Kiss of Deceit
Page 22
“Second thoughts, Mr. Gallego?” she asked, misinterpreting his delay.
“You’ve got to be kidding, right?”
LeAnne smiled lazily, her palm smoothing down his coarse jaw. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t wake up hating yourself tomorrow.”
“You truly are misguided, Ms. McVeigh, because it’s you who will surely wake up regretting laying with the likes of me.”
“Let’s let tomorrow worry about itself.”
Snake needed no further coaxing. His hand molded to her breast and his lips covered hers. Nothing could be stronger than his need to consume her, not even a raging fire fanned by coastal winds.
* * *
Whore. Bitch.
Two-timing slut.
He wrenched each end of the scarf tighter as the words echoed about his head, barely hearing her answering squeals. Her legs flailed and kicked, narrowly missing his genitals and causing him unbelievable pain.
“Dammit.” He finished with the bindings, then lay back fully atop her to stop her frantic thrashing. “What the hell is your problem?”
Her body stilled as her rounded gaze landed on him. “Let me go, Shawn,” was her feeble quavering demand. As if he would ever listen.
“I don’t like your game.”
Whining bitch.
He chuckled ominously. “Looks like you don’t have a choice. Your hands are a bit tied at the moment.”
“Asshole,” she spat, jerking violently on her bindings. Her hands held fast. The material, when pulled taut, easily cut into her wrists. Blood trickled down her arm, making a crimson trek.
He swallowed the extreme urge to throttle her. Beat her to a bleeding pile of pulp.
Leave no marks.
Samantha attempted to buck him off, but the more she fought, the stiffer his erection became. His mind reeled in hard-won ecstasy. Her fear fueled his appetite.
He tightly grasped her chin, yet not hard enough to bruise.
“If you would just calm down, you’ll see how pleasurable this can be.” Her thrashing stilled to a slight tremble as her bulging eyes warily centered on him. He let go of her chin and stroked her face. “There, that’s better.”
“Please, Shawn. You don’t understand. I hate to be held down.” Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, making a mess of her artfully-applied makeup. “I told you before I hate not being in control.”
“Of course.” He grinned. “So you’ve told me.” He gently ran a hand over her soft form, caressing each spot he touched. “And I’m here to put an end to your fears.”
He positioned himself between her spread thighs, grasped a condom from his discarded jogging pants, and hastily put it on. Then in one swift motion, he thrust his throbbing erection deeply within her. Her squeal and fear were short-lived as he moved swiftly in and out.
Her moans filled his ears.
The quicker and harder he thrust, the wetter she became.
He fought back the urge to retch at the thought of her actually enjoying his work. His palms itched; his hands reflexively opened and closed by her head.
“Shawn,” she whispered in her annoying little titter. “Let me love you. Untie my hands.”
His slipped around her throat; his thumbs gently massaged the area of her hyoid bone.
One snap, he thought. But where was the fun in haste? All good things come to those who wait.
He increased the pressure.
She gasped for air.
Her arms yanked at the bindings.
Forty-five minutes later, Samantha’s prone body lay on the bed, posed like Christ behind him as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He meticulously applied a ruby-red lipstick with careful precision. Kiss all the deceitful little bitches goodbye, he thought with a wicked grin, then blew the air a kiss.
* * *
What the hell had she been thinking?
Disgusted with herself, even in the aftermath of one of the most magnificent moments of her life, LeAnne rolled to her side, giving Marcus her back. As though he sensed her self-loathing at their recent lovemaking, he wrapped an arm around her waist.
He nuzzled her neck, leaving chaste kisses beneath her ear. His tongue darted out, catching her lobe. A shiver ran down her spine, reminding her how sinfully delicious it had been. But once was nearly unforgivable, twice, she could never live with.
LeAnne disengaged his arm, then scooted from beneath the blanket Snake had found to cover them. With her back to him, knowing full well he watched, she stepped into her panties and jeans, then retrieved her bra and blouse. Once she finished fastening the last button, LeAnne turned to face him.
Impressive couldn’t begin to describe Marcus Gallego. And looking at him now did little to still her beating heart. LeAnne nearly ran in tears from the barn, and might have, if Marcus hadn’t thrown off the blanket and approached her with slow, deliberate strides. He grasped her wrist to keep her from fleeing.
“Don’t,” he commanded with the authority of an attorney general. It was a simple word, but had the impact of a thousand.
LeAnne knew Marcus didn’t want her hating herself for what had transpired between them, nor did he want her to leave. And he surely didn’t want her to regret it. But, God almighty, she already did.
A tear slipped from her eyelid, though she tried desperately to contain it.
He traced away the wetness with the pad of his callused thumb, then palmed her face and pulled her near to kiss her cheek. He ran his hands down her back and held her close. So close, she could feel the heavy drum of his heart against her chest.
Dear God, what had she done?
She would never forgive herself. How could she ever expect Chad to?
“Please, Marcus, I have to go.”
“Don’t punish yourself, LeAnne. Remember, ‘let tomorrow worry about itself.’” He used her own words in an attempt to soothe her. His lips were so close, his warm breath fanned her ear. “Don’t ever regret it.”
More tears pushed past her lashes.
“How can I not?” She stepped from his embrace and covered her mouth with her trembling hand. “I know I didn’t stop you, that I was just as much a part of this, that I even wanted you—but that doesn’t excuse it.”
He took a step toward her. She held out her hand, touching his warm, smooth chest. He stood there as though his nudity were an everyday occurrence, like the sun setting over the horizon. And just as awe-inspiring, she might be quick to add.
She stepped back, breaking the contact. “I have to go.”
He shook his head in disgust. His lips turned down at the corners. LeAnne thought of the day she had questioned him at the sheriff’s office. He held contempt for her then—and she wasn’t so sure he didn’t now.
The snake winding up his arm was nowhere near as threatening as the man sporting it.
“I’m sure you’re used to this,” LeAnne mumbled in a feeble excuse.
Marcus stepped into the pair of jeans he had discarded. “Used to what?”
“Having any woman you want.”
Although he remained silent, his eyes hardened. Something brewed within their depths; the calm before the storm. LeAnne had the asinine urge to run for cover.
“I’m not a whore.” Her voice rose to near hysteria. She had definitely lost it. Any moment, the guys with the straightjacket would burst through the barn doors and wrestle her to the floor. “I normally don’t sleep around. And since meeting Chad…”
She placed her hand over her lips to still stupid admissions from spilling forth. Next thing she would know, she’d rattle on about how few lovers she had actually had. As if it would make a difference!
Snake took another step toward her.
The top of his jeans lay undone, drawing her focus. Here she was, distraught over what she had done to her fiancé, and the only thing she could think of was how quickly she could rid Snake of those jeans.
“And you think I sleep around? Is that it?”
“I don’t know what your lifes
tyle is like…” Her eyes widened. His gaze narrowed, his expression disgruntled. “Now what?”
“A condom,” she whispered like a death litany. “We didn’t use a condom.”
His brow creased. “You worried about getting pregnant? Or is it diseases that’s got you babbling like a lunatic?”
She laughed hysterically. Hell, she was hysterical.
Seeing her seriousness, he looked to the floor, stirring the dirt with his big toe. “I’m clean.”
“How can you be positive?”
“I am.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve had tests done.” He turned away from her, his cheeks slightly reddening as he grabbed a rag and made a show of shining his bike. “After Jillian died…I found out about her many affairs. Don’t think it didn’t scare me.” He stopped his polishing, then turned and stared at her. “What about you?”
“The only person I’ve been active with in the past two years has been Chad. He always uses condoms.”
“Before that?”
It was her turn to glance away. Here they were, acting shy over discussing something obviously personal, whereas moments ago, neither had a decorum of modesty. “Condoms were used.”
LeAnne wasn’t about to tell him there had been only one other. Tommy Decker in the back of the family station wagon on senior-prom night, both of them virgins. And the worst experience of her life.
“What about birth control?” LeAnne’s heart skipped a beat. “No.”
“Shit.” He rubbed his whiskered jaw, then walked to the wall of the barn. He braced his arms against it; the muscles in his back bunched. Finally, he turned around. His cold eyes had damn near frosted over.
Her anger flared. “For crying out loud, Marcus, you were as guilty as I.”
One corner of his lip itched up. “I don’t regret one minute of it. If you’d like,” he winked, “I’ll prove that fact to you again, right now.”
LeAnne shuddered in remembrance. Certainly earning him his nickname, he could easily charm her right back out of her clothes.
She meant to stay in them. “Then why are you so upset?”
“Because you have ways of taking the attention off of what just happened so you don’t have to deal with it or admit that you enjoyed it.” His scowl darkened. “Second thoughts, LeAnne? Or ‘let tomorrow worry about itself?’ What will it be?”
LeAnne backed for the barn door. “I…I think I should go,” she stumbled over her words in her sudden haste to flee.
Marcus made no attempt to stop her from taking flight. In fact, from the loathing she saw in his eyes, she swore that her absence was exactly what he wanted. “Then go.”
LeAnne dropped her gaze. “I allowed things to go too far. It’ll never happen again.”
He grumbled something unintelligible as he rolled his knapsack, dismissing her. LeAnne ran to her car as though somehow distancing herself, she could deny what had occurred. But she knew, without a doubt, her dreams would be a constant reminder. Marcus Gallego would haunt her every hour. The last thing she heard before she started the car was the sound of metal crashing against the barn wall.
Chapter 23
LeAnne leafed through the papers littering her desk, only half- heartedly paying attention, her mind elsewhere and her attention not on the case. She hated Marcus for crawling beneath her skin and wedging himself into her every thought. She was a detective, for chrissake. Her thoughts needed to be focused on the job, and not on what she should or should not have done, as the case may be.
Thankfully, the station was fairly quiet, it being a Sunday. She certainly didn’t need the added distractions. Bob Reese likely sat at home; he, too, probably pored over files, looking for the obvious missing link.
Something that seemed to escape her.
She had gone over the files and interviews countless times and nothing new seemed to jump at her.
Where were the connections? What was the one thing that could tie her cases together? LeAnne’s intuition told her the same perp killed all four victims. She just needed proof.
A sigh escaped her. Her shoulders slumped.
LeAnne was close to throwing in the towel and calling in the Feds, though to her it would be like admitting defeat. Catching the murderer should be of more importance, though, than any cut to her ego.
A crime scene photo from the Gallego case lay on the desk, partially shielded by one from the Holliday scene. Both women had been beautiful. Both had long hair. Both had been tied to the bed. Both had committed adultery. Had Cora Smith been married, LeAnne might think adultery the obvious link. But as it stood, besides being beautiful and having long hair, Cora didn’t seem to fit with the other two murders. And if the same person killed Cora, what might the possible link be in this case?
LeAnne picked up Jillian’s photo and stared at the picture. Something morbid could be said about her studying the dead woman’s photo. Jillian wasn’t just another number, she was Snake Gallego’s dead wife.
She couldn’t look at the picture without thinking about what transpired between her and Marcus the night before. Had it not been for the poor woman’s untimely death, LeAnne would never have met Marcus, and her life would have been… What? Better off?
LeAnne could hardly agree with that, even though, logically, the answer should have been “yes.” There was no denying the underlying feeling she had for the man. Of course, she didn’t love him and doubted she ever would. After all, their lives were far too different. They walked opposite lines of the law, most of the time, and their goals in life would never run the same course.
But there it was. She cared for the man, even if it wasn’t love.
LeAnne moaned, then ran her palms down her face. She doubted she would survive another hour, let alone a whole day, with the path her thoughts continued treading. Needing a distraction, she reached for the phone, punched in the number for Chad’s hotel, then waited for someone to answer.
“Good morning, Diane speaking. What can I do for you?” the woman said.
“Chad Baker’s room, please.”
“One moment.” The line went blank. Several seconds later, the ringing began again.
A groggy, “Hello,” came through the wire.
LeAnne smiled. She could easily imagine Chad’s sleep-filled gaze, his mussed hair, his puffy face. “Hi,” she said simply.
“LeAnne?” Rustling of sheets could be heard in the background. Then, “Babe.”
“Am I disturbing you?”
“God”—he yawned—“what time is it?”
“It’s almost lunch. Were you up late?”
Another yawn. “I met up with Buzz—you remember me talking about him?”
Buzz had been his roommate in college. They had remained in contact throughout the years. “How is he?”
“Great.” She heard him take a drink and swallow. “I think we ingested one too many martinis, though.”
LeAnne smiled as she leaned back. She missed him. “When are you coming home?”
“I told you before, Wednesday. I’m speaking at a class in the morning, then I’ll head for the airport. I should be home by supper Wednesday night. You going to make me something special?”
She laughed. “Yeah, something like that.”
He returned her humor. “I know, I’m the cook of the family.”
“We can order out if you’d like.”
“Or I can eat on the way home.”
“Don’t do that. I’ll have something.”
“How’s the case? Any new leads?”
LeAnne sighed. “Not yet. I’ve been running over the files all morning and I can’t seem to get anywhere. All we have is trace evidence and without a solid suspect to link them to…”
“You don’t have squat. So what did you do last night?”
LeAnne flinched. She hated to lie, but telling the truth would only hurt Chad.
The intercom on her desk buzzed, startling her. She welcomed the interruption. “I better get that.”
“Yeah, hugs,” she returned. The line went dead.
“Yes,” she spoke into the intercom.
“Detective,” Suzy blared. “We just received a call from Hank Duncan. He found his wife dead…tied to their bed.”
“Son of a…”
“I dispatched two deputies to the scene and called Sheriff Drake’s beeper. After dispatching an EMS, I called the coroner’s office. Anything else you want me to do?”
“Call Bob Reese—he should be at home.” She grabbed her jacket and thirty-five millimeter, and nearly ran to the back of the sheriff’s office for her sedan.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Her perp had struck again.
* * *
Hours later, LeAnne knelt over the bed, still looking for clues. She took pictures, measured and triangulated the room and body, made sketches, bagged and tagged fibers and hairs, and finally was ready for the body to be removed.
Bob Reese examined a few stray hairs LeAnne tagged in a plastic bag. “Medium to dark blonde,” he said. “Could belong to about anyone.”
“See if it matches any we found at earlier scenes. That should narrow it down some,” LeAnne said. “Could be Hank’s.”
LeAnne shrugged. “Ask him to volunteer some samples.”
“Same perp?”
She glanced down at the victim. “We have her wrists tied to the bed, her legs posed. She wears what appears to be the same lip print on her cheek that we found on Miranda’s. I’d say it’s his work.”
She took in the dried, brownish-red blood running down Samantha’s arms. There appeared to be slight bruising on her chin, her upper arms, and thighs—not to mention around the neck. LeAnne would bet when the autopsy was finished, they would find the hyoid bone snapped and hemorrhages behind her eyelids. Samantha Duncan had been tortured like the other two, but she had not been as willing to the restraints. This one did not appear to get into kinky sex.