by Trisha Wolfe
Chase narrows his gaze. “No one has been here?”
The man throws up his hands. “I moved to fucking Falls Church to get away from the press hounding me, Larkin. For fuck’s sake, I just got done with a trial. Do you think I’m in the mood to date?”
The way he says it, with such disdain, triggers a detail I read in one of his first statements. I hate the dating scene. That’s why I meet women online.
Three victims were attacked right after he—allegedly—dropped them off at their homes after a date that was arranged through emails. The second two didn’t come forward until after the first was reported.
“Malcolm, the detectives are going to say you moved here to cull new victims away from the city,” Chase says evenly. He’s all hard logic. Not a hint of emotion in his tone. “I need the truth. We’ll figure out what they need to hear, but you know the deal. I get everything. Every. Single. Fucking. Detail up front.”
As Malcolm contemplates this, I jot down a note: Culling victims through dating website. Does the new victim use the same site as the others?
“All right,” Malcolm says, exasperated. “I knew this girl. But only online,” he stresses. “I had plans to meet her. We hooked up through the fetish site, but it fell through. I backed out last night.” He shakes his head. “I wanted to celebrate, sure. But I decided against it at the last minute. I never hooked up with her. Next thing I know, the fucking cops are breaking down my door.”
I write quickly, getting down anything relevant, as Chase remains quiet. When I glance up, his stern features and hard glare on his client make me question if he believes Malcolm. Chase looks over at me, searching my face, as if I hold the answer.
“Didn’t I tell you to stay off that site?” Chase reprimands his client. “It’s not as anonymous as you think, Malcolm. You can’t chance it with the press.”
Malcolm’s features fall in defeat, but he says nothing.
The detective in the trench coat enters the office, breaking the silence. “Doctor Malcolm Bates, I have a warrant for your arrest.”
“Say nothing,” Chase reminds Malcolm. “I’ll meet you at the station.”
Malcolm assumes the position, placing his hands behind his back as the detective recites the Miranda rights and handcuffs him. I feel as if I’m in the middle of a bad cop show, but even in those, there’s at least some important information gleaned.
We’ve learned nothing here.
Once the detective places Malcolm in the custody of two officers who escort him outside the house, he turns toward Chase. “Processing here takes a few hours. We’ll call you when your client’s ready for questioning.”
With a smirk, Chase lowers his head to look down at the detective, his height towering over. “That’s fine. Take all the time you want. But in the meantime, I want access to all evidentiary discovery. Including the police report and witness statement.”
The detective cocks his head. “Sounds like a request for the ACA. Good luck.” He stalks off without another word.
I touch Chase’s arm, bringing his attention to me. “They don’t have a strong case yet,” I say, and he nods, catching on to the same thing as me.
“If they did, it wouldn’t be handed down to an Assistant Commonwealth’s Attorney.” His slight smile reaches his eyes. “And at least we’re in another district and don’t have to battle Detective Quinn. We wouldn’t get anywhere if so. Come on,” he says, starting toward the foyer. “Let’s go hound the shit out of this green ACA.”
I’ve seen violence before. Depicted in images as I researched cases. The woman who filed spousal abuse on her husband. Her bruised face. Despondent, shadowed eyes that held so much pain. The man who was assaulted by a coworker. The chair that broke his arm. The claim that followed which showed the X-rays and hardship of his suffering.
I always viewed this violent world safely removed, however. Just a shade away from the victims. The pictures spread out before me now seem too close, too real. As if I can reach down and touch Samantha Dean.
The ligature marks wrapping her wrists make mine itch, and I rub my fingers over my skin, feeling the raised welts, the remnants of the chain that bound me the night before.
Although mine was accepted willingly, I can’t help feeling a connection to this victim on a deeper level that has nothing to do with last night. The fabric of time is slipping, and I’m struggling to stay in the moment.
Unlike the victim here, I don’t have visible proof of my scars. So they’re easily dismissed. Ignored. Forgotten. Proof, as I’ve come to learn, is all that matters. If you can’t prove it, then it never happened. I could’ve imagined the whole thing for all the world cares.
“The victim’s account of last night doesn’t match the accused’s MO,” Chase says as he flips the page in the report.
The ACA sitting at the table across from us leans forward, swiping a stray hair from her vision. “Then you admit your client has an MO.” She’s young, and her raised eyebrows give away too much of her thoughts, even though she’s doing a good job of that all on her own.
Chase isn’t fazed by her accusation. Instead, he continues to read the victim’s statement without any acknowledgment her way. “Accused, Miss Garcia. Doctor Bates has been accused three times and stood trial, all accounts inciting a specific routine.” He does look up once he’s finished with the report. “Or ritual, if you will. This, however, is a clear witch hunt. So now, every time a rape is reported anywhere within three counties, the Commonwealth is going to waste precious time by first harassing my client rather than conducting an investigation.” He crosses his arms. “Good to know.”
I’ve seen Chase in action before, during preliminaries and on news broadcasts, but I’ve never been this close to him while he’s in fighter mode. He exudes a dominance that ripples over my skin, heating my flesh. The woman across from him feels it, too. She touches her hair again and glances down, a clear sign she’s affected.
She’s as much out of her depth with him as I am.
After she clears her throat, she pushes another report across the table. “The scope of the warrant included Doctor Bates’ computer.”
“Oh, come on,” Chase says, his tone mocking. “How did you even get that pushed through? What judge did you stroke off?”
She blanches at his lewd allegation, and I can’t stop the smile that twists my lips.
“You know this will be thrown out,” Chase continues. “There was no probable cause for a search of this scope. So what else do you have?”
“The victim’s testimony should be enough, Mister Larkin,” she fires back. “I know you’re used to getting your way, but you won’t intimidate me. This is not a witch hunt. Malcolm Bates was the last interaction the victim had before she was attacked. In her own home. Both the victim’s and Bates’ metadata confirm they were in contact. And here,” she says, pointing to a bulletin point on the report. “You can read for yourself. The perpetrator used surgical gloves during the attack.” She tilts her head. “I know that you have many high profile clients, but maybe you should refresh yourself with the details of your own case. The MO of the previous victims all stated the perpetrator wore surgical gloves. Like a doctor. Like your client.”
For dramatic effect, she stands, collecting her laptop and folders. “And of course, there’s the evidence of the email the victim sent just prior to the attack.” She glances between us, smug. “The one containing the victim’s address as per their agreed ‘hook-up.’ I think we’re done.”
Before she marches off, I turn toward Chase and silently ask permission to address her. “Wait, Miss Garcia. I believe my assistant has something to add.”
I thought he’d want to know first, but I guess this is where the trust comes in. I suck in a breath, let it out slowly. “What about the time?” I ask.
She shakes her head, her dark hair slipping over her shoulder. “Can you be more specific?”
“The metadata, according to the report, states the victim sent the email at 10:15 p.m. But the distanc
e between the victim’s house and Bates’ residence is calculated to be fifteen minutes. She claims she was attacked in her living room, while she was still on her laptop.” I nod, urging her to catch on. “Six minutes after the email was sent. And the metadata also confirms that Bates didn’t open the email until two minutes prior to the victim’s attack.”
Her mouth parts, and she looks at Chase as if to address him rather than me. “Circumstantial. He could’ve already been in route when he received the email. To which he opened on his phone.”
“I don’t think so,” Chase cuts in. “Miss Wilde is correct. The metadata clearly states the email was received by his home IP address. Which means, you must have some exculpatory evidence for us.”
The ACA curses under her breath as she tweaks a report from her folder. She slaps the report on the table. “I only just received this before you arrived, Mister Larkin. It still needs to be investigated.”
The report is a record of Bates’ Internet activity at the time of the rape. Most of which is clearly visits to porn sites and a dark fetish site.
Chase’s mouth kicks up into his devilish smile. The one that highlights his dimple. The one I love. “Your time would be best spent on investigating the actual rapist, Miss ACA Garcia,” he says.
She releases a huff of frustration. “It’s a technicality that will be scrutinized closer, I assure you.”
He tucks the report away before he stands, offering me his hand to rise beside him. “Not a technicality, but a fact that clears my client for the time being.”
Once she leaves the room, Chase pulls me against his chest. His hand slips down and he tugs up my skirt. I gasp in a breath at the feel of his rough caress between my thighs.
“There’s a camera in here,” I whisper.
His gaze locks on to the camera in the corner. “Even if it wasn’t off, that wouldn’t stop me from touching you.” My hands grasp for the table behind me, seeking support as he pushes my underwear aside and possessively takes what he wants. “Are you going to stop me?”
He knows I won’t. And I am under no delusion that his intention is not to demean me right here, the notion that someone can walk in on us at any moment adding to my increasing humiliation. He’s not just enjoying it; he’s feasting off it.
The abrasive stubble of his cheek rubs against my face as he lowers his mouth to my neck, the feel more desperate and immediate, heightening this erotic secret between us.
My pulse accelerates, triggering pressure to the spot he’s expertly working. But just as suddenly, the fear and excitement dissipate as he pulls away.
“I’m more than tempted to take you right here on this table,” he says, adjusting his erection. “But let’s get Bates out of processing before they try to question him. Then I’ll take my time with you.”
The promise in his dark tone sends a wave of heat coursing through me, confirming I wouldn’t have denied him.
I don’t recognize who I am anymore. A woman who’d let her boss fuck her in a police station—and love it. What’s more, as he leads the way toward processing, I believe this man may understand me—what I desire and need—on a level I may never. I fear I’ve been more than dominated, more than owned; I’m being corrupted. And I crave every one of his defiling touches.
12
Ridicule
Chase
ACA Garcia is all contemptuous glares and wounded pride as Malcolm Bates is released from temporary holding. I enjoy every slitted scowl she sends my way. Though it wasn’t my discovery that freed Bates, she’s invested in beating me.
Hearing my little, meek Alexis tear down the prosecution’s case in a matter of seconds was thrilling. She took control, owning a power she never knew she possessed. I saw it in her eyes the moment she scented weakness; the second the ACA faltered, giving her an in to strike.
I’m crawling out of my skin to touch her. Devour her newfound power. I’m seconds away from hauling her into the dirty bathroom and fucking her up against a stall, when Bates exits through the door.
I adjust my slacks as I stand, dampening all arousing thoughts, before I approach my client.
“I swear, you’re a genius,” Malcolm says, shaking my hand.
I nod toward Alexis standing at my side. “I appreciate your confidence, but this was all the doing of Miss Wilde, my secret weapon here.”
His gaze is already assessing Alexis, a hungry glint in his eyes that raises my hackles. “I see what you mean,” he says, turning toward her and extending his hand. “Sorry we didn’t get a formal introduction before, with all the commotion of the pending arrest. Thank you for your services, Miss Wilde.”
She offers him a tight smile, pulling her hand away quickly. “I only pointed out the facts, Doctor Bates. It’s my job, but you’re welcome.”
My mouth curls into a slight smile, loving how she dodged his advance while not insinuating his innocence. Which stresses the need to discover exactly what happened to the victim last night.
“Let’s walk.” I head toward the doors, not giving the ACA another glance as we leave the station. Once we’re near my car, I turn toward Bates. “Now’s the time to inform me of anything, anything at all that might pop up during their investigation.”
His face pales as he shakes his head. “I thought this was over now.”
It’s never going to be over for him. He’s in the system. A future suspect for any rape that happens within fifty miles of him. His trial was splashed all over the state, so the only thing he has going for him is that it didn’t go national.
I don’t say this, however. Instead, I try to keep my client’s confidence that we’ll help him one day lead a normal life. “Malcolm, once the Commonwealth sinks their teeth into someone, they don’t let go so easily. Especially when the prosecution believes you got off on a shoddy defense.”
Which is the truth, unfortunately. I’m damn good at what I do, but the jury was only moved to acquit Bates due to lack of evidence. With no DNA, no firsthand identification, and the only thing linking the rapes was the fact that Bates had just been with each woman prior on a date…there was much room for doubt.
It doesn’t prove him innocent, but it’s not enough to convict him, either.
With that in mind, I pull Alexis closer to my side, staking my claim.
Bates releases a heavy breath as he considers this news. “I’ve told you everything, Larkin. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”
That’s not what I want to hear. The prosecution is going to pull some form of evidence—no matter how bizarre—out of the air, and I’ll be left backtracking in order to suppress it or defend it. I’d rather have a strong offense on this one, considering the MO doesn’t completely align.
I don’t like not being prepared. Control and routine.
“I’ll keep in touch, then,” I say, offering him my hand. “For now, lay low. I can’t stress this enough. Stay off those sites”—I send him a knowing glare—“and you’ll be fine.”
The worry that creases his weathered looking eyes bothers me. “Make this end, Larkin.”
The only way that will happen is if my client is truly innocent and the rapist suddenly decides to confess or is caught. In other words, it’s starting to look doubtful on all accounts.
Regardless of what proof Alexis uncovered, there’s one universal truth for innocents and criminals alike: people learn from their mistakes. They get smarter. More prepared. Cover their tracks better.
For Malcolm’s sake, he better pray he’s gotten good enough to fool me.
I couldn’t get Bates out of my car fast enough. Once I dropped him off at his house, I decided to take the scenic route back to Arlington. This is exactly the type of distraction I feared. The reason why I have such strict rules…that I’m completely breaking when it comes to Alexis.
I should be focused on discovering every bit of evidence the ACA thinks she has. Instead, I’m like a fucking horny teenager, seeking the first exit off the highway so I can satisfy my need for her
.
Alexis’s first day in her new position has already been spoiled. Most of the day was spent at the Falls Church PD, waiting for the ACA to get her shit together, rather than letting her get acquainted with her office and tasks.
Since there’s no reason to go into the office this late, I decide her very impressive skills can be better appreciated by me personally, rather than my firm.
“Where are we going?” she asks as I merge onto the exit lane.
Normally, her prying would set me off, but I’m too agitated to scold her about trust this instant. I’m also exceedingly proud of her, with the way she handled the ACA, and her knowledge of the law. Something I’ve never given her enough credit for.
As much as I hate to agree with that fucker Wells, it is a shame her talents went overlooked. I could’ve moved her up at any time, had I thought I could handle the temptation. As it is, I’m in dire need to make up for lost time.
“We’re stopping,” I say, pulling the car over on the side of the road. We’re on a remote two-lane along the stretch of highway that rarely gets used, but Alexis doesn’t need to know this detail.
I kill the engine and turn toward her to unbuckle her seatbelt. She lets the strap release with an unsure furrow to her brow. She’s aware, however, that I’m in no mood for questions. She remains silent as I open my door and walk around the car.
I open her door and take her hand, pulling her out without a word and leading her toward the side of the car, where I then grasp her waist and hoist her onto the hood. “Lift up,” I tell her, my voice thick with restraint.
She licks her lips, then quickly glances around, searching for oncoming cars. But as she eases her hips off the hood, I’m there within a beat, hiking her skirt up and jerking her panties down her thighs. They snag at her garter clips, and I curse.
She slants a sexy smile. “You’re the one who demanded I wear the garter belt.”
“Yes, and I think you want me to punish that sassy mouth,” I say, bunching the silky material at the hem to get a good grip. I tear them down her hip, and do the same to the other side, before I yank them off.
