The Trap

by Carol Ericson

  “You’re probably right about that.” She pushed her plate away. “That was yummy. You’re a good cook.”

  “I have my repertoire. Too bad my daughter’s a vegetarian these days, as my repertoire pretty much is this meal.”

  Patting her stomach, Kyra said, “It hit the spot. I haven’t felt this relaxed since...”

  She covered her eyes with her hand, and Jake jumped out of his chair and circled behind hers. He placed his hands on her shoulders and said, “It’s all right. We’ll get justice for Quinn—one way or another. Finish relaxing on the couch. I’ll clean up.”

  “No, you don’t. Look at you.” She pinched his dress shirt between her fingers, his sleeves rolled up to expose the end of the tiger tattoo on his forearm. “You haven’t even changed out of your work clothes. You get comfortable and I’ll do the dishes.”

  He relented and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “You twisted my arm.”

  As he went upstairs, she stacked their plates and rinsed them at the sink. She loaded the dishwasher and cocked her head as she heard the shower upstairs. Imagining Jake’s body beneath the stream of water, she almost dropped the dishes to scamper upstairs to join him.

  They hadn’t made love for a while, and she missed the closeness. She’d been on edge and resentful of Jake for keeping his midnight visit to Quinn’s house a secret from her, but his revelations tonight had shored up her faith in him and deepened her love. She needed him more than ever.

  She finished cleaning up, poured more wine for Jake, and took her glass to the window, where she swirled the dark liquid and stared at the shimmering lights below. Quinn had risked so much to protect her. She wished she could’ve protected him in the end. If someone had murdered him, who? Not Castillo. She agreed with Jake. The captain was no killer—corrupt, but no killer.

  The Player? She shivered despite the warmth of the wine and food in her belly. Had Quinn known The Player all this time? He never would’ve turned his back on a stranger in his house—never would’ve let a stranger into his house in the first place. Had The Player been hiding in plain sight?

  She heard a step on the stairs and shifted her gaze from the city lights to Jake’s reflection in the glass. He’d changed into a pair of basketball shorts and a white T-shirt. Now she felt overdressed. She should remedy that.

  He made a detour to the counter and picked up the glass she’d left for him. Meeting her eyes in the window, he prowled behind her until he stood at her back, one arm wrapped around her waist.

  She inhaled his soapy scent, which could never mask the pure masculine essence that emanated from his body. “You smell good.”

  He dipped his head and kissed the side of her throat. “You taste good.”

  She undulated her hips against his pelvis, and he gasped and said, “That’s quite a greeting.”

  Holding her wineglass away from her, she started to turn toward him, but he stopped her and took the glass from her hand. “Let me have that. You, stay right here.”

  She relinquished her wine, and he took a step back and placed both glasses on a side table. Then he snuggled up against her back again, his hands splaying across her stomach, his tongue tickling the lobe of her ear.

  She reached down and steadied her hands against his bare thighs, her back arching. “Not fair. I’m still in my work clothes.”

  “Do you want me to fix that for you?”

  She purred, “If you promise always to be my handyman.”

  He chuckled in her ear as he undid the first three buttons on her blouse. He loosened the hem of her top from the waistband of her slacks and pulled it over her head, sighing as he plucked at the lacy camisole beneath. “You have to make things complicated for me.”

  He peeled the camisole from her body and then took care of business with her bra. “Halfway there.”

  She’d already kicked off her shoes. As Jake fumbled with her slacks, she shooed away his hands and released the button and zipper to help the poor guy out.

  He needed no further invitation. He hooked his fingers in her waistband and pulled down her slacks, catching her panties on the way. As her pants pooled at her feet, she stepped out of them and kicked them to the side.

  “Now I’m overdressed.” He made quick work of his T-shirt and shorts and sealed his naked body against hers, his warm skin sending sparks through her veins.

  She closed her eyes to slits so she could see Jake’s large hands roaming across her naked flesh. He gently eased her shoulders and chest forward, and she braced her forearms against the glass. Then he slipped his hand between her legs.

  The coolness of the window contrasting with the hot thumping between her thighs made her gasp. His fingers teased her swollen folds, and she brushed her bottom against his erection prodding her from behind.

  He nestled his head in the crook of her neck and nibbled on her collarbone as he continued to stir her to climax. Gritting her teeth, she held her breath, the multicolored lights from the city streets fusing into a rainbow glow. She let out a harsh breath that fogged the window, and then scooped it in again as the tension in her body built to a breaking point.

  Shoving two fingers inside her, he stroked her heated flesh on the outside until she exploded. She cried out with her orgasm, bucking against him as she braced her hands against the slick glass.

  She still clenched around his fingers, her climax shuddering through her body. He withdrew them and entered her from behind. He thrust into her, and she clawed at the window. He had one arm securely curled around her waist, and she rode him hard, smacking her backside against his pelvis as they rocked together.

  His big frame heaved as his climax took him, and he nearly lifted her off her feet. As he slowed his pace and trembled behind her, he hugged her body to his, spooning her from behind, and they slid to the floor together.

  Breathing heavily, she reached up behind her and wound one arm around his neck. She turned her head and kissed his salty arm wrapped around her waist. “That was...unexpected.”

  They’d been mutely enjoying each other’s bodies, and her voice cracked with the words.

  He pulled out of her and drew her into his lap, his brow furrowed. “Not what you wanted?”

  “Exactly what I wanted and needed. I just thought we’d head up to your bedroom and slip between the sheets.”

  “There’s still time for that. When I saw you at the window, I had to have you—then, there, now, always.”

  She snuggled against his chest, her hands resting lightly on his legs straddling her. “Are you sure nobody can see us out there?”

  “The only building that reaches this height is that one.” He tapped his finger against the glass at a multistory office building across the way and below the Hollywood Hills. Can you see anyone through those little square windows?”

  She squinted. “I can barely see the little squares.”

  “There’s your answer—no audience.”

  She drew a heart in the condensation still fogging the glass. “I love you, Jake.”

  He made a noise in the back of his throat and pulled her closer, burying his face in her messed-up hair. “I love you, too, and I’ll do anything to keep you safe. Maybe I should’ve never told you about Quinn’s deception.”

  “I know you want to protect me, just like Quinn did, but you were right to tell me. I’m not saying Quinn was wrong to keep the secret, but he was my father. You’re my lover, my partner, my equal.”

  He let out a long breath. “I’m glad you feel that way. Now it’s out in the open, and maybe you’re safer for it.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” She stroked the hair on his leg.

  His body stiffened behind her. “Why do you say that?”

  “You know why, Jake.”

  “I do?”

  “Sure you do. You even mentioned it at lunch when you hadn’t told me Quinn’s s
ecret yet.”

  His hold on her tightened. “What do you mean, Kyra?”

  “I mean, I’m going to undergo hypnosis to bring me back to the night of my mother’s murder. I’m going to remember seeing The Player, and I’m going to identify him—and that will put me in danger. Let him try to stop me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Jake slurped his lukewarm coffee and glanced across the task force war room over the rim of his cup. He and Kyra had spent most of the weekend together, and Kyra had already warned him she’d be in late, as she had a client in Santa Monica and errands. He didn’t press her, but was one of those errands contacting that shrink, or rather, the hypnotist?

  She’d mentioned to him that a world-renowned hypnotherapist lived right in their backyard, and one of her colleagues had worked with him on a professional level before. He’s the one she’d tagged to help her delve into those memories.

  Just like Quinn, Jake had known that the fact Kyra had been an eyewitness to her mother’s murder could put her at risk, but nobody today had to know she’d discovered that information. Castillo would keep quiet because it was in his best interests to do so. Jake would keep mum about it, too.

  One of the cops on the task force broke Jake’s line of sight to Kyra’s desk, and Jake refocused his gaze on the eager face, eyes glowing behind a pair of glasses. “What is it, Luberger?”

  Luberger slid a photo of a woman’s wallet onto Jake’s desk. “We think we found Copycat Four’s trophy.”

  Jake lifted the piece of paper by the corner and studied the open wallet. “The driver’s license is missing.”

  “That’s right.” Luberger drilled a finger against the photo. “It should be right there, and Ashley’s brother confirmed she kept her license in her wallet behind the plastic shield. He can’t find it anywhere.”

  “Please tell me Clive got to this wallet before you guys had your paws all over it.”

  Hearing his name, Clive planted himself in front of Jake’s desk, a grim twist to his lips. “I did, but he must’ve been wearing his gloves when he took the license because there were no prints on that wallet save Ashley’s.”

  Pounding his fist on the desk, Jake said, “I thought this guy would be sloppier than the rest. He had a bad start to his career.”

  When Jake’s phone rang, he held up his finger. “Hold on, both of you, for a second.”

  When he saw the number for the LA County Coroner’s Office on his display, his heart slammed against his chest. He answered, “McAllister.”

  “Jake, it’s Deirdre. It’s going to come out sooner or later, so I’m giving you a heads-up. Quinn’s tox report came back and he had higher than normal levels of amphetamines in his system. None of his meds would’ve caused that. Given that, the puncture between his toes and the anomalies of the shoe and sock on that foot, we’re classifying Quinn’s death as a homicide.”

  Although he’d been expecting this, Jake curled his hand around the edge of his desk. “A homicide made to look like natural causes.”

  “That’s right. My office has already notified Chief Sterling of our report, but I wanted to tell you personally.”

  “Thanks, Deirdre. When are you sending the report over?”

  “It’s already been sent to the chief.”

  He ended the call and was staring blankly at his phone when Clive cleared his throat.

  “Something up, Detective?”

  “Yep.” Jake pushed up from his desk and braced his hands on it as he shouted, “Attention, everyone. Retired detective Roger Quinn was murdered.”

  The room exploded with outrage and activity. It was the response Jake wanted. He wasn’t going to wait for the chief or Castillo. He clapped his hands. “You know what this means, right? This investigation belongs to us, to this task force. There is no way Quinn’s murder is not linked to The Player and the copycat killers. The Player must’ve known Quinn had been offering assistance to our task force, that eventually with our newer technology today Quinn might be able to offer a piece of evidence that we could track back to The Player. It was Quinn who gave us the piece that allowed us to link the copycats directly to The Player. So, let’s do this.”

  At the end of his pep talk, Kyra had sidled into the room, her face white and her eyes round.

  Jake strode toward her and grabbed her hand. “You heard.”

  “I knew it. I always knew it.”

  “You can’t go back to the Venice house today. We’re going in and processing it as a crime scene, although I don’t want to think about the evidence that might have already been compromised there.”

  “How did The Player get into Quinn’s house? If Quinn didn’t know him, maybe The Player sent someone else to do the deed—someone posing as a delivery person.”

  “We’ll figure it out. Everyone is pumped for this one.”

  Billy sailed into the room, fist in the air. “Hope you all don’t plan to get any sleep in the next several weeks. I just heard from dispatch. We have another copycat slaying.”

  * * *

  THE LIGHT SMATTERING of rain hit the windshield, and Billy tapped the wipers to whisk it off the glass. “I hope this rain isn’t washing away any evidence.”

  Jake used his fist to wipe the condensation from the inside of the window. “What evidence? They never seem to leave any.”

  “Not true, my man. He left a witness. He left Piper.”

  “And all she was able to give us was a hunched-over man in dark clothes and a hoodie.”

  “Her presence lured him out to take a chance. We’ll get him. I’m confident. We nailed the other three, didn’t we? The Player trained them, too, and they all made mistakes. Number Four is careless.” Billy shot him a glance from the corner of his eye. “The Player’s been careless, too. Did he think he could kill Quinn and get away with it?”

  “He thought Quinn’s death would come back as natural causes, but he messed up by replacing Quinn’s sock and shoe incorrectly. That tipped off the ME.”

  “And you know this how?” Billy raised his eyebrows as he took the turnoff for the Angeles National Forest.

  “A little inside information.” Jake shook his head. “Damn, I wish we’d processed that house as a crime scene when we first found Quinn’s body. Kyra knew.”

  “How’s she doing? She looked rattled in the war room before we left, but I suppose that’s natural. She’s had it rough.”

  “She’s coping.” Jake sealed his lips after the pronouncement. Billy had no idea how rough it was about to get for Kyra, but nobody, not even his trusted partner, had to know what Kyra planned to do.

  It had been a long drive to the dump site, and when Billy pulled up, emergency vehicles clogged the road. The responding officers from the LA County Sheriff’s Department had known immediately what they had on their hands, and had cordoned off the area in anticipation of the arrival of detectives from the Copycat Player Task Force.

  Now Jake and Billy moved through the scene, snapping gloves on their hands and trudging toward the soggy crime scene tape.

  A sheriff’s deputy from the Altadena division intercepted them, raindrops beading on his khaki uniform. “Detectives, I’m Deputy Lawson. I was the first on the scene. Early-morning bird watchers discovered the body—same MO as the others—card between the lips, missing finger, manual strangulation, no sexual assault evident.”

  They questioned Lawson for a few more minutes, and then dove into the crime scene. Jake hovered over the body, his gut knotted. The rain hadn’t dislodged or damaged the stiff, glossy playing card in the victim’s mouth. The blood beneath her hand where the killer had removed her finger had soaked into the dirt.

  Crouching down, Jake reached out to trace the purple necklace of bruising around her throat. Another necklace of shiny gold winked at him, and he hooked his finger beneath the chain and pulled it away from her flesh. This guy took driver’s l
icenses, not jewelry.

  A couple of attachments tinkled as he dropped the necklace. He went in for a closer look, cupping the discs in his hand, and he cocked his head. “Hey, Billy, what does this mean?”

  Billy squatted beside him and squinted at the medallions. “They have Roman numerals and some writing. What do the words say?”

  “Brother, you need reading glasses.” Jake nudged his partner with his shoulder and tipped his head to read the words around the circle of the disc. “It says, ‘To thine own self be true.’ Then around the triangle in the middle are the words ‘Unity, service and recovery.’”

  Jake’s pulse jumped. “Is this what I think it is?”

  Billy dipped his head. “It’s a recovery chip or whatever from AA.”

  “Boom. We have our link.”

  * * *

  THE FIRST THING Billy did when he got back to the station was contact Marcia from the AA meeting at the church in Glendale. With Jake listening in, Billy gave Marcia a description of their murder victim.

  Still on the phone, Billy shook his head at Jake and said, “Thanks, Marcia. If something comes up, be sure to give me a call.”

  Billy slumped in his chair. “She’s pretty sure that description doesn’t match any of the members at the women’s-only meeting there.”

  Shrugging, Jake said, “He’d have to be pretty stupid to take his prey from the exact same meeting and location, but he does have some connection to these meetings. Maybe he’s met women there before, was able to play on their vulnerability and figured it was a good place to hunt for victims.”

  “I told you, the guy’s sloppy.” Billy coughed. “Hey, man, I’m bringing a team of CSI folks to Quinn’s house today. The captain asked me to take a lead on this.”

  “I know. Don’t worry about it.” Jake clapped Billy on the back. “Castillo sent me a text with the news. Thought I was too close to the situation.”

  Billy’s eyes widened. “He sent you a text? That’s cold, man.”

  Jake brushed it off. The text hadn’t surprised him at all—neither the content nor the delivery. He didn’t disagree with Castillo’s determination that his relationship with Quinn and Kyra might cloud his judgment and hinder the investigative process into Quinn’s homicide, and notification by text suited Castillo’s purposes right now. The captain hadn’t been alone with Jake since Jake discovered his theft of Tony Galecki’s drug money.