Killer Attraction

by Mikala Ash

  When I opened my eyes he still filled my whole field of view, silhouetted against the cool lights of the city's skyline. He was tall, built like a swimmer with wide shoulders and a narrow waist. He hovered over me as he took a look at my driver's license and wrote down my address and phone number. An eager colleague called him back to the scene of the crime and he growled in frustration. He escorted me to a police car and told a policewoman to drive me home despite my protests.

  "Thank you for giving Officer Meyer first aid,” he said.

  "Don't mention it."

  "I may have some more questions at a later date."

  "I'd be glad to help.” I was eager to get away. As I climbed into the patrol car I gazed up at him. “I'm sorry about the elbow. But I didn't know who you were. You smell like Falstaff."

  A laugh escaped him. “Sorry about my disguise."

  "It was very good. It had me fooled."

  Chapter Two

  The dogberry was at my door at seven thirty the next morning. He was even more handsome in the soft morning light, the deep crevices of the night much shallower in reality. It was still a face with character. A haunted character, I thought.

  I hadn't slept well after getting home from the Gardens. I was terribly afraid for Simon. What he had done, what he had become and what might happen to him if the police cornered him roiled inside my mind. I imagined the torment he was going through, the horror at what he'd done.

  My fevered mind was also haunted by erotic images of the dogberry, naked and straining between my thighs, the length of his glorious cock sliding into my pussy. Instinctively, I'd brought myself off a couple of times with my fingers strumming my clit, but the self-induced orgasms did little to douse the fire in my belly.

  I was only just coming down from my final orgasm when the doorbell rang. Seeing him on my doorstep set my heart racing all over again and I clutched my dressing gown about my shoulders, lest he see my hardening nipples.

  His mouth was friendly, the smile genuine and unpracticed. He exuded instant trust. He'd be good at interrogations, I thought. He'd be the good cop, the cajoling voice of compassion and reason.

  "Good morning, Miss Price.” His voice was warm and smooth like honey, but nevertheless had a precise, crystal sub-tone which spoke of confidence borne of competence. “Detective Greene, Homicide."

  "Good morning, Detective Greene."

  "I hope this is not too early to call. I wanted to catch you before you left for work."

  "Work? Oh, how full of briers is this working day world,” I muttered.

  He considered me speculatively. His captivating eyes held mine prisoner for a moment before he spoke through a triumphant, but boyish smile. “Rosalind, in ‘As You Like It'."

  "Impressive,” I said once I'd overcome my surprise. Last night was not a one off. He was, like me, a Shakespeare tragic. “Where do I work?” I challenged.

  "I assumed a dedicated freelance journalist like you would be out and about early to catch the early story."

  "I'm very lazy today, Detective, so today's worm will escape me, I'm afraid.” I paused deliberately. “T'was a rough night."

  He inclined his head and considered me in a speculative manner. “Macbeth doth murder sleep."

  I was inordinately glad he'd caught the quote. He was different, this dogberry.

  "I thought I might offer you a coffee."

  My heart had jumped into my throat and my mouth was suddenly dry. “I prefer tea. Green tea.” I was instantly annoyed at myself. I shouldn't be flirting, especially with a dogberry ... this dogberry in particular.

  His eyes flared at my little joke. “Excellent. I do have some follow up questions arising from last night."

  I got in first with one of my own. “How is your colleague?"

  "Recovering. Meyer is still in quite a bad way. She's delirious, muttering about wolves with red eyes."

  "How horrible."

  He glanced over my shoulder into the front parlor. His eyes quickly scanned the marble statues, tiled floor and expansive oil paintings which covered the hallway walls. “You're not really a journalist, are you?"

  His eyes returned to mine. They were crystalline blue; not the pale blue you sometimes see on people, but a bright saturated azure, like the fake contacts which have recently become the fashion with metro-sexuals. He didn't strike me as in any way narcissistic. He wore a work-a-day blue suit and plain tie, so I assumed his eyes were not counterfeit.

  "You wouldn't believe what I am..."

  "Try me. I'm pretty broadminded."

  "Helpful in your line of work, I'd imagine."

  "You want to tell me what you were really doing in the Gardens last night?"

  I almost said I wasn't a prostitute, but I stopped myself. It would be a perfect explanation for what I was doing running scantily clad in the Gardens in the early hours. I held out my hands as if to be handcuffed. “Okay Officer, it's a fair cop. You got it right. I'm a hooker."

  "No you're not—don't be silly."

  "What?"

  "Of course you're not a hooker."

  "I swear I am!"

  A smile creased those luscious lips. “'He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath'."

  A cold shiver speared into my gut at his choice of quotation. It seemed a little too close for comfort, but his guileless expression convinced me it had been an accident. How could he possibly suspect I was wolfen?

  It was my turn to identify the quote and I obliged, enjoying the game despite myself. “Only a fool would say it. King Lear, I believe."

  He gave a mock bow. “As befitting a dogberry."

  "Sorry.” I blushed.

  "I've been called worse.” He paused for a beat. “I know you're not a hooker because I know all the hookers in this damned city."

  "In a purely professional capacity, I presume, and not from your pursuit of country matters."

  "In the course of my duties, yes."

  I giggled at the pun. He certainly was no ordinary dogberry, this one. He knew his city and was on the job early, checking on my identity. I wondered what else he knew about me.

  "I might be a visiting hooker."

  "No chance, Miss Price. You've lived in this house for over twenty years."

  Another cold shiver told me to be careful. The problem was the shiver got warmer the further it traveled and by the time it reached the juncture of my thighs it was searing hot. I wanted to blame it on the quickening: any good looking guy standing this close to me, his blue eyes burning into me like lasers, would have this effect. But I knew it wasn't true. There was something unique about Detective Greene.

  "Do I have to get a restraining order put out on you for stalking me?"

  "If you did, more people than me will be asking penetrating questions."

  There was something in his voice that told me he was doing more than just flirting. I had the sense he was testing me. Our encounter last night had intrigued him, I knew, and he wanted to know more about me as a person and not as a witness. I'd heard the intrigue line a hundred times before. I have that effect on men. I thought somehow Detective Greene was different. He was more than intrigued. He was challenged. He'd want to see how intriguing I could be. I liked the idea. I told myself it meant I could get closer to him so I could protect Simon.

  "Do I need a lawyer?"

  "I don't know, do you?"

  It had been a moot question, of course. There was no way I was going to a lawyer. I kicked myself. I shouldn't be playing this game. There was too much at stake not to take this dogberry seriously.

  "I'll come clean,” I said. “I'm a student."

  "What of?"

  "Mythology."

  "Any particular brand of mythology?"

  "The ancient sort,” I countered, enjoying our wordplay despite the risk.

  "As opposed to modern mythology?"

  I returned his challenging smile. “They say nothing is new under the moon."

 
We stood gazing at each other for a few moments.

  Beneath my bathrobe my heart was galloping and my nipples were aching with hard desire. The moon still held its sway over me and if Detective Greene wasn't careful, I'd have him over the baby grand and we wouldn't be playing chopsticks.

  "Would you like to come inside?"

  "Yes,” he said, his lips curling into another one of his smiles which sent a delightful shiver through me. “Yes, I would."

  I took him into the sunroom and sat him beside the bay windows. He glanced out at our garden, the path down to the boatshed, the dock and then the glistening harbor beyond. He took only a moment then swung his eyes back to me. He wasn't one to be sucked in by a grand vista. He was focused solely on me.

  "A nice room."

  I'd taken the seat opposite him, next to Shakespeare's bust. “If you are wondering about my source of income, I'm independently wealthy. I inherited a veritable fortune from my family."

  "I see. So what was a provocatively dressed, independently wealthy student of ancient mythology doing tipping a cab driver fifty bucks to get her to the Gardens after midnight if she wasn't hellbent on disrupting a police investigation?"

  His challenge took my breath away. “Sorry. Is that a crime?"

  "The last one is, certainly. Tell me, honestly, what were you doing?"

  Simon chose that particular moment to come bouncing down the staircase dressed only in his boxers. He skidded into the room and pulled up short, his shock of blonde hair falling over his eyes. I silently cursed him. He must have come in the back door and gone up the rear stairs. I'd been too focused on Detective Greene to notice his arrival.

  Detective Greene's expression was a mixture of suspicion and disappointment.

  "My brother, Simon."

  "Hello,” Simon said cheerfully. He was always a good actor. “Sis, where are my red undies?"

  "In the laundry,” I replied icily. “In the dirty washing basket."

  "Oops, sorry.” He winked at Greene in the time-honored way that bonded men against their feminine jailers. “It must be my turn to do the washing. Duty calls."

  "My brother has domestic blindness,” I explained when he had skipped out. “He tries to make up for it with boyish charm."

  "You live with your brother?"

  "For the moment."

  Detective Greene's lips curled in an understanding smile this time. He had a smile for every emotion and I kind of liked watching his lips reconfigure themselves. I had a sudden desire to lick the corners of his mouth and see what sort of smile I could provoke then.

  Those blue eyes of his were so deep I lost myself every time I gazed into them. We'd been staring silently at each other for a considerable moment before I realized I was thirty seconds away from ripping away my dressing gown and jumping his bones. “I'm sorry. Is there something else?"

  "You haven't answered my question."

  "Oh, I'm sorry. Brother Simon interrupted us, didn't he?"

  He gave me a polite smile this time. “So, last night?"

  "I was researching. The full moon has been a source of myth and legend for millennia. I wanted to speak to people, ordinary people, about it while they were under its sway, so to speak."

  His gaze was unblinking and I smelt suspicion. I also smelt lust. He wasn't wolfen of course, but human lust is as easy to detect as a wolf's. My heart was thumping, my blood running hot through my veins, pooling in my sex. If he possessed my senses he would have detected my desire and he would've jumped my bones without any more encouragement.

  I knew I was blushing. My face was prickly hot and my ear lobes were burning.

  "Normal people? Winos, hookers and criminals are the only people found in the Gardens after midnight. Do they talk much philosophy, in your experience?"

  "You'd be surprised."

  "I bet I would."

  We gazed at each other for a few more pregnant seconds.

  "You have other questions?” I prompted. I had to get him out of the house. My nipples were screaming for a kiss and my pussy was throbbing for much more. I wanted the dogberry and I wanted him bad.

  But now was not the time. Detective Greene had seen Simon and now I had to get him away from the house lest he start asking him questions he couldn't answer.

  There was too much at stake for me to play lust-inspired games. I couldn't let Simon be taken. Not only would his life be at risk, but my ruin and the exposure of all our kind would be risked as well. Simon had walked across a tightrope and was in danger of falling into the abyss. I shouldn't be helping Detective Greene jiggle the rope.

  "Hundreds of questions."

  "So many?"

  "You are a very intriguing individual, Miss Price."

  Here it comes. I wanted to delay the inevitable. “Justine, please."

  "Justine it is."

  "I can't imagine how I could possibly intrigue you."

  "Each of us thinks we are ordinary. We think our lives are banal in the extreme. But to an outsider, who catches the merest of glimpses of just a slice of our life, what we consider boring can be the most fascinating of things."

  A warm flood swept through my body and my pussy became a cauldron of moist heat. “Should I be pleased I fascinate you?"

  "Only you can decide."

  He was pressing all the buttons. “Isn't there a rule about policeman flirting with a witness?"

  "Was I flirting?"

  "Only you know for certain,” I countered.

  He smiled mischievously. “Perhaps it's a measure of my fascination."

  I raised an eyebrow.

  "That I'd break rules,” he continued. “Perhaps now would be a good time for me to offer to buy you that cup of tea."

  Yes, at least I'd get him out of the house and away from Simon. “Where did have you in mind?"

  "The police station."

  I caught my breath. “I don't understand."

  "I have something I want to show you."

  "I'll need to dress."

  He ran his eyes over my dressing gown to where it ended just above my bare knees. “I can wait."

  I drove myself to police headquarters, a sandstone monstrosity of modern design. My stomach fluttered with nervous anticipation. I felt like I was walking into a trap, and somehow Detective Greene had seen right through me with those penetrating blue eyes, and he would pounce on me with a dog catcher's net to haul me away to the kennels.

  Net free, Detective Greene was waiting for me at the front counter. Once again I was taken by his size and power. He was an athlete, a combination of good genes and hard work. I imagined what he'd look like in wolfen form and barely resisted the urge to fling myself into his arms and mould myself to his body. He took my hand in welcome. His grip was warm and firm and sent electric jolts up the length of my arm straight into my heart.

  During the drive into town I'd been trying to gain some perspective and control my rampant hormones. I'd replayed every second of the time I'd spent with Detective Greene. Probably twenty minutes in total. But those twenty minutes had impacted me like no other time in my life. Countless young men had courted me over the years and none, not even Ricardo, had achieved anything close to what Detective Green had done to me in those twenty minutes.

  I decided his infatuation with me was a good thing and I'd encourage it to its natural conclusion. At least I'd be a distraction and I could follow the course of the investigation, perhaps even influence the direction he took.

  His office was a clutter of desks and chairs, photocopiers, fax machines and computers. The wide desks were stacked with folders, books and telephones. White boards, pasted with gruesome photos of bodies of the Full Moon Murderer's victims, lined the walls.

  "This is our operations room,” he explained after he had seated me in front of a wide screen TV with a cup of tea, green as promised, at my elbow. “What I want to show you is our surveillance video of the Gardens, taken last night."

  "Video taken in the dark?"

  "We had infra-red c
ameras installed on flag poles and other high vantage points."

  Just as I'd feared.

  "I won't bore you with the operational details of our stakeout,” he continued, sitting on the edge of a desk, his long legs stretched out before him. I took a moment to survey the well-formed musculature of his legs, little disguised by the clean lines of his trousers. “I implore you not to discuss anything you see here with anyone else, including your brother."

  "I understand. But I still don't understand why I'm here."

  He pressed the remote and the office lights dimmed. The TV screen came alive with those surreal infra-red images of people shaped objects in varying shades of blues and reds moving about in between areas of grey and black.

  "All the people you see there, bar one, are police officers, including our decoy."

  "Your bait,” I said. “She was bait, wasn't she? It must be an awesome responsibility to put someone in such danger."

  He rose to my cynical observation. “She volunteered."

  I shrugged. “It's still an awesome responsibility to let someone volunteer for something so dangerous."

  He cleared his throat. “I lose either way, so let's move on, shall we?"

  I suddenly felt guilty for trying to make him feel guilty.

  "By all means."

  "We have a male suspect, a derelict we believe: tall, thin, ragged clothes. He is unaccounted for at the time of the attack."

  He pointed at a figure with a pencil. I knew it must be Simon. “Now, our decoy moves..."

  "Why don't you use her name?"

  He paused for a moment, his face impassive. His eyes stayed fixed on mine. I felt guilty again for making him feel guilty for merely doing his duty. I didn't understand what I was doing. I should be seducing him, not antagonizing him. I had no idea what was going on in my head. What my body was experiencing was obvious. I was so hot for him I wanted to throw myself at him and take him then and there, shoving folders and papers to the floor and opening my legs to him.

  He was staring at me.

  "I'm sorry,” I said. “That was unnecessary. I apologize."