A Deadly Blessing

by Kathy Bennett

coral-colored blouse that enhanced the blue in her eyes.

  "It looks like you'd been busy all day cleaning the house. I saw the spaghetti in the fridge," she continued. Darting past him, she returned to the bathroom and ran a wide-toothed comb through her hair and brushed her teeth.

  He shrugged. "The good thing about spaghetti is it always tastes better the next day." He followed her to the kitchen where she started throwing food in her lunch box. "Did you get a break in your case?"

  "Possibly…or it may be nothing."

  Travis heard an uncharacteristic hint of uncertainty in his wife. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, but didn't want to upset her so he kept quiet.

  Mattie pulled on her belt containing her badge, gun, and other equipment. "I'm going to check it out this morning." She picked up her purse and lunch. "I've got to run."

  She paused and looked at him. There was a time when they'd kiss each other before they left the house, but those kisses hadn't existed for over a year. Travis could tell she was considering coming to him, but instead, his wife bolted out the door.

  MADDIE – 47

  I sipped my steaming Espresso Macchiato while driving to work and wondered how my life had gotten so screwed up. I couldn't get my mind off the fact I had to look at my partner as a potential suspect. He apparently knew the curvy Heather McCall well enough to get his picture taken with her while she was half-naked. The fact he hadn't disclosed this tidbit of information was disturbing at best, and I wasn't sure what to do about it.

  This was one of those times I wanted to confide in my husband like I used to do, but he seemed detached from our marriage and me. We'd been that way for so long we didn't know how to connect anymore. Last night I'd wanted to sit him down and tell him about the photo of Darius and Heather McCall. I'd wanted his male perspective and his advice. But he'd been asleep…or passed out.

  Then I remembered what he'd said during our fight in the restaurant—that he'd been carrying me since my 'incident.' The truth was we were both screwed up and his comment cut me like a machete. I tightened my fingers around the steering wheel. I'll tell you what, Travis Divine, I'm not going to give you any more evidence that I can't stand on my own two feet. I'll figure out what to do about the picture by myself.

  "Shit," I said, as I hit one of the city's many potholes and drops of coffee splashed from my cup onto my slacks.

  One thing I knew for sure: I wouldn't be telling Larry-the-Wife-Beater about the picture. But the question was, would I confront Darius?

  After I'd parked my car and walked the few blocks to the office, I was ready with a plan. I figured I'd coerce Darius to help me look for photos of Heather on the web. I was hoping he'd find the picture and explain it to me. If he didn't, I could always find it and confront him. It wasn't the best plan, but it was all I had.

  My partner wasn't at his desk, but I'd arrived early, so I wasn't surprised. I glanced at Larry's office and saw it was dark. He wasn't in either. There were a few other detectives in the squad room, but they didn't pay any attention to me.

  Maybe I was mistaken about the picture. I quickly logged onto my computer and retraced the steps I'd taken last night. Within a few minutes I was looking again at my partner and the near-naked Heather McCall.

  The night before, I'd been so rattled, I hadn't noticed much else except Darius in the picture. But with a rested mind I took in details. First of all, in this picture Heather was a platinum blonde. I squinted at the screen. She might even be wearing a wig. Strange I hadn't remembered that jarring detail. I'm surprised I recognized her at all.

  They stood in front of a tan stucco building. Darius wore a garish Hawaiian shirt and some cargo shorts. He had his arm around Heather, pulling her into his side, resulting in her jutting breasts in imminent danger of bursting from the hot pink rhinestone triangles barely covering her nipples. With his free hand, he raised a bottle of beer at the camera. He definitely looked like he'd had more than one beer.

  Heather wore a sparkly matching G-string and thrust her butt away from my partner's hip in an exaggerated pose. Her highly glossed lips formed a pouty pucker turned to the camera.

  Suddenly, my partner strolled into the squad room. Grabbing my mouse, I minimized the computer screen. "Morning," I said, trying to infuse my voice with cheer.

  "Tell me one thing good about it."

  "Aw, either you haven't had your first cup of coffee, or you and Barry struck out last night," I said, trying to appear like I didn't have a care in the world. Inside I gazed at him with an entirely different set of eyes. I used my cop eyes on my partner and was relieved there was nothing unusual to see.

  From his desk, Darius gave me a look that let me know he didn't want to 'play' this morning. "I heard from one of my FBI buddies that they've opened their own cases on Heather McCall, Tiffany Truesdale and Brenda Wylie. Apparently, the feds weren't too happy at our chief shutting them out of our missing persons investigations."

  Sighing, I maximized my computer screen again and continued to search through pictures of multitudes of Heather McCall photos. I'd memorized where the incriminating photo was located, so I searched on to see if there were more images of the missing nanny.

  "So, what do you want to do next on the Truesdale case?" Darius asked.

  "What, we're dropping McCall to move on Truesdale?" I said, scrolling through photos at a pretty good clip.

  "We hit a dead end at the gas station with Heather's case. Until we get results from SID on the fingerprints or DNA hits, we're stalled." He picked up a pink message paper and waved it at me. "I have a note here from the lab that, even with top priority, it could take a couple of days to get everything analyzed."

  "That's just grea – Holy shit, I found her!"

  Darius moved toward my desk. "Who?"

  "Heather."

  He jumped up and hurried to my desk. Leaning over my shoulder he stared hard at the screen. Was that relief on his face when he saw the photo was a close-up of Heather's sensuous face? I clicked on the image that allowed me access to the home page of Chester's Closet, an obvious porn site.

  "I think that's her. Don't you?" I said.

  My partner pursed his lips and wagged his head side to side. "Maybe. Maybe not. It's hard to say." I was tempted to pull up the incriminating picture I'd found last night of him and Heather, but I decided to see where this new picture would lead.

  I scrutinized the monitor. It was her. Heather was in a bed on her back. Sultry smoky eyes invited, as did the hint of a smile that graced her full lips. Her head, cradled in an amethyst-colored satin pillow, hung near the lower left corner of the mattress, while her left arm encircled her lush ebony hair. A long single string of pearls trailed down her décolletage with one side of the strand running between her salacious breasts while the remainder of the necklace snaked across her ample right nipple. Below Heather's waist, the photo blurred into soft fleshy colors. In the muted tones, dark plum script suggested if the viewer wanted to interact with 'Heather M.' they visit the website of NTL productions - of course there'd be a nominal fee. This picture sure wasn't anything like the head shot the governor had supplied to us.

  "I'm sure that's her," I said eyeing my partner's facial expression carefully. "I think it's a close enough match, we need to go visit NTL productions in person."

  "We don't even know where they're located," Darius said.

  Was he stalling? My fingers flew over the keyboard and waited just a second before an address displayed on the screen. "Where else would they be but Chatsworth, California, the nation's capitol for producing and distributing porn?"

  "And," Darius added, "less than five miles from Heather's apartment in Northridge."

  TIFFANY – 48

  Tiffany paced her room, thinking about her conversation with Ginger the night before. While flipping TV channels, Ginger had obviously seen part of a news report talking about Tiffany's service at the women's shelter. What if someone else at the compound saw the story and recognized her? What
would Drejohn do if he realized he'd kidnapped the daughter of the governor of California?

  Her captor had a lot to lose and he was no fool. Neither was Tiffany. She knew if Drejohn found out who she was, even if he'd asked for ransom, he'd kill her and get rid of her body as quickly as possible. Time was running out. She needed to escape.

  Going to the window, she pulled back the sheer drape and looked at the various buildings on the property. There must be a way out.

  She'd heard some of the girls complaining to each other about an upcoming dog event at the compound. Apparently, after the dog fights, Drejohn had his whole stable of girls available to entertain the bloodthirsty mob. The girls hated it because the men were all wound up from the vicious bouts, and took their aggression out on them.

  Tiffany wondered if she'd somehow be able to hide in one of the cars that came to the property. But she wasn't sure when the event was scheduled, and she knew her identity could be discovered at any time. It might work as a back-up plan, but she needed to think of something else.

  Standing at the window, she looked for any breach of the stucco wall that encased the compound. The enclosure was at least nine feet tall and sound. She turned her attention to massive wooden gates, the only break in the perimeter edifice. Tiffany had never seen the Spanish-style entries open. She needed to know how they worked. Maybe she could slip out as a