He was moving toward her when she looked up and read the intent on his face. She still held a slim package of fruit in one hand when he seized her around the waist and tossed her up on the counter, announcing, “I am starving.”
“I have fruit,” Jenna waved that package at him but he shook his dark head. “I want something a little more savory.”
“Oh,” she lost her breath as he parted her thighs. Her pussy throbbed and sent wetness sliding along the counter below her. “I see.”
His tongue met her clit, twined around it in a sensual slow circle hat caused her to gasp and shudder. The lovemaking they had already shared had been immediate, fueled by an explosive and unstoppable need, but now he was taking his time. His tongue left her slit and traveled up to her nipples. He teased them into even more rigid pints, she whimpered and dropped the fruit to the floor, her fingers tangling into his hair as she stared down, entranced by the sight of his dark head at her pale breasts.
His head moved lower once more, his tongue streaking across her belly, his teeth grazing the delicate flesh right below her navel and Jenna writhed, attempting to raise her hips. His tongue went back to her clit, lashing across it and circling it before his mouth subsumed it. A sob of ecstasy broke from her as he slid two fingers within her dripping walls and began to thrust in and out of her.
Jenna had never known anyone who could play her body so well. Blake used her like a finely tuned instrument, stroking and licking, sucking and biting and when she came again it was a brief but intense rush of fluids that burst from her throbbing center.
Blake lifted his head, her juices glistened on his chin and mouth and he was smiling. “That was good,” he announced, “Now get down from there and make me a sandwich.”
She could not resist shooting back at him, “If I can still walk you do not deserve a sandwich.”
Blake roared laughter. She was feisty and strong, and he loved that about her, she was the kind of girl he could take to a cocktail party or a neighborhood bar and she would be at home in either one. His mother had told him one day that the best women could eat hot dogs in bad times and steak in good times and never let you know they knew there was a difference, and Jenna was certainly a woman who would have been able to do that. She was a survivor, and he admired her.
Jenna was still grinning smugly when a huge ball of fur appeared and hissed at her. She yanked her legs back and screamed. “Is that a …what is that?”
“This is Freddy, my cat.”
Blake’s cat was huge, and ugly. It was an old gray tom with a missing ear and slightly lopsided nose. The thing must have weighed twenty pounds and as she watched Blake feed it a hunk of Brie she could see why. “That cannot be good for him.”
“Refusing Freddy food is not good for anyone. He got his claws removed but he still has all his teeth.”
As if to prove that point Freddy opened his huge jaw and showed her a row of needle sharp fangs. “I’m afraid to get off the counter.’
“Don’t be. You might want to put on some clothes though, actually—we both might. Freddy bites.”
He went into the bathroom and when he came back out he tossed her a long towel. He used a second one, wrapping it neatly around his trim waist and grinning at her.”You might want to make Freddy a sandwich too, just so he likes you.”
“You want me to make the cat a sandwich?”
“No, I want you to make me a sandwich but since I would like to eat in peace I would like you to make him one too.”
She did make him a sandwich and one for herself and Freddy as well. They took the paper plates she served them on into his living room and Jenna looked around the place. Unlike her spacious and contemporary apartment his was smaller, about seven hundred square feet, and the décor could only be described as eclectic.
There were pictures on the walls; most of them faded photographs of people she did not know. There was a woman with a worn face and a beautiful smile holding onto a little boy who could only be Blake in front of a dusty little café in what looked like the desert and she asked, “You know where I am from. So where are you from?”
“Texas?” The rich molasses of his voice had given that away but still she wanted to know more. “A tiny little town on the edge of the driest lands on earth is what my mom called. It was all scrub brush and sage, highways that rolled off into the distance and heat that would make you half-crazy.”
“It sounds like you were happy to leave.”
“After my mother died I had no reason to stay.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dredge up bad memories.”
“You didn’t. It was a long time ago. She was killed in a robbery.”
“I see,” and she did. That explained part of his personality. “Well, my parents are both about as far from dead as you can get, but they are dead to me.”
“You don’t talk to them.” It was a statement.
“No. My dad fell into this meth cooking co-op. They moved a lot, changed houses or used motel rooms or what-have-you. After one time that they cooked meth in a motel and almost killed the family sleeping in the next room with the fumes they were all on the run.
“My mom was in jail then, being held for petty theft or something else equally stupid. My dad decided that the best thing to do was to cook a huge plank of meth to bankroll our escape and he went to every store in town to get the stuff to make it, not thinking maybe they would be looking for someone buying all that stuff, not to mention he used a stolen credit card to pay for it.
“Anyway, it was not the brightest thing he ever did. When the cops rolled up he went out the back door and left me holding the bag, or rather the pan, literally. I did not know there were cops outside but he saw them and he left me there with his dope bubbling on a stove. I spent almost four years in juvie and that was hard, but never talking to either of my parents ever again was shockingly easy.”
“Why don’t you talk to your mom? I mean she was not there.”
“Precisely.”
Silence fell between them. Jenna knew how ungrateful and angry she sounded so she decided to change the subject. “Who is that?”
The picture that she pointed was of a young man with dark skin and knowing eyes, a careless grin and a bandanna covering part of his thick black hair. Blake said, “That is a long story.”
One he would rather not tell, Jenna heard that loud and clear even though he didn’t say it, and she was distracted by something else anyway. Jenna peered at the photograph, her face puckered with concentration. “Blake, isn’t that the detective that was at the building this morning?”
“Yes, why?”
“You know him, don’t you?”
“Yes, he was my partner on the force. Before that we were in the same combat until in the Army.” His voice was emotionless but his body language betrayed him, he was angry and it showed in his clenched fists and the rigid set of his shoulders.
“Why is he with Jason Dean?”
Blake knew that name but could not place it. He looked at the old photo, in it he was standing off to one side with a beer in his hand and a smile on his face. Kevin was standing next to a sandy haired man with a deep tan…who had he been? “I am not sure. I think he dropped by that day to… he was a stock guy or something and he was handling Kevin’s money.”
Laundering it, more likely. Kevin was standing next to a man who had gone to jail for embezzling from the very company Jenna worked for. Again that tingle hit. He was on the verge of something here, but how did the pieces fit together? Kevin…Kevin DEAN!
“They are related,” he said. “Holy fuck, that’s what it was.”
“What?”
“Kevin, the detective, he’s related to that guy.”
Jenna’s mouth fell open. “What?”
“Hold that thought.” Blake went to his cell and punched in a number. When the man on the other end answered he barked out, “I need some information Bernie and I need it right now. Jason Dean Junior, stocks guy that went to jail for e
mbezzlement…”
“I remember that. The fucker swiped my mother-in-law’s pension fund, which is why she is now living with us. You ask me that little punk got what he deserved.”
“What did he get?” Blake was expecting Bernie to say a long prison sentence. “He got killed about two months ago, tossed right off the side of the wall up at Sing-Sing. I guess nobody ever told the rich little prick in the real world when you owe money people will take the debt out of your ass.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, I was waiting for the day he got out. I was gonna take my mom-in-law over there and dump her on his doorstep, now that would be justice.”
“Thanks Bernie, I got to go.” He hung up and placed another call, that one to a friend in the Coroner’s office. “Mike, what can you tell me about the Pitt murder?”
“Not much, except someone stepped on his stomach.”
Blake scratched his head, “What?”
“Whoever killed him wanted it to look like he was killed where he was found but he wasn’t. There is a giant bruise below the skin of his abdomen, shaped like a footprint. Now either someone kicked him before he was dead or they wanted there to be blood at the scene so they took him into that office and stepped on him until they got some out of him.
“There wasn’t quite enough blood in that office for it to have been the actual site, or at least those are my unofficial findings at the moment, but don’t quote me on that, old buddy.”
“I never do, Thank you.”
“Any time. Hey, one more thing—this guy had a weird fetish for women’s panties. He was holding a pair that had been torn up . Any ideas what I should tell the detectives about that?”
“No,” his eyes slid to Jenna, wondering if she knew that Tom had had her panties. He hung up and spoke. “You cannot go to the company right now, is there any way you could telecommute?”
“What? No, I have major meetings all week and what’s more I have work to do.”
He grabbed her by her shoulders. “I think someone is setting you up to get even.”
“What? Why would anyone do that now?”
“Because Jason Dean got killed in prison.”
Jenna’s world turned sideways. She was no fool, she knew enough of criminals and institutions to know what it was like inside. Jason had been soft, and he would have made a good target. There was any number of reasons he might have been killed while in prison, she didn’t want to dwell on the particulars.
But could Blake be right? Could someone be setting her up to get revenge for that death? It all seemed a bit far-fetched, until you factored in the current rash of embezzlement, the fact that Pitt was stabbed to death in her office and his cousin—a Homicide detective—had turned up on the scene.
“The surveillance video! Surely if Kevin came into the building to kill Tom the cameras would have seen him!”
Do you know where it’s kept?”
“Yes. I found out after…after I turned Jason in. I had to go down and watch a video, in the operations room. It’s on the 35th floor.”
“Can you get into it?”
“Yes.”
“We need to go right now. If Kevin is the guilty party he’ll have that tape out of there and ‘lost’ before the day shift gets to work.”
“Only people with access cards can get into the floors above the 25th. That is…”
“I know all of that. Somebody is helping him.”
“Who would do that?” Jenna asked. “I mean when Jason left the company nobody mourned. Except maybe his father, but he’s retired and has been almost since. I think Dunning gave him a large severance package to leave earlier.”
“Did Dean have any close friends, anyone who is still at the company that might want your job bad enough to help set you up?”
Jenna shook her head. “The company doesn’t encourage friendships between its employees, especially if you make over five figures yearly. They want competition; they want people willing to do whatever it takes to make it.”
“Apparently Dean took that to heart,” Blake observed.
Jenna knew the policies were wrong and bad. She knew that the company deliberately fostered ill will and hostility to keep its executives on their toes; after all, anyone could take your job at any moment. Was someone willing to do whatever it took to get hers, even if it meant helping someone commit murder?
She cast her mind about; trying to imagine which lower executive would be gunning, literally, for her. “There are a few outgoing executives whose jobs would be easier to get.”
“Yes, but this is not just about the job, this is about you, and Jason Dean. There has to be two people working on this—someone from inside and Kevin.”
“He’s a cop!” Jenna protested, “Surely he wouldn’t kill somebody!”
Blake knew he was risking everything but he had to, he had to trust her if only to save her life. He pointed to the picture she had asked about before, “He was seventeen. He was a criminal, make no mistake, but he was raised by a family not much different than yours.
“The difference was that he enjoyed being a criminal, he liked the cache and the money and the girls and everything else. He had a father that was one of the biggest players in their neighborhood and he wanted to keep that legacy alive, he wanted to be his father’s son.
“Kevin killed him. I saw it happen, and I did nothing to stop it or to bring Kevin to justice. At the time I just decided I owed him for saving my life in combat and I walked away. The force was full of cops on the take and job was usually spent between trying to undo the damage caused by them and trying to keep the peace between the two sides.
“His name was Darius and he was not at all willing to play the games that others were willing to pay. He refused to pay up, and he wound up dead one night. Kevin wanted me to plant a gun and I said no and walked away.
“If Kevin did kill Tom, I am responsible.” When he looked at her his eyes were bleak. “Kevin is a killer, cold and hard as can be. I know that and I do not want him anywhere near you.”
“You said someone has to be helping him.”
“Yes, it is the only thing that makes sense.”
“Then we have to find out who is helping him. And you’re right, we have to go get that tape because if he does have help, it’s someone who can get him up and down the elevators, and if they can do that, they can get access to everything.”
“Could they get access to all the files if they knew where they all were?”
“Yes, but…but nobody really knows who has what. We know who we work with, and who handles what, but there are five floors just like mine, and basically the accounts are scattered throughout.”
“To prevent embezzling.”
“Yes.”
“It doesn’t seem to be working so well.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Come on, as much as I hate to see you with clothes on we need to get dressed and go.”
Time was wasting and Blake had a feeling they had very little left.
Chapter Four
The surveillance operations room was empty but for one sleepy-eyed man and a bank of computer consoles. “Not much to see this time of night,” he said laconically when Blake quizzed him as to why he was alone. “There are two other guys but they’re out on a smoke break.”
“How often do you guys get a smoke?”
The man was about forty, overweight and he began to look uncomfortable. “Listen, I don’t know what right you have to ask these questions. I mean I heard you say you are the guy Dunning said would be around to ask about things but still, I mean…”
“I’m not here to bust your chops. It’s an empty nest this time of night, no harm in having one guy in and a couple out smoking as far as I can see. I just need to know if there has ever been a time when more than two of you were out.”
“No, hell no. These people are hard to work for. They got cameras everywhere and you cannot erase the feeds. They even got them in here,” he indicated the cold eye of
the camera above his head.
“I see. I need to see the video from last night.”
“You mean the floor that the guy got killed on? That’s already been taken.”
“By who?”
“By that cop. He came and got it almost before the day shift knew the guy was dead.”
Dammit! Kevin had had the right to take the film, as long as he took it before the lawyers could slap him with the need for a warrant. The day shift crew had probably handed it right over, too.
“Okay, let me ask you this—have you seen anyone, anyone at all, who is out on the floors late at night? Like someone who is always around?”
“Yeah, her.” He jerked his thumb at Jenna.
“Anyone else?”
“Most of the folks from the upper floors work late. We see them all the time.”
“Do you see them roaming around the hallways?”
“Of course.”
Blake was getting a bit frustrated. “Do any of them have a tendency to wander where they do not belong?”
“Not that I ever saw.”
“Great.” Blake doubted that the guy saw much. “The cleaning and maintenance staff, do you see any of them doing anything suspicious?”
“Yeah, working.” The sarcasm was heavy and Jenna winced. This was becoming a pissing contest and it was clear that the security guard was determined not to help them. “Thank you for your time,” she said softly. “We appreciate it. Listen, this is me—she handed him a business card from her purse, please call my cell if you think of anything at all.”
“Sure, but honestly, I can’t tell you much. They run this place like a prison you know, everyone has their own sections and halls and so on. Nobody on the cleaning staff is allowed to close a door while they work and there are a couple of guards that walk the halls all night, they have different shifts and routines so nobody ever knows when they might pop up.”
“Can you see them?” Blake asked.
The guard glared at him, “Yes, but we couldn’t communicate with a staff member except over the general intercom, if that is what you are getting at.”
DEAD SEXY Page 6