“You are crazy, Striker.”
“You have no idea just how crazy I am but we aren’t talking about me. We’re talking about you and how you want to deal with this.”
“I don’t know how to deal with it. If I go to my father, he’s going to overreact and if I go to the cops, then it could be me overreacting.”
“Claire, I can’t tell you what to do, but I can tell you that I’m not letting you out of my sight until this shit gets rectified. I think you need to talk to your father and then go from there. Find out if he has been getting any threatening mail or phone calls. It might give us somewhat of a clue about who’s doing this.”
“I guess that means we’re going suit shopping.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because my father does all his dining at the private club and you can’t get in without a suit and a tie, big boy.”
“Yeah, I got your boy between my legs and we both know he’s big.”
“Mmm, yes we do. We most certainly do,” she answered, leaning back into his chest and feeling a sense of safety and security.
Chapter Twenty
Agent Turner
“Oh my gosh! Don’t you ever sleep?” Rene groaned, hugging the pillow as she eyed him while he worked at his desk.
“I did sleep, for a whole three hours. Do you want coffee?”
“Yes, please.” David made his way over, planted a kiss on her cheek, and then made his way into the kitchen. He poured her a cup of the strong, black coffee that he had made when he woke up an hour earlier because he couldn’t stop thinking about the case.
He eyed the woman who had become such an essential part of his life as she pushed her long, auburn curls from her face. Her eyes were stark green and he never got tired of looking into them. That is, when she let him.
He bent down to kiss her cheek before he spoke, “I’d marry you if the department wouldn’t split us up.”
“No, you’d marry me if I said so. I’m still your fucking Mistress, slave.”
He sat on the bed and toyed with one of her curls as she cut her eyes at him. “I love you, Mistress.”
She chuckled, “I love you too. You’re a good boy. I’ll kick your ass if you ever fuck around on me though.”
“Never. I would never do that.”
“I know you wouldn’t. Like I said, you’re a good boy. Now, tell me what has you up so early.”
He jumped up, still in his boxers, like an excited kid ready to show her his book report. “Look, these cuts mimic the cases of twenty years ago exactly. I can’t figure out why though.”
“Go get the rest of the pictures,” she stated, fluffing the pillows and sitting up so she could get a better look.
He retrieved them and sat, waiting to see what her take on the case was. “I see an MO, though he doesn’t have a certain type. He’s all over the map as far as what the women look like but they are all beautiful. These aren’t all prostitutes but the ones who are, well, they’re beautiful too. Look at them. Either they haven’t been in the lifestyle long or they are high dollar hookers who take great care with their hygiene and appearance. Just run with me here… What if he’s punishing them for using their beauty to lure men into affairs or their life of crime?”
“You mean like the guy blames them for luring upstanding men into their life of depravity?”
“Well yeah, you know how it is. Some guy is an upstanding citizen, a pillar in the community, and then come to find out he has a mistress or he’s been hooking up with prostitutes. In a deranged killer’s mind, he might blame the women.”
David took the pictures he had been able to attain so far and laid them out so they were spread on the bed. He took a moment to really study them. What Rene was saying actually made sense. Every woman had come from different walks of life. There were blondes, brunettes, and even a redhead. There were Caucasian women and this case had been a young African American woman who had no record of prostitution. Either she was an innocent victim walking through the neighborhood to catch a bus, or she was just now getting into the lifestyle.
There was no rhyme or reason to their careers, lifestyles, or features. The only thing that they all had in common was the fact that they were all beautiful and not just pretty or attractive, but stunning head turners. What Rene said made a lot of sense. This might just be the motive they were looking for.
Claire
Claire’s eyes opened to see her lover watching her sleep as he lied on the bed next to her.
“Are you stalking me?”
“You’re damn straight I am,” he answered without missing a beat.
“Go pee and come back,” he told her.
“Got something in mind, big boy?”
“Quit calling me boy.”
She jumped out of bed before he could grab her. “Quit calling me princess and I’ll stop calling you boy, boy,” she taunted him before running into the bathroom and shutting the door.
She peed and got up, eyeing herself in the mirror. She tossed her long, brown hair through her fingers, brushed her teeth, washed her face, and bounced right back out to the bed. Striker reached out and grabbed her while she was still standing. He stroked his cock firmly in his hand as he eyed her. “Does that look like a boy’s cock to you?” He gripped it harder in his fist, holding it at the base to emphasize its thick girth. “Get those fucking underwear off or I’m ripping another pair off of you. It’s going to get expensive if you don’t start obeying me, girl.” He chuckled when she quickly pulled them down.
“Get over here and sit down on this big, thick shaft of mine. We’ll see if you still think I’m a boy.”
She took her fingers and stroked them through her folds as she eyed him. “What do I get?”
He jerked her over and pulled her down on top of him. “You better quit playing with me before you get more than you bargained for.”
She slid down on him slowly, trying to allow her body a moment to adjust to his girth, but he showed her no mercy. He grabbed her hips and pushed her down, forcing her to take every single inch of him. His fingers unbuttoned the shirt she wore and pinched her nipples ruthlessly. She could feel her eyes fluttering as he intently watched her expression go from sassy to pleading. “That’s my girl. Give into it, baby. I know how to make you feel so fucking good, don’t I? We’re good together, girl.”
She could feel his fingers circling her clit, now swollen and sensitive from the stimulation he was providing. His hips circled, his thrusts working in perfect synchrony with his fingers. His voice sounded far away, a distant rumble coaxing pleasure as she felt her core clamp down on him. She could feel her nipples harden like they could cut glass as every nerve in her body exploded with pleasure. His thrusts became more violent as he watched her expression reveal everything she was experiencing.
She knew it turned him on to know that no other man had ever played her body like he did. She was open and vulnerable with him. There was no embarrassment or shame with Striker, just pleasure and freedom—so much sexual freedom.
She collapsed down onto his chest and allowed herself to sink into the blissful feelings of satisfaction and safety he provided. She could never remember a time that she had felt this free. There had always been so many expectations placed on her. Any love before Striker had always been conditional. She relaxed into his body and held him, allowing herself this moment of peace. For the first time in her life, she was happy.
Striker
He could feel it—the trust oozing off of her—drowning him in a pool of guilt. She trusted a man who didn’t deserve to be trusted, a man who was setting her up in an ugly game of revenge. She didn’t deserve what he was doing to her. It was her father who deserved the hatred that festered inside him.
He wanted to hit something. At least when he was in the ring, he could make someone pay; he could take his anger and frustration out on a willing vessel. Her voice interrupted his thoughts of self-loathing.
She propped herself up to look at him, her eyes filled with… trust
. God, he was so undeserving of her. He hated himself right now. “I think you should meet my father. That way if Victor is doing this he’ll want you by my side to, you know, protect me.”
That was a thought. Blame Victor and this whole charade could stop but could he look her father in the eye, dinner after dinner, and act like he didn’t hate the man for sending his father away and having him unjustly killed?
He stroked his hand over her long hair, trying to soothe himself through the action of touching her. He smiled as he spoke, “Then I guess we’re going shopping but I’ll buy my own suit.”
“You can’t afford what you’ll need to wear.”
“You high society types are all the same—label lusters.”
“Hey,” she teased, smacking him. “It isn’t my fault that my parents raised a superficial princess.”
Suddenly, his expression turned somber as he ran the back of his hand lovingly over her cheek. “No, princess, it isn’t your fault. It isn’t your fault at all.”
Chapter Twenty One
Agent Turner
Agent Turner stood with his partner next to the gurney that held the body of the woman who had been discovered in the alley.
“These things take time, Agent. You can’t just rush it when it comes to things of this nature, especially when we are looking at similarities which lead me to believe that we’re looking at the same unsub from twenty years ago.”
“Not good,” Rene muttered under her breath. “Every case that cop had will be questioned if that’s true.”
“Well, he couldn’t have timed his death any worse. Now we’ve got nobody we can question about the case,” Turner answered.
“Well, it gives motive to the killer. If the guy had someone prosecuted for a crime he didn’t commit, the killer could be angry that he isn’t getting recognition he thinks he deserves,” Rene noted.
Agent Turner never looked up but stated, “It could also be a revenge killing. I’ll be checking into any living family members of the man convicted twenty years ago. It, at least, gives us a starting point for the investigation but, first things first, what kind of knife was used?”
“Single-edged, non-serrated,” the coroner immediately answered.
“Like a scalpel, Herb?”
“No, your unsub was no doctor. My guess is a straight razor, maybe even a box cutter. Now, even though these cuts seem sporadic, there is a method to your maniac’s madness. Every cut is placed in an area that women take great care to maintain, the most evident place being her face. Then he moved on to her breasts, her abdomen, and even her inner thighs. This was all done while she was alive.”
“How do you know?”
“There was too much bleeding. This girl’s heart was pumping while she was being cut. I would venture to say it was racing with fear. It’s evident by the amount of blood she lost.
“She was secured down tightly too, because there aren’t any jagged edges in these cuts, which there would have been if she had struggled at all or if the killer had hesitated. These are very clean, precise slices. The ligature marks on her wrists and ankles are thin, probably from zip ties, but here on her chest, abdomen, and upper thigh area, it appears as though she was belted down with something.”
“Was there any duct tape residue?” Rene asked.
“No, the bruising leads me to believe it was more like what would be used if you strapped a patient down on a gurney.
“Could have been some kind of rigged up seatbelt,” Rene commented.
“That’s actually feasible. It’s consistent with the same type of strapping on an ambulance gurney. This girl was alive when she was put through the torture she endured.”
Turner looked up at the masked coroner and saw a mixture of sadness and anger in his eyes. He was certain that the man had seen firsthand all of the atrocities that went with his job title, but it hadn’t hardened him or changed the fact that he cared about his victims and would do all he could to find answers for their family members.
“But you don’t think the unsub is a medical professional?”
“No, those cuts would be more precise if he were. These cuts match the murders from twenty years ago. They don’t have the perfection of a confident surgeon now and didn’t then either.”
“Could have been some kind of rigged up seatbelt,” Rene repeated, still thinking about how the victim had been strapped down. Where her partner would move on with questions, she was more likely to ponder the information she was given.
“Once again, that’s very feasible,” the coroner patiently stated, well aware of how Rene processed information having worked with her before.
“We’ve already been over the fact that there was nicotine residue on the victim’s body, indicative of her being in a tobacco field at some point.”
“Well, Herb, if you find anything else let me know.” Turner made his way to the door but turned back as something crossed his mind, “Did the girl have family?”
“Just her mother. She’s picking up the body this afternoon.”
“Hey, one more thing, did you figure out if it was potassium chloride or an air embolism?”
“Though potassium chloride breaks down in the body, my gut tells me it was an air embolism. I don’t think you’re going to find anything out by researching medical or pharmaceutical reps. I do think you’ll find something out by researching tobacco farmers. This girl was saturated in trace left by tobacco leaves. Whoever this guy is, he deals in tobacco in some form or another.”
“All right. Thanks, Herb.”
Agent Turner looked at his partner as they headed out to the car. “It’s time to get down to the brass tacks of police work and hit the pavement. Good police work always boils down to hitting the streets and talking to the public.”
Claire
“You actually want to introduce me to your new boyfriend?”
“He isn’t my boyfriend, Father.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. You want to introduce me to your assistant?”
“Yes, Father, he’s my assistant. We’ll meet you at the club around noon. We have some errands to run before then and, Father, please be nice.”
“Claire, I can assure you that my manners are always impeccable.”
“Yes, Father, of course they are. We’ll see you for lunch.
“Not your boyfriend, huh?” Claire looked up to see Striker exiting the shower with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. “No, I don’t think that’s the right label for what we have.”
“Well, what are we then, Claire?”
“I’m your boss. Now, get dressed. Your stylist is on her way.”
“Like hell you are! I’m the boss.”
“And wear boxers. I don’t want her seeing your naked ass. The poor woman won’t be able to concentrate.”
“You’re awfully jealous for a woman who won’t claim me as your man.”
“What would you like me to tell him? That we’re lovers?”
“Well, I’m certain your father isn’t so naïve as to think we aren’t sleeping together.”
“The meeting with my father isn’t to solidify our relationship status. It’s to find out if he has any enemies who would go so far as to come after me.”
Claire yelled over her shoulder as she made her way to answer the doorbell, “Get dressed!”
Striker could hear the girls talking at the door and took the time to throw on jeans and a t-shirt.
“It’s wonderful to see you, Debbie. You’re a lifesaver.” Claire spoke as she helped her stylist pull in a small rack of suits while she grabbed what looked like a fishing tackle box.
“What’s that for? You usually carry make-up in one of those?”
“Hair cutting supplies. I figured he might need a trim and his hair styled. We both know how your father is so I wanted to make sure he made the cut. No pun intended.”
“Well, don’t cut too much off.”
“Come this way and meet my new assistant.”
“Umm… assistant?”
“I’ve already been through the third degree about that with him. Please don’t give the man any more ammunition.”
The stylist didn’t even try to hide her shock at seeing Striker. “This man is gorgeous. He doesn’t need any help in the styling department. Why did you even call me?”
“Because he needs a suit, well, a few suits actually. The ladies love him in jeans and boots but my father and the men I work with can’t seem to get past the fact that he dresses so casually.”
“I bet the ladies do love him.” Debbie circled Striker, assessing his good looks as if he wasn’t aware that she was checking him out from head to toe. He pulled away from her and scowled when she began to run her hands through his hair, talking about cutting it.
“He’s temperamental too, isn’t he?” she noted.
Claire just rolled her eyes, “You have no idea.”
“Okay sit down over here and let’s get started with your hair, handsome.”
Claire looked away from the man whose penetrating eyes were scowling at her in the mirror. He definitely looked like he was going to get even with her for subjecting him to this makeover he was being forced to endure. She figured now was as good a time as any to make some coffee as a way to escape. Once more, she called out over her shoulder, “Do not cut a lot of his hair off.” She couldn’t help but taunt him before she scurried away, “I kind of like that unkempt boyish look that he has going on.”
“Oh, he doesn’t look like a boy to me. This is a full-grown man you have on your hands. I’m willing to bet he is a handful too.”
Claire made the coffee and came back in, setting it down for both of them. She decided to change the subject and grabbed Little Bit.
“This is the newest addition to the family,” she rubbed behind his ears as she continued talking.
“So I take it you and Victor are over?” The stylist had to grab Striker’s head to keep from cutting his hair lopsided when he jerked it around to look at Claire. “Well that answers that,” the stylist noted.
“Why does everybody think we were dating?”
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