Booty Call (Episode Seven: The NIghtshade Cases)

by Larsen, Patti

  “Binksy.” She knew he hated the nickname, but couldn’t resist. Something about him always made her want to tease him. He let it go, waving at the front driver’s seat.

  “Single gunshot,” he said, “back of the head. Through and through. Chase is looking for the bullet.”

  Gerri looked around, spotting Dr. Rachel Hunter’s car nearby, the medical examiner herself nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Ray?” Not like her to leave a crime scene.

  Binks’s face collapsed briefly before he gestured off toward a thick, concrete pillar. “I told her to take a minute,” he said, voice soft. “That was a while ago.”

  Gerri scowled at him, spinning on one booted heel, heading for the barrier. Chase waved at her from across the parking lot, but the detective ignored the young CSI in favor of seeking out her friend.

  She circled the pillar with a firm stride, mouth open, ready to demand an explanation for Ray’s disappearance. Only to freeze in place yet again at the sight of the brunette, hands on her knees, sobbing silently into the dark.

  Gerri’s temporary stillness broke when Ray straightened up, hazel eyes turning toward her. She wiped hastily at her running nose and wet cheeks with the sleeve of her dark blue medical examiner’s jacket, doing her best, it seemed to Gerri, to compose herself while the tall detective stepped closer, one hand reaching for the brunette. Ray shied from Gerri’s touch so she dropped the offer and waited.

  “I know the victim,” Ray said, voice hoarse and thick with grief. “We were lovers.”

  Gerri’s chest hitched, breath catching. Seemed to be a habit with Ray, didn’t it? What should maybe have been anger came out as a weak attempt at a joke. “Anyone you haven’t slept with?”

  Ray glared at her, shoving away from the concrete, but Gerri stopped her before she could barrel past.

  “Ray, I’m sorry.” She exhaled, held onto the brunette’s arm while the medical examiner shook and continued to weep, this time in clear anger.

  “It was a long time ago.” Ray wiped her face again, harsh and sharp. “Thanks for caring.”

  “I do care.” Gerri let her go, was glad when her friend stayed put. “I’m just an asshole sometimes.”

  “Sometimes.” Ray snorted.

  Gerri guided her toward the uniformed pair of officers further down the scene. Officer Candice Mills nodded to the detective, took one look at Ray and offered her a fresh coffee from the cardboard carrier she held in one hand. Her partner, Officer Blake Purcell, scowled at her, but didn’t comment as Ray gulped the hot, black drink and sighed into it.

  “Thank you.” Ray turned away from Mills, back to Gerri, her face set and sad. “Her name is Belinda Patterson.” Mills nodded behind Ray’s back, confirming the victim’s identity. “We were together in medical school.” That was a while ago.

  Binks approached, cell phone in hand, expression careful as he offered it to Gerri. “There’s something you should know,” he said, glancing sideways at Ray.

  The medical examiner nodded heavily. “My name is on her phone,” she said. “My number. And it’s possible I’m the last person Belinda texted before she died.”

  Gerri’s gut tightened as her mind rumbled, Aw, hell.

  “We had dinner last night,” Ray went on after a further sip of the coffee in her shaking hands. “But that’s it. Just dinner. I swear, Gerri.” Desperation colored her voice. “Belinda was married. She had changed.” She looked away, lips turning down. “I guess I was just a phase.”

  Gerri waved off the phone, watched Binks slip it into a plastic bag, tag it with a marker. “Ray,” she said, hating to do what she had to do but knowing she had no choice, “you can’t be here.”

  The brunette nodded heavily, as if the whole garage were weighing on her shoulders. “I know,” she said. “As soon as I saw it was Belinda, I backed off.”

  Gerri reached for her own phone, knowing when she called the ME’s office she’d get her least favorite examiner, Dr. Druit, but without options. “I’ll have Mills take you home.”

  Ray shook her head, handed the unfinished coffee off to the sadly smiling Mills. “I can drive myself,” she said. “Let me know if you need to question me.”

  Gerri let her go, torn between the desire to go after Ray, to drive her home personally, and her job. Namely, to find out who killed the woman in the SUV. Since doing so might help Ray in the end, it was easy for Gerri to justify letting the brunette drive off while she placed her call to the morgue before striding to the car to have a look of her own.

  Her gloves snapped over her wrists as she slipped them on, gaze devouring the scene as her instincts whispered to her. The hole in the headrest told the story, as did the puncture and spider webbing of the windshield. Single shot, as Binks said, straight through. Large caliber from the look of it, too. The scent of spilled blood mixed with voided feces, cutting off Gerri’s usual reaction to the smell, that of ravenous hunger. Gerri circled to the front of the SUV and turned to find Chase coming toward her with a baggie dangling in her fingers. The tiny metal fragments had to be the remains of the bullet that killed Belinda Patterson.

  “Found it,” Chase said, grinning. Gerri forgave her the attitude. She’d missed Ray’s meltdown, after all. Still, it felt disrespectful. But the redhead didn’t need to chastise the young CSI. Not with Binks hanging over her shoulder.

  “You think you found it,” he said in his soft, lisping voice. “We won’t know until we test the blood and match it to the victim’s DNA.”

  Chase rolled her eyes and shrugged. “You got it, boss.” She winked at Gerri. “Ten bucks on it?”

  Gerri turned on her heel, the irrational need to punch the young blonde so powerful she had to get away. Her gaze lifted to the ceiling, the shattered lens of the garage camera. Shards of glass shone on the pavement below, along with a scattering of other glass from the light over the SUV.

  “Planned,” a voice said. Gerri’s gut clenched as her partner, Detective Jackson Pierce, appeared, sipping casually at a coffee of his own. “Obviously.”

  Asshole. “This camera might be busted,” she snarled, turning toward him, hating his attitude and everything about him in that moment while he glared back at her, “but I doubt all the other ones down here are.”

  His lips twisted. “Duh,” he said.

  Her mind snapped, showed her how easy it would be to crush his windpipe with one blow and shatter the bones of his nose with the next, most likely killing him with minimal bloodshed. Witnesses might be a problem, but they’d have her back.

  Wouldn’t they?

  “Go.” She snarled the broken words through her teeth. “Get.” Her fingers twitched with the need to poke him in the chest. “The.” One more second and he was a dead man. “Footage.” She refrained from calling him asshole or something more descriptive, only because he snarled at her but strode off quickly enough she didn’t get the chance.

  Lucky him.

  A small, silver car swerved to a halt, lights flickering off as Dr. Druit stepped out of his car and slammed the door. Gerri’s nose twitched at the scent of alcohol on him, well hidden to normal noses, she could only imagine, but not to hers. She followed him, tense and wary, wishing Ray hadn’t had this conflict of interest, while Druit did a quick—too quick in Gerri’s estimation—examination of the body before leaning away, liver thermometer still glistening with the woman’s blood.

  “She died about ten thirty last night,” he said, white mustache quivering over his mouth, cheeks red even in the low light of the garage’s busted illumination. “Cause of death appears to be single gunshot to the head.” He wiped off his thermometer and put it back in his bag. Gerri wondered when he’d sterilized it last. “Best I can tell she was alive when she was shot from lividity in her face and neck.”

  He turned, started heading for his car. Gerri’s jaw ached from clenching it. The little bastard wasn’t even going to wait for the bus to come get the body? She didn’t get to berate him, not when her phone buzzed, catching her attentio
n. By the time she looked up from the message on the screen, he was driving away, the lights of the ambulance flashing over his dull face behind the windshield.

  Whatever. Let him go. Gerri scowled at the reminder of her appointment with her therapist. She could beg off. She was in the middle of a crime scene. But Jackson was on the surveillance footage and Binks and the paramedics had the body and scene in hand.

  Besides, she could use the hour in Cici Panther’s office to think. Not like she ever really did any talking anyway.

  ***

  INT. – DR. PANTHER’S OFFICE – NOON

  It only took a few seconds in Cici’s company for Gerri to realize she wouldn’t be getting much thinking done, at least not while the therapist was acting so oddly. From the moment the detective swept into her office, Cici’s behavior was erratic and off.

  “Gerri.” The therapist didn’t rise from her desk when the redhead entered, not meeting her eyes, writing in a journal instead. Not typical of Cici, who usually was at the door to greet Gerri when she arrived. Not weird in and of itself, but strange enough behavior Gerri took notice. Especially when Cici finally stood, face grim, expression distracted. The therapist didn’t bother to offer coffee, either, sitting abruptly in her usual chair, hands fidgeting in her lap while Gerri slowly sat down, brows pulled together, on alert.

  “Everything okay, Doc?” Clearly not. And, now that Gerri thought about it, Cici had been acting off for about a week. But today was the most pronounced.

  Cici shrugged, dark eyes cold. “We’re not here to talk about me,” she said.

  Gerri’s shoulders tightened, whole being vigilant. “Maybe we should be.”

  “Really, Detective Meyers.” Cici exhaled like a frustrated horse, nostrils flaring, cheeks red from irritation. “I’m growing very tired of this little game you think you can play with me.”

  “What game is that?” Something was seriously wrong.

  “Refusing to talk to me,” Cici said. “To accept you have anger issues, problems you can’t solve alone. Instead, you come into my office, mock my therapy, belittle my profession by lying to me and yourself and waste my time.”

  Where the hell did this come from? “I think I was pretty clear from the get go I didn’t believe in this crap,” Gerri said.

  The therapist’s face darkened further. “I suppose I should have listened.” She looked away, cheekbones stark against her dark skin. “And it’s likely you won’t discuss anything of value with me now or in the future.”

  Guilt wasn’t one of Gerri’s favorite emotions, or one that hit her often. But she could see the therapist’s point. Maybe she deserved this attitude. Maybe not. But, regardless, she was a big enough person to throw Cici a bone.

  “I’m worried about Ray.” Not exactly personal, per se, but true nonetheless. Cici’s head whipped around, dark eyes locked on Gerri.

  “Dr. Hunter?” Why the sudden interest?

  “We found one of her ex’s dead this morning,” Gerri said, knowing she was likely speaking out of turn, but also knowing the therapist had to keep the information confidential. “She’s pretty broken up about it.”

  Cici surged to her feet, gesturing to the door. “If that’s all you have to share,” she said, chill in her voice barely hiding her agitation, “and nothing about yourself, I think we’re done here.”

  Gerri stood slowly, not sure what to do or say. She’d never had a therapist fire her before. Not that she really minded. But this odd about face of Cici’s troubled her, almost as much as Ray’s predicament. After all, she thought she’d been getting to know the therapist, had seen her not only here in the office numerous times, but in action in the field. Respected her. Thought Cici felt the same.

  What the hell was going on?

  Cici strode to her door, jerked it open. “Let’s stop wasting time,” she said. “Go solve your case, Detective. And let me help those who really want it.”

  That pissed Gerri off. She’d made an effort with Cici. Maybe not the giant effort the therapist was hoping for, fine. But she had no idea Gerri had opened up to her far more than any other shrink she’d ever dealt with.

  Not that the detective was going to admit that now. “I’ll see you, Doc,” she said.

  And kept walking as Cici slammed the door behind her.

  ***

  INT. – RAY’S APARTMENT – NOON

  Ray paced the kitchen, her heart refusing to settle despite the Valium she’d taken, despite the fact Kinsey appeared shortly after she arrived home to hold her hand and hug her.

  “Candice called me,” the anthropologist said. It should have made Ray feel better, but why hadn’t Gerri made that call instead of Officer Mills? Selfish of her to think that way. The detective had a crime scene to deal with and a friend who’d slept with the victim. Gerri had to be furious with her.

  Agitation was never Ray’s friend, reminding her too much of her mother, of being under Mummy’s intense scrutiny, her control and criticism. Ray’s whole body ached remembering the hug she’d had from Belinda. The last physical reminder of the time they’d shared together shattered over and over as the image of her staring, milky eyes and the gaping hole in her forehead surged to the forefront every time Ray tried to forget.

  She jumped when the doorbell rang, hoping it was Gerri, for some reason. It wasn’t until Kinsey opened the door Ray realized she needed to feel safe, and only the redhead gave her that security. The dark, beautiful face of her present lover actually did little to soothe her. If anything, the startled look in Kinsey’s eyes as Cici pushed her way inside the apartment only made things worse.

  “Dr. Panther.” Kinsey’s gaze went to Ray, back to Cici as the stunning Native American woman crossed to the brunette and embraced her. It didn’t take long for the anthropologist’s clever mind to understand the implications of that embrace, not when Cici kissed Ray softly before cupping her cheeks in her warm hands.

  “Ray,” Cici whispered over her mouth. “Are you all right, darling?”

  Ray choked on more tears, nodded in her lover’s grip. Looked up to meet Kinsey’s blue eyes. No judgment, Kinsey was better than that. But her lack of expression told Ray what she knew the moment she and Cici decided to date. That Gerri would be pissed when she found out Ray was sleeping with her therapist. Not because either of her friends were homophobic. But because Ray’s relationship crossed that line between professional and personal that hovered on the edge of conflict of friendship interest. A fine line, one she wasn’t sure existed except in her own head.

  Exactly the reason, Ray finally admitted to herself, she hadn’t told either of her closest friends.

  Cici seemed to sense the tension, because she spun, one arm around Ray in a protective gesture, jaw jutting forward aggressively. “You can tell Gerri if you want,” she said to Kinsey, “but we don’t care.” Her arm tightened. “This has nothing to do with her.”

  Kinsey just shrugged. “You’re adults,” she said. “But, you’re Gerri’s therapist, Cici. She deserves to know you’re sleeping with her best friend.”

  Ray flinched. Kinsey was right, she was a grown woman. What was wrong with her? This was a personal matter, wasn’t any of Gerri’s business. So why did it trouble her so much to even consider telling the detective about it?

  Kinsey left without another word, closing the door behind her. Ray drew a breath, wiped at her tears, as Cici met her eyes with her own dark ones full of desperation.

  “We’ll tell her,” she said. “Gerri. But please, Ray. I love you.” Cici hugged her tight and Ray’s body reacted by hugging her in return, the need for support, for the other’s embrace, powerful enough she grasped onto her lover and let her hold her up. “Don’t leave me because you think Gerri might not approve.”

  There was no question in Ray’s mind who she’d choose if it came down to push and shove. But she nodded against Cici’s shoulder.

  “We tell her,” she whispered. “I’m tired of hiding who I am.”

  ***

&
nbsp; EXT. to INT. – RAY’S APARTMENT – AFTERNOON

  Cici slipped out of Ray’s apartment, dying inside. She’d bungled Gerri’s visit badly, worried now the detective would start digging. What was wrong with her? She knew better, understood the bheast inside the redhead would never allow her to let this go. Gerri was a dog with a bone she needed to dig up and expose.

  But the moment Gerri entered her office, Cici’s heart plummeted to her stomach and all the stress of her assignment—and Simone Paris’s influence—hit her as though she’d been struck with a baseball bat. She couldn’t control the overreaction of anger, the spurt of bitterness. Not aimed at Gerri, though the redhead was an easy target.

  At Mama Roan. And the vile woman who owned her soul.

  It took forever for Ray to fall asleep despite the pill Cici gave her, so long the therapist didn’t think she could stand to stay, to keep lying to the beautiful brunette. Not about loving her. She did, more and more every day. That was the worst part, really, falling for Ray when she was only meant to use her for the ends of her Mistress. How cruel, fate, how harsh, duty. Cici bit her lower lip until it ached as she stood in the hallway outside Ray’s apartment, knowing she should stay but wanting to run away to the hills of her people’s reservation and get lost in the desert and the heat of the sun. To cleanse herself at last. If that was ever possible again.

  Her purse buzzed. Cici knew before she pulled the phone free who was on the other end. Fear and hate clenched in her stomach as she looked down at the text.

  All right? Simone’s soft accent came through as if she’d spoken instead of typing.

  I’m watching, Cici texted back, leaning against the wall with one shoulder, panting through clenched teeth. She hated Simone Paris with a passion so powerful it consumed her, closing in around her as she waited for the return text.