Drop Dead Sexy

by Katie Ashley

  Did u need me for something?

  Nope. Just wanted to say hi.

  Once again my heartbeat went kaka crazy. Glad you said hi.

  Talk to you soon. Bye.

  Bye.

  Catcher’s text had me on Cloud Nine for the rest of the morning. Now I found myself supervising Mrs. Laughton’s funeral. Instead of the chapel at Sullivan’s, the service was at the First Baptist Church.

  The second minister had just stood up to eulogize Mrs. Laughton when my phone buzzed in my coat pocket. I quickly ducked out of the sanctuary to check my message. My heartbeat did its erratic flutter when I saw it was once again Catcher.

  Need 2 check on holy roller lead 2nite. Can u come with?

  Hmm, he was actually inviting me to tag along for part of the investigation. That was certainly an interesting development. Sure. What time?

  Pick u up @6 at your place.

  K

  I started back into the sanctuary when my phone buzzed again. “Oh God!” I cried at the sight of Catcher’s erect dick pic. I jerked my head up from the phone and hastily glanced around. Thankfully, the hallway was empty, and no one but me had seen Catcher’s throbbing member.

  Seriously? I’m working a service!

  I wish u were working me in & out of that delicious mouth of yours.

  A squeak escaped my lips before I typed, Catcher, please.

  Mmm, I like it when you beg. Would u let me cum in ur mouth? Or on ur fabulous tits.

  His dirty talk sent a flush ricocheting over my body, causing me to feel scorching hot in more than just my face. I pressed my thighs tight together to try to relieve some of the growing ache between my legs.

  Maybe u would rather me be working on u. Licking all the cream off that perfect, pink pussy.

  “Mmm, oh yes,” I moaned at his words and the visual. Then it hit me like a lightning bolt out of the sky where I was. Although it wasn’t in the Ten Commandments, I’m pretty sure, “Thou shalt not sext in the house of God,” was pretty high up there on the list of no-nos.

  Stop it.

  That’s not what u said the other nite.

  Yeah, well, I’m not usually in a church’s sanctuary!

  Ever role play? I could totally play a priest, & u the innocent nun. Damn, I’m so fucking hard thinking about running my hand up under your robe & pumping my fingers in and out of you til u came screaming my name.

  At that moment, I felt the flames of desire, rather than Hell, licking at my feet. But then I once again got a hold of myself. There were just somethings I could not do, and regardless of how hot it was, I could not sext while in a church. Least of all at a funeral. Not to mention one that I was in charge of.

  Enough. Can’t do this now. Talk 2 u later I furiously typed.

  Fine. But wear a skirt. I wanna finger-bang you on the road.

  Good lord, the man was relentless. Instead of responding, I shut off my phone and ended the temptation. I eased back inside the sanctuary. When I glanced up at the altar, it appeared the face on the massive stained glass Jesus was giving me a disappointed look. “I’m so sorry,” I murmured to him.

  A few people on the bench in front of me turned around to peer curiously at me. Trying to save face, I quickly said, “Yes, I’m so, so sorry for your loss.”

  One of the women bobbed her head like she sincerely appreciated what I had said. When they turned back around, I rolled my eyes and exhaled.

  It was then that Todd came from the right side of the sanctuary to join me. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. Why?”

  “Your face is all red, and you seem to be out of breath.”

  “I’m fine,” I reiterated.

  I was so going to kill Catcher. Well, I would at least screw him again. Or maybe twice. I might even try to let him break his eight orgasm record on me.

  Then I would kill him.

  After Mrs. Laughton’s burial, I drove the hearse back to the funeral home to get my car. Since it was close to four and we didn’t have any visitations that night, I locked up both my office and the funeral home before heading to my house to get ready for my date. I mean, I assumed it was a date. Of course, Catcher hadn’t mentioned anything about getting dinner, a drink, or any of the other usual date-like occurrences. Just that he wanted me to go with him to check out this lead.

  Oh and he wanted to finger-fuck me while we were on the road. Yes, I certainly didn’t want to forget that little detail.

  I took a quick shower before doing my hair and makeup. Since we would be outdoors at a tent service, I slid on a plum-colored silk blouse and paired it with a black skirt with a flaring hem that hit at my knees. With the February chill in the air, I put on a pair of thigh highs along with my black knee boots and pulled on my black jacket.

  My doorbell rang just a few minutes before six, sending Motown into a barking fit. “Easy boy,” I cajoled as I started down the hall.

  After unbolting the door, I threw it open to find Catcher dressed to kill in a navy suit. My gaze dropped from his handsome face to his hands where he held a book, rather than a usual bouquet of flowers.

  I crossed my arms over my chest and grinned at him. “Are you going to throw the book at me, Agent Mains?”

  He smirked at me. “Not quite. I wanted to do something nice like bring you flowers, but I imagined that after working in a funeral home, you might get tired of the smell.”

  My mouth dropped open in surprise at both his thoughtfulness and insight. Whenever men had given me flowers in the past, I would merely smile and say thank you. The truth was I so associated the sickeningly sweet floral smell to my job that I hated to be around them anywhere else.

  “You’re right I do.”

  Catcher’s face lit up. “I knew it.” He held out the book to me. “I thought you might like this better.”

  After taking the book, I glanced down at the cover. When I saw it was a hardback of To Kill a Mockingbird, tears stung my eyes as my hand flew to my mouth, which caused the book to fall to the ground. “Shit!” I muttered.

  Catcher and I both leaned forward to pick it up and ended up bumping heads. “Ow!” I cried as Catcher said, “Fuck!”

  With shaky hands, I picked up the book. Once again my vision blurred with tears as I ran my fingertips over the cover.

  “It’s a first edition.”

  I tore my gaze from the book up to him. “Catcher, this is too much. I can’t accept this.”

  “Sure you can.”

  Holding the book out to him, I protested, “But this is worth a lot of money.”

  He waved his hand at me. “It’s like a hundredth printing of the first edition. And it’s not even signed. You probably couldn’t even get a hundred bucks out of it.”

  Overcome with emotion, I threw my arms around his neck and squeezed him tight. When I pulled back, I gave him a long, lingering kiss. I then cupped one of his cheeks with my free hand. “From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

  He grinned. “Hell, I’ll give you a book a day if it means I’ll get this kind of attention.”

  I laughed. “Do you have a never-ending pile of the classics stashed away to woo women with?”

  “Not exactly. My maternal grandmother was a librarian in Monroeville.”

  “Where Harper Lee lived?”

  Catcher nodded. “You could say she got a little sneaky with the copies sometimes.”

  I laughed. “Are you telling me this is a hot copy?”

  After Catcher took the book from me, he opened up the front flap. When I gazed down and read Property of Monroeville Library, I snorted. “Once again, I think our grandmothers would have been the best of friends.”

  “Probably so.”

  “Regardless of how you came to get the copy, I’m very grateful.”

  “You’re welcome.” With a wicked grin, he added, “Now why don’t you show me again just how grateful you are?”

  I smacked him in the chest with the book. “Nice try, but we have work to do, remember?�
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  Catcher groaned. “Being an agent is so cock-blocking.”

  “Come on in. I just need one second to grab my purse.”

  Catcher started into the foyer when a woof of greeting from Motown had him skidding to a stop. After getting a good look at the somewhat gnarly looking pit bull, Catcher took a step back. “It’s okay. He won’t hurt you.”

  When Motown gave a low growl, Catcher cocked his brows. “You sure about that?”

  “Positive. Trust me, he’s the biggest pansy and worst guard dog ever. He just wants to lick you to death.”

  With apprehension in his eyes, Catcher stepped inside. He held out his hand for Motown to sniff. Instead of getting a whiff, Motown proceeded to lick and slobber all over Catcher’s hand. Catcher grinned. “I think he likes me.”

  “He does. You would know it if he didn’t.”

  “I thought you said he was a bad watch dog?”

  “He is. When he doesn’t like someone, he just pees on their leg and walks away.”

  “Wish I could do the same sometimes.”

  I laughed as I walked down the hall to the living room. After grabbing my purse, I came back to see Catcher sending Motown into doggy heaven when he started scratching behind his ears. “You know, I never would have imagined you with a dog like this.”

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “First off, you really seem more like a cat person.”

  I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Because I’m thirty and single aka a future cat lady in the making?”

  “No. That’s not it at all. You just seem like someone who likes small, cuddly things.”

  “Motown might be eighty pounds, but he’s a real cuddle bug.”

  “Yeah, I also didn’t see you as someone with a pit bull that looks like he’s been through the wringer.”

  “He has. After he started hanging around at the funeral home, I took him to the vet. She confirmed that he’d been used as a bait dog in a dog fighting ring.”

  Catcher’s face clouded over with anger. “Bastards.”

  “If I had my wish, anyone who attended dog fights or participated in them would have a machine gun fired at their genitals.”

  With a bark of a laugh, Catcher said, “Easy there, Terminator.”

  I gave him a sheepish look. “Sorry. I tend to get a little violent about people who hurt animals, children, and the elderly.”

  “Don’t apologize. I totally agree with you about machine-gunning genitals of abusers. It’s just I’m not used to seeing all that rage come from you.” He brushed his thumb across my cheek. “It was a little scary and a little sexy at the same time.”

  I laughed. “I think you’re one of the few men who find my scary side even remotely sexy.”

  “They don’t know what they’re missing,” Catcher replied.

  As we stood there staring at each other, palpable electricity swirled in the air around us—the kind that made the hair on the backs of your arm and neck stand up. Even Motown sensed it because he came up and nudged his nose between us.

  Catcher chuckled as he patted Motown’s head. “Easy there, boy, I’m not trying to take her away from you. Can we share?”

  Motown glanced between Catcher and me before burrowing deeper between us. “Hmm, guess the answer is no.”

  “We should probably get going,” I said. It wasn’t so much that I cared about tracking down the Ezra and Zeke Chester lead as it was I feared if I didn’t get some distance between Catcher and me, I would rip his clothes off and bang him on and off the furniture in my living room. There was also that nagging voice in the back of my head that it was about so much more than sex with the two of us. That we had a deep connection that had nothing to do with connecting my vagina with his penis. Although that part was certainly very nice.

  After slinging my purse over my shoulder, I looked at Motown. “Be a good boy while I’m gone.” He licked my hand in acknowledgement before grabbing his bone and hopping up on the couch. I turned to Catcher. “Ready?”

  “Yup. Let’s go get our holy on.”

  I laughed. “Fingers crossed that this is an uneventful evening.”

  Catcher snorted. “Babe, I think it’s safe to say that there is not going to be anything uneventful about this case.”

  And once again, Catcher was right.

  Ezra Chester held his tent revivals about forty-five minutes from Taylorsville. After getting off the interstate, we spent most of the drive on two-lane roads. It was fifteen minutes after we left the nearest town and any semblance of civilization that we came to our turn. Catcher grimaced the moment the gravel on the road started kicking up on the sides of his car, which I had been right in guessing was a convertible. It was a fire-engine red Mustang.

  The road ended at what appeared to be some abandoned fairgrounds. There were so many people in attendance that the cars overflowed onto grass lot and were parked along the roadside. In the middle of the field, two giant tents had been erected. “Looks like quite the crowd,” Catcher noted.

  I unbuckled my seatbelt. “Yeah, well, Patricia did say he had a big following.”

  “My question would be how the hell does a guy like this get a following, least of all a big one? I mean, this doesn’t impress me as the type of thing you advertise in the newspapers or on Facebook. And I didn’t see any billboards on the way.”

  Catcher was right. The only advertisement of any kind had been the small signs that said Tent Revival Ahead. “I guess word of mouth,” I replied, as I shut the door.

  After coming around the side of the car, Catcher took my hand in his, which of course made me all goofy feeling, and we started walking down the road. We then cut through the high grass in the field.

  Once we reached the tent, we found the rows of metal chairs had been filled, and it was standing room only. At the right side of the tent, a few musicians armed with banjos, guitars, and a fiddle were playing a hymn. In front of them was a small, wooden floor with a microphone stand in the center. Two middle-aged men in black suits with salt and pepper hair stood on the stage, surveying the people coming in. From time to time, the tallest one would throw up a hand in greeting and smile. Sometimes he would nod.

  “I guess that’s Ezra and Zeke Chester,” I said to Catcher.

  “It would seem so. With the tall one being Ezra. He seems to have that evangelist vibe about him.”

  I laughed at Catcher’s description. A few minutes passed before Ezra walked over to the microphone stand. The buzz of conversation from the crowd began to die down. “Good evening, folks. It sure does my heart good to see so many of you have come out tonight. I hope each and every one of you gets an amazing blessing. First thing, I want us to get the service started by singing a song.” He turned back to the musicians. “Boys, let’s sing I Saw the Light.”

  The guitar, fiddle, and piano struck up an upbeat tune. Almost simultaneously, people in the crowd started clapping and stomping their feet in time with the beat. “I wandered so aimless life filled with sin.”

  I jerked my gaze from peering at the front of the tent to stare wide-eyed and open-mouthed at Catcher.

  He turned to me and grinned. “What?”

  “You’re singing.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that.”

  “You’re good.”

  He winked. “Why, thank you. I excel at many things both inside and out of the bedroom.”

  After rolling my eyes, I questioned, “So how is it someone like you knows the words to this song?”

  Catcher swept a hand to his chest in feigned indignation. “Are you insinuating that I’m not a spiritual person?”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ll have you know when I was growing up, I was in church every time the door opened.”

  “Really?”

  Catcher nodded. “And Bible school every summer.”

  “I’m impressed. What denomination?”

  He quirked a brow at me. “Guess.”

  “Hmm, Baptist?”

  “Close.
Both my daddy and mama’s families were sprinklers.”

  I laughed. “Ah, Methodist.”

  “Yup. What about you?”

  “I’m a dunking Baptist.”

  “I would have probably guessed that.”

  “Do I have a Baptist look about me?”

  “Not exactly. It’s more about the fact you grew up in a small town in the Bible Belt. I’m sure Taylorsville doesn’t boast many non-Protestant denominations.”

  “You’d be right.”

  The song came to an end, and Ezra once again took the microphone. “Once again, I just wanna thank everyone for comin’ out tonight. It sure does my heart good to see so many God-fearing people with the desire to hear the preached word and to feel the Holy Spirit.”

  I jumped when the man beside me thrust his arm into the air and shouted, “Amen, brother!”

  Ezra smiled at the man. “The Lord tells us not to have fear. It is because of my faith that I fear nothing. To illustrate to you how I’m truly under the protection of our Father, I will physically take up serpents.”

  It wasn’t until that moment I noticed a box sitting at foot of the altar. I held my breath when Ezra threw back the cover. Then the air was filled with the distinctive clicking sound of rattlesnakes. “Oh my God, he’s a snake handler!”

  Snake-handling churches were something of a legend in the Southern backwoods. Since you mainly heard whispers about them, you started to even doubt their existence. The crux of the church doctrine being that people handled poisonous snakes to allegedly prove their faith. They took Mark 16:18 about “taking up serpents” a little too literally. If you held the snake and didn’t get bitten, you got an A + for being faithful. If you did get bitten, you would get a big ol’ F, and most likely you’d be hospitalized or die for your blatant lack of faith. Snake-handling churches were illegal in Georgia, and they had all but disappeared from sight. I had no idea any were still in operation.

  Zeke paled slightly “I don’t think you should tonight.”

  Ezra shook his head. “But where is your faith, brother?”

  “It is with you as always. It’s just I believe we should devote all our time tonight to the salvation of lost souls.”

  As Ezra started toward the box, Catcher leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Get ready. Shit’s about to get real.”