by Amy Faye
Finally he came in for a hug and she accepted it, hugged him back. "You okay?"
Erin nodded. "I'm fine, why? Do I look ill?"
"Erin, your sister just died."
"I know that the FBI sent their best men just to look into it."
Roy rolled his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. "You know, you don't need to do that."
"Do what?"
"Be sarcastic all the damn time."
"What makes you think I'm being sarcastic?"
"I know how it is, okay? I know that you guys don't like it when we step in on your cases. I'm not a politician, but I'm not an idiot. But I'm a cop, and I investigate my case, and this is my case. Has been for a year now."
"Only a year? I thought there had been murders the past four."
"You noticed that, did you? Someone should make you a detective. You're perceptive."
It was Erin's turn to roll her eyes. "Thanks, college boy."
"I took over from a Special Agent who ended up not cutting it. He couldn't turn it into anything."
"What, not enough profiling crap?"
"Too much. He was either sexually frustrated, or he was a sexual sadist, and he liked his mother too much, or not enough. The damn head-shrinkers had us jumping at every opportunity. Not enough solid police-work. But by the time I get ahold of the case, even the most recent murder sites are weeks old. Most of them years old. The trail's cold."
"So, what, you wait around until another one comes along, is that it?"
"Not exactly, no. We had bait set up to try to catch the next guy, but come on. Looking for a creep on an online dating site is like looking for a needle in a field of needle-stacks, you know that."
"Sure. So the end result is, though, you can't catch the guy soon enough, so you have to rely on trying to catch him when he strikes again."
"You're not totally wrong."
"Why the vacation?"
"It's important to get away sometimes. To make sure that you have a clear head. Why? You don't believe in being away a little?"
"I believe in closing cases and getting my work done."
They had seated already, a waitress watching them talk from the front counter but not coming to take their orders yet.
"Of course, don't we all? But that's not really a fair picture to paint, and I think you know that. It's just not feasible to do that sort of thing all the time. There's always another case. Always more work to do. You can run yourself ragged, never stopping, but at some point, are you hurting the work you're doing?"
"It never hurt my work. I kept a near-perfect clear rate, and of those, conviction rates—well, they are what they are."
"So, not as great as you wanted?"
"That's not on my head," Erin growled, flicking a hair out of her face a little too sharply. "It's the District Attorney's job at that point."
"That's sweet," Roy said. He looked up at the woman who had finally approached. "Could I get the Teriyaki Chicken, white rice?"
Erin ordered just a bit of fried rice. She still wasn't very hungry, after all. 'Big breakfast,' she claimed.
"I don't want to fight with you, Erin. I think we're close to making a break. If we're lucky, we can get whoever took your sister before he takes someone else." He leaned in close. "So I need you to stay away from that guy. That Hutchinson guy. I think he's dangerous, and I don't want to see you get hurt."
"Okay," she said, electing not to mention that he'd been inside her earlier that day. "Done. Anything else?"
Fifteen
Erin's breath caught in her chest. She hadn't left her door open. She reached for the pistol that should have been at her hip. Nothing. She closed her eyes a moment to run through her options.
She had the pepperbox in her purse. That would be enough. She took it out of its holster and hefted it in her hand. Quickly practiced pulling it up into line, and then dropped it to the floor. Finger off the trigger. Safety off. Okay. She put her shoulder down and knocked the door open hard enough to hurt if someone was hiding behind it.
The door knocked loudly into the wall as she sailed past, checking the inside corner before continuing. Nothing in the kitchen area. Nothing in the living area. Nothing in the dining area. The front room was empty. Which left the uncomfortable choice. Bathroom or bedroom? She'd have to walk right past the open door to one to get at the other.
Too dangerous. Too dangerous by a long shot. Erin pressed her back against the wall, surveyed the room. Empty. It was time to pick. She turned back into the hall and shouldered open the door to the bedroom, brought the pistol up hard.
"Honey, I'm home."
Craig smiled at her from his seat at the head of the bed, his back pressed against the headboard.
Erin cursed. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought you wanted to see me," he said, mimicking a pout. "Are you saying that you don't want to spend time with me any more?"
"I'm saying that you don't get to come into my apartment any time you damn well please."
"But it was so fun."
"Get out. You want to come see me, you tell me first."
"Fine. Here, I thought I was doing you a favor here. Trying to teach you an important lesson about personal safety."
He slipped off the bed as she told him to get out, slowly taking the walk across the room. He stepped closer to her until her back was pressed against the wall, their bodies pressed together.
Erin could feel the gun pressed between them, as well. She wanted to pull the trigger. Wished that she had, more than ever. This was the guy who did it. She was sure. It was definitely the guy.
"Where you been, out in a dress like this?"
"It was laundry day," she answered. "Get out of my apartment."
Erin's phone buzzed.
"What's that?"
"Nothing."
"No," Craig laughed. "I'm pretty sure it wasn't nothing. You got someone texting you? One of your girlfriends, maybe?"
"Maybe," she answered. "Get out of my apartment."
Craig reached between them, forcing a gasp out of Erin's lips as he ran a hand up her thigh, grazing over her mound. Even through the fabric of her dress, she could feel the desire already mounting.
His hand kept moving until it closed around the barrel of her pistol. She should have fought for it, but she didn't. Instead she let Craig take it. He stepped back a bit, turned his hand over.
"Nice piece." He tossed it on the bed. "I just came by because I realized I hadn't tried your mouth yet."
"I told you to get out."
"But you're not going to make me, are you?"
"Fuck you. Get out."
"Get on your knees." Craig's voice didn't raise, and he didn't sound angry, but the way he said it made her obey.
He unzipped his cock. The memory of that cock inside her, only a couple hours ago, made her head go a little bit light.
"You know what to do next," he growled.
Had her sister done this same thing? Erin wondered. She forced herself not to think about it. Instead, she took it in one hand, jerking it experimentally. Craig took a fist-full of her hair and started pushing. She hated it. Or, she should have. She knew she should have, even as she took his cock deeper in her mouth, letting her tongue swirl around the head.
Instead, she found herself preening when she heard him whisper "Oh, fuck."
She found herself wanting it. This wasn't right, she wasn't like this. But it didn't change that she started bobbing her head faster, deeper, anything to get him to lose control just a little bit more. To feel herself getting the control she wanted.
"God damn, girl."
She slurped and sucked as hard as she could, pulling him out of her mouth with a soft pop. "Do you like that?"
His fingers dug into her hair harder. "Shut up and suck my cock."
She shut up and sucked his cock, bobbing her head. Enjoying the feeling of him thrusting back to meet her even as she resented the hell out of herself for it. She shouldn't have enjoyed this. The guy wa
s exactly who she didn't need to get involved with, but here she was, kneeling and acting like his personal slut.
She could feel his movements getting less rhythmic, could feel him trying to force harder as he approached his climax. He held her head still, now, fucking her face, his cock trying to penetrate her throat with every thrust. He pushed in deep and she could feel him spasming as he sent rope after rope of cum shooting down her throat.
She came up coughing as he pulled himself out in time to shoot another rope of cum that traced a line from her chin down to where her pretty dress covered her tits.
"Good girl."
Erin growled. "Get out of my apartment."
"I'll be back," he said. "I'll see you next time."
She leaned back against the door, more angry with herself for looking forward to it. What the fuck was wrong with her? This wasn't about sex, and it certainly wasn't about relationships.
She was trying to catch the bastard who was killing these women. Craig showed every sign of being capable of it. She reached her hand down, pulled her dress up. Instead, she was like a bitch in heat.
She didn't waste any time with getting herself ready. She was already as ready as she could be. If he'd decided to come back in and please himself with her pussy—she pushed the thought away. It wasn't about him. Wasn't about what he wanted.
She needed to feel release, needed the sweet oblivion of an orgasm to wipe away the arousal that she didn't want to feel any more.
Her fingers moved in quick, short circles, forcing the orgasm out through her fingers. Forcing the pleasure out of herself. She let out a soft moan, and then a louder one. It didn't matter if he left the door open. The only thing that mattered was what she needed, now.
She could feel her orgasm approaching fast. She pinched a sensitive nipple, another shock of pleasure to add to the whirlwind of need that was building up in her belly as she played with her pussy.
Her body got tense as she raced over the edge of oblivion, circling her clit hard and fast and chasing the pleasure as far as the trail would go. Finally she slumped over.
She needed to get out of these clothes, and she needed to catch that son of a bitch Craig for what he'd done to her sister.
If he'd done anything like that to her—Erin couldn't think of it. Her sister wouldn't have enjoyed it like she had. Becca was the good girl.
Erin was the bitch, and sometimes bitches enjoyed things they shouldn't.
Sixteen
The day had already been long, and now it was only getting longer. She shouldn't have been called out, but Roy had texted her and she was going regardless.
There was another one. This one was newer than any of the ones they'd found, but he'd broken the pattern. It always happened eventually, Roy said. And when it happened, that was when they managed to find something that would bag the bastard.
She came into a scene that was already too crowded with people. She didn't have a badge to flash, and the suit wore a badge that read F.B.I. on his hip, so she couldn't even rely on his recognizing her.
"I was called out to the scene. Get Schafer. He'll confirm the story."
"I'm sorry, ma'am. Official personnel only unless I have orders otherwise."
"Then go talk to Roy. Schafer. He told me to come to the scene, and here I am. I'm a cop, God damn it. Can't you at least do me that favor?"
He looked askance at the reporters around. "No, ma'am. I have to stay here."
"You can't go off for one goddamn second?"
He caught someone trying to slip under the caution tape with one arm and pushed them back, without too much concern for their safety or the safety of the camera on their shoulder.
Then the agent shot her a look as if to say 'see?'
"She's with me," came a voice from behind. Roy's voice.
"Yes, sir."
He stood aside a second to let Erin through. She could hear him say "Not you" to someone who tried to follow her through. She could only imagine the stink-eye that they caught for it.
"Sorry about the trouble," Roy said, giving an apologetic smile. It was already a long day, and it was only going to get longer.
The woman was surrounded by groceries. She'd been out shopping, it seemed, and had taken a cut down a back alley. The part of town wasn't so bad this time, and it was the middle of the day when she'd been stabbed.
"What did you need me for?"
"Call it a gesture of good will and inter-departmental cooperation."
"Okay," she said, pulling on gloves. The body was cool, but it wasn't ice cold. Pretty, dark-haired. It was hard not to notice the similarities to the other women.
"Do we have an I.D.?"
"Sure we do. Irene Cassidy, aged twenty-eight. Leaves behind a husband, aged twenty-seven, and a little girl, aged four."
Erin didn't have anything to say. She looked up at Roy, who gave her an understanding shrug. It was sad, no doubt. But neither of them had time to waste on feeling sad right now.
"Time of day is different."
"Yes."
"And the victim was married. Could she have been stepping out on the side?"
"Not likely," Roy answered. "We've got techs going over the home P.C. now, but it's not looking very likely at all. Far as we can tell, the husband used it mostly. She was less the computer type. Used it to buy stuff online when she couldn't get it local, that sort of thing. Not a heavy user."
"And she was married, to boot."
"Yes."
"Any chance that it's a coincidence? Husband did it and copied another killer to make use figure it was him instead?"
"Again—not likely."
"No, I didn't think so."
Erin let out a breath. She could already guess what had happened. It wasn't hard to do. If he was a sadist—and she knew Craig sure as hell seemed to be one, her feelings on which were a whole mess she didn't want to untangle right now—then she'd definitely riled him up earlier.
He could have gone right out and found someone to kill. Someone who wasn't her. Why he put off killing her instead, she didn't know. She only knew that she couldn't exactly afford to go out at night with her 'new boyfriend,' or maybe he'd get a repeat performance in.
"What else can you tell me?"
"Not a whole lot else. She's a model citizen. Good mother, far as we can tell. Everyone who we've been able to talk to—understand we've only had the scene for an hour or so—seemed to love her. Heartbroken. I mean, you know, everyone says that, but my guys say they buy it."
She considered telling him about what she'd done. Considered it for a long time, because it would have answered quite a few questions that were sure to be looming large in Roy's mind. But telling him would mean that either she became the F.B.I.'s bait, or he'd make her stop. Either way meant that she let someone else have control, and she couldn't do that.
Not when it was her sister's life. Anyone else, fine. She'll take shotgun, let them call the shots, and she would do what she had to do. But they would just fuck it up, she knew. The only person she could count on in this case was herself.
"Two murders in, what, three days? He's getting faster."
"This one wasn't planned," Schafer answered off-hand.
"No, I guess it wasn't."
"We're sweeping the place for prints, but we're not expecting much. We're more hopeful for fibers and hairs."
"You said when they break pattern, they make mistakes."
"That's right. We'll make a cop out of you yet."
She soured at the joke. "But does that mean that he keeps going with the plan? Should we expect another murder within the week?"
Roy crouched down next to her, exhaling through his nose. "I hope not."
"But you're afraid so."
"But I'm afraid so," he agreed.
"Then we have four days to nail him."
"At most," Roy said. He sounded tired. She almost wanted to invite him back to get some rest at her place. She'd just learned a great new trick, after all, and she was eager to practic
e. The fear of the wrong person bursting in told her not to.
"Is there anything else?"
"Sure. You learned anything from your, ah, time off?"
"Oh, yeah. Sure. Talk shows are garbage."
Roy gave her an even, frustrated look. "Okay, sure. Keep your secrets. But when you get done being clever, give me a call. If you find anything out, it's better we both know everything. You can't catch him single-handed, and I need all the information I can get if I'm going to do anything about it."
"Okay. If anything happens to come on Oprah—"
"She's not doing T.V. any more," Roy said reflexively.
"Fine. Whoever, then."
"You want, like, Wendy Williams."
"That's fine."
He looked up from the body. "I'm just saying."
Erin stood up. Had he had her as an appetizer, come out for this murder, and then finished her off again for dessert? She felt for her car keys and took them in hand, only realizing after a minute that she was gripping them hard enough to hurt.
"I'll text you." Erin turned to leave.
"Hey, you want to get dinner later?"
She knew that he wasn't talking about inter-agency cooperation any more, and she could feel the butterflies in her stomach at the idea. She wanted to. She'd had a good time with him, back in Wyoming when he wasn't being a bastard who stole important cases from people.
"Maybe when you're done here," she said. She wanted to refuse, to save what little dignity and independence she had left. She needed to keep working on the case, to make sure that she didn't set off another one of these murders. The words came out on their own. "I need to get a shower."
Seventeen
The second that she got out of the shower she already felt better. A long day, no question, but she'd be able to make it through. Somehow. She checked that the chain lock was still fitted in the door before she went back to her bedroom to get dressed.
Something had her spooked about the place not being totally secure. Somehow, Craig Hutchinson had made it in, and while she absolutely didn't have any trouble believing that he was the sort of man who knew a few locksmiths' tricks, that didn't make her feel much better about the situation. If he could get in once, then he would be able to get in again, no problem. Which meant that Erin need to constantly be on her guard until she was able to put him behind bars.
