Burning Kiss

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Burning Kiss Page 7

by Angela Addams


  There were also campus tales of murder and mayhem happening in those passageways. Storage rooms down there being used for Satan worship and animal sacrifice in the seventies. Gruesome stories that did a better job than ghost stories of warding people off from exploring too much over the years.

  I hadn’t actually been in the library since before graduation, going on around a year and a half or so. I’d always loved the building though. Ancient, with large grey bricks, decorated with wrought iron adornments on all the windows and doors. An eye-shaped structure with a tent like peak, the library was unique in design. From the structure itself with the creeping vines of ivy to the multiple gargoyle watchers along the roof and other places, it had been featured in many architecture magazines over the years. I’d always loved strolling through the catalogues of books, all five floors filled with both antique and modern text.

  Curiosity got the best of me and I walked over, slipping through the security gates without setting anything off…which was ironic since I was carrying a Taser. Nice system. No wonder there was a murderer on the loose. The library was probably more concerned with stolen books than keeping students safe. And it was Canada, after all. You wouldn’t find a high rate of paranoia on campus where weapons were concerned.

  The smell hit me as it always did. A scent of old books overwhelming and I inhaled deeply. There was nothing in the world like this place. It had been a tranquil hideaway for me while I was deep in my studies. You could definitely get lost for hours inside discovering new treasures. I’d once pulled a first edition Charles Dickens from the stacks. I was stunned, even more so when I found his autograph inside. I’d taken it straight to the circulation desk so they could properly preserve it.

  Okay, maybe not straight there. I might have fondled the book for bit.

  I sighed. I felt like I was home and found myself a little shocked when tears welled. I hastily wiped them with the back of my hand. It had been too long on all accounts. I needed to shore up my issues and start getting back into the things that grounded me. Work, talking to Arthur, and then maybe healing instead of acting like the vigilante as I had been.

  Or maybe I just needed to snap the fuck out of whatever the hell was eating at me lately and get on with my agenda. With a mental shake, I pushed my momentary lapse aside and made my way down the centre aisle.

  According to the report that Eddie had shown me and the photos I’d seen, Candace Bryne’s body had been positioned in one of the back alcoves. Not one that I’d had much personal experience with but I knew where it was and headed straight there. I expected it to be cordoned off with caution tape or something but again, the library was business as usual and I walked right back there with no interference.

  Of course, there were no students in the immediate area. The place was eerie enough without having the idea of the ghost of a murdered girl hanging out there. I traced my fingers over the back of the chair, one that looked identical to the one Candace had been found sitting in. I was sure it wasn’t though. Forensics would still have it as long as the case was open, but this one was eerily similar. I had an intense urge to sit down, to position myself as Candace had been. Disturbing, even for me. A chill had me turning toward the back of the room where the cast iron gate was standing sentry. I moved toward it, sucking in the dank, musty air coming from the passageway. The gate was old, put in place fifty years before, from what I remembered reading. It looked like it had been painted black some time ago, flecks peeling off. I shook the lock. Ancient like the gate, it looked like it would need some kind of skeleton key to open it. Super creepy. Right out of some paranormal horror movie.

  I moved to the hinges, ran my finger over the metal and came away with grease. So someone was keeping the gate working. Begrudgingly, I could see why Eddie had made connections, especially since he had some schematics that showed a passageway going to Arthur’s office and Arthur’s texts with Candace the night she was murdered. Even without an alibi though, the connection was weak. Eddie had to be some kind of desperate trying to make links to Arthur based on such little evidence. I could sympathize to some extent. He was a cop after all—serve and protect, right? There was a killer roaming around campus and he or she was smarter than the law. That alone had to make a detective like Eddie squirm. I’d probably be groping for threads too.

  I sighed. There was no way Arthur would do anything like that, though. Eddie had been totally off about his suspicions, which left a killer out there and Eddie with presumably no leads.

  “Great.”

  I started to leave and then caught my eye on a hallway to my left. Darkened, clearly off limits. I ventured down, of course, checking out the lone door with the keypad and card swiper. Hmmm.

  “You snooping?”

  I grimaced at the sound of Steve’s voice, turned to see him standing at the entrance of the hallway. “You following me?”

  Steve snorted. “Not today, got too much to do.” He motioned to the door I’d been trying to unlock. “Was just heading down to the archives.”

  Of course, I should have remembered—the school’s archives. “Researching?”

  Steve nodded. “Taking on a new project.” He winked. “There’s lots of good stuff down there, a whole side just for Psych, wealth of old studies, research done before the moral code was established. True research.”

  I could well imagine. Before the study of human behaviour had been regulated, psychologists had thrown morals to the wind and done whatever they wanted to in the name of research. Even if it left lasting scars on the unsuspecting participants.

  There was one I remembered learning about where the researchers had used a group of drug addicted mothers in a study to test an experimental treatment. These were women who had been trying to overcome their addictions unsuccessfully for years and who willingly handed over their young infants to the experimenters. They locked the women up in a sensory deprivation chamber for twenty-four hours with the promise of breaking their addiction once and for all. There would be no sound, no light, no smells. Just a bed to lay on and nothing to do but think. They had been told to tell their stories with a focus on their journey to drug addiction. What had started it? When was the last time they had used? Whenever the women had any positive thoughts of drugs, memories that were pleasurable, they were to press a button to let the researchers know.

  It was then that the researchers began the true nature of their experiment. They would play the sound of the woman’s infant screaming…and not the usual kind of wailing. A mother knows, of course, when her child is in pain or scared. Each time, the women would hit the button the sound of her child weeping started, and then progressively got worse until it was a scream of terror. Did the treatment work? Hell no. Most of the women in the study came out of it and headed straight to their dealer. The researchers chalked it up to another failed experiment on the road to some breakthrough. No consideration given to the women who had suffered, or to whatever they’d done to the children to induce such screams.

  “You should come down there with me. One of the perks of being Assistant Prof, I get access to the secret stuff.” Steve nodded toward the door again. “I bet you’re curious. You always wanted into those archives.”

  “No, actually, I’m not.” Well, hell yes I was. But there was no way I was ever going to go down to a dark, closed in space with Steve. As if. Not to mention not wanting to owe him anything. “And I have things to do.”

  “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.” Steve blocked me from leaving the hallway, his arms across his chest, his expression stern, like I was a misbehaving child.

  “I’ve been ignoring you.” I smiled, my anxiety spiking as I looked past him to the deserted room I’d left. We were alone. I adjusted my hips, sliding back a step and checking that my Taser was in my holster under my shirt. I knew it was there, I’d put it there that morning, but my instinct was to confirm.

  He moved toward me, jangling his security pass. “Come on down with me. I know you want to.”


  I moved to the side, the hair on my neck rising. “Not a chance.”

  “Ah, Jade, so childish.” He brushed away my silent fuck you and reached out to sweep my hair to the side. I flinched, daring him to touch me again.

  “Can’t you take a hint?”

  He traced his thumb over my jaw, across my bottom lip, pulled slightly before pressing down hard, gripping my chin between thumb and fingers. “I’m going to take you over my knee and swat your naughty ass until you’re screaming.”

  A lash of excitement whipped through me as I locked eyes with him. Danger. I attempted to pull away but he swept me into a kind of bear hug, his body pressed into mine, forcing me back until we hit the wall.

  I struggled but my arms were pinned to my sides. Dread pooled in my gut. This was the kind of impossible situation I was so careful to avoid when on a hunt and now, when I’d had my guard down, Steve was in control. I opened my mouth to scream, he swallowed it with his lips, his tongue, devouring me. My legs wobbled as he pulled away from the kiss, leaving me breathless.

  “I’m going to fuck you again, sweetie, right here, in this hall. I’m going to pound your tight little pussy up against this wall.” His breath tickled my ear. “And then, after you’ve sucked my dick, I’m going to turn your ass red with my hand. I’m going to make it so you can’t sit for a week.”

  We might get caught. I shivered. Desire spiked. I got wet—so wet and throbbing. It was bad, really bad. It was dirty, naughty, and I wanted it.

  “You fucking that cop again, sweetheart? I put up with it once because I knew you were just rebelling, still hurt over my little tryst. But not this time. He needs to understand that you’re mine. You’ll always be mine.”

  Desire turned in a flash to anger. Fight and flight, there was no or. I turned my head, aimed for flesh and dug my teeth deep into his shoulder. I didn’t stop until I tasted blood. Steve roared, pulled away, and then backhanded me. Flesh on flesh, bone into bone, he slammed my face and pain exploded across my temple, my eye feeling like it would burst out of my head.

  “You see what you made me do?” Steve growled. “You’re like a feral cat, Jade, for fuck’s sake.”

  My legs gave way and I slid to the ground, flashes of awareness pulsed to the beat of my throbbing head. My eyesight faded, blazed back as I struggled to remain conscious.

  With trembling hands, I yanked my Taser from my holster, forced myself to sit up, felt the ooze of blood. Steve was gone. Into the archive room, back to the library, I didn’t know.

  I slumped down, felt tears welling. Suck it up. I touched my hand to my eye, winced against the pain. There was blood on my fingers when I pulled them away to look. That fucker.

  I pushed myself up using the wall for support, my legs trembling so bad I could hardly walk. I used the sleeve of my sweater to wipe my cheek, tracing tentatively around my eye and then shifted my hair to cover it as best I could.

  Walk it off. Walk it off.

  What doesn’t kill me…

  My thoughts shifted to that night. That night. Like a switch being flipped on, the memories rolled through my head. I slumped against the wall again, closed my eyes, and took a shuddering breath.

  Underground parking lots were always terrifying. The echoes, the doors slamming way off but no one in sight. And there was always, always a light flickering.

  I checked my phone. It was in the red zone. Battery almost done. Of course. If there was ever a girl to get hacked up and murdered in an underground parking lot, it would be me. Forever phone dead and stupid enough to be coming home at holy hell in the morning when I should have already been in bed asleep.

  But long hours at work meant better weekends for me. More time to turn off come Saturday. Which was on track for tomorrow. No patients. No paperwork. No thinking required. And I needed it. Badly.

  I hit the up button on the elevator, glancing over my shoulder in an effort to look attentive. Know your surroundings. Be ever watchful. That was the motto for every woman walking alone at night. It sucked. And I was sure no man ever gave it a second thought. One in the morning taking a stroll through an underground parking lot… Nah, men probably didn’t give it consideration.

  A car door slammed in the distance. It made me shiver. I fucking hated being scared. It was so cliché. I punched the elevator button again, listening as it groaned its way to me.

  I strained my ears. Footsteps were approaching quickly but I couldn’t see anyone, just shadows moving in the distance.

  The elevator doors binged open. I rushed in.

  “Hold the door!” a male voice boomed.

  I grimaced. Nope. No fucking way. Sorry. I hit the close door button.

  He came into view just as the doors closed. He was relatively cute. I had a thought that maybe I should hold the door. But nah, thinking with my pussy was the surest way to end up hacked up and murdered. I gave him an oops sorry look but let the doors close on his disappointed face. Oh well. Better to be safe. Even a pretty face could turn into a monster. I knew that first hand.

  I worked with rapists. Rehabilitated them. I was a prison therapist and about to start leading a team of my own. It was turning out to be a pretty rewarding start to what I considered my life’s work. Making headway with my techniques, earning accolades.

  I smiled to myself then pulled the magazine from my bag. I was there, on the front cover. Psychology Now. A nationwide publication. And I was featured on the front fucking page. Jade Harris, Bringing New Life to the Rehabilitation Crusade. I smiled at my picture. I looked damn professional, young, eager, but with my grey power suit and hair tied back in a French braid, I’d nailed it. Assured, not arrogant. I couldn’t wait to show Kassey.

  The elevator didn’t stop on its way up to my floor. Penthouse. We’d splurged. Gotten the suite we’d known would suit us both. The doors opened and I walked the length of the deserted hall, the fatigue finally setting in. I would not wake up Kassey. I would go straight to bed. Get at least seven hours sleep. Catch up and relax all weekend. That was my plan.

  I reached the door to our place, lifted my key then frowned. The door was ajar. Like it just barely hadn’t caught on the latch. I pushed it and it swung open. The condo was dark. Quiet. I scanned the kitchen as I took a tentative step inside.

  “Kassey?” I whispered.

  A muffled sound came from the back where our bedrooms were. I had that feeling…the feeling that meant bad things…like I needed to pee and barf and my heart ramped up. I dug my phone out of my purse then let everything slide down my body to the floor quietly.

  “Kassey?” I moved toward the noise, knowing I shouldn’t, feeling brave because I was typing 9-1-1 as I walked.

  I made it to the hallway, lifted the phone to my ear.

  “9-1-1. What is your—”

  I frowned, looked at my phone. The screen was black. Fuck!

  “Nooooooo,” spoken like a low moan, a sob following that made me move, made me panic. I lurched forward and opened Kassey’s bedroom door.

  I snapped myself back. Shoving hard on that memory until it was down, down, deep down below the surface. I was gripping my head in my hands, clenching my hair. My face hurt. My brain hurt.

  Sucking in deep breaths I righted myself. Gulping back the pain, I steadied my legs. Damn Steve. For hitting back. For triggering that memory. I would deal with him later.

  I wasn’t doing enough. Not enough to right the wrongs. Not enough to battle those demons. Kassey was planning on coming back to campus. Resuming her practice, no doubt. There was a murderer taking advantage of lax security and I’d be damned if Kassey was going to be at risk. Take back the night. Take back the day.

  I moved out of the alcove, slow, steady, a plan forming with each step. Eddie had no leads but I did. And I had access too. Nothing stopping me from investigating on campus.

  No one would take note of a woman walking alone. No one but a predator.

  10

  A woman can get hit in a public place and no one notices. And even
when people notice, they stay silent. That was reality.

  Rapists only got caught when they were reported. And women, for a multitude of reasons, had been conditioned to stay silent. Including me. Steve was an eye for an eye kind of man. I bit him, he hit me. That was his reality. You want equality, ladies, you gotta put up with men like Steve.

  I had other plans.

  Someone had murdered Candace Bryne. Someone she’d probably trusted. Someone who had lulled her into believing that she could give her heart and it was a worthy risk. Foolish, but not her fault. I needed to know more. To understand why Eddie was stuck. Why it was turning into a cold case. So I called him over.

  He stood at the door, food from my favourite place in a paper bag along with a six-pack of beer, the gourmet stuff that I liked. Not what I had in mind when I’d called a meeting but I’d give him credit for being a persistent fuck.

  Eddie frowned, stuck the beer under his arm then reached out and gently pushed my hair to the side. “What the fuck happened to your eye?”

  I jerked my face away. There’s only so much makeup can do. “I ran into a wall,” I mumbled as I walked away, leaving the door open with a silent invitation to follow me.

  He put the food and drinks on the centre island of the kitchen and dropped his leather satchel to the floor. Then he pulled a dishtowel from the oven handle and moved to the freezer.

  I sat on one of the stools, watching him with interest. Always the caregiver.

 

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