by Donna Raider
“Suicide?” Mika raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“Murder,” Carlie said flatly.
“Well, you certainly are a buzzkill.” Jennifer started to leave.
“Please.” Mika placed her hand over Jennifer’s. “Don’t let this ruin our evening.”
Jennifer sat down as a feeling of peace and happiness spread throughout her body. The priest then reached for Carlie’s hand and induced the same feeling of well-being in her.
The two couples finished dinner, laughing and talking about mundane, everyday things. Mika and Leah had dozens of children stories. Mika told them about her wife’s handling of Principal Brown and the bomb incident.
Carlie and Jennifer doubled over in laughter as they tried to conjure the look of indignation that Leah always used when she was unhappy about something.
Mika just wanted her wife in her arms. “Let’s return to the lounge. I believe you owe me a tango, Mrs. Cross.”
They ordered wine and discussed the intricacies of the tango. “You two go first,” Jennifer insisted. “I want to see your technique.”
Mika pushed the button that brought “Oh, These Dark Eyes” to life and expertly began to move her wife around the dance floor. One couldn’t put a piece of paper between them as they danced, anticipating the other’s every move, simply by the slightest flex of a muscle. Mika could feel her heartbeat and the soft rise and fall of her breasts. Leah’s warm breath on her neck was exciting. Dancing with Leah was almost as good as making love with her. It was extraordinary. It thrilled Mika beyond words.
When the dance ended, Jennifer and Carlie sat in a stupor. Neither wanted to move, afraid of breaking the magic spell the couple had cast over the lounge and all its inhabitants.
“Your turn.” Leah smiled at the other couple as she and her wife slid into the booth.
“I’m not following that,” Carlie croaked. “That was the most sensuous thing I’ve ever seen. Honestly, I should arrest both of you for indecency or something.”
“Will you dance with me?” Jennifer asked Mika.
“I only dance with my wife,” she said, smiling apologetically. “She carries me.”
Everyone laughed, recalling how the priest’s strength had driven the dance.
“Yeah, I saw her spin you around her body,” Carlie teased. “Come on, babe, we can do this.”
Jennifer followed her partner to the floor and was surprised to find that Carlie had brought her A game. “Not bad,” she whispered in the detective’s ear. “Not bad at all.”
Everyone applauded as the couple returned to the booth.
Both couples were soon on the dance floor, laughing and slow dancing, oblivious of anyone but the person in their arms.
Jennifer liked the Crosses. They were funny, exciting, and so much in love with one another. She had been jealous of Leah, but after an evening of watching Leah with Mika, Jennifer knew she had no need to worry. Leah Cross was totally and completely enthralled with her wife.
Later that night, as Carlie and Jennifer made love, Jennifer promised herself there would be more romantic dinners and tangos. It had been a long time since her partner had made love to her so fervently.
##
Watcher had not wanted to kill Williams. He had wanted the thugs in prison to kill the monster. Instead, Williams was scheduled to be moved to a detention center that was more like a country club than a prison. The authorities didn’t want him to die in prison. He had agreed to give testimony incriminating several other priests and an archbishop. Watcher had to protect the reputation of the church. Suicide was the only solution.
He turned his attention to Father Ben Clinton. He discovered that Clinton preferred men to women. Apparently, Janet had been the exception, or maybe it was a power trip to bang the bishop’s wife.
Clinton wasn’t a pedophile, but he was a whoring homosexual. Watcher followed him for several weeks, observing his habits. He ascertained the type of men Clinton liked and the places he frequented. He also noted that the handsome priest was a player, rarely dating the same man more than four or five times.
Watcher was ready to trap his prey. He had shaved his beard into a black Balboa beard. His hair was stylishly long and accented with a light touch of gray at the temples. Dressed in an expensive sports jacket and slacks he knew Clinton would drool over, Watcher entered the bar where Clinton was cruising. He sat at the bar and ordered a drink. He was a full three inches taller than Clinton. He wondered what Clinton preferred in bed. It didn’t really matter; he wasn’t lying on his stomach for anyone.
He knew Clinton was watching him as he talked to an older man who had offered to buy him a drink. He thanked the man and shook his head.
After several such encounters, Clinton had his waiter take Watcher a drink and a note inviting him to sit at his table. Watcher casually glanced at Clinton then feigned true interest. Gay men liked to think they made others do a double take.
Watcher picked up the drink and carried it to Clinton’s table. “Thank you.” He smiled shyly.
“Please, join me.” Clinton slid over so Watcher could sit beside him in the booth. Watcher nodded then took the seat across from the other man.
“I’m Ben Cline, stockbroker.” Clinton held out his hand to Watcher.
“Byron Welch, college professor.” Watcher smiled, shaking the offered hand firmly.
“So, Professor, what do you enjoy doing?” Clinton asked.
“Sailing, jogging, Broadway, dancing,” he lowered his voice an octave and said, “and anything that requires a lot of one-on-one activity.”
“We definitely have some things in common,” Clinton said, smiling.
Watcher enjoyed the dating dance with women much more than with men. Women wanted to know things about you. They wanted to tell you about themselves. Men just wanted to take you home or into the bathroom. Men weren’t as particular. He knew he had to play his cards just right with Clinton, or he would lose his attention.
They talked and had drinks for an hour then Clinton suggested they go to his place.
“I-I—” Watcher stuttered. “I’m actually new to all of this,” he admitted coyly. “Although I’ve had a relationship, I’ve never come out of the closet. I’ve never picked up a total stranger.”
Clinton observed the man closely. He was intrigued. Byron Welch was extremely handsome. He was tall, with an athletic build. His curly black hair had just a hint of gray at the temples, and his brown eyes almost looked black. He was very masculine-looking. He was worth the effort.
“Perhaps we could meet for dinner tomorrow night,” Clinton suggested, smiling. “Do you like Greek food?”
They arranged to meet at the restaurant the next evening, then continued talking until the bar closed.
##
Watcher looked at the name on his cell phone. Another assignment. He would need to finish his business with Clinton sooner than he had expected.
He put on a hoodie and tight jeans with tennis shoes. He jogged to the church. He checked to see if Clinton was taking confessions. He was.
Watcher silently slid into the confessional. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…” How can this scumbag give me absolution? His thoughts kept interrupting his confession.
“I’m a homosexual,” he whispered into the small opening between him and the priest. “I have fought against these feelings for so long, but I met a man last night with whom I could build a future. Help me be strong enough to avoid sinning.”
Father Clinton instantly recognized Byron Welch’s voice. The English accent was extremely distinguishable. He was glad to know that Welch was drawn to him. As he gave the man absolution, he briefly thought of how many men he had been able to seduce as a result of their confessions to him. Yes, this was a good position to be in.
##
Clinton watched Byron walk into the restaurant. He had the easy, self-confident walk of a man at home in his own body. He was always dressed in expensive clothes. His shoes probably cost more than Cli
nton made in a month.
“I took the liberty of ordering wine for us.” Clinton smiled as Byron slid into the booth beside him. He tentatively placed his hand on Byron’s leg. The look in the professor’s eyes was surprise and something else. Perhaps lust, Clinton thought.
Byron smiled, trying to hide his disdain at being touched by the priest. There is a very fine line between lust and revulsion, he thought.
Dinner was an amiable affair, with Clinton regaling him with false stories about stock deals he had made. He dropped names and places, trying to impress Byron. This man is unbelievable, Watcher thought.
Clinton insisted on paying the dinner check, commenting, “Professors don’t make a lot of money. But I’m curious how you can afford such an expensive wardrobe.”
“I’m an author,” Watcher informed him, “a very successful author.”
“What have you written? I’ve probably read it.” Clinton grinned. “I’m an avid reader.”
“I would be embarrassed to tell you.” Watcher smiled shyly. “It borders on porn. Nothing I am proud of, but extremely lucrative.”
“How about a nightcap at my place?” Clinton placed his hand on top of Watcher’s.
Watcher squeezed his hand. “Still moving a little too fast for me.” He bowed his head as if embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” Clinton said softly. “Would you like to do something tomorrow? It is Saturday. We have all day. I’m going to brunch at a friend’s house. Why don’t you join me?”
“Sounds like fun. Where should I meet you?” Watcher nodded.
Clinton scribbled an address on a drink napkin. “This is the address. Be there at noon. Don’t go in without me.” He grinned. “I don’t want them stealing you from me.”
Watcher leaned in and chastely kissed Clinton, then left the restaurant.
Sometimes my job demands more than I am willing to give, he thought as he walked the streets of New York. He pulled his phone from his pocket and read the name of his next assignment one more time. He was genuinely surprised that he was being instructed to make the man disappear. He never questioned his assignments. He didn’t weigh right and wrong and make decisions. He wasn’t the judge and the jury. He was just the executioner. A job he rather liked. There were no gray areas. If he was instructed to kill, he simply did it. He bore no one any malice.
He did wonder what made people think they could be so incredibly evil and get away with it. He turned his thoughts to making Father Clinton disappear. He needed to be alone with the man, not in Clinton’s apartment. He needed to be on his own turf.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Leah sat on the floor, playing with the babies. Mika couldn’t take her eyes off her wife. She hugged and kissed their three-year-old twins, laughing out loud at their antics. Mika was awed by her uninhibited beauty. Although she had lived on Earth over two thousand years, she truly could not imagine life without Leah.
Leah slowly raised dancing brown eyes to meet Mika’s. Mika was mesmerized. Leah captivated her heart and soul. She silently thanked God for her.
“You’re staring at me.” Leah smiled.
“Um, no, My Queen, I’m worshipping you,” Mika said honestly. “I have always worshipped you.”
She simply nodded as if she knew Mika spoke the truth. This was the first time since her return from the Vatican that she seemed at peace. Leah knew she was concerned about the Catholic Murders. Unfortunately, Carlie’s name for the deaths had been picked up by the news media.
Exhausting themselves, the children had fallen asleep in her lap. “I have to go to the studio and run through the new script. Want to go with me?”
Mika nodded, and scooped both babies into her arms. “We can give Eve and Paul to Nana on our way out.”
##
Mika and Leah were surprised to see a pair of new faces at the script table. Scarlett King and Ethan Taylor were being added to the cast for the upcoming season. They were to play Australian Federal Police agents assigned to the serial murder case the plot was following.
Trey had called in sick. He had picked up a bug or “drank from a rusty beer can,” as he was so fond of saying. In any case, he was throwing up his toenails. Mika agreed to read Trey’s parts.
As introductions proceeded around the table, Ethan Taylor seemed spellbound with the star of the series. He never took his eyes from Leah.
“Mr. Taylor,” Stiles spoke loudly to the man for the third time, “would you like to introduce yourself?”
“Ah, yes!” Taylor smiled apologetically. “I don’t mean to be rude, ma’am, but you are the prettiest Sheila I have ever seen. I mean, you’re really spunk.”
“Thank you, I think.” Leah raised a quizzical eyebrow. She had no idea what the man had said, and his thick Australian accent was difficult to understand.
“Don’t pay him any attention, Miss Redman.” Scarlett grinned. “He likes to show off his Australian slang. We are both delighted to be working with you.”
“I meant no offense,” Taylor said, smiling, “but you are definitely a bit o’ all right.”
“Let me translate for my spellbound friend,” Scarlett said, chuckling. “What he means is you are extremely beautiful. An opinion I happen to share.”
“Thank you.” The actress started to introduce Mika. “This is my—”
“I am Detective Carlie Carlyle.” Carlie was tired of the man flirting with Leah and wanted to get on with the read-through. “I am the technical advisor for the series.”
“You are a bit o’ all right yourself, Detective.” Taylor grinned, raking his eyes over Carlie’s body.
While she could understand the Aussie’s infatuation with Leah, Carlie didn’t appreciate his increasingly risqué remarks directed at the actress. She wondered why Mika hadn’t stepped in.
Mika knew her wife could take care of herself. The question was would she do it blatantly or covertly. The once volatile queen had learned new ways to deal with those who displeased her. Once upon a time, she would have simply incinerated anyone who incurred her wrath. Now she used her magic unobtrusively. She muffled her laughter as she noticed others move away from the Australian actor. Sniffing the air, she immediately knew why. Her wife had bestowed the gift of body odor on the obnoxious man.
“Jeez.” Stiles snorted as he got a whiff of Ethan. “You are definitely going to have to do something about your personal hygiene. I don’t think we can stay in the same room with you.”
“Let’s take a break,” Leah suggested. “He can take a shower then we can complete our run-through.” She made certain Taylor had an ice-cold shower.
Taking Mika’s hand, she led her to her dressing room. She locked the door and turned her gaze toward her wife. Mika recognized the predatory look in her eyes. There had been a time—a long time ago—when that look had instilled fear in her. Now it thrilled her beyond belief. “You can’t make noise,” she reminded Leah, knowing that she was about to be eaten alive.
As they made love, Mika was careful to muffle Leah’s moans with her shoulders and lips. Leah buried her teeth in the space between Mika’s neck and shoulders, moaning her name over and over.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped as she rolled off Mika. “I…I just really needed that.”
“I am always at your disposal, Your Majesty.” Mika wrapped her arms around Leah and held her close. “That is just one of the many purposes wives serve. You do need to heal these bite marks, though.”
##
Stiles reassembled the cast. “You do smell better.” He grimaced at Taylor. “Let’s see if you can keep it that way. Perhaps you can control your pheromones.”
Carlie turned to say something to Mika. She jumped back when she saw blood on her neck. “You’re bleeding,” she whispered.
The priest touched her neck then looked at her hand. It was bloody. “Excuse me,” she said. She left the table followed by her wife.
“I’m so sorry, darling.” Leah washed the blood from Mika’s neck. “I thought I healed you everywher
e.”
“It’s fine,” she whispered, pulling Leah closer for a long, slow kiss. “God, I love your lips.”
A knock on the door pulled them apart. “It has stopped bleeding.” Leah smiled apologetically. “I won’t heal it completely. It will look suspicious to Carlie.”
“You two okay?” the detective called through the door.
“Everything is fine,” Mika answered, opening the door.
Carlie examined the wound on Mika’s neck. “Humph,” she snorted, looking at Leah. “You really shouldn’t bite her so hard.”
The woman who ruled Mika’s world simply tilted her head and smiled that secret little smile that drove others crazy. “She’s mine,” Leah said softly as she walked by the detective. “I will do whatever I want with her.”
Mika smiled and nodded in agreement, following her wife from the room.
For the first time, Carlie realized the depth of Leah’s passion for the priest.
##
Scarlett King was a fiery redhead, both in hair color and temperament. The queen of Australia’s prime-time TV, she wanted to break into the American film industry. She had jumped at the chance to work a season on Marked for Murder. She was sorry she was paired with Ethan Taylor, who was a notorious womanizer. She wondered why Stiles had selected the obnoxious actor.
Running through the script was enjoyable except for Ethan’s constant hitting on the show’s star. Leah was amazingly tolerant of his impudent behavior.
The cast broke for lunch and Leah headed for her dressing room with Mika Cross in tow.
“Miss Redman, may I speak with you for a moment?” Stiles always addressed his star with great respect. There was something very regal about her.
Scarlett took the opportunity to get to know Mika Cross. “You seem to be quite taken with Leah Redman.” She smiled as she approached the blonde woman.
“Yes, I am,” Mika replied, smiling. “She’s extraordinary.”
“You want to get a drink after we finish?” She smiled seductively. “Fill me in on the politics of the series. I’ve heard Leah is a real wowser.”
