She passed the day restlessly. Normally she would have gone to the stacks at the Keibence to do her research, but now it was closed. She spent the day pacing within the small confines of her office, and feigning attempts at correcting the papers. Her anxiety expanded into restlessness, which, by the afternoon, exploded and took the form of a drastic decision. She was going to go to the Keibence. In spite of the crime scene, in spite of the law, in spite of her better judgment, Andy was going to get her notes back.
What she didn’t know was that at the exact same moment across the city, Detective Hunt was preparing to do the same. Instinct told her that Andrea Garvey wasn’t guilty, but there was no escaping the fact that she and Jack Deluc had apparently been the only two people in the building. Barring the remote possibility that Andrea was a sleepwalking murderer of ridiculous strength, the detective surmised that there must be another way in or out of the building. The tunnels that crisscrossed the campus were not completely unknown to the city police, but it was the rumors of secret societies’ use of them that piqued Claire’s curiosity.
Even for an adventure such as this, the detective maintained her sense of fashion: burgundy lipstick and matching stilettos with a grey, form-fitting pantsuit and a low-cut white satin shirt. Her gun holstered safely in a black lace concealed carry belt. It had always been a last resort for the detective, but given the brutality of the crime, she wasn’t taking any chances.
She reached the library at around 5:00 pm that afternoon. Golden sunlight was streaming across the courtyard, and the Keibence’s momentous shadow grew long and ominous across the flagstones. Claire swiped through the doors of the library. It was utterly still inside, almost eerily silent. She glanced up the stairs towards the crime scene, and then headed down the stairs to the basement.
Approximately seven minutes after Detective Hunt’s arrival at the library, Andy found herself outside of the doors. She wondered for a moment if her access card would still work, but was relieved to discover that it did. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. Although from the vantage point of the ground floor nothing had changed in the library, Andy was overwhelmed with a feeling of unfamiliarity. It was as if the atmosphere had been disturbed by a bolt of lighting. The flash and the crack had long since dissipated into the atmosphere, but the smell of scorched earth remained. She took a deep breath. This would have to happen as fast as possible, before she lost her nerve. She steeled herself and ran up the library stairs as quiet as a cat. She sprinted to her study room and pulled open the door, trying to ignore the plastic sheeting and lights that remained. The crime scene tape went ignored as she slipped beneath it and recovered, at long last, her bag.
Detective Hunt was in the basement when she heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps above her. It was amazing that even in a building entirely constructed of concrete and stone, the sound resonated through. She had just discovered a very interesting door leading to a steam tunnel. The door was metal, and at first she thought that it had been afflicted with rust, but on closer inspection it became evident that it was covered with a fine mist of blood. She had just texted forensics when the sound of footsteps interrupted her investigative reverie.
She made her way quietly up the basement stairs, listening intently as the footsteps climbed the next flight of stairs. Was it possible that the murderer had returned to the scene? It didn’t seem likely, but she proceeded with extreme caution notwithstanding. If she could reach the lobby staircase, then she would be able to hug it until the person descended, and them pursue them from behind. It was the safest bet, at least until back up arrived, but that could be too late. The footsteps were drawing closer again.
Andy retrieved her canvas messenger bag and rushed blindly towards the exit, blood pounding in her ears. She was completely blind to the fact that she was no longer alone as she hurtled down the stairs.
“FREEZE!” Detective Hunt’s voice rang out as she saw who it was.
Andy heard the command, but overwhelmed with fear, she continued to run through the front doors and into the courtyard. Claire pursued her easily, her long legs allowing her to easily outpace the smaller woman. Andy ran with all her might until she crashed straight into a fountain, smashing her hip bone against the black granite. She crumpled over top of it, her bag flying from her arms some distance away. It was the Women Students Memorial, a fountain shaped like a table with women’s names carved into it in a spiral. Water flowed continuously over it in a soothing waterfall. Andy lay in the water, her heart racing as she stared wildly around her.
“What in god’s name?” Claire panted as she caught up to her. She stood over her, searching her wet and panicked face for answers. “Why were you there?” she demanded forcefully.
“P-please don’t arrest me.” Andy cried, attempting to sit up.
“I…” Detective Hunt had been planning on arresting whoever it was. Breaking into a crime scene was a serious matter, but as she looked down at Andy, sodden and miserable, collapsed on top of the fountain, she felt her resolve slip away. Instead she reached out a hand to help the woman to her feet. This was a mistake in itself, for as unbalanced as Claire was by the situation, she hadn’t noticed that she had been standing on the edge of the small pool that the fountain drew its water from. As she pulled Andy upright, she lost her equilibrium and stumbled forward, saving her shoes but dousing her entire front in a great splash of water as she put out her hands to stop herself. She looked at Andy, a flash of amusement transforming her perfect features. “Well that went well,” she let out a low chuckle.
Andy looked at her, surprised, as a small smile came to her own lips, erasing the age that two days of tense fear and brought to her pretty face. She laughed, taking off her glasses. It all seemed so absurd. Even the pain in her hip subsided slightly as she giggled into her hand. She watched as the detective pushed herself to her feet.
“Somehow you still look completely gorgeous, even all wet.” The words had escaped Andy’s lips before she knew what she was saying. She blushed scarlet, wondering if she had just made the situation worse.
“I’ll accept that compliment,” Claire replied, feeling something well up inside of her. “Honestly you don’t look so bad yourself.”
It was just polite, she told herself; polite and professional to return a compliment, especially given the ludicrousness of the situation. Andy did look beautiful. The waning sunlight, the way her shirt clung to her body just so.
Claire offered her a hand for the second time. Andy took it, struggling to her feet, falling into the other woman’s arms as she slid off the top of the fountain. For an instant Claire held her close, feeling her rapid heartbeat, the angles of her body, and then she let her go. They were both drenched now, and though the law dictated that Clare take the woman in for an interview, she was prepared now to abandon the law. Something had awakened in her. Andy had managed to pull a feeling, part motherly, part sisterly, part desirous, out of Claire’s heart. She wanted to care for this little librarian; to undress her and help her to bed, to undress her and kiss her senseless. She had always had a weakness for the underdog.
“Come on Andrea, let’s get you home,” she said. “I’ll drive you.”
“Andy,” she replied. “Y-you can call me Andy. If you want, I mean.”
Were they friends now? She scrambled over to the bag, wincing slightly as she leaned over to pick it up from the grass where it had landed. It had to be addressed. “I was getting this from the library,” she mumbled.
Claire nodded, “We can talk about this after we get you home, Andy.” She hadn’t given her permission to call her Claire. That would be a step too far.
“Okay,” Andy replied, wondering if she was to be interrogated in her own apartment, or whether this was real—not a new tactic, but a new friendship; perhaps even a reciprocation of the yearning that had coalesced within her in the past couple of days?
They arrived at Andy’s house.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to come up with y
ou,” she said, “I can’t go back to the station soaked like this, and besides, I should at least take a look at that hip.”
Andy hadn’t said anything, but she guessed that her discomfort was obvious. She nodded her consent, and together they walked up the steps to her apartment. Andy pushed the door open, suddenly self-conscious. Would the detective be surreptitiously investigating?
Claire kicked her shoes off at the entryway, looking around. There were two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, packed with every variety of novels, academic texts, and reference tomes. They were in the living room, where a small green couch and one chair told the detective that Andy wasn’t big on entertaining. To the right was the kitchen, and to the left, the bedroom, walls painted navy blue.
“I-if you want to use the bathroom to undress, I’ll see if I can find something that fits you?” Andy suggested timidly.
The detective nodded and followed the direction she pointed to the small bathroom. There, in the blue-tiled room she stripped off her jacket and shirt. She took off her holster, and wrapped it carefully in her coat. She knew she wasn’t at risk here.
Impatience got the better of her, and she pushed open the door, peering in the direction of the bedroom. She glimpsed her host, her suspect, wearing nothing but a pair of plain green cotton briefs. She could see everything; the woman’s slender legs led up to a perfect ass. Claire could see the natural shadow of her spine, and the angles of her shoulder blades, and when she turned, the most excellent little breasts that she had ever seen. She wanted her. She had to have her, this little mouse of a woman. She wanted to make her moan.
“Andy?” she called, making her presence known, as the woman slipped an amorphous black dress over her head. Claire was still shirtless, her breasts confined in black lace. She stepped shamelessly out of the bathroom.
“Detective Hunt,” Andy murmured, taking in the sight of her. She couldn’t believe that the woman of her fantasies was standing in her bedroom. She tried to keep her eyes on Claire’s beautiful features, but she couldn’t help but stare at the woman’s ample chest. She wanted to feel those perfect breasts, to bury her face in them and forget the horror of the past couple days.
“Did you find anything for me?” the detective asked casually.
“Not yet, but I’m sure I have something,” she said, reluctantly turning away from the vision before her.
“Before you do anything too strenuous, you should let me take a look at your hip.” Of course Claire was genuinely concerned, but right now, as she felt desire well up inside her, she just wanted Andy naked.
“O-okay, I mean, how do you want to…”
“Just lay down on the bed,” Claire instructed, “and pull your skirt up.”
Andy did as she was told, feeling a thrill of excitement as the older woman leaned close to her. She was touching her now, pulling down the right side of her panties to inspect the livid purple bruise that tarnished her perfect skin. The woman’s breasts were pressed against her thigh, so soft. Andy could feel her body reacting to the gentle ministrations of the detective. The dampness between her legs grew, and Andy was worried that the other woman would see that she was aroused, and be horrified. Andy had never been with a woman before.
Far from horrified, Claire felt heat rush to her pelvis. Her nipples were hard and pressing against the fabric of her bra. There was no holding back now. Without a word, she placed her hand between the other woman’s legs, looking up at her with those grey eyes, dark with desire.
Andy let out an involuntary moan. She let go of disbelief and pushed down against the woman’s touch. That was all the permission that Claire needed. She kissed Andy as she had never been kissed before. Not the desperate slobbering of a college male, but the gentle, feathery ministrations of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing. She nibbled her neck, her clavicle, her nipples.
Claire allowed Andy to undo the clasp of her bra, to cup her breasts in her hands and kiss them, to kiss her again and again. As the sun set over the city, Claire coaxed the young woman to orgasm again and again, leaving her soaking wet and crying out for more. Andy reciprocated the best she could, but even lost in ecstasy, she was sure that Claire would know that this was her first time with another woman.
They lay next to each other in the deepening dark, and Claire stroked her cheek. “That was great, Andy,” she offered her a smile. “You’re so beautiful.”
Andy smiled back shyly. “It’s funny to hear something like that come from the most gorgeous women I’ve ever met.”
“You’re sweet,” Claire murmured. Her phone chirped on the bedside table, interrupting the moment. She reached for it, and let out a sigh of relief. “Perfect timing,” she muttered, turning the face of the phone to Andy. “Congratulations, it looks like you’re off the hook.”
Andy read the text rapidly.
Prof Benjamin Neal Confess @ Station. Says it was to protect hot librarian. LOL
“But Professor Neal? He? Me? Who’s Grant?” She sat up, feeling at once vindicated and alarmed. It didn’t make any sense. Why would the professor do something like that?
“My partner. I can’t get into the details,” Claire replied, “but I should go. You’ll need to come in later.”
Andy felt the emptiness of the bed as the other woman rose to her feet. She was perfectly silhouetted by the light from the street lamp outside of her window.
“My card’s on the table,” the detective said. “Call any time, and not just about murder.” She had a strange suspicion the investigation wasn’t over just yet, but she wanted to sound reassuring.
“There’s a black shirt in the closet that should fit you.” Andy replied, sitting up with the covers wrapped around her.
“Thanks, chickadee,” Claire replied. She dressed quickly, the urgency of the news forcing her to leave the warm embrace of her lover. “But I’ll see you again. Very soon.” She kissed her passionately, and then she was gone, the door of the apartment closing with a soft click behind her.
Andy curled up under the covers. She was exhausted, but the facts of the murder forced their way into her conscious mind. Professor Neal had killed Jack Deluc. Jack, a fellow member of Scroll and Snake—A secret society that Andy barely considered herself to be an active member of…And then realization came crashing down on her. She sat up, covering her mouth to prevent herself from crying out: It was her fault. She had read once, a long time ago, a newspaper clipping about Scroll and Snake. A lowerclassman had been severely punished for disrespecting his superior. His tongue had been branded with the mark of the sword. Just like Jack Deluc’s hands. Professor Neal was one of two faculty members on campus who were officers in the organization. He had done it for her. To protect her honor, and the rules of the society.
Andy collapsed back against her pillows as the full weight of the realization rested heavily on her. Claire could never know.. She thought of her now, how gently she had touched her, the feel of her lips, her intellect and wit, those stormy grey eyes. The most beautiful woman Andy had ever known—a woman who had taken such good care of her—She had to be kept in the dark. As Andy lay in the dark, she resolved to do anything to prevent Claire from realizing that Andy was the accidental origin of all of this bloody chaos. She would not lose her to the actions of a Scroll and Snake Officer gone mad. With that thought, Andy fell into an uneasy nap, tossing and turning until the tendrils of sleep pulled her deeper into unconsciousness, and she dreamt of the beautiful detective, her heart full of love as Claire Hunt disappeared into the shadows of the evening.
THE END
Bonus Story 17 of 40
The French Quarter Hostages
Elizabeth fought to get free of Jake’s tight grasp. He was squeezing her so tightly in his bear form that she could barely breathe. She was tucked under his arm like a carcass, and was bouncing around like a rag doll as he climbed as fast as he could up a thick, bald cypress tree in the Louisiana woods.
“It won’t hold us!” Elizabeth yelled, as the ground disappe
ared beneath them, as bright green spindles caught in her tank top and jeans, and as sharp, dry branches ripped through the surface of her pale skin. Elizabeth tried to tuck her long blonde hair in her shirt for fear it would be ripped from her scalp in the ascent, but she was bouncing around too much and needed to hold on.
Jake growled something to her that must have been a swear word in whatever growly language bears speak. She could not understand Jake or his best friend Chris when they transformed into bear form. Chris was already several feet ahead of them in the tree, and Elizabeth tightened her grasp in Jake’s, black, thick fur as they raced behind Chris. Jake was just following Chris’ lead, but all Elizabeth could think about was how Chris was likely weakening the spindly branches in his enormous grizzly bear form above them.
Chris must have read her mind, because as he climbed higher he got smaller until the massive girth of a grizzly bear receded into the broad shoulders of a thirty-year-old man. Chris’ tousled blonde hair danced in the cool Louisiana night and his long body ascended the tree with great ease until he settled on a high branch. Elizabeth could see the curves and shadows of his many defined muscles even a few feet down, as they drew nearer to him, Chris’ deep green eyes burned into her. His square jaw was clenched like he was angry, but she knew he wore that stern face more out of habit than out of menace.
When Jake sat her on a branch across from Chris who was bare-chested aside from torn blue jeans riding low on his hips, Chris still stared at her. She knew he wanted her reaction, maybe even an apology. She had told the friends, Chris and Jake, that they were full of shit. She did not think that two hot guys trying to pull a fast one over a bookish college student could be supernatural creatures.
Two Wolves For Lizette Page 57