“I won’t be gentle,” he whispered, trying to not picture her moaning and screaming his name.
“I don’t want gentle, Grey. I want us. Make me forget everything but my husband, and how he makes me feel.”
It was all it took.
Rolling, he stared down at her beneath him. They were still joined, him buried deep in her body. As he began sliding out, he watched her face.
There was a cut on her lip, and he wanted to heal that too. Leaning down, he left gentle kisses across it, even as his body began setting a brutal pace.
The contrast of gentle versus hard undid her.
She gasped as he slid almost all the way out, and then buried himself back in her body in one heated thrust.
“Oh God!”
He didn't stop. While his mouth was tender, his body was heated. Together, he allowed himself to show his wife what he needed and wanted.
Her.
It would always only be her.
“More!” she begged.
Greyson braced himself above her and gave Emma what she wanted. He buried himself in her luscious body repeatedly, offering them both everything in the world.
As their breaths were the only sounds in the room, their eyes locked onto each other. They didn't need to speak.
They only needed to feel.
“So close, Emma,” he whispered, knowing that he was going to take them both to the edge and push them off.
“Please, Grey!”
He loved how her voice was tinged with so much pleasure. When she began shaking beneath him, he moved faster, hitting that one spot that he knew would send her body careening into one hell of a orgasm.
She moaned.
He shouted.
They exploded together.
The heat rolled over them, pulling them both under. The pleasure and bliss spiraled around them, offering so much pleasure.
This was heaven.
When it all drifted away, he went to move from her body.
Only she wouldn’t let him.
“I need you, Grey,” she whispered.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, keeping his larger frame protectively over hers.
“Hold me.”
He did just that.
When she felt safe, Emma did what needed to be done.
She mourned the loss of someone she loved.
Once more…
~ Chapter Fifteen ~
LVPD Morgue
Emma didn't want to face the deceased man, but she had no choice. Randall Mason was a victim, and she needed to find his killer, along with whoever was taking the lives of the women in Vegas.
It was time to put her own emotions away as she slipped into the role of cop.
It wasn’t easy.
Today was bound to be hard.
When they strolled into autopsy, Steele Bentley stood behind a table working on a victim. When he glanced up, he put his tools down.
“You shouldn’t be here, Emma,” he stated. “This isn't necessary. Surely your partner can stomach autopsy once, so you can avoid this.”
She appreciated his concern, but he was wrong.
This would get her through it all. Passing it off to Brynn wasn’t the solution. They needed to follow this through to the end.
It would give her the strength to find justice.
“I’ll be okay.”
Croft saw motion from off to his side and glanced over. There stood his brother, reading the paper. “Dante.”
He nodded, before crossing to his sister-in-law. “I heard what happened, but didn't come by because I figured that you’d need some time.”
She struggled to stay composed as he hugged her.
Once more, she took the offered affection and squirrelled away the emotional stability it gave her. “Thank you, Dante.”
“What can I do to help?” he asked, hoping that she’d let him do something.
“I think I’m okay.”
Then, he had an idea. Knowing Emma, she’d want to take care of her dead friend.
“I’ll make all the arrangements and take care of his funeral.”
She was grateful to have family. “You don’t have to.”
“I know, but I want to,” he stated. “I can’t help you out on the streets, but let me carry some of this for you. I’m really good at project managing.”
Croft couldn’t love his brother any more than he did right then. At that moment, he wanted to hug the man. “Thank you, Dante.”
Emma struggled not cry. “Okay, thank you.”
Steele loved watching their family dynamic. He was an only child, and he wished he could experience what they were living in that moment. “I’ll help too.”
She nodded, digging deep for the strength.
“Tell me what we have, Doctor.”
The switch was flipped, and she was now Detective Emma Croft. She owed this to Randall Mason, and she would deliver.
Doctor Bentley rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the kinks. “I've been up all night, but I have the autopsies done.”
“Thank you, Steele. I know you’ve been buried lately. We seem to be finding bodies left and right.”
“I hope this is it for a while. I’m exhausted. You’d think with the revenue that Vegas brings in from all the tourism, they could afford a backup ME.”
“You’re stalling, so just start telling me the facts.”
She read him accurately. “Okay, Detective. I’ll start with the chef. He was killed instantly. There was one slice across the carotid artery. From the spray, and the way he was found, I think your killer snuck up behind him.”
Emma began making notes. Even though this wasn’t her case, she didn't doubt that Mace Bristol wouldn’t be upset she was encroaching on his turf.
“I submitted my official report on the killer to your captain. It was one shot to the chest. He died instantly.”
She was well aware. After all, she had been the one who drove that knife through his heart.
Gladly.
Emma was surprised that Captain Ford hadn’t yanked her from duty. It spoke volumes. The man didn't want this escalating, or the media getting wind of a big festering mess that wouldn’t go away.
“What about Randall?” she asked.
Before the man could continue, Greyson reassuringly took her hand in his.
Together, they’d get through this.
“I have a couple things to tell you, Emma. First, I’m sorry you lost him.”
She nodded.
“He didn't suffer. Again, from the spray of blood and slice across his carotid, he died instantly. I’m putting his and the chef’s TOD around ten to twelve hours before you found them.”
Well, that was reassuring.
“But,” he began.
That wasn’t.
“What?”
“When I opened him up, I found something.”
Both of them waited for it. Neither of them liked when an ME found a surprise.
It was never good.
“When I took the top of his skull off, I found a very large tumor. It appears to be a rapidly growing one.”
She stared at him. “What?”
“Randall Mason was dying,” Steele stated. “It was definitely malignant.”
Emma didn't understand. “He never said anything to me--to us.”
Greyson tried to offer reassurance. “He was old school, Emma. He likely knew and didn't want to deal with the shit that would go with it. He was always saying how he missed his wife, well, now he’s with her.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
Steele pushed on, “He didn't have much longer to live. It was surrounding the part of his brain that controlled breathing and motor function. One night, he’d go to sleep and likely never wake.”
Okay. She tried to steady herself. “Why does this make me feel better?” she asked, knowing she could trust the people in her presence.
“Because now he didn't suffer,” Steele stated. “If he didn't die in his sl
eep, it would have been torturous. His body would have shut down, and he would have been forced to watch it happen. Tumors can go either way.”
She closed her eyes.
It was perverse, but it offered her peace.
“Okay, so he was dying. What else? What about that soulless bitch who was behind this?”
Steele knew who she meant. “The FBI pulled the trace from Lana Dumas and found non-descript fibers. That’s about it. Then again, she was likely wearing the clothes all day and might have come across countless people.”
This was looking less and less helpful.
“The single gunshot to the head did her in. It’s the same as Thomas Booker and the cop who abducted you.”
“Same caliber?”
“Yep. In my professional opinion, it’s the same killer,” he stated.
Dante didn't like this at all. “You two should leave Vegas. Seriously. Pack your shit and go into hiding. They’re playing for keeps. Someone’s going to get hurt. ”
Croft had thought that often enough.
“No, we’re not going. I’m not running,” stated Emma. “That’s what this person wants. I have four dead women, so I need to find their killer.”
Steele understood. “The heat was cranked in the house, and it didn't have time to do what was intended. She died shortly before you got there. Her liver temp was the same.”
He was aware.
They’d missed the killer by minutes.
“Like the other killings, there were no other injuries. Lana Dumas likely knew her killer. The house was pretty secure, and your agent tells me the back door was open.”
Croft nodded.
Dante had asked Steele earlier about the details of the case. He was curious. “I hate to add my un-cop-like opinion, but you have a police commissioner, a cop, and now a dead attorney. They’re all fields that deal with law. From my perspective, it looks like you have an inside job.”
Croft was well aware.
He’d already contemplated that. “It’s been brought to my attention,” he stated. “Only, this killer is pretty tricky, but their luck will run out.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Emma stated. “I’d bet on us.”
“We’re going to stay at the condo tonight with you,” stated Dante.
“I don’t think I need a babysitter in that fortress,” Emma stated, but she didn't mind. Dante always entertained her, and she could use the laughter. “Although, I think it would be nice to have you both around.”
“You two are always welcome,” Greyson added. “You have a key. Make yourself at home.”
He held out his hand to his wife.
“Let’s go see the team. I want to get back to work on these women.”
They waved at the men before heading out.
“We’re moving in, aren’t we?” Steele asked, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves to finish the autopsy. He knew that with Randall Mason gone, Dominic Marianna would be all over them.
“Do you mind?”
Steele would live in a minefield with Dante if that was their only option. “No, not as long as you’re with me.”
“Then, you’re in luck. We’re sharing a room.”
“That’s perfect.”
And despite it all, it was.
* * *
Once upstairs, they found a room full of very tired agents and cops. Paris looked worn out, Tessa was guzzling coffee, Brynn was talking really fast, and Curtis appeared ready to fall asleep.
“What do we have?” Emma asked, getting their attention.
Quickly, Brynn shut off the TV that was on the wall.
“We’ve been going through all the papers, data, and information from ‘Perfect Indiscretions’,” Curtis stated.
He was worried about his family. Greyson looked on edge, and Emma’s eyes looked haunted.
Heading toward the table, Emma grabbed the remote and hit the power button. When the TV came on, she turned to face it. There, flashed all over the news was her husband carrying her out of the hospital, news that Randall Mason was dead, and Dominic Marianna being interviewed. He looked a little too cheery for his own good.
“We’re sorry,” Paris stated. “We were watching the news to see if there was anything else about the case, and we saw this.”
Emma wasn’t mad.
Not at them.
“He’s a fucking asshole.”
They all stared at her. It was probably the first time she’d ever cursed in front of them. It took a lot to push calm, serene Detective Croft over the edge.
Apparently, she was long gone.
“Dominic Marianna is the lowest, slimiest bastard this city has ever seen,” she added. “I can’t believe he’s doing an interview outside Randall’s house. I swear to God, on everything which is holy, that if he’s behind this, I’ll put a bullet in him myself.”
Again, more proof.
Croft knew why he was doing it. “It’s a power shift. He’s hoping that all of Randall’s cronies see this. They’ll now know who the big dog is. Now that Mason is gone, every sleezeball in the city is going to vie for the power spot. If some of them think Marianna is behind this, they’ll cower in fear.”
It pissed her off.
“What else do we know?” Emma inquired, trying to remain calm.
“Well, we didn't really get anywhere with the four dead women. We have some leads, but we do have some information on the man who killed Mason,” Curtis offered. “I know you didn't ask us to run it, but why not help out the detective in charge?”
Greyson Croft loved his team. They knew him so well that he didn't even have to ask.
“What did you find?” he asked.
“We ran the dead killer once Max in the lab got his prints. He went by the name Stephen. He was frequently hired to do ‘jobs’. We ran his accounts, and the man had received a large sum a few days ago.”
“From where?” asked Emma.
“Lana Dumas had an account. It wasn’t hard to trace the trail. She tried to make it hard to find, but I’m good at things like this,” stated Curtis.
“Great. So, we know she was definitely connected. Any other names for us?”
Curtis shook his head. “No, but I do have a few accounts which popped up. They’re offshore, and it’ll take some time to track them down.”
They could wait. If the killer followed the normal pattern, this would be the lull after the storm. They would have time. This asshole would regroup to attack another day.
There was no doubt about it.
“We’ll find the big fish. It’s a matter of looking under a few rocks,” Greyson stated.
Emma knew what they needed to do. “Forward this over to Mace. He needs to work this. It’s not my case. I want to focus on the four women we’ve found.”
They all understood.
Before they could begin, Captain Ford was at the door. “Greyson, you have a visitor. She’s in my office.”
He followed the man, insisting his wife join him. Greyson couldn’t figure out who would be looking for him. All his agents knew his location and would just call. Even his bosses had been apprised of the situation and his whereabouts.
Once in the office, they saw her.
There, sitting in a chair, was Trudy Booker. She looked worn down. Losing her husband had been rough on her. After all those years of being his wife, now she was trying to figure out her role in life.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she stated, standing to accept a hug from Croft, and a nod from his wife.
“It’s okay, Trudy. What can I do for you?” he asked.
“I heard on the news that there was another killing. I know my husband worked with Lana Dumas, and frankly I’m scared.”
“About?” Emma asked.
“Is the killer back? Am I in danger?”
Croft understood. It had to be difficult knowing that the person who killed your husband, a cop and now an attorney, was running free.
“I knew her. I saw her at parties we all attended. I di
dn't sleep last night, wondering if I’m next.”
Emma didn't speak. She didn't like the woman, and despite trying to play nice, she wanted to slap her senseless. Over the last few weeks, she’d taken it upon herself to run to Greyson whenever she was worried. She’d lost her husband and was now trying to obtain one by proxy. Even her daughters, specifically the single one, called at all hours of the day and night.
It was irritating her.
Now, Emma understood how her husband felt when Randall had repeatedly done the same thing with her.
“You’re safe, Trudy,” he reassured.
“Will you ever find this killer?” she asked. “Do you have anything? I need some reassurance. I’m scared shitless.”
“You’re safe,” Chris Ford stated. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“This is killing me not knowing the truth. I need closure. Who killed my husband?” she asked, breaking out in tears.
Greyson handed her some tissues. “We’ll find you answers, Trudy. It just takes time.”
Emma was having a bad day. She wanted to be snarky and remind the woman that if her husband didn't deal with dirty men, he wouldn’t have been dead.
Then, she recalled that from the outside, people might think the same about her.
Well, shit.
Trudy focused on Emma. “I saw you on the news. I’m sorry you were hurt.”
She shrugged. “I’m like a cat. I have nine lives.”
“I hope they last a long time,” Trudy stated.
Yeah, so did she. Eventually, her luck may just run out.
Back in the office, after they got rid of Trudy Booker, they found the team hard at work. They all had more coffee and some take out for breakfast.
“We weren’t sure if you wanted anything,” Curtis said, pushing two containers toward them, “so we went ahead and ordered for you.”
Emma declined. Eating after autopsy visits wasn’t high on her list.
Greyson thanked him, but went with coffee instead. “What do we have?”
“We found the mailman, Lawrence Owens, outside Vegas. It looks like he quit his job or was fired. We aren’t sure, since the USPS is being tightlipped over the entire thing.”
“Where is he?” Emma asked.
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