Urban Renewal (Urban Elite Book 1)

by Suzanne Steele

  “Then do your damn job and stop overreacting to everything,” I snap. He’s standing so close, making it impossible to ignore the delicious combination of his woodsy cologne and leather. He steps back and pulls his skull cap off to run his hand through his raven black hair as he begins pacing the floor.

  “Why are you so mad at me?”

  He ignores the question – and me – and instead sits down at my desk and boots up my computer.

  “Gee, make yourself at home, Spider.”

  “I’ll fucking protect you,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes at me. “Not him.”

  “It was dinner. Just dinner, for God’s sake. We practically shook hands when we said goodnight.”

  He growls low, nostrils flaring as he closes his eyes briefly and shakes his head. “Why are you leading the guy on?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m not leading anyone on.”

  He returns his attention back to the computer screen. “You sure about that, Max? And, yeah, I’m making it my business.” Then he mutters under his breath, “It officially became my business when I saw your tits.”

  “You did not see my tits! I was wearing a bra! They were covered in lace!”

  He shakes his head again, muttering, “They damn sure were.” He straightens and continues, “There’s no way I’m letting you get hurt on my watch. I’m still not convinced he isn’t tied in somehow with these murders. One thing I do know is he’s the only person who had access to those pearls. If he’s sick enough to steal something like that, what else is he capable of?”

  I sputter and fume as I glare at the back of his head, but ultimately I can’t think of anything to say. A chill runs up my spine at the thought of Liam being involved. Maybe having this arrogant ass guarding me isn’t such a bad idea.

  Chapter Forty Six

  His Fantasy

  I stroke the strand of pearls with my thumb. They are draped across my hand, slithering between my fingers before puddling in a lustrous heap on the desk. I find that I’m enthralled with Max’s bio photo on the homepage of her blog. Would she feel this smooth, this silky?

  I give renewed consideration to my next move. Is it too soon to send her another message? Might there be an even better way to get through to her?

  As the pearls slide through my fingers, I revisit my fantasy about pleasuring myself with them wrapped around my dick. I can practically feel how smoothly they’ll slide over my skin, up and down, up and down, in the moments before I would come gloriously all over them. I’ve been tempted to give in several times already, but no. No, I will save that indulgence until I can share it with Max. She’s the only one who would truly appreciate the gesture. So I’ll hold off until I finally have her with me. Such an intimate moment between two people calls for privacy. After all, I’m not a cad.

  In the meantime, perhaps it would be beneficial to part with another limb. Better yet, how about a torso or a head? Yes, that would make a statement. That would make it clear that I am not to be toyed with, that I am not to be ignored. I rather like the idea of terrifying the Louisville community, shaking to its foundation the false sense of security that the elite protect with such piety from the seclusion of their gated communities.

  But most of all, I want to make a lasting impression on my little crime blogger. She needs to understand the caliber of intellect she’s up against. Yes, the time for emails is over. The message I’m about to send will be directed at her whole team. No matter how smart they think they are, I’m smarter. It’s time for me to show the world I’m not the man they assume I am. I’m as smart, talented, and educated as they are, and deadlier than anyone has ever given me credit for.

  For now, though, I just focus on her lovely face, memorizing each feature and anticipating the day when I will spend hours savoring her beauty in person. I let the pearls settle in my palm. They’re luminous in the low light from my computer screen.

  My dick surges to life as thoughts and plans stir my baser instincts. I lean back in my chair and take a deep, satisfying breath. With my eyes closed, I can see her so clearly. It feels so real. I smile serenely, imagining Max is here with me, her small hands lovingly rubbing the pearls over the crotch of my jeans.

  Chapter Forty Seven

  Max

  Once again sleep eludes me as I toss and turn, mulling over all the drama in my life since I joined Urban Elite. Though I’m doing what I’ve always wanted, I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew.

  I’m consumed by thoughts of the women whose lives were so brutally taken. What seemingly inconsequential decision or change in plans put them in this animal’s path? Who did they leave behind? I’m determined to solve this case and give them justice. At this point, the women are beyond caring, but it matters to me. I didn’t personally know these women, but I do grieve for their unrealized potential and their families’ heartache.

  So far this guy has only killed working girls. He has a chip on his shoulder and it feels personal to me – I don’t think he’s killing hookers just because they’re easy targets; I think he has a deep resentment toward women. Like Liam suggested tonight…mommy issues, maybe.

  It pisses me off that he’s preying on women who are in desperate circumstances, doing what they feel they must in order to survive. They’re in their current situation because they have to be, not because they want to be. Maybe they’re just trying to feed their kid or, yeah, support a drug habit – an addiction that likely started out as a way to endure the touch of strangers. No matter how long a girl works the streets, she never gets used to servicing strangers for money. If no one else will stand up for these girls who have no voice, I will.

  Sooner or later the killer is going to run out of body parts and when he does he’ll hunt for more. If my crime blog can raise awareness and help get a killer off the streets before anyone else dies, then it’s a start.

  This guy wants attention? He’ll get it, and then some. I’ll use my words and the power of social media against him — and I’ll make him pay.

  Chapter Forty Eight

  His Hunt

  Star light star bright,

  First hooker I see tonight,

  Wish I may, wish I might,

  Kill the whore I catch tonight.

  I can’t put it off any longer. I had every intention of denying myself until I could have Max alone, but twirling these pearls between my fingers as I think about my little blogger is giving me an itch I need to scratch. I resent having to settle for a cheap imitation. I slam the lid to my laptop down and grab my hoodie on my way out the door. This won’t be a casual stroll.

  I tug the hood low over my face as I drive toward 2nd Street where all the whores are. They’re barely dressed as they slither and sway along the sidewalk, trying to entice the men who cruise past in their luxury sedans. One dance with danger, one taste of illicit carnal pleasure, is all it takes to keep them coming back – no matter how they try to convince themselves otherwise. Now, me, I have no desire to escape the abyss. I revel in my depravity.

  “Hey, baby, you looking for a date?”

  I eye the woman leaning in through my open passenger window as I wait for the light to turn green. Her ample cleavage is busting out of the tight midriff top she’s wearing. A decent woman would see me staring and remind me, “Hey, my eyes are up here.” But, just like the whore she is, this one presses her arms in tight, squeezing her mocha tits together for me.

  “I might be.” The words are barely out of my mouth before she’s sliding into the passenger seat. I pull away from the intersection while she tells me tonight’s specials. She mistakes my heavy-lidded expression for arousal. Of course she would. She has no way of knowing that I’m nearly lightheaded from the pleasure of the hunt.

  “What’s your name?”

  “You can just call me Lady Luck. Once you’ve had a taste of me, baby, your life will never be the same.”

  Chapter Forty Nine

  Jack

  I yawn as
I lumber sluggishly out of my room, heading over to the main office for my newspaper and a cup of coffee. Even though I’ve had a shower and thrown on some jeans and a sweater, I’m still barefoot. Hell, I’m not entirely convinced I’m actually awake. I walk gingerly across the parking lot to pick up the newspaper from where it landed on the ground, and stretch as I look up at the morning sky. It’s gonna be a pretty day. I’m still old school enough to prefer to get my morning news in print rather than on a computer screen---

  Son of a bitch! I blink my eyes, as if that will turn the sight before me into a figment of my imagination. Nope, still there, goddamn it. I pull my cell phone from my pocket with hands that are shaking slightly and call Agent Turner’s private number.

  “What’s up, Jack?”

  “I need you and Rene here ASAP. There’s a fucking severed head staked on the gate outside. Black female, looks like. Haven’t gotten close enough yet to tell you more than that. Three guesses who put it there.”

  “We’re on our way,” he replies calmly, like getting a call about a severed head staked on a wrought iron gate is just another day on the job. I’m sure in his line of work there isn’t much that still shocks him. That was true of me, too, until about five minutes ago. Turner may not be shocked, but I sure as hell am. I can’t believe the balls on this guy, getting this close. I got your message loud and clear, fucker. You are one sick son of a bitch.

  There’s no way I’m going to let this guy keep terrorizing my city. Spider will have his work cut out for him today reviewing security tapes. I’m hoping he’ll have a clear enough image to run this guy’s mug through facial recognition software.

  When Agent Turner and Agent Murphy pull up to the gate with the CSI van following close behind, I let them in. They immediately erect a screen to keep curious eyes from rubbernecking. This is a gruesome, macabre sight, even for a seasoned detective. If this guy’s going for shock and awe, he succeeded and then some.

  Agent Murphy’s the first one to say what we’re all thinking. “Looks like our boy is escalating, Jack. I wonder if this is a new kill or…leftovers.”

  Agent Turner responds, “Seeing as how the crime lab’s backed up, I’ll get the testing on this…piece of evidence…expedited.”

  He mutters in disgust, “Yeah, this guy’s looking for validation, for somebody to pat his fucking head. Er, sorry,” he says in response to his partner’s eye roll. “He might as well be standing at the gate, begging, ‘Look at me, look at me, someone please notice me.’ Unbelievable the lengths he’s gone to for attention.”

  “Well, he’s damn sure got mine.” I hiss in anger.

  “He’s got mine too--” Agent Turner agrees. “We’ll get out of your way as soon as we can. Until then, nobody in or out. I’ll need you to turn over your security tapes, but I can give you today to do an initial review yourself. Just get them to me by close of business.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate the professional courtesy. I’m going to get Spider on that now.”

  “Good,” Turner nods. “Let me know if you have any luck when you run the facial recognition software. Who knows? Our psycho’s grand gesture may be the fuck-up we’ve been waiting for.”

  “I just hope we can pin him down before anyone else dies,” I fume.

  I’m not one to be afraid of criminals but this guy is proving to be even more fucked up than I thought. It isn’t just Max he has in his sights, it’s my whole goddamn team. He sent me a message this morning, and he did it on my turf. And that makes it personal.

  Message received, motherfucker.

  I’m not sure how he thought this was going to go, but he sealed his fucking fate with the sick stunt he pulled this morning.

  Chapter Fifty

  Max

  “Max, it’s me, Lady Luck. You said to call if I ever needed you. I need you now in the worst kind of way.”

  For the last half hour, ever since a brief visit from Jack in which he told me to stay put until he had a chance to confer with Agent Turner, I’ve been hovering by my window, watching the crime scene unfolding in the parking lot.

  “Where are you?” I ask, reaching for the car keys on my nightstand. I’m standing at the window with my cell phone pressed to my ear, scowling at the panic I hear in her voice. Women like Lady don’t panic unless something is gravely wrong.

  “I’m in the alley behind the peep show on Second and Market. I tried calling Jack but he’s not answering. Please hurry,” she whispers urgently. I’m not about to waste time asking questions.

  “I’m on my way,” I say as she abruptly ends the call. I slam the door behind me and sprint across the parking lot to my car. I jump into my car and ease around the CSI van and all the cops who’ve now congregated at the gate to gaze in horrified wonder at the head grimacing grotesquely down at them from the Urban Elite security gate. I lay on the horn to get them out of my way so I can get to Lady Luck.

  “Hold up, Max,” Jack says as he approaches my car with his hand raised. “Nobody in or out until the crime scene wraps, Turner’s orders.”

  As my boss and Agent Turner had strolled around the staked severed head over the last hour, checking it out from every possible angle as they discussed God knows what, I hadn’t left my room for fear I’d puke. Given recent history, it’s a concern.

  Up close and personal, the sight is more horrific than I had imagined. I’m unable to tear my eyes away as the medical examiner, standing on a tall ladder, jerks the head back and forth several times, cursing audibly several times before the stubborn flesh gives way and the head pulls free.

  The street cop holding the ladder steady from the ground leans over and heaves, the contents of his stomach making a wet, lumpy mess at the bottom of the ladder. As the M.E. makes his way down the ladder with the head under his arm, someone throws a tarp on the ground just in time to save him from stepping in the cop’s breakfast. I shake my head, marveling at the surreal scene, as I make my case to Jack.

  “Jack, I’ve gotta go. Lady Luck is in trouble and I’m going to get her. Tell these assholes to get out of the way.”

  “What the fuck? Why the hell didn’t she call me?” he asks indignantly. I know he’s always been protective of Lady and looks out for her on the streets, but I don’t have time to chat.

  “She did. You didn’t pick up. Listen, she’s hiding in an alley and I have no idea who she’s hiding from. You gotta get these guys outta my way – now!”

  Jack pauses and inhales harshly before stepping back and waving the crime team aside. As he enters the code for the gate, he continues talking to me over his shoulder, “Goddamn it! Left my phone on my desk after Turner and Murphy got here. Sonofabitch! You talked to her directly? Is she okay? Do you need backup?”

  “Yes, don’t know, and whatever – Just let me out of here, Jack!” I yell, my voice shrill.

  He steps aside reluctantly, telling me to call him if the situation is anything more than a john with an attitude. As I pull through the gate, I look in the rearview mirror. Spider is standing in the doorway of the main office, a thunderous expression on his face. The fact that he has bed head and no shirt on, revealing his tatted, insanely muscled chest, is distracting, but that isn’t what causes my breath to hitch; it’s the way he’s looking at me, possessively, like I’m on his radar and he plans on keeping me there.

  I gun my engine and escape as soon as the gate is open and I’m clear. Judging by the look on Spider’s face I wouldn’t be shocked if jumps on his Harley and follows me. The last thing I have time for is Spider’s antics.

  As I hang a hard right out of the parking lot, I glimpse an irate Agent Turner striding belligerently up to Jack, his arms waving wildly. As much as I hate to get Jack in hot water with the feds, I also know that Lady Luck wouldn’t raise the alarm unless shit was serious. I silently wish Jack luck as I hit the gas.

  One of the great things about the compound being located downtown is we’re never far from the action. It only takes me a few minutes to reach the intersection Lady
Luck gave me. When I pull up, Lady emerges from the alley with an overnight bag. She throws it into the back of the car and slides onto the front seat. I’m pulling away from the curb before she pulls the door closed with a jarringly loud thud.

  Crouched down in the front seat, she breathes a sigh of relief as we make our getaway. She’s clearly terrified, I’ve never seen her like this. She’s usually so calm and cool.

  “Lady, what the fuck is going on?”

  “Girl, he almost killed me last night. That crazy ass white man didn’t want no pussy. The fucker tried to slit my throat.”

  “Who…?” My heart races when I realize she’s trying to tell me she thinks it was him…The Riddler. I listen as she fills me in.

  “I thought he was just another white boy trick, an easy bill, ya know? I figured I’d suck his dick, spit some spunk, and be a hundred dollars richer when I finished. As soon as he pulled into the alley and I told him to take his hoodie off – you know, I like to see what I’m dealing with – he went crazy. I didn’t think I was going to get away from him. He was cool until I touched that fucking hoodie. I’ve never seen anyone go off the deep end like that – and you know I’ve seen some crazy damn shit.”

  “Lady,” I take my eyes off the road for a second. “Take the boss up on his offer and come work with the team. You’ll have free room and board, a job, and no worries. You can’t do this forever, you need a real job. Didn’t you tell me you used to be a professional photographer?”

  “Yeah, I just wasn’t able to make a living doing it.”

  “With your room and board paid, you can. You would be one hell of an asset to the group. Jack needs a crime scene photographer and I need some human interest pics for my blog. You can work with me. You shoot the pics and I’ll write the articles and we’ll have a kick ass crime blog—we can be a team.”