by Nadirah Foxx
Matt’s eyebrows knitted together. “You think someone did this to me?”
My hand flew to my chest, and my jaw dropped. That was a moment of truth. Time to either face the music or move on. Matt needed support to see him through a dark moment. I drew in a calming breath and said, “Yes. There’s no way you raped or killed anyone. For all we know, somebody’s watching your every move. Waiting to see when it’s the perfect time to strike.”
He grasped my hand and squeezed. “What did you say?”
Fear snaked beneath my skin. I was trying to be brave. Really I was, but my faith was hanging by a thread. Clearing my throat, I repeated what I said. “Of course, I don’t know—”
“Doesn’t matter.” Matt leaned over, kissed my cheek, and dragged out his phone. He tapped on the screen and then lifted the device to his ear. “Scott… Yeah, I know… Clean-up request… Not departmental… Thanks.”
He disconnected the call, but he kept typing on the screen. A few seconds later, my phone dinged.
Matt Wallace: Don’t speak. My apartment could be bugged.
Rachel St. John: Okay. What do we do?
Matt Wallace: Go to the bathroom. Turn on the faucet in the shower. Wait for me.
I nodded and did as he asked.
Shortly after I entered the room, Matt joined me. He motioned me away from the shower stall into a corner, closest to the toilet, and then he flushed it.
“What did you mean by a clean up?”
“I think you might be right about someone watching me—watching us.”
Butterflies danced in my gut. “How?”
“Listening devices. Maybe even video.” Matt flushed again and lowered the toilet lid before sitting down. “Problem is, we have no idea how long the items could have been in place.”
I said, “Let’s go back to the evidence the police have. Scott said something about a blood-stained uniform.”
“Yeah.” Matt hung his head, propping his elbows on his knees.
“The claim is that you wore it that night someone killed the girl. Is there any type of test that can be done to check?”
His head whipped up. “What do you mean?”
“Shouldn’t there be skin cells or even sweat? The killer raped the girl. What about traces of semen on the pants?”
For the first time since Matt returned home, he smiled—it was genuine and full of hope. His head bobbed up and down. “After the sweep, I’ll talk to Scott. He should be able to find someone who’ll run the tests.”
It was a start.
∞∞∞
Half an hour later, Scott and his team arrived at Matt’s. They checked each level, going from room to room with handheld scanners. After a thorough sweep, detectives found bugs in nearly every room except the bathroom.
Matt thanked the men. They simply snarled and stalked out the door.
“Scott, we need to talk.” Matt gestured to follow him into the living room.
“What’s going on?” Scott sat on the recliner.
Matt and I took our seats on the sofa. We exchanged a glance before Matt spoke. “It was Rachel who suspected someone might be watching me.”
“Someone knew Matt’s schedule. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been able to calculate when he’d be away,” I offered.
Scott scratched his temple. “You need to prove it.”
Matt said, “We can. Test the uniform in the evidence locker.”
“Why?” Scott asked.
“DNA,” I jumped in. “Whoever wore the uniform might have sweated. If he raped the girl, there might be traces of semen.”
Matt sat forward. “Nobody bothered to check for that, did they?”
“I don’t think so,” Scott mumbled. “I need to find somebody willing to do it. Might take a day or two before we get results.”
“Scott,” I said, rising to my feet. “Check out Leo. If he’s responsible—”
“We’ll find out, Rachel. I promise you.”
∞∞∞
Later in the day, I put together a beef stew and allowed it to simmer while Matt and I continued our conversation. I poured a couple of glasses of red wine and returned to the living room. Matt sat on the sofa, gazing out the window.
“Here, babe,” I said, handing him a glass and sitting beside him.
“Thanks.” He took a sip. “I guess you want to talk.”
The word duh was parked on the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t say it. “Scott told me about you and Leo.”
Matt’s head whipped up. His eyes bulged, but he didn’t speak.
“I can only imagine how difficult being a foster kid was. Constantly bouncing from home to home. Believe it or not, I understand the whole jealousy thing between you and Leo. Although he wasn’t your blood brother, life had to be difficult.”
“Why would you say that?”
“I told you that Leo and I dated for a moment in high school. He was the proverbial bad boy—always in trouble. I bet you were nothing like Leo as a teen.”
Matt tipped his glass up again and studied me over the edge. As he lowered the drink, he said, “No. We were opposites. But we didn’t stay in the same foster home for long. The Pattersons didn’t want him because he kept stealing from them.”
“He ran away a few times too,” I added.
“Yeah.”
I ran my fingers up and down the stem of my wineglass. “Were the two of you in touch before Leo left town?”
Matt tilted his head to one side. “Which time?”
“Huh?”
“He’s about two years older than me. I was still in high school when Leo disappeared. I found out he’d left town, but nobody knew where he went. He was gone for about three years. I’d just graduated from the Academy when Leo came back to Detroit.”
News to me. That asshole came back and didn’t find me? If I cared… Well, it was something I couldn’t forgive, no matter what excuse Leo gave.
“Rachel?”
Matt’s voice snagged my thoughts, and I glanced over at him. “Sorry.” Clearing my throat, I added, “I didn’t know he came back.”
Matt set his glass on the coffee table and faced me. He frowned before asking, “How close were you to Leo? Back in high school, that is.”
“Too close,” I mumbled. “He left me feeling like a major fool. He got what he wanted from me and then disappeared.”
“Tact was never Leo’s strength.”
Matt’s comment brought to mind the conversation he had with Scott before the arrest. “Yesterday you said to Scott that Leo was up to his old tricks. What did you mean by that?”
Matt’s eyebrows shot up. “You heard?”
“It was kind of hard to miss.”
Scrubbing a hand over his face, Matt said, “There’s always been this inane jealousy between us—more him than me. Before April’s death, Leo thought he was in love with her.”
“But you were engaged to her?”
“Yeah. Leo crept her out.”
I could see that. When I first met him, Leo was a bit much to take, but back then I was into the scandalous types. He rubbed me the wrong way at times, but that was just part of his charm. Or so I’d thought.
“So, why do you think Leo is behind setting you up?”
“I never said that.” Matt paused. “I thought it was possible. Leo’s never hidden the fact that he didn’t like me. Actually, with April’s death, he let me know how much he despised me.”
That sucked. “I guess it’s a good thing he was just your foster brother.”
Matt’s eyes narrowed, and his hand fisted. In a blink, the moment passed. “Yeah.”
Despair coated his voice and broke my heart. It wasn’t fair that Matt had to endure these accusations. If Leo was behind all that shit, I’d do whatever it took to make sure justice was served.
“How long before dinner is ready?” Matt asked.
“An hour or so. The timer’s set.”
“Good.” He took the glass from my hand, set it on the table, and slid clos
er. “There’s something I’ve wanted to do ever since I came home.”
A small smile slid onto his face.
“Oh?”
He leaned in and slanted his mouth over mine. The kiss was far from gentle. There was heat and passion and something more—desperation. Matt’s hand snaked beneath my shirt and up my spine. In seconds, he was fumbling with the clasp on my bra.
The space between my thighs tingled. Every inch of me ignited with a burning, urgent need for that man. Matt swore as he removed my bra and cupped my breasts. He leaned back, lifted a hand, and ripped my blouse. Buttons flew.
I gasped.
“I’ll buy you another one.” He pushed the ruined garment open before lowering his head.
Matt nuzzled my breasts, savagely licking and sucking the tips.
I moaned. His crudeness was surprising—not because I didn’t expect it. No. It was the simple fact that it aroused me. I’d never enjoyed rough sex. It was a deal breaker with lots of men that I dated. But somehow I knew that the ferocity was what Matt needed. Hell, I needed it too.
It wasn’t about love—although on some level I suspected that my feelings were headed in that direction. No, it was about primal lust. We didn’t even take the time to completely undress.
Matt yanked me off the sofa, held me against him, and then walked me to the end of the sofa. He forced me over the arm and tugged down my jeans. Rip went my underwear. Fuck—those were my good silk ones. Without preamble, I felt Matt’s thick cock on my ass. I stiffened. His fingers stroked my inner thigh before slipping between my folds.
“Ahhh…”
The sensation vibrated through me, and I nearly came on his hand, but the finger fucking didn’t last long. Matt spread my legs farther apart with his feet. I lost my grip, and my face collided with the cushion, pushing my ass farther into the air. I spoke into the sofa, but he couldn’t hear me. Didn’t care. Matt shoved his dick into my pussy, filling me completely.
I couldn’t breathe. I needed a moment to adjust to his girth, but he didn’t give it. Instead, he thrust in and out, jackhammering me as if his life depended on fucking me. There was no mutual rhythm just the sound of skin on skin, slapping a frenetic melody.
My legs shook. Matt dug his fingers into my hips, holding me in place.
“Fuck, Rachel.” Slap, slap, slap. “Shit, I’m going to come.”
And that he did with a hoarse cry. Seconds later, my own release chased his. Matt didn’t let me collapse against the sofa arm—how I wanted. He tugged me up and turned me around.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he mumbled. “It’s been a long time since I was out of control.”
I had no idea what that meant, but I stood there afraid to move as sticky cum slid down my leg.
“Why don’t you go upstairs and clean up? I’ll check on the food and meet you.”
I nodded and pulled my jeans up. I glanced down at my torn shirt and my ripped panties on the floor—no need agonizing over damaged clothing. Slowly, I walked toward the stairs. With every step I took, I contemplated what the future really held for us.
28
Fury
Leo
Fuck, fuck, fuck! They took my goddamned equipment!
The images faded right before the monitors went black, one after another. Then static crinkled over the speakers as the audio cut out. My console was useless. Desperately, I pushed buttons, like that would bring it back, but I couldn’t restore shit that no longer existed. I kicked the desk like a child.
When did Rachel get so fucking smart? I jumped up, lifted one of the worthless speakers, and threw it at a wall. A crack snaked up the dirty wall and bits of plaster fell to the carpet, leaving behind a good-sized dent. The speaker lay on the floor—its casing split in half while the screen hung on for dear life.
Oops! So much for my security deposit. That shit made me laugh.
The humorous moment was short-lived though. Staring at the damage only reminded me why it was there. I froze in the middle of the bare living room, thoughts of Rachel on my mind.
I wanted to be mad at her. Hate her even, but I couldn’t. For her to out-guess me, proved she was meant to be with me. A woman of her intelligence needed an equally bright man. The cop definitely wasn’t a candidate.
He wasn’t a prospect for shit. Matt didn’t know how to treat a woman. Never did. I was pretty sure he didn’t know how to satisfy one either.
Not the point.
Right, right, right. Got to stay focused.
Nobody was supposed to discover the gear—that was the fucking point—not until I’d gotten all the information I needed. How would I stay ahead of the police? Matt? Rachel?
Temporary setback.
I paced the floor. I’d outsmarted everyone over and over again. I had a high IQ—the highest. The setback was a minor hurdle. Nothing got me down for long. I’d always been able to bounce back from defeat easily. Always had. Always would.
It was something foster families never appreciated about me. They’d punish me, and I’d figure a way out. I’d toss logic at them, the cops, anyone who tried to outthink me. Nothing ever stuck. Someone once said I was too smart for my own good.
Correction—they were too dumb for their own good. If they’d only paid attention… Stopped trying to find the good where it couldn’t exist… One day they’d learn.
Ha! I doubted it.
Besides, the police couldn’t tie anything to me. Even the idiot who sold me the shit couldn’t give me up. I made sure I paid him in full—the fool had an intense drug habit. I simply gave him what he needed. It wasn’t my fault that he overdosed. Just another weak male—good riddance!
I had no tolerance for the addle-brained. Drugs were my mother’s weakness. Of course, I didn’t know that until after she died. It was something I swore I’d never do. Alcohol was bad enough of a vice. Well, that and cigarettes. Who knew what shit I inherited from the man who donated sperm to the cause?
Concentrate… Back to the equipment…
I took a deep breath, exhaled, and stalked to the bedroom.
It was a useless room. Only thing in it was a mattress and a suitcase with clothes. I crossed to the window. My apartment, in the building next to Rachel’s, had a great vantage point. All I had to do was look down, and I could see into her apartment. The woman never closed her blinds.
So dumb.
Sadly, the empty abode held nothing for me. I walked away and went to the closet. I pulled open the door, revealing something more valuable to me than anything I owned—my shrine to Rachel.
So many pictures, in all sorts of poses—laughing, deep in thought, sleeping, even crying. The woman was so photogenic. Glancing at the photos centered me. Helped me focus on the big picture.
Acting irrationally was uncalled for. If I wanted my future with Rachel, I had to remain calm. Come up with a plan and behave accordingly. She was worth it. Always had been. Always would be.
On the top shelf of the closet were plain boxes—big enough to fit the surveillance equipment. I pulled them down. All I had to do was pack everything up and take it to the basement. There were plenty of dusty, dark corners down there.
I dragged the boxes out to the living room and dropped them beside my makeshift desk. Drawing in a deep breath, I realized my plan was foolproof—clean it all off, pack it, move it. Easy.
What the hell was I worried about? Nothing would happen.
First, the police would need a search warrant. That wasn’t happening without just cause. At that moment, they had no reason to suspect me. All evidence still pointed to that goddamned cop. Plus, it was late. Good luck at finding a judge willing to sign the document. Outside of Rachel, Matt had no one in his corner. Not even his lawyer believed in his innocence.
Second, the word of a female wouldn’t be enough. I had to give it to her for ingenuity. Going to the security guy about me was a stroke of genius. Too bad he didn’t believe her. He simply gave her that pitiful, sympathetic look. The man probably thought she
was just another scatter-brained woman clinging to an unworthy criminal—partly true. Matt definitely wasn’t worthy of anyone’s sympathy.
Dealing with Matt’s best friend was another issue. That cop needed a reason to stay away from the case. If he didn’t keep out of it, I could always visit the wife. Scare the shit out of the bitch, and she’d beg him to leave it alone.
I made a mental note and went to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I discovered I was out of beer. Not good. I opened and closed cabinets like a mad man. I stopped when I glimpsed a bottle of cheap whiskey in the back of one. I pulled it out, twisted off the lid, and took a swig straight from the container. Grimacing against the burn, my mind grew clearer.
It was a game in which I controlled all the pieces. People, especially women, were creatures of habit. Undoubtedly, Rachel would stay put overnight, believing her place was with Matt. I was also certain that he wouldn’t venture out of his apartment before morning, especially since the guard on duty would spend the night outside the door.
I turned up the bottle and took another swig. Rachel would second-guess herself and Matt only if she had more visual proof.
And just like that an idea formed. One that would tie Matt to another crime—one he’d been trying to forget.
29
Reasons
Rachel
Despite Matt’s cruelty, I stayed. I convinced myself that he was brutal because of injustice—being wrongly accused of a crime and being used as a punching bag for the enjoyment of inmates. Matt just needed to blow off a little steam. If it helped him manage the situation, a little rough sex was a small price to pay.
Right?
Problem was, I kept making deposits into the bank of aggression. No matter how much kindness I showed Matt, he repaid me with savagery. Common sense told me to leave. I deserved better, but erroneous guilt made me stay. In the back of my mind, I kept telling myself that I caused the situation. I dated both Leo and Matt. I should have left both of them alone—or at least committed to just one man.
I only left the apartment to meet with Scott at a Middle Eastern restaurant off of East Jefferson. If I could help exonerate Matt, then I could walk away without remorse. It was my goal, anyway.
