by Lizbeth Day
Lovely Wicked Things
Lovely Wicked Things
Lizbeth Day
PUBLISHED BY:
Harmony Books
Copyright © 2017
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitious.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Lovely Wicked Things
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
Sign up to hear when a new Lizbeth Day book is available. | lizbethday.weebly.com
Warning!
This book contains explicit language and graphic sex scenes.
ONE
Denver paced outside of the court room’s doors. She white-knuckled her cell phone and almost screamed when the call went to voice mail.
Damn it. Where was he? Her informant should have delivered the intel an hour ago.
The court door swung open and banged against the opposite wall. The clang reverberated up and down the marble hall way. One of Denver’s bosses, a man in a dark gray suit, stalked out of the courtroom.
He stopped in front of Denver. He was about a foot shorter than her own five feet seven inches. So he wasn’t exactly intimidating. Despite that, she didn’t like the look he flung at her.
“What happened?” He spit out from between clenched teeth.
She squared her shoulders back. “Something must’ve happened to my guy. He’s never not come through before.”
The man reared back on his heels, just as another person exited the courtroom. The newcomer was taller, sporting a purple shirt under a black suit jacket. “Ethan, calm down. Even with Denver’s informant, we knew the chances were slim we’d get a win.”
“No. We would’ve had enough if we had the names of those shell companies, or at least the overseas accounts. Even just one.”
Denver stared the smaller man down. Ethan ground his teeth, but opted not to say anything more. He stomped away towards a set of large double doors separating the grand jury chambers from the rest of the courthouse.
Behind them, they heard the general rumbling sound of people gathering their things to leave the courtroom.
The second man, another Assistant District Attorney for the city of Blue River, put a hand on Denver’s shoulder. “This wasn’t on you, kid. You are our best investigator. We jumped the gun.”
“I know, Jonathan. But this win was important to you guys.”
He shrugged. “This isn’t our only case. The District Attorney’s office has plenty of work to go around.”
“It’s the only one with a horde of reporters waiting outside,” Denver said as they turned to follow Ethan’s path. “I’m worried about my informant. He’s hasn’t answered his phone all day.”
“You’re thinking someone got to him?”
Just then, three men in tailored suits sauntered past. One of them pushed by Denver, as if she’d been foolish enough to take up his personal space.
She hollered, “Hey!”
He glanced behind him, rubbing a hand over black hair slicked back from a widow’s peak. His eyes were small and set close together. “My mistake,” he bared tiny, pointy teeth in what may have been a smile. “Didn’t see you. Hey, Jonathan, sorry about today. I’m sure you’ll stop striking out, eventually.”
The trio laughed, pushed the doors open wide, and strolled out into a busy hallway like triumphant generals leaving a bloodied field.
Denver and Jonathan glowered at their backs.
“Who’s the rat-face jerk?” She asked.
Jonathan stifled a laugh behind a hand. “Ian Poole. The underworld’s attorney of choice.”
Ah, she had heard the name before, especially around the office. Considering the scum he represented it seemed à propos Poole resembled a rodent. She’d be able to pick him out in a crowd with no problems.
Denver lowered her voice as they too stepped into the hall. “I’m not worried someone got to him. I’m worried he’s dead. The Maddox family isn’t known to let snitches keep breathing.”
Her eyes landed on a man as he rose from a bench. He greeted the trio of lawyers who opened their arms to embrace him.
Jonathan murmured, “Speak of the devil. They usually don’t show up for these things. I wonder where the other one is.”
“Nathan Maddox is leading the family operations now. Supposedly he’s tasked Aaron as the new overseer keeping the lawyers on their toes,” Denver volunteered, as she leveled a cool stare at the reunion. “Ever since the father’s illness, Aaron is the family face who shows up at the courthouse. No matter how trivial.”
And according to Denver, he was the most cunning one in the family. If evidence disappeared, Aaron was the man who gave the order.
Her informant, Tai, was a sweet guy. A geek, and a great hacker. When Denver had been a police officer, he’d worked in the I.T. department—until he got fired for peeping into files that weren’t any of his business. They’d shared of love of action movies and despite his termination, had become and stayed friends.
If someone had hurt him…Denver’s mouth twisted at the thought.
“Whoa. I see the look in your eye, Denver,” Jonathan put a guiding hand above her elbow. Keep walking, say nothing.”
Oh, but she wanted to say something. Yeah, the Maddox family was one of the most influential power brokers in the city. Yes, they were reportedly worth billions. And yes, they were as criminal as the sun was bright.
The District Attorney’s office had been trying to nail them for three decades.
None of that mattered to Denver. If Tai was dead because she had asked him to get involved…well she couldn’t live with that.
A whole lot of back slapping happened as the trio of lawyers filled in Aaron. He stood a domineering six foot one, thick in the shoulders, and tapered wavy brown hair. Born two years before Denver, which made him thirty-two. Educated at the best schools, no criminal record, and now ran a multi-billion dollar real estate brokerage firm in the city.
Denver knew his dossier almost by rote. She could recite nearly everything the DA’s office had on his entire family. As investigator it had been her job to dig up and shore up leads on the Maddox’s suspected criminal behavior. The things the DA suspected but couldn’t prove was white collar stuff—insider trading, money laundering for oligarchs, ponzi schemes hiding as hedge funds. But her office theorized the Maddox’s crimes went deeper, darker. The rumors of lurid sex rings and narcotics trafficking were nothing more than gossip so far.
The District Attorney’s office had several investigators on staff. Denver’s assignment was to delve into Aaron Maddox. And by delve, that meant everything, business and personal. She’d been trailing him off and on for a month when the DA thought they had enough to indict Aaron’s brother Nathan on money laundering.
She’d never met Aaron, but Denver didn’t like him. Aaron Maddox was privileged, cocky, possessed a primal magnetism, and worst of all — very fuckable. The latter made her squirm. She didn’t know why. But on several nights after doing surveillance on Aaron Maddox, Denver had gone home unbelievably horny.
But after all the watching, and waiting, and hunting down possible informants that could provide crucial evidence, it had led to nothing. Except maybe Tai’s death.
As they passed Maddox and his attorneys, Denver slowed wishing death on them all. Aaron must’ve felt the daggers because his head turned. Their eyes met. And…his mouth curled in the
smallest of smiles.
The bastard.
Denver yanked her arm out of Jonathan’s grip and charged in Aaron’s direction. But Jonathan snatched hold of her wrist. “No way, Denver, cool it. The last thing we need are harassment charges.”
She balled up her fists and allowed Jonathan to guide her down the hall. Just as they turned the corner, Denver glanced back at Aaron. The fucker looked right at her, flashed an even broader smile and winked.
She swore at that moment, to take him and his entire family down. Denver Shea would make sure Aaron Maddox tasted justice.
***
By the time they reached the court’s steps, a gaggle of reporters mobbed Ethan. The ADA’s pissed off glare had morphed into stern determination.
“The Maddox family has a hand in the slimiest of deeds that happen in this city’s underbelly. The District Attorney’s office will be triumphant in its pursuit to bring them and the criminals like them, to justice.”
Denver swerved away from the media circus as Jonathan headed for it. She was more than happy to stay out of the spot light.
“Excuse me.” She didn’t bother to look up as she attempted to step around someone in a beige trench coat.
But instead of moving, the person matched her sidestep. “But you’re the woman I’m here to see.”
The voice, she knew it and cringed. It belonged to Leif Clesson, a cop. But a cop that worked for Internal Affairs, so she wasn’t sure if that still made him a real police officer or just a snitch with a badge.
“Hello, Clesson. What can I do you for?” Denver gave him a once over. Clesson was around forty, average build and height. His pale brown hair was thinning. If he wasn’t a professional snitch, he’d be attractive.
He put a hand on her shoulder. Denver snickered and shrugged it off.
Undeterred by the brush off, Clesson grinned. “You know what you can do me for, Denver. I’ve been leaving messages for weeks now. Kept missing you at the office, so I thought I’d try my luck at the courthouse. And look here you are. It’s time for us to talk, plain and simple.”
“I know nothing about nothing.”
“Come now,” he said his breath smelling like black licorice, “let’s not be rash. Let me be the judge. Tomorrow, ten sharp. My office. If you don’t show, I’ll lodge a formal complaint with your boss about impeding a current criminal investigation.”
Denver stepped around him. “Bite me, Clesson.”
“I’ll take that for a yes.”
She flipped him the bird but said, “Yeah, yeah. Ten tomorrow.”
Grumbling, she reached the bottom of the courthouse steps. Jonathan and Ethan still held court with the media. Though today’s result wasn’t her fault, she felt responsible. As a cop, she had worked with Jonathan on some cases. And when she left the department, it was Jonathan who had fought for Denver to get the investigator gig with the District Attorney’s office. He’d believed in her. So she made it a point to go not one but three extra miles for him whenever she could.
That ideology didn’t work out today and she felt part guilty, part angry, part worried. She ignored the queasiness in her gut.
Denver pivoted for the parking garage. Missing informant. Pissed off lawyers. Cocky crime family members. Letting down Jonathan. Internal Affairs hunting her down. What else could go wrong today?
TWO
At nine o’clock on the dot, Denver let herself into her apartment later that night. It was a one bedroom she hadn’t bothered to decorate.
The kitchen had a table with two straight back chairs. The living room hosted a soft leather dark brown sofa, matching easy chair, a couple of lamps, and a flat screen TV mounted on the wall.
Denver stood in the silence and sighed.
“Damn, this is depressing,” she said to the empty room.
Not that she went without attention. She dated plenty. Her tight ass, slim waist and D cup boobs attracted more than enough attention, from both sexes.
But on a night like tonight, with her belly in knots from anxiety, she craved another warm body just to decompress with, talk to. Someone who could handle some of the more seedy aspects of her job…and then fuck the taste out her mouth.
But every man she’d met of late was missing something. She couldn’t put her finger on what they’d lacked. Though frustrating, this struck a preventive, healthy karmic balance. It kept Denver out of trouble and her darker desires—the ones she preferred to hide—at bay. Men who triggered those feelings, those cravings, led her down paths she now felt best to avoid.
She’d spent the day trying to pick up any trail on Tai. Nothing, she’d found nothing. It was if he’d been ghosted. Yeah, ghosted was a better, nicer way to think of it. Much better than saying he was dead or visualizing him chopped up in a garbage bin somewhere.
The door buzzer buzzed yanking Denver out her grim reverie. She peeked through the peephole and groaned.
Denver opened the door and leaned a hip against the jamb. “Hello, Mrs. McKellan. What happened now?”
Her neighbor lived across the hall. Mrs. McKellan had perfected being an old grouch, though she couldn’t have been older than sixty. Denver suspected not getting ass on a regular basis could screw up anyone’s daily disposition no matter what your age.
The older woman’s mouth pursed. “You are aware there are noise code regulations in this city?”
“I’m well aware of the law, Mrs. McKellan.”
“Your television is just too, too loud in the morning. I can hear it all the way in my bedroom.”
Denver winked, already easing the door shut. “I’ll be mindful of the volume from now on. Give Twinkle a pat on the head for me.”
Mrs. McKellan came by to lodge a complaint at least once a week. Either Denver’s AC unit was too noisy, or it was the TV, or she was banging pots too late in the evening. Likely the woman was just lonely. She only had a poofy Pomeranian to keep her company. Denver attempted to be civil just to make sure Mrs. McKellan didn’t make a formal complaint to management.
Denver could relate to being lonely. Since she’d left the police department, the feeling of being alone in the world had become a persistent pest. After being promoted to detective, she’d joined a new squad. And for the first time in her life, she’d felt truly connected and part of something. Her coworkers had become family and fierce protectors. She would have done anything for them.
But that was all gone now. And as a result, Denver had remade herself into a different woman. The kind of woman who would and wouldn’t do certain things.
She remained by the door listening until Mrs. McKellan’s slippered feet shuffled off.
When she heard the locks on McKellan’s door click, Denver’s thoughts shifted to Tai. “Tomorrow. I’ll track down a lead on him, tomorrow,” she said heading for the bedroom.
She stripped everything off and put on a white sleeveless tee and her favorite light-blue jersey shortie-shorts. The material had shrunk about ten washes ago and now the curve of her ass cheeks peeked out the bottoms. But they were comfy, and she rarely had company.
She headed for the kitchen twisting her shoulder-length, chestnut-brown hair into a bun while contemplating dinner. After a scan of the freezer she sighed. “Pizza for one it is then.”
Food and a glass of red wine in hand, Denver settled in the lounge chair. She clicked on the TV, flicked through channels, and ended up watching nothing. After an hour the wine glass sat empty, but the pizza remained untouched.
She bit her lip, feeling the insistent tug of an urge she should ignore. There was no harm in watching it again right? Just thinking about it made her nipples tight and scratch teasingly against her shirt.
Watch it. Watch.
Denver refilled her wine glass, retrieved the laptop from her bedroom, and settled back into the chair. She found the video buried in a folder labeled Recipes.
A sweet trill of excitement made her heart rev up as she pushed play. At first, the video showed ghostly images on a black screen. She’
d filmed it with a cell phone from her car at night, dim streetlamps the main source of light.
Horny with anticipation, she could feel her pussy tingle. Denver slipped a hand under the waistband of her shorts.
The picture soon clears as the automatic settings shift to nighttime filming. The video shows a wide shot of a restaurant, just a little behind and across the street from where she’d parked. The eatery has large windows, panes of glass that serve as the outer wall. Inside, a man and woman rise from a table covered with white linen.
The man—Aaron Maddox dressed in black slacks and a dark grey button-down shirt open at the neck.
The woman—one of Aaron’s rotating roster of women. This had been the first and final time Denver had seen this chick. The woman’s form-fitted, red dress hits her mid-thigh. She wears her pale blonde hair pinned back.
They cross through the restaurant and disappear for a second before reaching the exit doors. Aaron tips the valet then waves him off. He and his date walk towards the camera.
The view jostled when Denver slid down in the driver’s seat. But then the camera steadies as it stays on the couple. They stroll. No, rather the woman twists from side to side, her hips swaying in the tight dress. She smiles.
Aaron doesn’t smile. He moves like a predator, scanning the street ahead and behind. The entire time he keeps a hand on the woman’s back as if she is captured prey.
His eyes skim over Denver’s car without pause.
On the other side of the street, they saunter past Denver. They reach a sleek, black vehicle, shiny even in the muted light of the moon and streetlamps. The woman goes for the passenger door, but Aaron says something that makes her stop.
He crosses around the rear of the vehicle, stops and with a small flick of a finger, beckons her to him.
The woman obeys.
She steps off the curb. Near the bumper, he takes her hand in his. His kisses it and brings her round to the driver’s side door.
Standing in the street, he kisses her, gently. A car passes by and breaks the view of them for a second. When it clears, Aaron is speaking. The woman’s face goes blank. He shoves her hard against car’s door then swallows her mouth with his.
