The kiss was simple preventative defense. They’d get “caught” kissing and put his tech off the scent.
Just as his lips touched Cynthia’s, it occurred to him that maybe he should have tuned her into his plan, but then her arms were around his neck, kissing him like a drowning woman in need of the air from his lungs. It surprised him. Then she pressed against him, on tiptoes, wiggling, fitting herself into his nooks and crannies. That surprised him more.
Suddenly, his chaste kiss for witnesses had been co-opted.
Charlie knew he should pull back, set her body from his, inform her that this level of intimacy in a workplace was—hell, he didn’t want to. Charlie cupped her jaw, tilted her head to the side, and deepened the kiss to act out a few of his go-to fantasies connected with her mouth. Soon, he had her moaning deep in her throat. It triggered him. His stomach clenched and his hips arched toward hers, making her stumble back. Charlie caught her, guided her by the waist, and secured her back against the door with a thump. The door’s blinds rattled, reminding him they had an audience. Without breaking their kiss, he swatted at the open blinds to his left until they closed, thinking Teresa had to be convinced by now.
Hell, Charlie certainly was. Cynthia wanted him as much as he wanted her.
At last.
He gripped her butt as she tugged his shirt from his waistband, dragging her lacquer nails along his skin, digging into the corded muscles along his spine. His eyes closed and his breath caught as tingles rode up his back and had his ass clenching, his hips thrusting. She clutched at him, widening her stance, inviting him closer. Charlie sunk his fingers into her waist and lifted, rattling the blinds as he dragged her up the door until their mouths were level, allowing him to deepen their kiss, lick into her mouth. She locked her legs around his hips, sending a shudder of desire through him. It had him pausing to absorb the pleasure of her soft heat against the straining fabric of his jeans’ button fly.
Pinned to the door by his hips, she held on, and her mouth… He couldn’t get enough of her taste, the feel of her tongue against his, licking into his mouth as their hips arched toward each other. He feasted as she held on, keeping their bodies flush, ignoring the noises, her elbows, his knees knocking the door, slapping the blinds. Locked in a mutual feeding frenzy, his hunger was too great to allow thoughts…reasons for caution. His feelings of triumph and desire battled it out, heightening his arousal, taunting him that all his fantasies were within reach now. But not here. Not in his office, techs ten feet away, Benton in the hall. When he made love to Cynthia, she deserved more, for him to linger and take his time.
But this kiss… It would stake his claim.
No walking it back. No ghosting. He was determined that when she left this office, she’d leave with damp panties, and the knowledge that they were consummating their marriage.
But not against his office door.
Charlie gripped her ass, then carried her three long steps to his desk and sat her there, never breaking their kiss, knowing he should. Paper scattered as she settled her weight holding his head in place, devouring his mouth. Pens bounced to the floor, files slid and fluttered away.
He had to stop. Time to talk, or he risked taking her here, now, on his desk.
Cynthia resisted his attempts to step away. Her legs squeezed his hips, her hands unbuttoned his shirt. He kept telling himself to stop her, to stop the kiss before it was too late. Then she’d moan and he was lost, thinking just one more kiss. He leaned, laying her down, resting his weight on his elbows. Her hand separated his shirt, now completely undone, and raked his skin from his pecs to his waistband’s edge. It had his body shuddering with need.
When she broke their kiss he was almost relieved, but then she arched toward him, pressing her hot lips to his chest, tasting him. Charlie inhaled sharply, grinding his teeth against emitting a long, loud visceral moan. He’d dreamt of moments like this, and more. It felt right. Cynthia felt right. It had always been Cynthia.
And now he had her and wouldn’t let her go.
A flicker of movement caught Charlie’s eye. He titled his chin up and saw the blinds behind his desk were open. He’d missed that window, and for that sin, Teresa and Kevin were staring back at him.
Only Kevin looked amused.
Cynthia’s tongue wrapped around his nipple. Charlie lashed out, swatting the blinds, hitting too hard, and they detached from the window’s casement to land at a diagonal. Cynthia shrieked, curled her body to avoid the blind, and knocked into Charlie, who stepped back onto a displaced manila folder. Down they went, in a tangle of flailing arms. They hit the floor with a thump.
Face to face, still entwined, chests working like bellows, Charlie was afraid to speak. No, he was afraid Cynthia would speak and say this was a mistake, that she was humiliated, and never wanted to see Charlie again.
“Charlie,” she gasped, whispering, “think we convinced them?”
Loud knocking.
His hands gripped her hard as his eyes tracked to the door. Instinct told him not to let her go, but damn…. This was not the time for the conversation they needed, so he kissed her, wanting to lock her commitment down but knowing that rushing it might ruin this opportunity. She was his now, whether she knew it or not. He’d be patient. Her kiss was hungry and had him rolling on top of her.
More knocking.
He blinked, rolled to the side, trying to remember what he was supposed to do. It was hard to think with Cynthia so near. She recovered quicker and hopped to her feet, slipping on paperwork, but Charlie caught her in time to steady her without crippling himself. His jeans’ fly bit into his thwarted erection.
The room was trashed. “Help me clean this up,” he said. On his knees, he picked up files, put the phone’s receiver back in its cradle, and then back on his desk. Cynthia gathered up her pocketbook, hanging it over her elbow. Her smile couldn’t have been wider as she waved at Kevin, who Charlie could now see through the partition window. And that meant it was Teresa on the other side of his door. Or Benton, coming to gather Cynthia.
“Sorry, Cynthia.” He hadn’t intended to embarrass her.
Knocking again. More insistent this time.
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “The whole point was getting caught, right?”
Charlie stopped cleaning, and studied her. “You knew.” She’d made that clear. It didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy it. She couldn’t have been acting. Her composure and amusement had him second-guessing himself, and then suddenly he wasn’t sure what to think. He opened his mouth to ask if she’d known that last blind was open, but by then she’d grabbed the doorknob.
Cynthia walked out, ignoring Teresa, who’d been mid-knock. It forced Charlie to turn his back as he climbed to his feet, or risk losing his last ounce of modesty. Teresa rushed in, gathering the paperwork off the floor as he donned a fresh disposable surgical robe and apron. After grabbing a pair of gloves, he rushed out of the office to catch up with Cynthia. She’d reached the morgue’s exit, eyes on her phone’s screen.
“The body is ready.” Teresa had followed him. Charlie ignored her and the body, and stopped Cynthia from opening the morgue’s door with a gentle hand on hers. She paused and tilted her face up, revealing mild curiosity.
Was this the woman who had been wild in his arms no more than a minute ago?
“Stay with Benton,” Charlie said.
It hadn’t been an act, he told himself. It couldn’t have been.
Cynthia nodded, glancing at her phone’s screen again. “I’ll come back when you’re done with the autopsies,” she said. “I’ll bring supper, so you’ll be happy to see me.” She aimed a distracted smile at Kevin, winked at Teresa, and then was gone.
Charlie wasn’t happy now. He was disgruntled. What the hell just happened?
Kevin coughed quietly, then coughed again, louder this time. Charlie turned, slapping his gloves against the
palm of his other hand. His tech was laughing without making a sound, and his eyes were tearing with amusement.
“You animal,” Kevin said, and then laughter bubbled out of his mouth.
Charlie refused to blush. Refused even as he felt his face heat. He snapped on his gloves and compartmentalized the last ten minutes into a mental to-do box. He and his team had work to accomplish. Someone was killing people connected to the Coppola syndicate case, and Cynthia was in the middle of it. She wasn’t safe until they found the killer, so that problem needed to be where he put his mental energies.
He approached the body on the slab, donned his face shield, and then pulled down the ceiling-affixed microphone to record his vocal autopsy notes. One glance told him that Kevin and Teresa were staring at him, rather than the body. Understandable, he supposed. They’d never seen him do anything so remotely human as kiss a wife.
“Love looks good on you, Charlie.” Kevin adjusted his face shield in place, and then fluttered his eyelashes as he handed Charlie the bone saw. Teresa shifted on her feet, blushing behind her face shield. Charlie saw that his tech was upset, and hated that he was the cause, but it had been unavoidable. He was in love with his best friend.
“Let’s get to work.” Charlie smiled despite his uncertainty, because he’d kissed Cynthia, would kiss her again, and, yeah, he enjoyed his work. “One down, five to go.” He hit the bone saw’s on button, and its whirling sounded like an old friend.
Hopefully by day’s end he’d have some answers.
* * * *
Sitting at his tech’s desk, next to the newly sanitized slabs, he put his final notes on the paperwork. Day two of not sleeping had him dragging, beyond exhausted. It was eleven at night, his eyelids felt like sandpaper every time he blinked, Kevin and Teresa had just finished cleaning and locking everything, and he’d just nixed the seductive option of crashing on his office floor rather than driving home, because of Cynthia.
He was married. The thought prompted a smile, despite his clawing fatigue. He’d texted her a few times between autopsies to assure himself she was safe, though his excuse had been to give updates. Last he’d heard, she was at the precinct.
The morgue’s door beeped. Kevin was close, so he was the one who opened the locked door. In walked Cynthia carrying her pocketbook, a six-pack, and a large Subway paper bag. As promised, she’d brought dinner.
“Anyone hungry?” she said. “Thirsty? I bought enough for everyone.”
“Thanks, but no.” Teresa’s smile was taut, and didn’t reach her eyes. She was notably exhausted—it had been a long day—so Charlie didn’t blame her for retrieving her key chain from her pocketbook and heading for the door. “I need to crash.” She glanced at Charlie, gave him a tight smile, and then ducked her head as he waved. She was gone moments later.
“Kevin?” Cynthia lifted the six-pack, offering him one.
“No beer for me. I have to pick up the wife, then drive the babysitter home.” His wife, Charity, an internal medicine resident, had hours as bad as Kevin’s. “Next time, definitely.” He used a finger to indicate Charlie and Cynthia. “There’s a story here, and I have a feeling it will take more than a few beers to get it out of you two, but one day, I’ll get it.” He laughed. Then he was gone, too.
Cynthia sat in Kevin’s chair, her bags and beer on her lap, eyeballing the tech’s cluttered desk. Even this tired, Cynthia was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Sitting across from her in Teresa’s chair, he was thankful the last form of the night had been signed.
“How’d you get here?” He had an image of her falling asleep behind the wheel, wrapping her car around a tree, and had to shake it off. No one had to tell either of them how that scenario could ruin a life.
“Modena dropped me off,” she said, sounding exhausted. “Get that worried look off your face. I was safer than POTUS.” She set the bag and beer on the piece of desktop not devoted to Kevin’s paperwork. “Find anything new?”
Charlie shrugged. “Maybe. Lots of DNA evidence. Our killer didn’t work alone.”
She set her pocketbook at her feet. “Yeah? Do tell.”
“Multiple hair samples that didn’t match any of the vics. Also, no puncture wounds on the body’s skin, so it’s unlikely they were sedated, though toxicology tests will give definitive answers on that.”
“No sedation? That would be…impressive,” she said. “How did the killer get six contract killers in their prime to a kill site? All neat and compliant?”
Charlie nodded. “They were big men.”
“The federal marshals are all over the ‘how.’ WITSEC-protected, six witnesses, from six locations? They’re baffled. Benton is pissed.”
“Inside job?” he said.
“Don’t go there.” Cynthia closed her eyes for a moment, and shook her head. “I don’t even want to think like that until I absolutely have to. We just went through that with our last case.”
The smell of food coming from the bag made it hard to think beyond his stomach. Charlie gathered up his paperwork and locked it in Teresa’s top drawer. Then he grabbed the nearest bag, looking inside.
“Six victims,” he said, dumping the four hoagies and chips from the bag. “No defensive wounds. Zip. Nothing. Unless their stomach contents show sedation, they were stone cold sober when they kneeled, bound and hooded, and were shot in the head.” He shrugged. “Let’s hope the unsub prepped them for the kills. The more contact he had with the vics, the more likely we’ll find his DNA.”
“The hoagies are marked,” she said. “I got different types because I didn’t know what Kevin and Teresa would like.” Cynthia grabbed a bag of chips and pulled it open. “Maybe the vics were compelled to hood themselves. Duct tape it in place. It’s how I’d do it.”
Charlie unraveled the paper around his roast beef with pickles. His favorite. He took a large bite, moaning with pleasure. When he could talk again, he caught her attention with a lift of his chin. “That’s because you know what forensic experts are looking for, but this unsub is a low-educated contract killer. Am I right?” She shrugged, unconvinced. “If he’s an evil genius, Cynthia, we’re fucked. We’ll never find him, despite our expensive tests. Tests,” he grimaced, “that I just spent an hour signing off on.”
She picked up a hoagie and unrolled the paper wrapper. “He’s found a way to commit six murders, point the evidence toward us, and we haven’t a clue about his identity. That doesn’t sound like the normal class of clowns we usually find.”
“The evidence will save us,” he said.
“If it doesn’t convict us first.”
“Each hood had the same hair sample on it,” he said. “Cross your fingers it’s the unsub’s.”
Cynthia opened her hoagie, peeking inside. She always ordered a ham, cheese, lettuce, and pickles with oil and vinegar sub without tomatoes. Emphasis on without. When she grimaced, he knew the server had messed up, and probably layered sliced tomatoes on her sub. Mostly because they always did.
“If you tell them no tomatoes,” Charlie said, “all they hear is tomatoes. Just don’t say tomatoes when you order the sub, and you won’t put tomatoes in their head. I keep telling you this, but you never listen.” He took a big bite of his perfectly prepared roast beef and pickles hoagie.
“Not true. Tell them or not, they always give me tomatoes,” she said, methodically picking them off. “Might as well order it the way I want it.” Then, like clockwork, she ritualistically blotted the tomato juices off her cheese. Same channel, same show. “So,” she said, “the geographical profile has no surprises, and is useless as written. Two words: east coast.”
“How many years of college to make that assessment?” When she narrowed her eyes, flashing him some attitude, Charlie couldn’t help but chuckle. “What? You want congratulations on not narrowing down the unsub’s location? You didn’t think it would be easy, did you?”
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He was already halfway through his hoagie, and Cynthia hadn’t taken her first bite. Her slow eating always baffled him, though he’d memorized her explanation. She chewed her food. Implying Charlie didn’t. Charlie chewed; he just chewed faster.
“No, I didn’t expect easy.” Licking her fingers clean of chip and salt, she picked up her sub, holding it near her mouth as if about to bite, only she didn’t. “The syndicate’s reach has migrated to Florida now that Coppola is incarcerated there, and now we have to consider every damn state along the east coast. Data index searches will be barely useful. We need more personnel, but I don’t see that happening since the bureau considers the Coppola case closed, and its budget is nonexistent. The vics were killers, so there’s little sympathy, or political willpower to hunt down an unsub that many see as doing the taxpayer a favor.” She took a bite of hoagie, as if punctuating her explanation, and then frowned, because her bite was too big. She was having a hard time keeping her mouth closed while she chewed. Charlie almost laughed, but didn’t want to embarrass her, so he popped a chip in his mouth and did his best not to notice her difficulties.
“Boston wasn’t part of Coppola’s turf either until the trial venue was moved here,” he said. It’s how Charlie was tapped to be the bureau’s forensic expert for the Coppola syndicate case.
She dipped her fingers into her chip bag, pulling out a chip, still struggling to chew politely. “We’re thinking our killer knew the vics were witnesses for the prosecution. Anyone with a laptop or a library card had access to that information, so we can’t say definitively it’s a Coppola syndicate hit.”
“But it probably is.” He popped the last of his hoagie into his mouth and chased it down with more chips.
“Yeah.” She took a smaller bite of hoagie this time, and when she finished chewing, she said, “The syndicate is dead, but someone connected to the case could have hired an outsider. A victim of a vic, maybe. We’re thinking motive is revenge. Benton’s got Vivian O’Grady chained to the databases, looking for hits of suspects, but the list is long, and getting longer. That means lots of pressure on the crime scene evidence, Charlie. We need your DNA samples to pan out with a name.”
Deadly Past Page 12
