by Ronnie Allen
He snatched the bottle of lavender-scented shampoo out of her hand, flipped the cap open, and deposited a liberal amount on top of her head. His fingers ran through her locks, creating mounds of suds. He took his time, massaging her scalp.
Oh God. He was better than her hair stylist. His electric touch sent tingles around her scalp, ears, and down her neck. She relaxed with deepened breathing. He leaned her head back under the tallest spout to rinse her hair. He ran his hands through it and she shuddered from his energy. She closed her eyes and moaned.
She wiped her eyes with her finger tips, squeezed scented bath gel onto a mesh sponge, and soaped his torso. She looked into his eyes, smiling. He bent down and lowered his lips onto hers in a soft sensual kiss. She kept her face raised. She wanted more. He didn’t oblige, just returned a teasing grin.
She relaxed her fingers. The sponge slipped from her hands and fell onto a mound of bubbles on the tile floor. He teased. He must have known what she wanted, but he was denying her.
Um, bad boy. Okay, she’d play. She could play the bad girl.
She retrieved the sponge and brought it up to his stomach. She lowered it a bit. Just a bit, then slid it around to caress his back, then lowered it to his butt cheeks, and swirled the sponge around. He grinned, pulled her close.
He snatched another sponge from a shelf, poured gel on it, spun her around with her back leaning on his lathered chest. She loved that he took charge. She put her lips together and closed her eyes.
He scrunched the sponge between his hands to increase the suds as Sam made herself comfortable against his eight-pack. He caressed her with the sponge, starting at her neck, and crept downward. He was torturing her with his gentle touch. With his right hand, he moved the sponge over her right breast, as the fingers on his left followed the soapy path, making circular motions on her chest. The warmth of his hands on her caused her to moan in surrender and lean her entire body weight against him. His fingers lingered on her pebbled pink skin that surrounded her hardened nipple, driving waves of excitement through her. He teased her in his slow pace, making her wait. With his left arm, he held her up on her rubbery legs. The grin hadn’t left his face.
Control. He definitely controlled her pleasure.
He leaned forward and let the sponge travel millimeter by millimeter down her midriff, but stopped at her thatch. Sam moaned, edging her pelvis up, giving him permission to go lower. She was going to have him soon. The anticipation thrilled her and terrified her at the same time.
His hardened length settled on the crack of her butt cheeks with it reaching the small of her back. It felt so good there she almost didn’t want to move. She needed him, his touch, in her most sacred place. She turned slightly and spread her legs for him, raising her leg as he brought the sponge down to her sex. When it reached her clit, he kissed her neck and she closed her eyes in deep desire and trust.
Again he made circular motions--this time on her mound--with the sponge. She gasped, low guttural moans. The heat rose from her core. He continued to peck at her neck. Then he dropped the sponge and inserted two fingers into her, probing, massaging the most sensitive part of her.
She let out louder moans. “Oh my God. Ooh. Ahhhhhh.”
He found her G-spot and lingered. He moved his fingers over the spot, one at a time, tapping, as if his fingers walked within her. Her entrance swelled. Tingling sensations ran through her, driving her close to the apex. The feeling within her mimicked wanting to pee. She knew she couldn’t.
As if on cue, he removed his fingers, halting her climax.
Damn him!
“I want you under me, princess. Now.” His voice commanded the only words he uttered.
Yes, he was her dom. A gentle one. But a dom, nonetheless. He flipped her limp body over and held her tight as he rinsed both of them off without another word. He shut the shower, opened the door, and wrapped her in a towel. Then he grabbed one from the rack. As Sam finished drying herself, Frank did the same on himself.
They exited the steamy bathroom, looking into each other’s eyes. The coolness of the hall hastened their retreat into her bedroom. Her sex throbbed. Ached.
He plopped her down on her back on the bed with towels wrapped around them. He pulled his off and dropped it to the floor. Sam gazed up into the eyes of the overpowering specimen who was about to consume her. He drove her insane with lust. She wouldn’t be able to take much more of the heat that had mounted in her core, sending tremors through her body. In a few moments she’d have to beg him. Beg him like the bad girl he wanted her to be.
With seduction on his face, leaning over her, he tugged on Sam’s towel. He gently lifted her body to slide it out from under her. Kneeling on the bed, he lowered his body onto hers. He caressed her face, moved his hands down her neck to her breasts. Cupping her right breast, he lowered his face to kiss the mound he held in his hand. She let out low gasps. His lips moved to her mouth, her arms went around his neck, welcoming him.
Just as their lips were about to meet, both their phones rang at once. His had an alarm ringtone. Hers, the bark of a dog.
“What the--” Their voices trampled each other’s.
Nick had called Sam. Loo had called Frank.
CHAPTER 22
The drive from south Brooklyn to north Manhattan took two hours in rush-hour, Monday traffic, a week and a half before Thanksgiving. Bad timing. Holiday shopping had been underway in New York weeks ago. Crap, bumper-to-bumper on the Belt Parkway, Gowanus, into the Hugh L. Carey Tunnel and West Side Highway, traveling north. He’d go to his gym the same way in an hour, during off times.
Knock of the pity party, Frank. Murders aren’t convenient at any time.
They had guzzled down whey protein drinks, tuna and egg salad Sam had in her fridge, got dressed, all in less than thirty minutes. He would have loved to ignore the phone. He couldn’t. Neither could Sam. He was pissed.
Patrol officers guided him into a cordoned off area to park outside the church’s rear parking lot. Sam looked out the window and nudged him with her elbow to face the direction of Nick and Withers, standing inside the lot, near tarp covered bodies.
Frank got out of the driver’s seat, slammed the car door, put his elbows on the roof of the SUV, and scanned the site. Damn! Every emergency service team in New York City was here--fire trucks, ambulances, Crime Scene unloading their van, detectives from the Central Park Precinct, and about ten uniformed officers. Then he noticed Lieutenant Rojas speaking with the Bureau Chief of Homicide, Burt Hazelton.
That meant trouble for him, Sam, Nick, and even that bum, Withers. It had been three days since the last murder.
And what have we accomplished? Squat! That’s what.
They’d all feel the heat. The forensic reports hadn’t come in yet. No one would give a damn. They had a couple of leads. AriellaRose was now contained in a psych ward. Adam had gone into hiding. Calinda--who the heck was she? Something had to give. Sam had already gone through the gate over to Withers. She flashed her badge, dismissing an officer who tried to detain her.
Yeah. She was pissed, too.
Frank pulled his shades from the nape of his T-shirt, put them on, and joined them after flashing his ID at the same officer.
Sam stared at the tarps. “When?”
She nodded to Nick, who signaled hello from where he now stood. Then he resumed conversing with this precinct’s detectives.
Withers gave her a hard stare. “Around ten-fifteen. They were coming out of an AA meeting. They left a few minutes early. As soon as they came down the steps to the parking lot, they caught it in a drive-by. The bodies are still in the exact position they fell. No witnesses. Anyone who was going to be here already was.” He paused and studied her. “So what do you make of it, rookie?”
Frank was taken aback by Withers’s affront. He put it on Sam awfully fast. But she didn’t flinch or miss a beat.
“What did the first responders report?”
“Never mind them for now. Crime Scene
just got here. Scene same as it was found. This precinct knows it’s ours.”
“Not appropriate, Withers. The first responders have--”
“Zip it, Khaos. Who invited you to this shindig?”
“Whoa, Withers. Watch it.” Frank removed his shades and stared Withers down to the size of an ant.
“Wow, temperamental this morning, hey, Doc? The two of you look like crap. Didn’t get much sleep last night, did you?”
Frank got the message, but backed off, giving a snide retort. “No, we did not.” Let Withers mind wander where he wanted. His brain was usually in the gutter, anyway.
Sam ignored them and looked around. Frank saw her photographic mind at work. She seemed to be absorbing every detail. She rubbed her lips together before she spoke, as if she wanted to choose her words carefully before she let them out.
That was a first.
“They took a big chance here. Way too public. What were they thinking? Different from the park kill. Similar to the Mason kill. Church right on a main avenue. They knew they’d be exiting at the rear. Their car in here?”
Withers nodded.
Sam walked to the entrance gate. “Too narrow for cars coming and leaving at the same time.”
That, Frank could see.
She walked the direction that the getaway car needed to go. “They came in, drove around this row, and must have waited by the steps, facing the exit. Each row flows in one direction. They don’t enter and leave through the same gate. The gate we walked in is the entry gate, and the one opposite is the exit. Um, they knew about timing. No one else would be exiting while they did this. Obviously prepared. May I see the bodies?” Sam yanked latex gloves from her pockets, slipped them on while she gave her full attention to Withers.
“Yeah. Sure, rookie. Go ahead. They haven’t been processed yet. The tarps are held up on spikes so they don’t make contact. Make sure they don’t slip.”
Sam nodded and approached the bodies. She crouched down and lifted the first tarp, closest to her. Frank followed her, stood behind her with his hands in his jeans pockets. He kept his distance, but he needed to convey that she had an ally.
She scanned the body from head to toe, bending down farther to get a full view. “Hey, Withers! Want to come over and listen? Or do you prefer my tape?”
Without a response, Withers knelt next to her.
“Valerie Larcon. Three bullet wounds in torso. One in left shoulder. Looks like from a thirty eight. Some residue on her coat. I’ll let the lab guys estimate the distance.” She stood up and walked around to the second tarp. She lifted the edge closet to the head of the victim. “Mrs. Larcon. Oh shit. Two to the face. Looks like from closer range. Powder residue. Those black spots aren’t makeup.” She stood up and let out a short breath. “Know why they left early?”
“Yeah. As long as you asked. A member said, the Mrs. got an emergency call. He couldn’t hear what, but the Mrs. turned pale, got up fast, and ran out of the room. Valerie followed her. That’s it.”
“The driver’s side was over here. Car facing the exit. That’s a definite. Hypothetically, I think there were two shooters. One shooter in the back seat. I think that’s Valerie’s killer. Both probably used suppressors.” She walked the distance from the body to the first row of cars. “About fifteen feet here. Shot’s within that. Then I think for the Mrs. Larcon kill, the killer may have been here.” She walked a few feet away to the row of cars again. “This would be where the hood of the car would be, so after the kill, the perp could run around the front and jump into the passenger seat. Only two shots, close up, to do it quick, while Valerie’s shooter could get two more rounds off.”
Sam’s gaze seemed to scrutinize the ground. Withers stood with his usual sour expression. He must love lemons. The more Frank saw him, the more it reinforced that he couldn’t stand the man. Frank shifted on his legs farther back from the area where Mrs. Larson had been taken down.
Sam shouted, “Don’t move, Frank!”
He froze. “What?”
She bent down and picked up a blackish-blueish round piece of gook that lay by his toe.
Withers yelled at her. “What the fuck, rookie? That’s old bubble gum!”
Sam put the glob up to her nose. Frank furrowed his brows. She sighed. “Okay. How do I say this so you don’t have Doctor Khaos commit me on the spot?”
“Just say it, rookie!”
“First, this is where Mrs. Larcon’s shooter stood. Second, this isn’t bubble gum. This is candle drippings. It’s called an amulet. See the pentagram, the five pointed star engraved on it?”
Withers didn’t know what to make of it and shook his head. Frank stood straight-faced. On purpose.
“Amulets are used for good luck doing something. Lighter colored ones for good things, dark ones for evil.” She lifted the amulet to her nose. Each sniff yield a different scent. “Jasmine--Basil--Pennyroyal. Oops. That one could cause a miscarriage. I bet these women work with black magick. Spells. Like AriellaRose slipped out.”
“And you know that, how?” Frank’s tone was out of curiosity not condemnation. He was careful about that.
“I work with oils and candles, too. In meditation. Nick already knows.”
She threw that out, Frank guessed, to minimize the effect.
“There’s a lot more to it than what you’re saying, but okay, so what?” Frank needed to know but he’d wait.
“How soon can we get a fingerprint ID?”
Withers held out his hand. “Gimme.” She placed the amulet into Withers’s gloved hand. He peered at it suspiciously. “Give me a while. We’ll see if we can get a print.” He left to find a crime scene investigator.
“When were you planning to tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“About your interest in Wicca.”
Sam stared at him with her mouth agape.
Twenty-five minutes later, Withers returned with a smile on his face. The first smile Frank had ever seen. “Ordinarily, they don’t do this at the scene, but we got lucky, rookie. The guys they sent owed me a favor. Our buddy AFIS made an ID. Great job! Emma Sanders. Busted three years ago. Stealing from her dad’s employer, a pharma in Westchester. Got probation cause Daddy’s a big time corporate lawyer, but he did lose his job. What she stole was proven to be for her own use. Don’t know how they pulled that off. She moved away to Atlanta and came back six months ago. And guess who she is?” Withers flipped the phone toward them to see the pic.
“Calinda Alexander!” Frank and Sam said in unison.
Sam grimaced. “No wonder her name wasn’t on any list. Before our guys went out to interview, they validated IDs. Anyone they couldn’t verify was ignored. Need to confirm that, though. Get a BOLO out for her and Adam. Psych ward or not, can I borrow the amulet and white band?” she asked.
“The band’s at the precinct, and the am...what the hell did you call it?”
“Amulet,” Frank filled in.
Sam frowned and shot him an inquisitive stare.
“Yeah. It’s being packed up now. Come back to the precinct and let’s see what we could put together.”
“Good. I need a computer,” Sam said as if she had a lot of ideas.
***
At the precinct, Sam shuffled files around on the desk in the War Room. Frank made himself comfortable on the couch behind her. Nick and Withers meandered in a few minutes later. Sam glanced at the wall clock, two p.m., and narrowed her eyes at them, showing her annoyance at their tardiness. They pulled out chairs and plopped down. They understood her non-verbal reprimand. Good. This was her case and it was about time they realized who was really in charge. In her mind, it certainly was not Withers.
“Okay, guys. We have a lot to do this afternoon, so I hope you didn’t plan any family time. This is our first meet to put it all together. Nick, what did Central Park tell you?”
“A lot. Valerie and Mrs. Larcon had been going to this church for just a few months. There’s about twenty AA meetings in t
he area. They’ve hit all of them. It seems that when the sessions become too hot for them, when members ask too many questions and push them, they split. So the killers are people who know them personally. Dingo caught me up on your assessment at the scene. I agree. So good job on that.”
Sam gave him a cynical smile. “Sorry, no Brownie points. What else?”
“Oh, man, Sam! Who didn’t get what she wanted last night?” Nick laughed, glaring at Frank, who also perked up at her remark, responding with a guttural laugh.
Sam turned around and glared at him. “What, Frank?”
“Hey, I didn’t get what I wanted, either!”
“Frank,” Sam scolded. “What we got or didn’t get is nobody’s business and has nothing to do with it. What pisses me off is that four murders happened right under our noses. I believe the person who knows the most about it is already in custody and we can’t find the other two key witnesses. Nick, what else?”
“Interviews came in from the teams. Very thorough. Unbelievably, all the reports are positive. People were very cooperative. No one wanted the vics killed. All leads went to the kids and their dealers. A couple of reliable sources led to Leonardo Philetano as their only supplier. Like Calinda said, AriellaRose and him are a couple. Adam is still MIA. Possibly the driver in the last two kills. We know Calinda is still around.”
Frank leaned forward, still on the couch. “From what we saw at the club last night, Adam has a lot of hostility and guilt toward his parents. Wouldn’t be surprised if he orchestrated the kills and his puppets executed the plans. He and AriellaRose, as twins, have a lot of the same personality traits. I’m confident he does know who did the kills.”
Sam nodded. “Okay, so Adam tops our suspect list now. What did the graphic artist come up with? That witness ever come in?”
Withers referred to the file. “Yeah. Gave an accurate account. Found her quickly. Rachel Hawthorne. Late twenties, five tenish. Which fits, if we compare her height to the height of the bullet entry wound. She was taller than Mason, so she’d be able to keep her trigger hand lowered and not seen by passersby. She’s wanted in Atlanta for murdering her grandmother last year. Here’s the pic.” He turned the file around so they could see.
