Sylver and Gold

by Michelle Larkin

  Reid didn’t resist.

  “Why are you holding back?” London whispered.

  She felt her mind shift gears. Feelings of anger gave way to raw, carnal cravings. And there was something else there, too. Something she hadn’t felt before and couldn’t immediately identify.

  Longing.

  She found herself wanting to be something more than who she was…for London. “I’m afraid,” she admitted.

  “Of what?”

  “Hurting you.” She could feel London’s breath on her neck. Her perfume was more intoxicating than the beer. “And losing the only sappy friend I’ve ever had.”

  “See?” London grinned. “You’re fixing yourself.”

  “How does me feeling afraid mean I’m fixing myself?”

  “You said you’ve never trusted anyone. After what you told me about your past—about growing up with your grandmother—you have all the reason in the world not to trust anyone. Yet here we are.” London paused, her eye contact steady, strong, and alluring.

  It felt to Reid like London was seeing her for who she truly was, and she wasn’t put off in the least.

  “You’re feeling scared because you’ve taken a risk,” London went on. “The risk of caring. The risk of trusting that someone will care about you.”

  Reid couldn’t hold herself back any longer. She pressed her lips against London’s for a sweet, slow kiss. She’d kissed countless women in her life, but this kiss felt different. There was anticipation, respect, uncertainty, partnership. Kissing London, she decided, was both hot and intimidating in a way she’d never before experienced.

  Her mind and body reeling, she set her hands over London’s jawline to draw her closer and patiently waited for an invitation inside. She didn’t have to wait long. London opened her mouth and invited her in.

  She slipped her tongue inside London’s mouth and was rewarded with a throaty gasp of pleasure. London tasted like Sam Adams. From this point forward, Reid knew she’d associate her favorite beer with her favorite kiss.

  London suddenly pulled back. “Wait a minute,” she said, breathless. “Before we go any further, do you have any video cameras in the house?”

  “Way ahead of you,” Reid said, just as winded. She pointed to the tangle of wires on the dining room table. “I already disabled everything. Laptop is powered down and buried under some blankets in a closet upstairs.”

  “In that case, I’ve always wanted to have a one-night stand on a blanket in front of the fire.” London smiled seductively, took her by the hand, and led her toward the living room.

  “Hold up.” She paused, her feet anchored in place. “I thought the whole point of this conversation is that we’re not doing the one-night-stand thing.” Suddenly confused, disappointed, and hurt, she found herself in foreign territory. She was usually the one calling the shots when it got to this point. Here she was about to have sex with this incredible partner turned friend turned lover, and for the first time ever, she wasn’t certain how to proceed.

  London winked seductively and kept walking backward, pulling Reid along by her hand.

  “Ah, I see what you did there. Reverse psychology. You dangled the carrot in the air and then pretended to take it away.”

  “Did it work?” London asked, running her hands underneath Reid’s shirt, along her back, and over her bare stomach.

  London’s touch made her brain go fuzzy along the edges. “Actually, yes. It did. I don’t want just a one-night stand with you.”

  London grabbed the plush queen-size blanket off the couch and set it on the floor in front of the fire. Reid watched, mesmerized by the grace and confidence with which London moved. This was a take-charge, no-nonsense woman who knew what she wanted. She’d never been with a woman quite like this before and found herself uncharacteristically nervous. She was used to being the one in charge—being in control of how much, how far, and when everything happened in bed. Something told her that was all about to change with this rookie.

  She decided she needed to stop thinking of London as the rookie. They were beyond that now.

  “How old are you, by the way?” she asked as London returned to pick up where she’d left off.

  London hesitated. “Why?”

  “I’m robbing the cradle here, aren’t I?”

  “I’m turning twenty-nine next month. Just think of me as an old soul.”

  “There’s a twelve-year age difference?” Reid stepped back and set her hands on her hips. “No way.”

  “Yes way. But I don’t care about that.”

  “You will when I’m old and wrinkled, and you’re still looking like a brand-new baby chick.”

  London threw her head back and laughed. “Get over here, and quit being so nervous. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think this was your first time.”

  In a way, Reid realized, it was.

  London lifted her Harvard sweatshirt above her head, quickly shed her black lace bra, and stepped over to do the same for Reid.

  Reid set her hands over the tops of London’s to stop her. “My scars—they’re bad.” She’d never felt self-conscious about them before, but tonight was different. More was at stake.

  Without a word, London drew off Reid’s T-shirt and sports bra and tossed them aside. Meeting Reid’s gaze the whole time, she ran her fingers slowly down Reid’s back, around her hips, and over her stomach. “Can you feel me touching you?” London asked.

  Reid nodded.

  “Do your scars hurt?”

  “No. Never.”

  “Is there anyplace you don’t want me to touch?” London asked, pulling their bodies together, skin to skin, breast to breast.

  Reid shook her head. Nothing, she decided, would be off-limits to this incredible woman.

  “You’re beautiful and sexy and amazing,” London whispered. “Your scars are just part of that package.” She stepped back, lowered herself to the blanket, and patted the floor beside her.

  Reid didn’t need to think about what she wanted to do next. Joining London on the blanket, she felt the warmth of the fire at her back. In one swift movement, she slipped London’s panties off and positioned herself so that London was beneath her, thighs parted. She dove into her mouth with a fury, feeling London’s wetness as she lay over her.

  London writhed against her. Reid teased her way down London’s body with her tongue until she found the sweet, succulent center of her core, where she made herself right at home.

  * * *

  London lay awake, rehashing the night as she snuggled against Reid. The steady rise and fall of Reid’s chest assured her she was fast asleep.

  She’d been intimate with women before—she’d even had a few short-but-sweet relationships—but none of her experiences to date compared to this. Reid’s skill in bed was unparalleled. But why should that surprise her? Everything else about the detective was legendary.

  Knowing Reid thought of herself as damaged goods was hard to take in. Reid had so much to offer. How could she not see that? Her grandmother had obviously done a number on her. The scars that were left behind on Reid’s body were severe. But they didn’t detract from Reid’s beauty. They were part of her.

  * * *

  Reid’s cell rang. She sat up in bed and cast a glance at the alarm clock, suddenly wide awake: 5:46 a.m. She never left her ringer on. It was always set to vibrate. She reached over and plucked the phone from the nightstand. Wait a minute. This looked like her phone, but she’d left hers with Todd in Computer Crimes. What the hell? She glanced at the caller ID: Boyle. “Sylver,” she answered.

  “Either I have Mug here with me, or he has a twin who’s just as obsessed with those yellow bouncy things.”

  She swung her feet over the side of the bed. “Is he okay?”

  “He’s fine. Can’t say the same for the governor, though.”

  “Dead?”

  “As a dried-up worm on the concrete. And I don’t use worm lightly. Turns out, he was one. I have a few other choice words to descri
be our late governor, but I’ll spare you. Killer left a note, along with one hell of a crime scene. Head over here as soon as you can. Bring Gold with you. I need her to see this, too. Oh, and if I were you, I wouldn’t eat breakfast.” He gave her the governor’s address and hung up the phone.

  Reid turned on the bed to face London, but London was already throwing her sweatshirt over her head. “Another victim?” she asked, astute as ever.

  She nodded, unsure of where to start. “Mug’s okay. Boyle has him.”

  London sighed, visibly relieved. “Then let’s go get him.”

  She stood from the bed, slipped into her T-shirt and boxers. “Something else you should know,” she said, stepping over to London. “Bill Sullivan’s dead.”

  London’s eyes grew wide.

  “Don’t look at me. I’d love to take credit, but I can’t.”

  London sat on the edge of the bed. “Oh my God. The killer must’ve heard what I told you about Bill last night in the car. But how?” She looked up as Reid sat down beside her. “We’d already shut off the phones.”

  Reid shook her head. “The sonofabitch must’ve planted a bug in the squad car when he took Mug.” She didn’t know how London would feel about Bill’s murder. Sure, he was a swine and obviously got what was coming to him. But London had known him her whole life. He was, after all, her godfather. Reid knew, firsthand, that abusive relationships could be complicated. Even after everything her grandmother did, there had been moments as a child when she still loved her grandmother. Fiercely. “You okay?”

  “I think so. Just shocked. I mean, I spent a lot of time around Bill when I was growing up. He was like a part of our family, which made what he did even more reprehensible. But I saw through him at a young age. He always seemed fake to me, you know?”

  Reid nodded.

  “So I kind of just…” London trailed off as she stared at the floor in thought. “I kept my distance, kept my guard up, never really invested myself in caring about him.” She met Reid’s gaze, her eyes haunted. “Sounds awful, doesn’t it?”

  “Sounds like a discerning kid who’d make a great cop someday,” she said honestly.

  They held eye contact for long seconds in silence. Reid had never shared this kind of moment with someone before.

  “My parents—I can’t imagine what they’re going through right now. Bill was their best friend. There’s a part of me that feels relieved he’s dead,” London admitted through tears.

  Stunned, she realized London was thinking about her parents’ loss—the same parents who’d abandoned her when she needed them most. She reached out, pulled London to her chest, and kissed her on the forehead. She had no words of comfort to offer, just the embrace.

  “Hey”—London slid the cell phone from Reid’s grasp and sat up—“where’d this come from?”

  “He was here last night. He left it on the nightstand for me while we were sleeping.” She had considered shutting it off after the phone call from Boyle, but what was the point? The killer was obviously adept at surveillance. She could take extreme precautions and drive herself crazy thinking about all the ways he could be monitoring them. But something told her it wouldn’t make a bit of difference.

  Chapter Twenty

  Reid watched as London shot up from the bed to check her gun belt on the chair. “Still loaded,” she said. “He could’ve killed us while we were sleeping.”

  “He could’ve.” She nodded. “But he didn’t.”

  London stared at her like she’d completely lost her mind. “Why aren’t you freaking out right now and searching the house?”

  “Because he’s long gone. And freaking out won’t do us any good. He feeds on fear. He wants to make us afraid so we alter our normal behavior. He wants us to think he’s all powerful, unstoppable. But he’s not.”

  “Do you think he saw us last night?” London bit her lip uncertainly.

  “I don’t know. But if he did, it doesn’t take away from how amazing it was.” She stepped over to London and kissed her. It felt good to kiss the woman she’d made love to the night before—better than making a hasty departure in the wee hours as her one-night lover slept. She slipped her tongue inside London’s mouth, flashing back to the groans of ecstasy that her tongue had elicited the night before. “I won’t let him ruin what we shared last night.”

  London smiled against her lips. “Agreed.”

  Through sheer force of will, Reid released London and set her mind on the case. “From now on, we stop taking measures to keep him from monitoring us. Seems like wasted energy anyway. By giving up our phones, computers, security systems—hell, even our cars—we’re sacrificing valuable resources that we could be using to our advantage.” She set her hands on her hips. “So if he wants to watch us hunt him down and put him behind bars, we should let him.”

  Despite the fact that a psychopathic serial killer had just been inside her home, Reid felt calm and in control. Part of the reason for that, she knew, was because Mug had been safely returned and was now in Boyle’s capable hands. She suspected the other reason had to do with something she’d never thought possible: she was falling in love.

  * * *

  Showered and changed, Reid and London drove together in Boyle’s truck to the governor’s mansion.

  “Massachusetts is one of only three states that’s never had an official governor’s mansion,” London explained. “That is, until Bill came along. He donated his just before the election and bragged quite a bit about it on the news. I swear his sole motivations in life were money, power, and being the center of attention.”

  London pulled up to the black wrought iron gates and flashed her badge to the uniformed officer. He unlocked the gate and held one side open as they drove in and parked in the circular driveway behind several patrol cars.

  A brick federal colonial with stately white pillars sat in the middle of the long circular driveway. London unbuckled her seat belt, eyeing the mansion with palpable dread. “Haven’t been here in a while.”

  Reid turned to face London in her seat. “I can take it from here if you want. Tell Boyle you had an emergency.”

  London bit her lip, and Reid could tell she was considering the offer.

  “Don’t do that,” London finally said, thumping her hands on the steering wheel.

  “Do what?”

  “Be extra super-duper nice just because we slept together.”

  “You want me to go back to trying to ditch you?”

  “I’d take that over being babied.”

  “Fair enough.” Reid nodded. “For the record, though, I was still trying to ditch you. This time, I was just being nice about it.”

  The tension broken, London laughed.

  They sat in the truck for long seconds, staring at the mansion in silence. London took a deep breath and looked over at Reid. “Let’s do this. And you don’t have to keep checking in with me to make sure I’m okay. I’ll talk about it later with you if I need to.”

  “Copy that,” she said, impressed with London’s directness. She liked that London put everything on the table. No guessing games with this one.

  The front door of the mansion opened. Boyle stepped out, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted, “What the hell’s taking you two so long?” Mug was there beside him.

  Reid frowned, wondering what would possess Boyle to allow Mug inside a crime scene. It wasn’t like him to be so careless. She threw open the truck door and stepped out as Mug trotted over. White booties were fastened to each of his paws with duct tape. Boyle’s handiwork, no doubt. She knelt down and hugged him tightly.

  Mug appeared unharmed, but she’d already made up her mind to take him to the vet for a thorough exam. She’d be sure never to let him out of her sight until the killer was caught.

  “Where’d you find him?” she asked Boyle as they approached.

  “Inside. Neighbors heard a dog barking. They knew the governor didn’t have a dog, so they called us. Patrol officers entered to do a welln
ess check and found the governor’s body. Here, you’ll want these.” He handed each of them a pair of white booties and latex gloves. “I should warn you, it isn’t pretty. All my years in homicide, I’ve never seen anything so gruesome.” He threw a glance at London. “Brace yourself.”

  She and Boyle had witnessed unspeakable atrocities over the course of their careers, so she knew it must be bad.

  “This way,” he said. “Don’t know how Mug managed to stay out of the blood, but he didn’t have a drop on him anywhere that I could find.”

  Early on, Reid had trained Mug to sidestep puddles. Which hadn’t been difficult because he wasn’t a big fan of water. She guessed now that he’d simply avoided the blood, out of habit.

  “Didn’t want him at the crime scene,” Boyle went on, “but I wasn’t about to put him in my car. Not after what happened.” Reid had notified Boyle of Mug’s abduction the night before. It was the right thing to do. Boyle was just as invested in Mug as she was.

  He led them through the foyer and up a granite split-marble staircase with massive pillars on each side. On a normal day, under normal circumstances, the mansion’s decadence would be of interest to her—an architectural marvel to behold. But Reid refused to let herself be corrupted by the grandiosity of her surroundings. She took everything in with the cool, detached eyes of a cop, reminding herself that she was in the devil’s lair.

  “From what I can tell, Governor Sullivan was tortured in his office and then dragged through the house, piece by piece, to his final resting place in an upstairs guest bedroom.”

  Smears of blood snaked along the marble stairs. She and London were careful not to step on them.

  Boyle stood beside a closed door and paused with his hand on the ornate golden doorknob. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He took a deep breath and opened the door.