by D. C. Stone
He lifted a perfectly arched brow. “You want to tell the town about what’s going on in their community?”
Was it her or did his face just light up at the thought. She made a face of distaste. “I want to tell the town to be proactive in their security. To keep a watchful eye on what’s going on around them.”
Echols considered her for a moment, then asked, “What would releasing this data to the media have done to prevent this attack tonight?”
She slapped her hands against her thighs. Really? “I don’t know, maybe had people looking out their windows more? Reporting suspicious behavior?”
He seemed to focus on a faraway spot over her shoulder. “We have to move cautiously, Detective. He’s escalating. His taste for more has landed on his tongue, and now it’s only a matter of time before he rises again.”
“So you don’t think we should tell the media? Get an alert out to the rest of the town?”
He rubbed his mouth, and the flash of gold drew her attention to his hand. Surprise hit as she studied the wedding band. What kind of woman caught Agent Echols? The unease didn’t go away, but at the sight of the ring, she pushed it back. He was a big man, tall and broody, dark and intense. When he stared at you, you could not help but feel a feminine thrill pass up your spine.
“I don’t think we want to move without thinking. Something is lurking, and something tells me we are getting extremely close. Closer than we ever have before.”
The door to Jessica’s room opened, and a nurse poked her head out. “If you all would like to speak to her, I suggest you do it now. The sedative is kicking in.”
Charlie cast one last glance at Echols before she stepped around him and into the room. Her neck prickled as if someone watched her. The feeling didn’t dissipate, even long after she was safely inside the room.
****
Case NNY 6357
On July 24, 2011, 0910 hours, Dispatch received a 911 call to 623 Broadway for report of a break in and rape. Due to the recent rash of assaults, Patrol notified the Detective Bureau and I, along with Detective Dwayne Gonzalez, responded to the call. (See cases 6331, 6346, 6350, and 6355) Dispatch notified that the assailant was no longer on the premises and medical and fire were en route.
Suspect was identified by victim to Dispatch as a large male, approximately 6’4” and 240 lbs., dressed in black pants, a black long sleeve t-shirt, a ski mask, and black sneakers. We arrived ten minutes after the 911 call, at 0920. No one was reported or observed leaving the scene by responding patrols or detectives.
A young female, 28 years of age, blonde hair, blue eyes, wearing a white bathrobe stepped from the house upon our arrival and was later identified as the owner, Jessica Thompson. The victim was unresponsive to questioning, in an obvious state of distress, and due to the nature of lacerations across her face, and the initial reported crime, she was taken to Nyack General Hospital for evaluation.
Upon entering the home, Detective Gonzalez, Patrolman Guiterrez, and myself cleared the residence and found the house, with the exception of the main bedroom, to be clear of damage.
Entering the master bedroom, indication of a struggle was evident by the position of chairs tossed in disarray around the room. Red stains, suspected to be blood, were evident on the white sheets covering the bed.
Charlie glanced up at the creak of a door to see Agent Rossi enter. To her dislike, an immediate wave of giddiness and relief hit her, almost like being high from drinking too much caffeine.
She scowled and stood, hit save on her report, and stepped around the desk.
“Where have you been?”
As if caught off guard, he whirled around and blinked. He looked like shit. There was no other way to explain it. Dark purple circles beneath his eyes and strain from lack of sleep clouded his features, setting deep lines in his expression. His brows drew together in what seemed like an immovable scowl. He looked like he’d been wearing a baseball cap for the day or he had been running his hands over his hair nonstop. The normally put-together Trent Rossi looked, well, untogether. It was not an easy sight to take in. From the look on his face and his clothing hanging from his frame, he appeared defeated.
“Not now.” He lifted a palm.
She stopped and stared twenty feet or so away. The bureau had been dismissed hours ago, night was settling in, and the normally bustling room was devoid of any activity. A door slammed outside the hall, a deep, booming voice laughed, and a radio crackled.
She took a step forward despite his request, and he clenched his jaw and moved back.
“Knock it off, Charlie. I’m just here to pick up Echols’ report.”
“Oh, you mean the report I’m working on? The one where I’ve spent the entire day with the victim in the hospital? The one you…” She pointed, her finger in an unbendable line. “Seemed to fail in responding to again? Why are you even here, Rossi?” She dropped her hand and slapped her sides. “Why do you even want to work this case if you are constantly going to disappear? You’re not helping.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw, and his gaze hardened. He didn’t say anything. Stood there staring and brooding, a coldness seeping out and surrounding them. She wrangled with the urge to fidget. No one intimidated her. She grew up under her father’s shadow, fought with men several sizes bigger. However, one look from this man, and her body itched in an unfamiliar way.
He stepped forward, and she froze as he loomed.
“You forget your place. I’ve been assigned to be here. I’m here to help you out, to try to teach you how to catch a psychopath.” He leaned down, his face a foot from hers, but seeming so much closer. “Keep in mind, Detective.” The last word practically spat out of his mouth. “I’m allowing you to stay on this case. Not the other way around. You don’t ask me questions, but you will answer them.”
Her pulse thudded in her throat and her skin grew hot, flushed. Anger shook her body, worked through her muscles. Of all the nerve! She opened her mouth, shut it. Took a deep breath and tried again.
“You will not remove me from this case.”
He smiled, but it wasn’t nice. It was an expression she’d give big money never to see again.
“I’m serious. Do not take me off this. If you try to…” She swallowed and tried for patience. Inside, she was seething with fury. “I need to stay on this case. You have no reason to remove me. None.”
Inside, her stomach tumbled, pitched, and rolled as nausea and fear rose. Charlie battled to stay calm. It was anything but what she felt. In his dying moments, her father had made the chief—the Captain of the Detective Bureau at the time—promise to keep her safe. With her mother gone by the time she was five, and then her dad leaving, the chief took the promise to heart and became her sole protector.
He was like an uncle to her, and she adored him to death. However, the protective streak was worse than anything her father dished out. It was only now, several years after becoming a detective, she had been able to break off from the petty thefts and white-collar crimes in order to do what she was meant to. To become a real detective, hold her weight in the division.
Something dark flashed across Trent’s expression, and she recoiled, bounding back a step.
He frowned.
“I’m serious, Rossi. For fuck’s sake, I’m so close.”
Lines around his eyes softened, and he closed them, took a deep breath. “Your opinion of me is tenuous at best, Detective.” He focused on her again and hit her with the full force of his beautiful glacial gaze. “Between the questioning yesterday and the attacks made on my integrity, I’m surprised you want to be anywhere near me, much less investigate these cases as my partner.”
If only he knew.
He pivoted, faced away. “I’ll be in tomorrow, and we’ll go over the case then.” He took a step away.
“Wait,” she called.
He paused, but didn’t turn back. Muscles under his tight tee shifted.
“Look.” She bit her lip, tried like hell to find the w
ords but failed, and sighed instead. “You don’t want to explain where you were today?”
His shoulders tightened, the change minute, but she noticed. “No. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
With that, he walked out. His boots hit the floor with soft thuds—gait sure, stride purposeful. Charlie clenched her fists at her sides and forced her feet to stay in place, not chase after him, not demand the answers she needed. Not wanted, but needed as if she had to breathe air. It was a strong urge to go to him.
None of this made any sense at all.
Chapter Eleven
He dropped his head between his shoulders. His chest heaved from excitement and his hands shook from the pulse of adrenaline still running through his veins. Euphoric with satisfaction, he silently sang.
He opened his palms, stared at the tremble that betrayed his outward appearance.
He had killed.
Murderer.
Animal.
God.
Yes. That’s it.
He rose from the mattress, air brushing at the wetness surrounding his groin. With swift movements, he removed the condom, tied off the end, stuffed it inside a plastic Ziploc bag, and set it in his bag.
Don’t leave things behind. Clean up after yourself. Refuse to make a mistake.
He turned to the bed, glancing down at his body instead, unable to focus on the sight spread out before him.
Not yet.
Moonlight glowed over his sweat-slicked skin, and he shuddered. The gleam of black silk lay at his feet, and he bent to retrieve it. He caressed the panties and grew hard again, heat licking his skin like a kitten lapping milk. He held the scrap of cloth to the light and vivid memories punched through his mind. He had taken care to be gentle with the lingerie, not wanting to spoil it, and proceeded with a tenderness belying his actions. Sliding the straps of the bra up his arms, he wrapped it around his chest and snapped the hooks at his back.
He stood taller, groaned at the caress of material against his skin, shuddered as sensations spread outward, working from his stomach to his limbs. He pumped his thickening length and panted, raised his eyes to the body sprawled, unmoving on the bed.
Her brown eyes were frozen in a stark look of terror. Her mouth remained open in a suspended attempt to gather air into her oxygen-deprived lungs. He groaned and thrust harder, faster, the slapping against his skin filling the room.
Around her neck lay the evidence of his passion, the true testament to his power. Her throat held his hand imprints, bruises forming as rigor mortis set. He lifted his leg and laid a knee atop the bed, moving closer, his excitement thrumming in increased waves. The orgasm hit him hard, rolled through not with a soft swell but more like a tsunami slamming into the coastline without notice. He arched his neck, gritted his teeth, and drew it out with additional swipes until he could not handle his touch anymore, and then pulled away with a shudder.
Damn it, now he’d have to get rid of the body.
Removing his leg from the bed, he wrapped his palm around the woman’s ankle, and tugged, drawing her to the center of the mattress. Her body bounced with floppy, uncoordinated movements. The covers were next, and meticulously he bundled them around her until it seemed she did not exist. He grabbed the duct tape from his bag and bound the body. He looked around to make sure nothing remained. He had to proceed with caution. The chasers gathered close and nipped at his heels.
Hairs on his neck bristled and pushed his actions faster. He drew on his clothing before rounding up all the materials. The glorious effects of his heightened adrenaline pulsed with post-coital pleasure. He heaved the body from the stripped bed and tossed it over his shoulder, grabbed his bag, and walked to the door.
A quick look over his shoulder fell to the only piece he dared to leave. Even though all a part of his game, he almost went back to retrieve it, unsure if he was ready to share his world just yet. With a clench of his jaw, he forced himself to turn and leave the room, never looking back.
****
“Detective Lopez?”
Charlie glanced up from her computer to find a short, dark-haired woman. Sprinkles of gray littered her temples, and lines formed around eyes dulled by age. The woman twisted a cloth between her hands in a nervous gesture, betraying a trembling fear skittering somewhere deep.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” She raised a brow.
“Mrs. Posher.” Her dark gaze jumped around the office. Dwayne walked past, and the woman visibly shrank from his attention, making herself as small as possible. Dwayne caught Charlie’s stare, and a troubled line marred his brows, but he did not stop.
Unease danced along her skin, and she frowned.
With domestic assault such a prevalent crime, the numbers surged above car accidents, muggings, and rapes combined. The national average stated that every few seconds another woman was assaulted or beaten. And much to the helplessness of police, they felt powerless to stop it unless those victims pressed charges.
“I was sent back here by the desk sergeant. He said you might be able to help me.”
She held out a hand and motioned to the seat adjacent to her desk. “Please sit, Mrs. Posher, and tell me what you believe I can do.”
The woman slid into the chair at the side of her desk and tugged the brown purse slung over her shoulder to her lap. She sat on the edge, ready to bolt, skittish as an abused animal. Charlie didn’t move and made no attempt to touch her. She had seen this look too many times, and it broke her heart.
When the woman did not immediately speak, Charlie leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Mrs. Posher. Please, you are safe here. No one is going to touch you. I promise.”
A grateful sigh pushed through trembling lips. “Thank you. I’m sorry, but I didn’t know where else to go. You see, my husband, he’s a good man, but he doesn’t like the law.”
She nodded but didn’t speak, trying to encourage the woman to go on.
“My daughter, Patricia, moved out of the house six months ago. She always makes a point to check in. I worry about her being in that house all by herself. She couldn’t handle living with us, though, and I agree, it wasn’t safe.”
Charlie forced every bit of control into keeping her face devoid of expression, while inside she seethed. Reading individuals was something she did well, a blessed trait passed through from her father, and right now, the woman was telling her more than she thought.
“Well, I haven’t heard from my daughter in three days, Detective Lopez.” She scooted closer, and Charlie wondered how close she was to sliding off the chair. “This isn’t like her. She always checks in. Always.”
“Mrs. Posher,” she began, “how old is your daughter?”
“Twenty-two.”
Hell. She sighed. “Mrs. Posher, I don’t know if there is much I can do. She’s an adult. Perhaps she decided to go out of town for a while. Did you two happen to have a fight recently? Was she upset about anything?”
The woman shook her head, and deep, un-glossy brown hair went spiraling out with the movement.
“No, she always checks in.” Ms. Posher wrapped a surprisingly strong grip around Charlie’s arm. “She worries about me. She wouldn’t go without checking in. I went by her house, and there’s no sign of her, but her car is in the driveway. When I looked through the windows, I saw her purse sitting on the table, but that’s it. She wouldn’t have just disappeared, Detective. Something is wrong.”
She patted the woman’s hand, and her mind spun with a dozen different questions. Based off the story, it did seem odd. But did she have the time, on top of everything else, to go and check this out? Her bed called her name, coaxing as if a long lost lover. “Why don’t you give me the address, and I’ll go check it out?”
Gratitude lit tired eyes. She released Charlie and took the pen and paper, wrote in a frenzy. The woman passed the yellow post-it across the desk and Charlie glanced at the address, then the clock. She discharged a silent sigh, the date she held with Mr. Sealy pushed back a bit further.
&nb
sp; “All right, Mrs. Posher, I’ll go check this out and see if we can find anything. In the meantime, what’s the best way to get a hold of you?”
Fear rippled across the woman’s face, and Charlie detained a curse. She knew that expression, understood it all too well.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stay here until you get back. Like I said, my husband, he’s a good man, but he doesn’t like the law.”
Did that “good man” put that look on your face, Mrs. Posher?
Charlie nodded, stood, and stepped around the desk, made her way up the aisle. She walked outside and heard a door open from behind then shut as Dwayne joined her. “What’s going on?”
She passed him the post-it note and stared across the parking lot. Trent stepped from his cruiser and ambled through the lot. Sunlight shone off his hair, reflecting golden highlights. For just a moment he held her attention and all else fell away. The man had a stride she could drink in for days. “We need to check this out,” she told Dwayne. “Woman reported she hasn’t heard from her daughter for three days. Says her purse is still at the house along with a car, but there’s no sign of her.”
Trent approached, and she could not tear her eyes from his. The blue gaze held her captive, but his face withheld any reaction at her presence. She ground her teeth together, surprised at the disappointment and pain coiling in her gut.
He nodded a greeting as he reached them. “Charlie. Dwayne. What’s up?”
Good God, he was handsome. She recognized it from day one, but she couldn’t get over how beautiful he really was. His muscles rippled beneath the dark silk shirt with each movement. His strong jaw and plump lips pulsed like a beacon on a lighthouse late at night. She wanted to be the ship he called home. “We’re heading out to check on a possible missing persons report. Mother is inside, skittish as hell, and is going to wait while we head over.”
He glanced at the door leading into the Bureau. “You need some help?”