicked it on. The living room was neat and tidy, like it usually was. As far as he could see, there was nothing out of place. He moved further into the house, calling out a little louder as he went.
“Pam? Martin? Can you hear me?” The house persisted in its stillness—almost eerily so. He shivered with a sudden premonition and then told himself not to be stupid. It was the middle of the night. Of course the house was quiet.
Reaching the bottom of the staircase, he once again felt along the wall and found the light. Switching it on, he blinked against the sudden illumination. The staircase led up to the upper storey, where the bedrooms were. He hadn’t been upstairs before. He hadn’t needed to. But he had to find the Griffins and reassure h
imself they were both all right and he wouldn’t leave until he’d done so.
With a quick breath, he took the stairs two at a time and reached the landing. The light continued down the hall and after debating in silence for a few moments over which direction to take, he turned left.
The thick carpet muted his footsteps and he called out quietly once again. He didn’t want to disturb the children, but he also didn’t want to come upon Pam and Martin by surprise. Pam had told him Martin was armed. The last thing he wanted was to be mistaken for an intruder and shot by his partner.
“Pam? Martin? It’s Lachlan. Can you hear me?”
The doors to all of the rooms leading off the hall were closed. There were three on the right and two on the left. He pulled up outside the nearest one and eased it open. The faintest glimmer of moonlight peeked through the open blinds. Through the dimness, he made out the shape of a queen-sized bed. On it were the shapes of two adults.
Pam and Martin. It had to be. Using the flashlight on his phone, Lachlan shone it across the bed. A large dark stain pooled beneath Martin’s head and dripped onto the floor. With a sickening feeling, Lachlan backpedalled and felt around on the wall for a switch. He found it just inside the door and flipped it on.
“Nooo!” The sound tore from his throat, filled with distress and pain. Martin lay dead on the bed, the gun beside him. Inching forward, Lachlan moved around to Pam’s side and his breath caught in horror at what he saw.
Martin’s wife stared sightlessly at the ceiling, a single bullet wound in her forehead. Blood oozed from the blackened hole and had run down her cheek. Shock ricocheted through Lachlan and he clenched his jaw hard against a surge of bile. It looked like Martin had shot his wife dead and then turned the gun on himself.
“Why, why, why?” Lachlan moaned, staring at his friend in disbelief. How could he have missed seeing how close to the edge Martin was? His partner had been doing it tough, but he’d never imagined him capable of something like this.
Knowing there was nothing he could do, he backed out of the room and dialed for the police. Providing scant details only, he gave the dispatcher the address. Pulling the door closed behind him, he went searching for the kids, hoping like hell they hadn’t been woken by the shots and gone to investigate.
The next room along the hallway was unoccupied, filled with a double bed and dresser. The bed was neatly made. It was probably the guest room. The doors on the other side of the hall contained a bathroom and separate toilet. Lachlan came to the last door and guessed it had to belong to the kids.
He eased open the door, not wanting to wake them before it was necessary. With any luck, he could get them out before they caught sight of their parents. It was a scene no child should have to see and he was determined to make sure they didn’t.
Like the rest of the house, this room was also still and silent. It was also very dark. Lachlan guessed the curtains had been drawn and not even a sliver of moonlight penetrated the blackness. Once again, he used the flashlight on his phone to illuminate his way. He made out two single beds. Both of them were occupied.
Creeping over to the first bed, he peered down at the sleeping face of Montana. She looked so peaceful, like an angel. And then he looked closer. Like her father, a dark stain pooled beneath her head. Filled with a fresh wave of horror, Lachlan reached out and turned the child over.
A bullet had entered above her ear and exited through the back of her head. Though her skin was still warm to the touch, she was lifeless. Lachlan could only guess she’d been murdered by her father.
He forced himself to look at Patrick and his gut flooded with dread. Even with the light from his phone, he could tell that the boy was also dead. White hot fury rushed through him, choking him. He bent over, gasping for breath.
The bastard! The prick! The coward! How could he? It was one thing to take his own life, but to take that of his wife and children, too! It was shocking. It was sickening. It was beyond anything Lachlan could ever comprehend.
* * *
Lachlan nodded a brief acknowledgement to three of his colleagues who worked to secure the scene. Red and blue and white strobe emergency lights lit up half the street. There were people milling around in the driveway, curious neighbors still in their pajamas, murmuring in shocked voices about the tragedy that had occurred on their block.
Lachlan understood their reaction. He was just as dazed as the bystanders. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the image of the slain Griffin family out of his mind. They’d found evidence that Pam had been shot in the den where two empty whiskey bottles sat on a side table next to the recliner. A third bottle with two fingers remaining in it stood open nearby.
Martin must have shot her not long after she made the emergency call to Lachlan and then carried her upstairs. A bloodied towel was found on the floor beside the bed. From the lack of blood on the staircase, it was surmised Martin had wrapped his wife’s head in the towel before taking her upstairs. He’d then laid her down on their bed. It wasn’t clear whether he’d attacked the children before or after, but Lachlan guessed it had been after. Pam hadn’t said anything about the children being under threat. He was relieved that she’d been spared that much pain, at least.
Still, the level of premeditation required for Martin to murder his wife, carry her to their bed, shoot both of his children and then return to the bedroom and end his life was staggering. The gun’s chamber held six bullets. Only four shots had been fired, but the chamber had been empty. Lachlan could only assume Martin had loaded the gun with the minimum bullets required to carry out his deadly mission. The final bullet had been for him.
Lachlan squeezed his eyes closed tightly against another surge of pain. He couldn’t conceive what had been going through Martin Griffin’s head. Had the man wondered at any time what the hell he was doing as he stood over his wife and kids? It was a devastating, soul-destroying, needless loss of life and Lachlan couldn’t help but be angry at his friend.
If things had been that bad, why the hell hadn’t Martin sought help? Lachlan had even told him about Ava and suggested therapy. Okay, so Martin was going for a promotion and didn’t want to jeopardize his chances, but look what had happened? How could killing his family have been a better option? Did he have any idea he was that close to the edge? Lachlan wanted desperately to believe the answer was an emphatic no, but the worse thing was knowing he couldn’t be sure.
“Oh, my God! Lachlan! Is it true?”
He looked up and spied Ava running toward him up the drive. She was wearing a ratty old housecoat that had seen much better days. It was vaguely familiar and he suddenly recalled seeing it on her hours earlier. Had it really only been a matter of hours since he’d felt so blissfully happy and alive?
He stared at her, dreading the thought of telling her the news, but she was Pam’s high school friend. It wasn’t fair to keep it from her. Besides, it was obvious she’d already heard something.
“Yes,” he said somberly. “It’s true. Martin’s murdered his wife and children and then turned the gun on himself.”
Ava turned so pale he thought she was about to faint, but instead she cried out in shock and distress and threw herself against him. His arms came around her and held her close. She shuddered and gasped and then began sobbing. Tears pricked the back of his eyes. He stroked her hair and tried to hold himself together.
He needed to be strong for her, for the community and for his men. Once word got around, the whole town would be in shock over the tragic deaths. It would take a long time for them to come to terms with it. No one would ever forget.
Gradually, Ava’s sobs quieted and she raised her face to his. Her eyes were red and swollen, filled with confusion and pain.
“W-why?” she stammered. “I-I just don’t understand.”
It was like all of her training about the human psyche eluded her. She was just as scared and uncertain as the rest of them. He tightened his good arm around her and pulled her back in close against
him. “Some things are beyond our understanding.”
She remained silent. After a moment, he spoke again.
“How did you know I was here?”
She lifted her head. “I woke and couldn’t find you. Then I realized your truck was gone. I called your phone, but there was no answer, so I decided to go out and look for you. I went to your house, but your truck wasn’t there and the house was still and dark. All the bars downtown are closed. So I went to the station. I thought maybe you had gone back there. I… I was worried about you.”
Her concern for him warmed his heart, but now wasn’t the time to linger over the way she made him feel. “I take it someone at the station told you about the Griffins,” he said.
“Yes. The night constable mentioned you were attending an emergency in Helensvale Avenue. As soon as I arrived, I realized it was Pam and Martin’s house. I heard some of the neighbors talking about a shooting and that the police had found someone dead.”
Shock and disbelief still weighed heavily in her voice. Lachlan understood how she felt. The events of the night had left him shattered. And angry. He was angry at his friend for murdering his family and for not seeking help before things escalated to such a tragic end, but he was also angry at the system and its decided lack of support. Martin had refused to consider therapy because he was afraid it would damage his career prospects. The saddest thing was that he’d been right.
Pressing a kiss to the top of Ava’s head, Lachlan set her away from him. “You need to go home. I’ll be here for a while, yet.”
She stared up at him, her eyes still full of sadness. “Are you sure? Is there anything I can do?”
“No, but thank you. I appreciate your offer, but this is a crime scene. Besides, you’re not exactly dressed for the occasion.” His gaze moved lower to her housecoat. “What on earth are you wearing?” He smiled gently, tugging at her robe.
She looked down at herself. Even in the darkness, he saw her blush.