Crash Into Me

by L. A. Fiore

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2020, L.A. Fiore

  All rights reserved

  This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

  Cover design by Melissa Stevens, The Illustrated Author

  File creation, mobi and epub, by Melissa Stevens, The Illustrated Author

  Typeset graphics, title page art and paperback and eBook formatting by Melissa Stevens, The Illustrated Author

  www.theillustratedauthor.net

  Proofreading by Rebecca Barney, Fairest Reviews Editing Services

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Playlist

  Preface

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Epilogue

  Elusive

  Letting Go

  Beautifully Damaged

  His Light in the Dark

  About the Author

  Stay in touch…

  For Anthony…

  I couldn’t write it with you, so I wrote it for you.

  What started with words...

  Playlist

  Empire…Shakira

  You Won’t See Me Cry…Wilson Philips

  Lost Without You…Freya Ridings

  Rise…Katy Perry

  A Reason To Believe…Wilson Philips

  Come By Me…Harry Connick Jr.

  I Dare You…Kelly Clarkson

  New Normal…JJ Heller

  Here Right Now…Lindsey Ray

  The Heat…Need To Breathe

  Pictures of You…Lauren Ruth Ward

  Serenity…David Foster

  Right Round…Flo Rida

  Rock Bottom…Hailee Steinfeld

  Break My Heart…Victoria Duffield

  Safe Inside…James Arthur

  The Look…Roxette

  True Colors…Anna Kendrick and Justin Timberlake

  Don’t Forget Me…Katharine McPhee

  Hands…Jewel

  Blackout…Freya Ridings

  Sad Song (Featuring Elena Coats)…We The Kings

  Afterlife…Hailee Steinfeld

  Preface

  My hands wouldn’t come clean. Scrubbing the blood off, it just smeared. Tears pooled, but my anger was stronger, rage burned through me. My hands were raw, but still, I saw the blood.

  “Molly.”

  “It won’t come off.”

  His hand covered mine, as he turned off the water. “I have to get it off.”

  “Molly.”

  I turned to him, then pushed him away from me. The screaming in my head spilled from my mouth and echoed around the bathroom. He made no move to stop me when I used him to let the frustration and pain out. I stumbled back, hitting the wall. Before I slid down it, he was there…holding me up. His hand curled around my chin. “Tell me what you need, Molly.”

  I held his intense stare, my breathing coming in hard pants, the anger giving way to the pain. I fisted his hair, pulled his mouth to mine. He didn’t respond, at first, until I begged against his lips. “Please.”

  Twisting my hair around his hand, he yanked my head back, those eyes I loved stared back, with concern and heat, before his mouth slammed down on mine. I clawed at his clothes, but his arm banded around my waist, holding me to him, as he consumed me with just his kiss. My muscles loosened, my body giving in to him. He pulled at my jeans, dragging them and my panties down my legs, my tee and bra followed. He turned the shower on, stripped, then pulled me under the spray, before pressing me against the wall. His hand moved down my body, his fingers played with me. His mouth replaced his fingers.

  “Oh god.” I fisted his hair, spread my legs wider, and moved my hips to take him deeper. His fingers dug into my ass, as he brought me swiftly to orgasm, before he stood, turned me to the wall and ran his hand up my back and between my shoulder blades. He pressed down, bending me at the waist. He placed my hands on the wall and pushed my legs apart. In the next breath, he was slamming into me.

  “Yes!” I scream.

  He wasn’t gentle. I didn’t want gentle. “Harder,” I begged.

  He fucked me almost brutally; his hand fisted my hair, pulling my head back, again, for his ruthless kiss. I came so hard it brought new tears to my eyes. He broke the kiss, our gazes locked. New tears fell. “If it was you,” I said brokenly.

  His voice was a harsh whisper. “It wasn’t me.”

  He pulled out of me, drew me against him and held me, as I broke down. Three months ago, I didn’t know him, and now I wouldn’t survive the loss of him.

  One

  It was cold, the temperatures were still dropping in the evenings, but the nights were getting shorter. She knew it wasn’t safe to run through Central Park at this hour, but she’d missed her run that morning and needed to work off the alcohol she’d consumed at the reception.

  Her muscles felt good; the sweat rolling down her back was welcomed. She hadn’t been in the city for long; work had brought her here. She wasn’t sure she’d adjust to city life, but she had. She loved everything: the hustle and bustle, the shops, the culture, and the people. She’d been interviewed; sure, it was an off the beaten path online publication and the journalist was more interested in hearing about her boss, but the interview had been conducted over tea at The Plaza.

  When her assignment was over, she was seriously thinking about staying. An acquaintance set her up with a potential interview. Just thinking about it, more specifically, the man she’d be working with…Not only was he one of the most prominent men in the world, he was also the sexiest man she’d ever seen. It was unlikely she’d get the job; there were far more experienced publicists, but if she did, she was taking it.

  Her footfalls were the only sound, as she jogged along the path. She didn’t listen to music; she wanted to be alert, so it was a shock when strong arms wrapped around her waist. She screamed, but it was cut short by the hand that covered her mouth. She tried to flail her arms, tried to get traction like she’d been taught in her self-defense classes, but she couldn’t budge her attacker. He dragged her behind a tree and slammed her up against it. Her head hit hard, her vision turning blurry. She couldn’t see his face; he was shrouded in shadows, but he was big and strong.

  His hand moved from her mouth. She filled her lungs, so she could scream, fearing he was going to rape her, but then she saw the knife. His hand closed over her mouth again. As he leaned in, a familiar scent hit her, his face coming into view, one she’d just seen earlier that night. Confusion accompanied fear when he plunged the knife into her heart.

  Two

  Molly

  It was disgusting, and like a train wreck, I couldn’t look away. I cringed, wanted to cover my eyes, b
ut I was morbidly fascinated. My filet sat untouched on my plate, the baked potato with butter and sour cream likely cold. When it was delivered, it’d made my stomach growl. My stomach was now churning for an entirely different reason. Maybe if the steak wasn’t rare, or if he had even the slightest bit of table manners, the scene opposite me, at the small table, wouldn’t be so horrifying. But bloody juice dripped down his chin, as he wiped it away with the back of his hand.

  The back of his hand. I was tempted to roll my eyes, but I’d miss the show.

  This was my third date, in as many weeks, a setup from my partner. My partner sucked.

  “You gonna eat that?” My date asked, but he was already reaching across the table and stabbing the meat.

  Looks were definitely deceiving when it came to my dinner companion. When I stepped into the restaurant earlier, I couldn’t lie, I’d felt a tingle. He was beautiful: dark blond hair, bright blue eyes in a face like that of a fallen angel. He wasn’t a big talker, but then, he looked so good, he didn’t need to talk. Then the food came. He went from fallen angel to feral dog. Eating his food like he hadn’t eaten in decades, course after course, shoveling the food in like there was a time limit. I didn’t think I was particularly picky, but this was just…I was done.

  “Excuse me.” I didn’t wait for an answer, not that I got one, except for a grunt, since his mouth was full of cow.

  I found my waiter, paid for my meal, that I didn’t even eat, and left the restaurant.

  It was spring, but the nights were still cool. I could be home by eight, watch a movie before I went to bed. It had been far too long since I’d done something as lazy as watching a movie. The idea was growing more and more appealing. I hailed a cab, walking would take too much time. I might even have some wine at my apartment with the leftover pizza from the other night. This evening could be saved. Then my cell went off. Seeing my partner’s name, I knew I wasn’t going to be watching that movie.

  “We got one in the park,” Zac said, without preamble. “I’ll text you the location.”

  Staring down at the young woman, it never got easier seeing death. A part of me was glad for that, not growing immune. Zac was hunched down next to the coroner; the crime scene unit was processing the area.

  “Stab wound, one to the heart,” Julia said. “No signs of sexual abuse.”

  I looked up the path then down. There were lights along it, but not enough. Why did people insist on running at night when they knew the dangers? “We got a time of death?”

  Julia glanced up at me. “Based on liver temp and lividity, about an hour ago.”

  That got my blood flowing; Zac’s, too, when he stood, looking around the scene. “So it’s possible he’s still here if he gets off on the chase,” I said.

  “He’s strong and has experience,” Julia added.

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “The wound. It’s not easy pushing a knife through the rib cage into the heart. He did and with only one attempt. No hesitation wounds, either.”

  “And the victim?” I asked Zac.

  “ID found with the body is for a Samantha James. Preliminary search, works for Milton Teller PR as a publicist. Here on assignment. Home is Chadds Ford in Pennsylvania.”

  “How long has she been here?”

  “Two months.”

  She either had really bad luck or…“Seems remarkably bad odds for this to be random.”

  Zac glanced over at me. “I was thinking that, too.”

  I exhaled, then looked back at the body. “As soon as you have anything, Julia.”

  “I’ll call you.”

  I started away from the body; Zac fell into step at my side. “So who’d be gunning for a visiting publicist?”

  “Good question. Time to retrace her final hours,” Zac said, then called to one of the crime techs. “Her cell. I want a list of numbers she called in the last week, and I want her calendar.” He looked back at me. “We’ll stop for coffee on the way to the station.”

  “My apartment first. I need to change.”

  “Right.” He grinned. “The big date with Blake.”

  Sometimes, I just wanted to punch him. “The only thing big about the date was that it was a failure.” I stopped walking and poked him in the chest. “Where the hell did you meet Blake?”

  “Fantasy football.”

  Figures. “Don’t fix me up again,” I said, and started for Zac’s car.

  “That bad?” There was concern under the teasing.

  “Worse,” I said, yanking open the door. “I’m hungry.”

  “Didn’t you go to dinner?”

  I was climbing into the car, but stopped and glared at him from over the roof. “I…” No point in retelling the tale, so instead I said, “My apartment to change, food, coffee and no mention of Blake again.”

  He put his hands up. “Okay.” Then muttered, “Someone’s grumpy.”

  An hour later, my feet were up on my desk, and I had three cups of coffee and four slices of pizza in my stomach. “She was at the Rothschild reception earlier. That’s pretty fancy for a publicist based out of Chadds Ford. What did you learn about Milton Teller PR?”

  Zac folded his pizza and ate half in one bite, while tapping the keys on his keyboard. “Milton Teller was a big shot back in the eighties and nineties. Had quite the client list from actors to politicians. Established his business with headquarters in LA and New York, downsized about a decade ago and moved the operation to Chadds Ford and opened a winery.”

  “Still has clout, though, if his publicists are representing people attending the Rothschild reception.” Sinclair Rothschild was a philanthropist. Made most of his money illegally, and then, allegedly, had a morality shift and had been pursuing philanthropic pursuits ever since. Every year, he hosted several receptions, inviting the who’s who to raise money for whatever the cause du jour was. And our victim had been at one of these receptions.

  “Guess who Samantha’s client was?” Zac asked.

  “Who?”

  “Desiree McKenzie.”

  My brows rose at that. An A-list movie star who couldn’t act, but she was beautiful, and her dad was wealthy. “Definitely still has clout.”

  “Yep. We’re going to need the list of attendees from last night, but that shouldn’t be hard to get,” Zac said, reaching for his phone. “Every newspaper likely has the list.”

  He wasn’t wrong about that. Sinclair’s receptions were like the Academy Awards for the Hollywood set, a big deal. “We need to call her family.” I hated that part of the job. Looking down at death was difficult, but having to share that death with the loved ones was brutal.

  Zac sounded as solemn as I felt, when he said, “We’ll wait until the morning.”

  My head didn’t hit my bed until three and at exactly six, Salem was purring in my ear. I reached for my pillow and pressed it over my head. I wanted another twelve hours of sleep, but Samantha needed us. Climbing from bed, I went to the bathroom and took care of business, before heading to the kitchen; I hit the Keurig first, and while that brewed, I fed Salem. Reaching for a slice of pizza in the fridge, I took my coffee to my bedroom and got dressed.

  “I’ll be home…” I started to say to Salem, as I yanked open my door, then remembered I had another date tonight. I should cancel it, didn’t know why I’d scheduled one so close to the last one. I needed time in between the staggering disappointments that were my dates these days. “I’ll be home to change. Going to dinner again; hopefully, I eat this time. I’ll bring you something back.” He turned, his tail going in the air, as he walked away. I knew he was going back to bed. Fucker. It’s where I wanted to be. My neighbor, Ethan, was just leaving as I was locking up. He was in his twenties, was still working the Goth look, all black, even his hair was black and spiky around a face that couldn’t be called beautiful but definitely had you look
ing twice. He was a stoner, but he was good about not smoking in the building. He knew I was a cop. I knew I should be writing him up, but he was a good neighbor and growing into a friend, so the rare times he did smoke, I turned a blind eye.

  “Hey, Detective.”

  “Morning, Ethan.”

  “How was your date?”

  My apartment building wasn’t super big, and most were elderly who loved to talk and crack open their doors to snoop on their neighbors. “I’d like to forget it.”

  “That’s too bad. You know…” He knocked his shoulder into mine. “You and me really should get a bite.”

  I played along, even leaned into him a bit and said, “And when it’s over, we’ll live right across the hall from each other.”

  He went pale, and I laughed out loud.

  He was a charmer, and there was always a different girl leaving his place in the morning. He wasn’t hurting for company. And me…I had my cat. We stepped outside, a breeze brought goosebumps to my skin. “Catch ya later, Ethan.”

  “You make a valid point, but I’m not discouraged, Detective.” He called back, walking backward, so he could keep me in his sights.

  I laughed, turned from him and waved my hand over my head.

  I’d been a homicide detective for six years. I wasn’t the first woman detective, didn’t want that responsibility. I didn’t have a traumatic childhood or life-changing event that got me interested in law and order. I liked puzzles, liked solving them to uncover the story. And I liked being a voice for those who no longer had one. It wasn’t the easiest job, downright sucked at times, but when we brought the perp to justice, it felt damn good.

  It was my turn to bring in coffee, so I caught a cab and stopped at the corner café, before meeting up with Zac. He was already at his desk, head down, pen scratching over paper. I placed his large black coffee on his desk. He didn’t even look up. “Thanks.”

  “What are you working on?” I asked.

  “Retracing Samantha’s last steps.”

  “Did you call her parents?”

  He stopped working, his head lifted. It hit him hard, too. “Yeah.” He leaned back in his chair and pulled a hand through his hair. “They’re making arrangements, coming into the city to identify…” He blew out a breath. “Julia said she’d greet them when they arrived.”