Kiss of Deceit

by Patricia A. Rasey

  A shiver passed down her spine.

  Could Chad be right, and they were potentially looking at the wrong person? The wrong direction? All along, they searched for someone who hung with the group of women when they should have also been looking for a stranger in their mist.

  “But there’s the connection to Boston. You have to agree, that’s a big lead.”

  “You said you don’t believe in coincidences.” He picked up his wineglass and swirled the contents. “Maybe the Boston case isn’t connected at all. I mean, all you really have is the strangulation, right? Erotic asphyxiation.”

  “What?”

  He repeated the term, but she had heard it before. “The murder in Boston could simply have been an accident. I’ve heard of couples who practice this act of sex. By cutting off the airways, it reduces the oxygen and increases the level of carbon dioxide in the blood going to the brain. Carbon dioxide activates some physiological functions, thus stimulating the person in ways impossible to get from the normal act of making love.”

  “Sort of like autoerotism, but with a partner.”

  Chad nodded. It might have only been her overactive imagination, but Chad’s odd hand flexing seemed more agitated.

  “You seem to know a lot about it. Have you ever done it?”

  “I think you would know if I did.” He chuckled.

  LeAnne rolled her eyes. “Before me.”

  “I know some who have,” Chad said, not really answering her question. She took his statement as a denial.

  “Like who?”

  “Buzz, for instance.”

  “Buzz?”

  “Why does that surprise you? Linda and he have been doing it for years. Nothing untoward has happened to either of them.”

  “But it could.”

  “Most certainly—accidents happen all the time. People die every day, LeAnne. You, of all people, should know that.”

  “Of natural causes, yes. But murder,” she paused, “not in Henry County, anyway.”

  “What’s murder have to do with erotic asphyxiation? It’s consensual. Both parties derive pleasure from it.”

  “Not when one of them dies, Chad. If the case in Boston is this, as you say, then it’s still murder. Someone wrapped his fingers around her neck, snapped the hyoid bone, and killed her. Maybe not murder one, but murder nonetheless. You’re a prosecutor. It’s voluntary manslaughter at the least.”

  He drained his wineglass, then looked at her with indifference. “I guess if it were my case, I’d have to go with that, I suppose.”

  LeAnne chuckled. “You guess? You wanted to nail Marcus Gallego for murder one. What if this was what they were doing? You just said that it’s consensual.”

  “Marcus showed malice, which makes it a murder two case. And besides, I could prove premeditation. He told Kip Lewis he wanted to strangle his wife—that, LeAnne, makes it murder one.”

  “Except he’s innocent.”

  “So you say.”

  “He had an alibi, and you know it.”

  “We could no longer prove he did it. At that point, the case fell apart and you forced me to drop it. But I still say you’re blinded by his good looks. You have a soft spot for him.” He paused, gauging her reaction. Though his tone seemed gentler, his tight fists spoke otherwise. “You want him, LeAnne, don’t you?”

  She flinched as if Chad had struck her. Her ire slowly itched its way up her spine. Her ears burned with humiliation to the truth of his statement. Grasping her nearly empty plate, she headed for the kitchen, Chad’s chuckle following her through the pivoting door.

  The arrogant bastard baited her for a reaction. Had he already known what had transpired between Marcus and her? Or was it mindless speculation?

  The wrong number Marcus had carelessly answered the night he had spent at her house came to mind. But surely Chad would have confronted her by now, if it had been him.

  Not yet ready for the war of words, she filled the sink with hot, soapy water and began washing dishes. The door swung silently open as Chad approached her from the side, an apologetic gleam to his eyes.

  His arms slipped around her waist and he kissed her on the neck.

  She stiffened in his embrace. “I’m sorry, babe. I was only jesting.”

  “I think maybe you ought to go home tonight, Chad.”

  Stepping back from her, Chad folded his arms across his chest, presumably annoyed at the brush-off. “Is that what you want?”

  “I’m not sure I know what I want anymore.”

  His cheeks darkened as his eyes neared black in color. “Is it because of Marcus Gallego?”

  “No.” And she knew that much was truth. Her not loving Chad had little to do with how she felt for Snake.

  “Then tell me what it is, LeAnne.”

  “I just need some time.”

  “I gave you time. I was gone all weekend and part of the week. Remember?”

  LeAnne thought of the way she spent her Monday night, wrapped within another man’s arms. And not just any man’s arms, Marcus’. “How could I forget?”

  “Christ, I spent my days and nights thinking about you, and when I get home, this is all I get in return?” His tone raised a notch as he mocked her. “I just need some time?”

  Drying her hands on a dish towel, she backed from him. The last time his anger hit a slow burn and Marcus had been the reason, she sported a bruised lip and cheek. Still not completely healed, LeAnne didn’t want a repeat of the scene.

  She held the dish towel to her cheek in a defensive move. Chad’s gaze fell on her lingering bruise. “Maybe we should talk.”

  “I am talking,” he spat.

  “Calmly.”

  Chad took a deep breath as his facial features relaxed. A Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, of sorts. “What do you want to talk about? The wedding?”

  “Yes, the wedding.” The time had come for truths. Backed into a corner, she had nowhere else to go.

  “Speaking of, I bought you something,” Chad said, his tone light and cheery. He missed her answering groan. “Consider it a pre-wedding gift. I left it in my briefcase by the door. Look and see. I found it in a shop in Boston and couldn’t resist.”

  “Why don’t you get it for me?” she challenged, feeling uneasy at sifting through his belongings. Something about his actions unsettled her. Chad had never allowed her to go through his briefcase before.

  “Then you’d lose the sense of the hunt. Go on, look for it.” Chad patted her on the derriere and ushered her to the door, not giving her room to argue or a moment to tell him there would be no wedding.

  “You shouldn’t have,” LeAnne said, meaning it. Now how would she ever broach the subject? The longer the charade continued, the worse actor she became, but Chad seemed to take little notice.

  He sat heavily onto her brown recliner, grasped the remote, and flipped on the television. “You tape all of my shows, babe?”

  LeAnne had faithfully recorded Chad’s favorite sport shows when he was out of town and couldn’t watch them. He was a sports fanatic. “The tape’s in the VCR.”

  “You didn’t forget RAW, did you?”

  She knew Chad never missed Sunday night’s RAW. Strange for a grown man? She supposed so, but everyone is entitled to their eccentrics. “How could I forget?”

  As he turned on the video recorder, LeAnne grasped his briefcase as well as his luggage, more or less from old habit, and headed for the bedroom. She heard the music and fireworks coming from the TV set as RAW began. Placing his leather case on the bed, she unsnapped it.

  Curiosity getting the better of her, always being a sucker for gifts, she leafed through his papers and belongings in search of the article he had bought.

  “Find it, babe?” he called from his seated position. “No.”

  “It’s in the back pocket.” His voice seemed a tad closer, though

  LeAnne thought it just her imagination. Nothing would drag Chad away from his big-time wrestling. Not that he believed it, but enjoyed its enterta
inment value nonetheless. Sometimes, LeAnne even sat through a program or two with him.

  She reached into the pocket, finding a small square box. LeAnne pulled out the silver container and flipped open the lid. A one carat solitaire in an antique setting gleamed at her from the black felt resting place.

  Tears formed in her eyes and a lump worked its way up her throat as she held her fingers to her trembling lips.

  Chad had purchased an engagement ring, even though they had agreed the trinket seemed unnecessary. Now how would she ever tell him? He probably sat in her recliner at this very minute expecting her to run into his arms and smother him with kisses.

  Her heart lay heavy in her chest. Her limbs numbed, rendering her immovable.

  “Babe?”

  Still, LeAnne remained silent, wanting nothing more than to put the box back in the briefcase and forget ever seeing the bauble.

  Looking briefly at the opened case, her gaze caught on a brightly colored fabric, peeking out from the bottom of some papers and folders. Orange, gold, and brown stared at her like an offering.

  The room grew frigid, scattering gooseflesh across her skin. Ice washed over her and through her veins.

  “My, God,” she whispered. “It couldn’t be.” Her chest ached with each intake of air.

  LeAnne pulled the material from its hiding place and unfolded it with a snap of her wrists. The silhouette of an American Indian stood majestically in the center of the bandanna. It could only be Samantha Duncan’s missing scarf.

  Her world teetered precariously. She fought to catch her breath. The sounds of WWF filled the silence as her ears began to ring. Sid Justice…Shawn Michaels, two WWF stars. The stranger in the mist. It couldn’t be.

  Suddenly, a sharp pain exploded in her brain, sending sparks of bright red light shooting through her head, clouding her vision a hazy red. Her feet tripped over the carpet as she stumbled blindly backwards. One hand reached out to steady herself, finding nothing; the other felt the rising lump on her skull. A sticky wetness trickled through her fingers.

  And just before everything went black, she turned and stared into the evil eyes of Chad Baker.

  Chapter 29

  The heat index reached a scalding 114 degrees, and Bob thought it surely must break some sort of record. He used the sleeve of his black uniform to mop the sweat from his beading brow. Whose idea had it been to put the sheriff’s office all in black, anyhow? Of course his perspiration was due only in part to the heat and the faulty air- conditioner of the car.

  The other part was LeAnne McVeigh.

  His foot pushed the accelerator past normal speed in a hurry to get to work and find the detective. The trip to Boston told him more than he had hoped. He knew the identity of the man they sought. To Bob, there was no doubt, and the sooner he shared his newfound information, the safer LeAnne would be.

  His curiosity had piqued when the Boston PD informed him of the Henry County Prosecutor’s visit to their station, asking questions of a two-year-old case—the same case Bob pursued. Of course, it seemed possible LeAnne might have mentioned the connection to Chad Baker, but not likely. Bob had worked with LeAnne for two years now, and he had never known the detective to share her case with anyone until they had proof, even if the prosecutor happened to be her fiancé.

  After leaving the BPD, he had made another trip to Boston University School of Law to ask more questions. What he found out scared the hell out of him. Yes, Tony Hargrove attended the school at the time of the murder, but to anyone’s knowledge, hadn’t known the victim. But Chad Baker did, had even been seen having drinks with her on several occasions. And he had, indeed, been giving a workshop a few days prior to the murder.

  In Bob’s humble opinion, it was not only possible, but probable, that Chad had been responsible for that woman’s death. And if they could match the DNA fingerprint of the BPD unsolved case with their own and that of Prosecutor Baker, they would have their murderer.

  Hook, line, and sinker.

  If all his findings turned out to be true, then LeAnne could be in trouble—serious trouble.

  Bob pulled the cruiser into the angle parking lot in front of the sheriff’s office, threw the car into park, causing the vehicle to jerk to a halt, and jogged up to the side door. Suzy buzzed him in as he came through the first door and asked if the sheriff or Detective McVeigh were in attendance.

  “Drake’s in his office,” she said, “but McVeigh hasn’t reported in yet.”

  Hand on the inside steel door to the office, Bob paused. “She hasn’t even called in?”

  She shook her head, her blond curls bobbing about her head. “Nope.”

  He went through the steel gate and sent it clanging loudly behind him.

  “Hey,” someone yelled from the holding tank as he passed by.

  “When the hell can I get out of here?” was followed by more colorful dialect. Probably a DUI waiting for transport to CCNO. Bob ignored the intrusion.

  Opening the sheriff’s office door without so much as a knock, he burst into the room. Joe glanced up, then waved Bob into a chair as he finished his conversation on the phone. Though the sheriff’s face remained placid from the interruption, his eyes darkened in agitation.

  Bob paced the floor instead of taking a seat. Joe’s gaze followed him back and forth. He laid the receiver on the base and looked curiously at him.

  “Something bothering you? You usually don’t barge into my office unannounced—especially when the door is closed.”

  Bob stopped his pacing, and braced his palms on the edge of the desk. “Have you heard from LeAnne today?”

  Joe leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “I haven’t seen her since she went home last night to make supper for Chad. But I’m sure she just slept in.”

  Bob’s hackles rose. “She made supper for Chad last night?”

  “Why the alarm? The boy’s been out of town for a few days. They were bound to be happy to see one another.”

  “I don’t think so,” Bob said as the intercom on Joe’s desk buzzed, cutting him off. If LeAnne found out Chad’s dirty little secret, there would be nothing happy about his homecoming.

  Joe indicated for Bob to take a seat as he pushed the button on the intercom. “Yes?”

  “There’s a Marcus Gallego here to see Detective McVeigh, sir.” Her voice blared through the speaker. “When I told him she wasn’t here, he asked to speak with you.”

  “Send him back,” the sheriff grumbled. “Good God, what the hell is it with today? The heat? It’s got you all bumbling like idiots, and all over a woman very capable of taking care of herself, no less.”

  Snake walked through the door, all six feet of him, but it was the width of his shoulders that made his size all the more opposing.

  Joe indicated the chair next to Bob. “Join the crowd. Bob here is looking for Detective McVeigh also. So what do you want with her?”

  “I went by her house this morning and she’s not home.”

  “So?”

  “She’s not here either.”

  “Did either of you two think about giving Chad Baker’s place a call? Good God, aren’t the two of them entitled to a little reunion? A little privacy?”

  Snake looked at Bob. When he said nothing, he continued. “LeAnne made supper for Chad at her place last night.”

  Joe’s brows drew together. “And you know this because…”

  “Because I was there before Chad arrived.”

  The sheriff nodded and waited for him to continue.

  “I didn’t stay long, but I could smell the food cooking. Besides, if they ate supper at her house, why go all the way out to his for dessert?”

  Bob curiously eyed Snake. “You know where Prosecutor Baker lives?”

  “Just down the road from me—about a mile.”

  Bob pondered. Killers and rapists often start their crime sprees near their home or place of work: their comfort zone.

  “When you came in this morning,” Bob asked, “di
d you notice any cars at his place?”

  “I wasn’t looking, but I don’t think so.”

  “What about at her house?” came from Joe.

  “I looked in her garage; hers was the only one there, but no one was home. That’s why I came here. I thought that maybe she had gone to work, thinking maybe Chad might have brought her.”

  Joe jabbed the button on his intercom. “Suzy, dial me Prosecutor

  Baker’s office, then patch me through.”

  The three men sat in silence, staring at each other. Calling Prosecutor Baker might not have been the wisest action, but with

  Marcus Gallego in the room, Bob couldn’t stop the sheriff from making that call—not without voicing his suspicions regarding the killer’s identity. The phone rang, breaking the hush. Joe snatched up the receiver.

  “Prosecutor Baker?” He paused, then pushed the button on his speaker phone so all could hear. “Joe Drake here.”

  “What can I do for you this morning, Sheriff?”

  “Seems LeAnne is missing. She hasn’t come in this morning and she isn’t at her home. Would you happen to know where she is?”

  “Hmm.”

  Bob could almost see Chad’s smug face as he probably shrugged. “Can’t say I do, Joe. I woke up early this morning and LeAnne was sleeping peacefully; I didn’t want to wake her since I…uh…kept her up so late last night. I snuck out and went home for a shower and a change of clothes before coming to the office.”

  Bob looked at Snake, whose expression darkened and his jaw tensed. He would bet, by his guarded appearance, that Snake Gallego had a vested interest in Chad’s admission of his nighttime activities with the detective.

  “So you have no idea where she might have taken herself this morning?” the sheriff continued.

  “Can’t say I do.” He cleared his throat. “Did you check at her home? Maybe she was showering when you called.”

  “Her car was there, but she wasn’t.”