by Gerri Hill
“Hiding?”
Casey lowered her glass. “Yes, hiding. The church is hiding something. The mayor is hiding something. The chief is hiding something. You’re hiding something.”
“Me? I assure you, I have nothing to hide.”
“Really? Then perhaps you’re just collectively hiding what everyone else is.” She drained the rest of her Scotch. “Because you know all the secrets, don’t you?”
“I know secrets, yes. But I hardly know all the secrets, O’Connor. After all, I’m still alive.” She held the bottle out and Casey nodded.
“You know who the thirteenth print belongs to,” Casey stated.
“Possibly.”
“Which means you know who his lover was.”
“Alleged lover,” Marissa said as if on autopilot. She shoved the glass across the bar. “And before we get into another argument over it, no, I will not tell you. Because it matters not with this case.”
Casey shook her head. “For the life of me, I can’t understand why you care so little. These are people, human beings. Don’t their deaths mean anything to you?”
“Oh, don’t get all dramatic on me, O’Connor. Like I said, I’m just doing my job. And I’m very good at my job.”
“It’s a dirty, lonely job, though, isn’t it?” Casey asked. “How do you cope?”
Marissa slipped off her suit jacket and tossed it on the chair. “I cope with Scotch,” she said as she pointed at the rapidly emptying bottle. “And sometimes sex with a stranger does the trick too.”
“Unfulfilling sex can’t possibly ease your conscience.” Casey pushed away from the bar and went toward her. “But I’m not really a stranger, am I?”
“I told you I wasn’t going to sleep with you.”
Casey smiled. “But you’ve changed your mind.” She arched an eyebrow. “Haven’t you?”
Marissa walked closer, her high heels making her taller than Casey. But it was the fire in her eyes that intimidated Casey, not her height. She ran her hand inside Casey’s jacket, along her waist to her breast.
“Yes, I’ve changed my mind.”
Before Casey could respond, Marissa had her pinned against the wall, both hands boldly cupping Casey’s breasts.
“I don’t plan to be gentle,” Marissa murmured as her lips claimed Casey’s.
Removing Marissa’s hands from her breasts, Casey grasped Marissa’s wrists, twisting them behind her back. “Neither do I,” she countered as she spun her around, holding Marissa against the wall, and pressed her thigh between her legs. She heard Marissa gasp, saw her eyes flutter closed as her mouth parted. Casey’s kiss was nearly bruising—or so she hoped—and when she released Marissa’s hands, she felt Marissa’s mouth still open to her. She shoved at Casey’s jacket, sliding it down over her shoulders.
Casey had known her less than a week, had decided she didn’t even like the woman, but she was as aroused as she could ever remember being. Her hands slid across the silk blouse, the smooth material cool to her touch. Without another thought, she ripped the tiny buttons off as she yanked the blouse apart, exposing the black lacy bra covering Marissa’s full breasts.
Marissa moaned into her mouth, her hips pounding hard against Casey as she rode her thigh. Casey swore she could feel the wetness against her jeans and she leaned into Marissa, grinding hard against her.
“God, yes,” Marissa murmured as she grasped Casey’s shoulders, holding her tight.
Casey reached down, finding her way under Marissa’s skirt. Frantically, she ripped at the sheer pantyhose blocking her. Desperate to be inside her, she pulled the offending hose away, her hand sliding smoothly into her wetness, her fingers impaling Marissa as she thrust into her.
“Yes, harder.” Marissa gasped as she met each thrust of Casey’s fingers. “Harder,” she hissed.
Casey felt the perspiration on her brow as she held Marissa against the wall, her hand pumping faster and faster, the slick wetness dripping from her fingers. Marissa was panting, her hips rocking faster, each thrust harder than the one before, and Casey held on, her breathing matching Marissa’s as she brought her to orgasm.
She squeezed her eyes shut as Marissa bit down hard against her neck, her body convulsing in Casey’s arms as her climax hit, her scream muffled against Casey’s throat.
“Jesus, O’Connor,” she murmured between breaths. “That was a two-hundred-dollar blouse you just ripped.”
Casey smiled stupidly as she tried to catch her breath, her fingers slipping from between Marissa’s legs, moving against her waist, painting Marissa’s skin with her own wetness. She felt Marissa’s fingers caress her face and she opened her eyes, surprised at the warmth in the blue eyes that looked back at her.
“If you don’t have anywhere to be this afternoon, I’d like for you to stay.”
Casey nodded, glancing from Marissa’s eyes to her lips, then back again. “Okay, yeah.”
Marissa smiled. “Good.” She leaned closer, her lips moving lightly against Casey’s. “But this doesn’t change anything, O’Connor. I’m still not telling you any secrets,” she whispered.
“I never thought you would. Oh.” She gasped as Marissa’s hand pressed between her legs. Casey could feel how damp her jeans were, proving the extent of her arousal.
Marissa tilted her head back, their eyes meeting. “You’re very wet, Detective.”
“Yes,” Casey breathed as Marissa’s hand continued to move against her.
“For some reason, I thought this was a game to you.”
“No game,” Casey murmured. She took Marissa’s hand and slipped it inside her jeans, her eyes closing as Marissa’s fingers pushed into her wetness. “Very real.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Casey opened her eyes, surprised at the darkness in the room. She shifted, smiling as Marissa quietly protested the movement. Her hand slipped from Casey’s breast, resting lightly at her waist. It felt good.
“What time is it?” Marissa murmured sleepily.
“After six.”
“Damn, O’Connor… six?”
She rolled away from Casey, pulling the covers with her, leaving Casey exposed, naked, as she went across the room, turning on a lamp to chase the shadows away.
Casey sat up, reaching for her shirt and sweater, then stopped as Marissa chuckled.
“You’re shy?” she asked. “After what we just did, I wouldn’t think you’d be shy.” She came back to the bed, tossing Casey the sheet. “There. I’d rather have you naked.”
“I’m not sure I have the energy to be naked any longer,” Casey said with a laugh.
“Sadly, I have to agree with you.” She crawled back in bed, sliding closer to Casey. “It was fantastic, by the way.”
Casey grinned. “Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?”
Marissa laughed. “That wasn’t a compliment meant solely for you. I think I did participate, you know. But it was a great way to spend the afternoon.”
Casey rolled to her side, facing Marissa, unable to get the silly grin off her face. Hunter would kill her, of course. She was sleeping with the enemy, after all. But none of that mattered right now. She was tired, both mentally and physically, and so she closed her eyes as her hand snaked along Marissa’s thigh, pausing when she reached the curve of her hip. She was disappointed when Marissa halted her motions.
“O’Connor, we need to talk,” she said.
Casey opened her eyes. “Now?”
“I know who the thirteenth print belongs to.”
Casey propped herself up on her elbow, but she said nothing.
“Father Tim—Timothy Resson—was transferred out of here four days before the murder,” she said.
“Why do you think he was the one?”
“I… I got into Monsignor Bernard’s personal files.” Marissa sat up, leaning against the headboard, her gaze moving around the room nervously. “And I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. I shouldn’t have looked in the goddamn files to begin with.” She took a deep breath. “I
get paid to fabricate the truth, to exaggerate, to lie.” She glanced quickly at Casey. “I hardly know what the truth is anymore.”
“Then why are you telling me this?”
“Because you said I didn’t care. The other day, you said I didn’t care. Truth is, I do care. I care that a priest was murdered. I care that a nice grandmother was killed,” Marissa said, her tone emphatic. “I’m not supposed to care, O’Connor. Like I said before, it’s not my job to care.”
“Okay. I understand. You don’t have to tell me anything. Just because we slept together—”
“This has nothing to do with the fact that we had sex, O’Connor.” She closed her eyes. “Okay, maybe it does.” She opened them again, turning to Casey. “Father Tim was transferred without cause, without notice. I found that in the regular files when I was going over the list of names submitted to you for prints. It piqued my curiosity. If there’s one thing I learned from working with the churches in Boston, it’s that there are always two files. One fit for the public… and one not.”
Casey nodded. “Go on.”
“Normally, if a priest is being transferred to another diocese or another parish, there’s a paper trail of some sort, whether it’s requesting housing arrangements, assignments, whatever. To make the arrangements for a transfer, it usually takes months, not days.” She twisted the sheet nervously between her hands. “Monsignor Bernard’s files were much more revealing. He knew they were having an affair. He blamed Father Michael, but because of his standing at the church, he couldn’t transfer him without it raising questions. So, he sent Father Tim away. Sent him out West somewhere. Balmorhea?”
“Yeah. It’s a little town out in West Texas, near the Davis Mountains.” Casey knew the area. “It’s in the middle of nowhere.”
“Apparently that’s where you go when you’re being punished.”
“So, Monsignor Bernard initiated the transfer?”
“It appears that way on paper. Of course, the bishop would have to sign off on it.” She shrugged. “A normal transfer, it’s just a formality to have the bishop approve it. In this case, I would assume Monsignor Bernard revealed the reason to Bishop Lewis. Especially in light of the fact that this particular diocese had taken some heat in the past for trying to cover up sex abuse accusations, I’m certain the bishop knew. Unless, of course, Monsignor Bernard thought he could handle it on his own, which is how these things escalate into cover-ups.”
Casey sat up, ignoring the sheet that slipped to her waist. “I’ve not met him, but do you think Monsignor Bernard is capable of murder?”
Marissa laughed. “Oh, please. Bernard? No way. Despite his size—he’s probably eighty to a hundred pounds overweight—he comes across as very mild-mannered. Weak, even.”
“Just because someone is mild-mannered doesn’t mean he’s not capable of killing. But if he’s a large man, he’s probably not exactly light on his feet. Hidalgo’s killer—and Alice Hagen’s for that matter—slipped in and out without being seen or heard.”
“I’ve read the reports. Hidalgo lived on the third floor. I’m not sure the monsignor could have made it up three flights of stairs without suffering a heart attack. He gets winded just walking down the hall.” She shook her head. “He’s not your killer.”
Casey got out of bed, searching the floor for her clothes. “I hope you don’t view this as a hit and run,” she said with a smile as she held up her jeans. “But I think I need to interview this Father Tim person.”
“O’Connor, what I just told you is off the record, you understand that, right?”
“Of course.”
“So if Father Tim gives you anything useful, you can’t really use it. Because technically you don’t know he exists.”
“If Father Tim got transferred four days before the murder, I doubt he’s going to know anything. But he might help us to learn the why of it all. Why was Father Michael killed by Juan Hidalgo? Maybe there was a grudge between them that Father Tim knows about.” She pulled her sweater over her head. “Or maybe it’s like you said all along, just a murder without a cause.”
“You don’t believe that any more than I do.”
Casey grinned. “No, I don’t.” She sat back down on the bed.
“Thank you.”
“For sex?”
Blushing, Casey laughed. “No, for telling me what you knew. Because I didn’t want to believe that you didn’t care.”
“I’ve made a living out of not caring, O’Connor. This case just struck a nerve, is all. It has nothing to do with you.”
“You could have lied and said it had everything to do with me,” she said as she leaned closer. “Thanks for the afternoon. It’s one I won’t soon forget,” she murmured before she kissed her.
Marissa grabbed her arm as Casey stood to go. “My flight is Sunday evening.” Their eyes met. “If you’d like to… well, if you want to get together, call me.”
“Absolutely.” Casey headed to the door, then looked back at her. “Yeah, absolutely.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Come on, Hunter, open up,” Casey yelled as she pounded on the door. “It’s freezing out here.” She shivered as she looked up into the dark sky, wondering when the freezing rain would start.
Tori opened the door, standing there in a pair of gray sweats and bare feet, a beer bottle held casually in one hand. She smiled slightly, then motioned for Casey to go inside. “So, O’Connor, you get lost this afternoon or what?”
Casey hoped Tori couldn’t see the blush that crept up her face, but she laughed. “Yeah, Hunter, lost. Lost for hours.” She slipped off her jacket and tossed it across a chair, then reached for a slice of the pizza Tori had set out on the coffee table. She never did get to eat pizza with Marissa. “It was fabulous, by the way.”
“Please say you didn’t.”
“Oh, but I did.” She pointed at the beer. “Got another?”
“Yeah, I got another, but what the hell are you doing here? You don’t have to give me a play-by-play of your afternoon, you know,” she said, going to the fridge. She pulled out two bottles and handed one to Casey.
“As if I could. But we’re gonna have to cancel our fishing plans for tomorrow.” She twisted the cap off and tossed it to Tori.
Tori raised her eyebrows. “I thought even sex wasn’t enough to make you miss a fishing date,” she chided her.
“Not sex. And not even the cold weather. You need to pack a bag.” She stepped out of the kitchen and looked down the dark hallway. “Where’s your bedroom?”
“Pack a bag for what?”
“We’re going to Balmorhea. To interview the thirteenth print.” She grinned. “She gave up the name.”
“My, you are persuasive.”
“She said it had nothing to do with me.”
“Right. And she told you the name before or after you slept together?”
“Could have been after, Hunter.” She grabbed Tori’s arm. “Come on, pack a bag.”
“Road trip?”
“Oh, hell, no. We’ve got a flight to Midland. From there, we’re renting a car and driving to Balmorhea. And let me tell you, renting a car in Midland ain’t exactly easy.”
“West Texas? Are you sure about this, O’Connor?”
“Of course I’m sure. It’s another priest.” Casey glanced at her watch. “Now, hurry up. Our flight’s at nine.”
“How did you manage tickets so quick?”
“I called your Lieutenant Malone. It’s not a commercial flight.”
Tori flipped on the light in the bedroom, staring at her. “My lieutenant?”
“Yeah. He called in a favor. He also said I’m to keep you on a tight leash and to not let you do anything stupid.”
“Me? I’m not the one suggesting we fly out to goddamn West Texas to interview a priest about a case that’s now closed.” She turned around. “Closed, O’Connor. For real. So why in the hell did Malone agree to this?”
“We’re not working on Father Michael’s case
, Hunter. I know it’s closed. You have an open case on Hidalgo, right? Maybe Father Tim knows something.”
Tori narrowed her eyes. “You working for Homicide now, O’Connor?”
Casey laughed. “Damn, Hunter, if I didn’t know you were really a big softie, I might be intimidated by that scowl.” She noticed a framed picture on the dresser and picked it up. “That Sam?”
“Yeah. That was out at the boat last summer.”
“She’s a beauty.” Casey admired the photo of the two of them. “I was talking about the boat, of course.” She put the picture back, her eyes still lingering on the photo of Sam with her arms around Tori’s shoulders. “She’s a knockout.” She met Tori’s eyes. “True love?”
Tori reddened but didn’t look away. “Yeah.”
Casey nodded. “Good. Glad to know it’s out there. Because someday I’m going to have that too.”
“And in the meantime?”
“In the meantime, there’s nothing wrong with spending an afternoon with Marissa Goddard having fabulous sex.” She grinned. “She’s got stamina, I’ll say that.” She pointed to the large backpack Tori held. “Pack it. Oh, and did I mention it was snowing out there?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“If this trip turns out to be bullshit, I may never speak to you again,” Tori hissed as they hurried across the tarmac.
Casey followed, the cold, biting wind hitting her in the face. “At least it’s not snowing anymore.”
“Small comfort, considering it’s in the fucking teens with gale-force winds.”
Casey laughed but the wind carried it away. And she had to agree with Hunter. Snowing or not, it felt as if they’d flown to the Arctic, not the high desert of West Texas.
“This is the airport, right?” Tori asked as they stood at the unmarked double doors leading into a low-slung building.
“I hope so, seeing as how the plane landed here and all.” They’d been the only passengers on the flight. She opened the door, then motioned for Tori to precede her. “Age before beauty.”
Tori rolled her eyes. “You’re such a kid.”