Courting Death

by Carol Stephenson

  Spreading my hands wide, I said gently, “I know this is a lot for you to take in right now, but I needed to warn you of the latest wrinkle in the case. Once more I want to discuss my approaching the prosecutor about a possible deal.”

  Brian surged up and planted his hands on my desk. I gave him a look that could freeze hell over. “Sit down.”

  “You’ve been afraid to try this case from the start. I heard about how you froze during your last case as a state attorney. Rather than working on my wife’s defense, you’ve been too busy getting your picture plastered all over the news. Dr. Chang tells me you haven’t returned his calls.”

  It was never good to escalate an argument but I was tired of his aggressive stance. I stood as well and braced my hands on the desk.

  “Speaking of Dr. Chang, the two of you forgot to mention one little detail. Your pal Damian didn’t need to recommend Chang, did he? Not only were you, Quint and Chang all in college together but also in the same fraternity.”

  “So?”

  I was really getting tired of that word today. “So, when each side discloses experts, we also furnish resumes. The prosecutor will pick up on the connection immediately and hammer away on the fact that Chang isn’t impartial.”

  “Lee can handle himself. He’ll be able to brush off the apnea monitor argument by testifying the machines aren’t effective.”

  A chill gripped me. “You knew this would be an issue. And you and your buddies have already mapped out a counter attack.”

  Brian shrugged. “It seemed like the prudent thing to do.”

  “I can’t defend like this. I can’t work in the dark only to be spoon-fed vital information on occasion.”

  “Well, you won’t have to. You’re fired.” Brian turned and took Claire’s arm. “Come on, honey. Let’s go.” She rose in a stilted movement like a doll. As he escorted her to the door, he shot the closing salvo over his shoulder. “You’ll be receiving a formal termination letter in the mail.”

  My legs suddenly too weak to support me, I sank into the chair. I didn’t even have to count to ten before my partners rushed into the room.

  “We heard the yelling,” Kate confirmed. “I was getting ready to call the police. Are you all right?”

  I nodded.

  Carling narrowed her eyes. “The Whitmans fired you.”

  “So?”

  “I thought a perfectionist like you would be taking the news harder than you seem to be.”

  “So?”

  Carling and Kate gave each other worried looks. “Nicole, honey,” said Kate, “are you going to cry?”

  “Nope.” I reached down, grabbed my bag and stood. “What I’m going to do is track down a hunk of a detective and see if he’s available for a little afternoon delight.”

  “Huh?” Carling gaped. “Who are you and what have you done with Nicole Sterling?”

  I hugged her. “I gave the Whitmans good legal advice and they threw it back in my face. You know what? I’m happy they fired me. I was going to terminate my representation if they didn’t come clean. They didn’t, and I don’t have to hear the word so again for the rest of the day.”

  Kate stuck her tongue in her cheek. “Soooo, what do you plan to do to Detective Bowie exactly?”

  “Handcuff him to the bed.”

  I heard the door close and Sam called out, “Nicole, where are you? Are you all right? I got here as quick as I could.”

  “In here.” I quickly braced my elbow on the pillow and draped my legs to the side.

  He appeared in the bedroom door and the flash of heat in his eyes steadied my sudden nerves over the seduction scene I’d staged. Red lipstick slicked my lips and dark gray shadow turned my eyes to those of a smoldering enchantress. Every inch of my skin had been powdered, creamed and scented with ridiculously expensive perfume.

  White candles flickered all over the room. Soft music drifted from his media player. After brushing my hair into a loose style, I had changed into a sheer black nightie and tugged the tiny ruffled sleeves over my shoulders. A black silk bow was strategically tied at the V of my breasts.

  My whole body hummed with anticipation.

  Sam crossed to the bed, removed his gun, slapped it on the nightstand and put one knee on the mattress. I would never, ever get used to his lightning moves.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of finding one gorgeous attorney in my bed?” His gaze raked my body, leaving a scorching path. He reached out a blunt fingertip and touched my taut left nipple. The exquisite sensation shot to my core and I arched back, thrusting my chest in a silent appeal.

  “Now that’s a pretty offer that I can’t refuse.” Sam lowered his head and flicked his tongue over the nipple several times before drawing it into his mouth. I speared my fingers through his silky hair.

  “I was fired today,” I managed to gasp out, almost lost in the raging sensations.

  The cool air swept against my left breast as Sam raised his head. “And?”

  “And I’m not upset. Nothing I could do to help.”

  “No regrets?”

  “None.” I shoved aside the niggling pangs of guilt I felt for Claire.

  “Good.” Sam turned his head and suckled the right nipple. The rough texture of his tongue rasped and teased the sensitive flesh. He shifted, crushing me back into the mattress. The heat of his body enveloped me as his erection pressed into my thigh.

  My body ablaze, I lifted my hips, desperately needing to be connected to him. Sam stilled me with his hands. “Easy, honey, easy. All in good time.”

  His knuckles brushed then lingered on my stomach, causing the muscles to contract. Then his hand was gone. Sam’s dark gaze captured mine. “I want to make love to you, Nicole.”

  I shivered at the raw desire in his voice. With the pads of his fingers, he stroked along my temples to my jaw. Everywhere he touched, he placed light almost reverential kisses. I felt cherished and wanted.

  For a moment his lips nibbled at mine but before I could deepen the kiss, he shifted, trailing his fingers and open-mouth kisses along my neck. He followed along the collar bone and then down my front. With a slight tug he untied the bow and the material slid away, exposing my breasts. There he stopped with a wicked grin.

  “No.” I tried to hook a leg around him but he stood. Propping myself on my elbows, I watched with heavy-hooded eyes as he pulled his black T-shirt over his head and tossed it to the ground. His skin, golden in the candlelight, stretched tight over his rib cage. Next he stripped off his jeans and briefs. His erection sprang free.

  “Now we’re talking.”

  Sam half choked on a laugh. “We aim to please, ma’am.” He reached into the table’s drawer and pulled out a foil packet. I lay back, anticipating his return.

  “Oh,” I shrieked in surprise as he gripped my ankles and bent my legs. Then he knelt between them. His eyes gleamed in the candlelight. He cupped my knees and spread them wide. He lowered himself so he sprawled on his stomach. His beard roughened face abraded the sensitive skin of my inner thighs at the same time his hair tickled me. Then his hot mouth kissed me intimately. His tongue teased my clitoris even as he penetrated me with his fingers.

  I twisted, my hips lifting as waves of pleasure ripped through me. His fingers thrust and withdrew in syncopation with his clever tongue until I thought I could bear no more.

  Fire consumed me, freeing me of all bonds.

  Even as I trembled in the aftershocks, Sam slid into me at the same time he hungrily found my mouth. As our bodies fell into rhythm, the pressure deep inside once more coiled and mounted. He stiffened and let out a hoarse exultant cry. The tension inside me shuddered and then released, and once more I fell.

  Sometime later, I emerged from a delicious sensual lethargy to find Sam stretched out next to me, his arm draped over my middle. Drying sweat gleamed across his shoulders. When I shifted, he opened his eyes.

  “Hey there, Red.” He lifted his head and brushed his lips against mine. The kiss was so soft, so
tender that it almost undid me. He rubbed his thumb along my rib cage and I jerked at the sensation.

  “Stop that.”

  “What’s this? Are you ticklish?” He dug his fingers into my side until I squirmed and giggled. His penis stiffened and nudged my hip.

  “No fair.” I reached between our bodies and slid my fingers around his shaft, caressing the velvety skin masking its rigid strength. With a moan, Sam pressed against my hand, once, twice. I pushed against his chest and he obligingly rolled on to his back.

  I reached over the edge of the mattress and found the item I’d hidden earlier. Then I mounted him. He ran his hands along the front of my body until he cupped my breasts. I gripped his wrists and leaned over, extending his arms over his head. Even as his hot mouth tugged on one nipple, I held his wrists with one hand as I slid on the handcuffs.

  Click. Then a second snick as I fastened the other end to the metal spoke of the bed’s headboard.

  Sam froze. “Honey, what did you do?” He tugged his hands but the cuffs held.

  “We’re going to play a little game.” I slid down along his body, causing him to groan, until I reached my destination. I studied his erection. “It’s called voir dire. I ask questions and you answer them.”

  “What kind of questions?” The strain in his voice was palpable.

  “Do you like this?” I blew lightly on his penis.

  “Oh yeah. That’s the whole truth and nothing but the truth so—”

  I took him in my mouth.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tuesday night I sat up late working in the Florida room. Mom was sound asleep and Melissa was out with friends. I heard the front door open and a few seconds later my sister wandered into the room, yawning.

  I glanced up from the notes I was reviewing. “Good movie?”

  “Yeah, but I’m whipped.” She flopped down beside me on the sofa. “What are you still doing up?”

  “Sam’s working tonight so I’m trying to figure out a few loose ends in the Whitman case.” I had the entire file spread across the cocktail table.

  She frowned. “But they fired you.”

  “Doesn’t mean I don’t want answers.” I lifted a shoulder. “One of the flaws of being anal. Besides—” I studied the new framed photo of Mom and me, “—the police haven’t gotten the person responsible for the phone call and package.” Sam’s frustration on that front was evident. The black market case had also hit yet another snag when the body inside the truck pulled from the canal had been identified as Danny Lopez’s.

  My sister sat next to me and picked up the financial research folder. “I never got a chance to discuss what I found with you.” She pulled over several pages. “I’m thinking of going to medical school now. I never realized it was so profitable to be a podiatrist.” She pointed to a column. “I discovered some offshore bank accounts.”

  I stared at the paper trail of names and accounts she had constructed. The connections were all there. “That bastard. Did he think he would get away with this?”

  Although what I held in my hand was privileged and confidential information developed during the course of representation, somehow I would make sure the owners of OraGen would come to justice.

  The phone rang. Setting aside the documents, I got up and hurried to the stand. “Hello?”

  “Nicole, this is Claire Whitman.” The woman’s voice was a like a ghostly whisper, lifting the hairs on the nape of my neck.

  “Are you all right? What’s wrong?”

  “They’re all evil. I found out that Brian’s done despicable things all for the sake of money. I know where they took Rebecca’s organs and, tonight, I’m going to set her spirit free.”

  Her voice broke on a sob. “You were being kind to me so they tried to hurt you. You won’t have to worry anymore. I’ll make sure they can’t hurt you again.”

  “Claire, wait—”

  There was a buzzing sound. I replaced the phone, raced into the bedroom and grabbed my purse and jacket. When I emerged, Melissa stood in the hall. “What is it?” she whispered.

  I took her arm and drew her to the front door. “Lock it after me and check all the windows to make sure they’re secure as well. That was Claire Whitman and she sounded like she’s going to do something crazy.”

  “Did she tell you where she is?”

  “No, but I have a good idea where she’s going.” I grabbed my car keys and raced outside. Sliding into the front seat, I started the engine and grabbed my cell. I punched in Sam’s private number.

  “Hi, honey. I’m in the middle of something—”

  “I just had a call from Claire Whitman. She’s snapped. Talked about making sure I wouldn’t be hurt anymore and releasing her baby’s spirit. I’m positive she’s at OraGen and going to do something crazy.”

  “Why OraGen?”

  “Because if I’ve connected all the dots, OraGen is the company her husband—along with his buddies Quint and Chang—founded as a front for their black market organ racket. I’m heading out there now.”

  “Nicole, don’t you dare—”

  “I’ve got to try to stop her, Sam. Don’t ask me not to.”

  I heard the resignation in his tone. “I’m on my way.”

  At this time of night, traffic was light and I made good time to the complex. I entered as I had before and pulled into the parking lot a building away from OraGen. Although the medical research facility was dark with no signs of activity, several cars were parked behind it, including a SUV, the same model as the Whitmans’. At the delivery ramp sat a small white truck similar to those of Tropical Paradise Ice Cream.

  I exited my car and pulled out the black knit cap still tucked in my jacket from the other night. I gathered my hair, twisted it up and jammed on the hat. Black ops Nicole Sterling. Maybe I should consider a new career. I took one step before realizing my cell was on ring. Nix that career change. Pulling it out from my jacket pocket, I set it on vibrate.

  Keeping to the shadows as much as I could, I ran bent over to the back of the OraGen building. Cautiously, I made my way to the door next to the delivery ramp. The thinnest line of light showed beneath it. I paused, wrinkling my nose. Gas. With my eyes adjusted to the night, I could make out a can lying on its side a few feet away. Damn.

  I gripped the doorknob and turned it easily. Taking a deep breath, I opened it partially and slipped inside. I blinked against the light. When my eyes adjusted and I could make out the contents of the room, my stomach lurched.

  The large space almost mirrored the Tropical Paradise warehouse, except at the other end I could see through a window. A surgical table glistened in a brightly lit room.

  Elsewhere refrigerators lined one wall, freezers another. Rows of tables fanned out with stacks of overnight boxes and ice cream tubs. Here and there bones that could only be human lay scattered across a table.

  I caught the glint of metal on another and moved closer. Teeth were scattered across its surface as carelessly as marbles, their fillings gleaming under the industrial overhead lights. The sour taste of nausea filled my mouth.

  “What are you doing here?” a familiar male voice demanded.

  I spun to face the back of the room where Damian Quint stood by a steel cart packed with tubs. Rather than his usual Palm Beach look, he wore surgical scrubs, and a mask hung around his neck. He reached behind his back and pulled out a gun.

  I held up my hands to show I wasn’t carrying anything. “Take it easy, Damian. You need to evacuate everyone in here.”

  “Right.” He advanced down the aisle. “And run straight into the arms of the police? I don’t think so.”

  “Can’t you smell the gasoline? Claire Whitman thinks the organs of her baby are here. She plans to set the building on fire.”

  “Claire’s home safe and sound under heavy medication.” Damian reached me and pointed the gun at my head. “What have you done with Chang?”

  “I haven’t done anything with him.”

  “Bull. He was
out here readying the next shipment.” Then the man’s nostrils flared. “What the hell? That is gas.”

  From behind I heard a swish and a draft of cold air rushed past me. “Drop the gun, Damian.”

  I turned. The door of a walk-in unit stood wide open. Brian Whitman held a gun. Anger darkened Quint’s face, but fear also flickered in his eyes. “What do you think you’re doing, Brian? Where’s Lee?”

  Brian stepped away to reveal the crumpled form of Dr. Chang lying inside the cooler. Obviously responding to the greater threat, Quint swung his revolver toward Brian and away from me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another cooler door open. Claire stepped out. “Look out,” I cried, but she fired.

  Quint screamed, dropping his gun. Raw flesh and blood blossomed across his upper arm. Clutching the wound, he sagged to his knees. I stepped toward the pistol, but Claire pointed her gun at me. “Don’t move.”

  Quint peeled his lips back at Brian. “You two-timing son of a bitch.”

  Brian wore a glazed, feverish expression. “I tried to tell you two, but you wouldn’t listen. Then you savaged Rebecca’s body.”

  Claire whimpered but maintained her stance.

  Sam had once said you could tell when someone is about to kill. You sense the person getting ready to squeeze the trigger, and that signal was coming loud and clear from Brian.

  I spoke in a calm tone. “You killed them all in revenge, didn’t you? Depp, Hassenfeld and the two truck drivers.”

  “Yes. They all denied being the one who removed her organs, but I knew it had to be one of them that did Damian’s dirty work.”

  “Make Damian tell me where Becca’s organs are, Brian, so I can set her free,” Claire said in a low, fierce voice. I didn’t know what kind of medications her husband had used on her, but his wife clearly was beyond any bonds of sanity. Her fragile grip on reality had snapped.

  “Why did you want me here, Claire?”

  Her eyes darted to me. “Brian said we needed to make it look like you did it.”

  “For God’s sake.” Despite his gray pallor, Quint managed an arrogant smile. “Didn’t you know your attorney is sleeping with the cop investigating the organ operation? She probably called him before coming here.”