Dominance and Deception

by Amy Valenti

  Zach...

  I didn't realise I'd spoken aloud until Aldridge laughed softly, making another incision into my abused flesh and twisting the blade, forcing a cry from my throat.

  "I'll tell him you were asking for him,” he said, his voice sounding faint and far away, and my vision spotted, then tunnelled.

  Then there was nothing.

  Pierce

  "Jo."

  The profiler looked up from her desk and gave me a sympathetic smile. “Detective Pierce. I heard about Faye. Any luck yet?"

  With a slight shake of my head, I grabbed a chair from a nearby vacant desk and sat down. “Need a psychological profile. As fast and accurate as you can make it."

  "You have a suspect?"

  "Tyler Aldridge."

  Jo opened her notepad and scribbled down the name in an incomprehensible scrawl. “And my source material?"

  "In my head."

  Nodding, Jo settled back in her chair. “Fire away."

  * * * *

  Once I'd finished with Jo, I returned to the forensics lab, for lack of anything better to do. As ridiculous as I found it, I felt closer to Faye when in the lab, where she'd spent so much time over the years. Hannah turned to watch me approach, seeming nervous. “Is there any news?"

  "No,” I said, aware that I sounded irritated, but unable to stop myself. “We have no idea where Aldridge might have taken her."

  Biting her lip, Hannah scowled at the piece of equipment in front of her. “I'm waiting for this result. Not much else has come from what you've given me, forensically speaking, but you collected a dirt sample from the floor that could be something. The mass spectrometer is...unhappy, though."

  Before I could answer, she headed over to the computers and pulled up a series of results.

  "Most of the trace evidence matches you or Faye, and the rest could be fibres from clothes either of you have worn recently, or they might have come from the suspect...impossible to say without something to compare them to. I've started the blood sample you took from between the floorboards running, just in case, but in all likelihood it's Faye's, and it'll be at least twelve hours before I can confirm."

  She looked back apologetically at me. “I'm sorry. I know this isn't helping at all. I'm working as fast as I can—"

  A beeping noise interrupted her, and she turned to her machine, looking hopeful. “This might be something."

  I waited, curbing the urge to demand that she give me answers, as she studied the readout for a moment that seemed interminable. Finally, she said, “It's soil, which is pretty much a given...a higher silica content than I'd expect to see around here, which either means he's been elsewhere in the country recently, or..."

  "Or what?"

  Thrown off by my abrupt tone, Hannah floundered for a second. “Umm, he could have been around somewhere that uses sand for industrial purposes. Construction sites, paint manufacturers, glass manufacturers—"

  "Glass?” I interrupted sharply.

  "Yeah. Sand is a major component in the glassmaking process."

  A puzzle piece slotted into place—one I hoped like hell was meant to be there, not one I'd forced to fit. If I was right, then this nightmare was nearly over.

  "Good job."

  Before Hannah could reply, I turned and strode toward the stairwell, leaving her to her work. I took the stairs two at a time up to the squad room, and didn't bother with pleasantries when I got there.

  "Get the car."

  My entire team rose to their feet at my command, and Beaumont had the common sense to actually obey me while Santoro and Layton demanded answers.

  "Boss...you know where she is?"

  Grabbing my badge and weapon from my desk, I headed for the elevator.

  "Building that used to be a bar, not far from the marina I worked at before I shipped out to Kuwait in the nineties."

  Crowding into the elevator behind me, the other two exchanged puzzled glances.

  "So how...?"

  "The profile I got from Jo says Aldridge hangs on to the past and tends towards the dramatic. The forensic tech found sand in the dirt he left in my hall. I met the bastard at that bar back before Desert Storm, and it's across the street from a glassworks."

  The elevator opened, and my detectives were finally silent as they followed me outside, down the steps and into the waiting sedan.

  "Where?” was all Beaumont asked as she accelerated away from the building.

  I gave her the address and, without comment, let her practise the reckless driving she loved, finally allowing my mind to turn to my girl.

  I trust you with my life.

  I love you.

  I'd looked at the note she'd slipped into her report so many times I knew it by heart. I only hoped her trust in me was well deserved.

  Faye

  My skin aflame, I groaned my way back to consciousness, struck by a disorientating sense of deja vu. Aldridge was sitting back at his desk, reading his paper, exactly as he had been the first time I came around.

  He looked up with an almost convivial expression when he heard me stirring.

  "Ah, you're awake."

  I cringed back as he got to his feet, laying the paper aside. My arms protested at the movement, tearing a shaky gasp from my lungs.

  God, that hurts...

  "Please... You've done enough. Pierce will blame himself for this, you know he will—having to look at my scars for the rest of his life will hurt him more than my death would..."

  Stopping at the toolbox again, Aldridge raised his eyebrows, considering my words as if I'd just proposed we went to a restaurant for dinner rather than ordering takeout.

  "You have a point, there."

  Lightheaded from blood loss and relief, I closed my eyes in a silent prayer.

  God, thank you so much... Now please, just get me back to Zach, and I swear I'll go to church every single Sunday...

  "The next point up for deliberation..."

  My eyes snapped open at Aldridge's words, and I found him a foot away from me, a tool held in one hand. I didn't immediately recognise it, but I couldn't tear my gaze from it as he flicked a switch and held it ready to use.

  "...is how many scars I can give you before I give you back to him."

  He knelt in front of me, handling the tool carefully, and I tried in vain to kick my bound feet out, yelling wordless frustration. With an absurdly gentle hand, he brushed my black-and-white plaid skirt a couple of inches further up my thighs, exposing the pale, smooth, unmarked skin.

  "Shhhhh..."

  I froze, fearful he'd decide he didn't just want to scar my body. Thankfully, his hands stopped there, but I remained as still as I could, because struggling would only piss him off.

  I'd planned to get my next tattoo on my right thigh, and as he raised the tool again I felt an irrational stab of regret that I'd have to figure out a plan B. That thought was slammed violently out of the way by a memory as Aldridge brought the tool close to my skin.

  An electronics class in college, barely remembered. Wires, affixed to the larger whole by a tiny dot of silver, first solid, then liquid, then instantly solid again

  Solder. Held against the red-hot filament of a battery-powered soldering iron.

  A soldering iron just like this one.

  "No,” I implored in a whisper, raising my wide-eyed gaze to Aldridge's fanatical one for a split second of nausea-inducing horror.

  He didn't reply. And this time, when the pain began, the thought of holding in my screams didn't even enter my head.

  Pierce

  Santoro and I headed around to the back of the disused bar, while Layton and Beaumont took the front. Approaching the building warily with my weapon drawn, I broke into a sprint at the sound of Faye's agonised screams, my focus narrowing to one thing—my girl.

  Kicking the rear door open, I rushed inside, her name on my lips, only to stop dead as my eyes fell on her. Throwing up a hand to halt Santoro, I trained my weapon on the man I hadn't seen in years.
>
  "Pierce,” Aldridge said calmly, letting a soldering iron drop to the floor as he stepped behind Faye and held a utility knife to her throat. “A little earlier than I'd expected."

  "Drop your weapon and step away from her.” I hardly recognised my own voice—it was almost a snarl. Knowing Santoro had me covered, I allowed my gaze to return to Faye.

  She shot me a fleeting smile as I met her eyes—pained, fearful, but genuine, as if to tell me she'd known I'd come. She was even paler than usual, and her arms were a mass of cuts, some of which were bleeding sluggishly. A small pool of blood had collected below her bound wrists, but I'd seen enough exsanguination cases to know it wasn't enough to be fatal. The faint smell of burnt flesh clued me in to the reason for her screams, and I pulled my gaze from her blistered, reddened thighs with an effort.

  "I mean it, Aldridge—step away."

  "I stopped following your orders back in Kuwait, Staff Sergeant,” Aldridge said, his sarcasm at the title clear. “Right after you let my brother die. You remember that?"

  "That was war, Tyler. This isn't."

  "No,” he spat, grabbing Faye's hair and pulling her head back. “This is revenge. This is karma."

  Faye swallowed a sob, closing her eyes as he dug the blade into her flesh. A drop of blood beaded, and I gritted my teeth, my gut telling me to shoot but my heart unable to take the chance.

  "What did she ever do to you?"

  Aldridge gave a humourless smirk, shaking his head as if it was obvious.

  "She made you happy."

  Out of the corner of my eye, I picked up on Layton's and Beaumont's positions. Layton had taken up a post just inside the doorway leading out to the bar, his weapon trained on Aldridge, and Beaumont had begun to creep, gun in hand, across the room.

  Her movements were cat-like, almost a prowl, and her footfalls made no sound. I kept my attention focussed on Aldridge, hoping Santoro had the wisdom to do the same, and kept talking.

  "I did everything I could for James."

  "The hell you did!” Aldridge yelled, and Faye flinched at the sudden change in his tone. “You turned and ran with your cowardly tail between your legs!"

  Behind him, Beaumont mis-stepped onto a piece of debris and froze as it crunched under her foot. I tensed, ready to shoot the instant the bastard began to turn, but he didn't notice, continuing with his tirade.

  "You left me with nothing—nothing! Can you even comprehend what that's like?"

  "Yeah,” I answered, keeping a calm exterior despite the dread that gnawed my insides. “A week later I lost my sister—or did you forget that? I was injured in combat, shipped home, and when I got there, there was nothing left for me."

  Nothing is what I'll have if you kill my girl.

  "Oh, I remember. And if there was any justice in the world, you'd still be grieving for her."

  "I grieve for her every day,” I growled, my tone dangerously low.

  Beaumont took a final step, placing herself within reach of Aldridge, and shifted her weight slightly, attempting to see what consequence putting a gun to his head would have for Faye. Reluctant to take the chance, she shook her head, and my stomach twisted.

  "Oh, yeah? Then how do you explain how happy you've been since you started fucking this?” Contempt radiating from him, Aldridge raised the knife from Faye's skin enough that he could shake her head from side to side by her hair. Preparing to take her chance, Beaumont raised her weapon, holding it by the barrel.

  My gut told me now was the time.

  "My family is in my past. Faye's my future."

  Swiftly, Beaumont brought the butt of the gun down on Aldridge's skull with a sickening crack. For a second, he remained standing, his expression shocked, then he crumpled to the ground, the knife dropping into Faye's lap.

  I was at her side in the next second, trusting my detectives to do what was needed. Using the box-cutter Aldridge had dropped, I sawed through the ropes that bound her wrists and lifted her from the chair into my lap, careful not to aggravate her injuries.

  "You okay?"

  Faye buried her head in the crook of my neck, too shaken to cry.

  "Zach...” Words failed her, and she fell silent, content to be held.

  I stroked her hair, kissed the top of her head, reassuring her trembling body as much as I could.

  "It's okay, little tease,” I said, quietly enough that only she could hear. “I got you."

  She stopped breathing at the familiar pet name and struggled to look up at me, a desperate question in her eyes. Hating myself for having made her doubt, I kissed her forehead softly, brushing hair out of her eyes.

  "I got you, little tease,” I said deliberately, and her tears came at last, impossible tears of happiness as her injured body bled and burnt.

  I pulled her close again, holding her as tightly as I dared, and watched Layton end a call to the emergency services.

  When the ambulance arrived, Faye watched numbly as the paramedics declared Aldridge unconscious, concussed but stable, then loaded him into the vehicle. One of the EMTs checked Faye's pupil responses and examined her wounds, stemming the worst of the bleeding and telling her she'd need stitches and should go with them to the hospital.

  She cast an uneasy glance at Aldridge's prone form, and I could tell she didn't relish the thought of riding in the same vehicle as him. Before she could say a word, though, I told the medics I'd drive her there and see she got the treatment she needed. Faye relaxed against me again, relieved.

  I assigned Layton to accompany the fallen criminal to the hospital, and helped Faye to stand up, supporting her weight. She turned to her friends, managing a weak smile.

  "Thanks, guys..."

  "We're coming to see you tomorrow,” Layton told her, squeezing her hand.

  "And we're bringing chocolate,” Beaumont chimed in with a smile.

  "Lots of chocolate,” Santoro finished, and she laughed softly.

  "I'm gonna hold you to that."

  For a second we all just stood together, soaking in the collective sense of relief, before the paramedics called Layton to the ambulance and I gave Santoro and Beaumont their orders.

  "Take care of her, boss,” Santoro said, turning to begin photographing the scene.

  "Beaumont,” I said, and the other cop looked up from the crime scene sketch she was beginning.

  I didn't need to say anything—she could read the gratitude in my face. Smiling, she acknowledged the sentiment with a nod before getting back to work.

  Faye

  After the nurses had cleaned, stitched and dressed my wounds, they discharged me into Pierce's care, cautioning me against aggravating the injuries or overexerting myself.

  Yeah, like that's gonna happen.

  I was almost too tired to move.

  Pierce drove me home, keeping a hand in mine whenever he could. I watched him all the way back, unable to get enough of the sight of his face now he wasn't trying to turn me away. He allowed the scrutiny without comment, concentrating on the road but glancing over every now and again to make sure I was okay.

  When we got back to my place, I closed and locked the door behind me, then raised my arms to try to hug him, wincing as my newly-stitched skin screamed a protest.

  Pierce stepped behind me and gently put his arms around my waist, pulling my body back against his. It was the closest he could get without hurting me, and I felt tears spring to my eyes again at the simple gesture of affection.

  "Sir...” I said softly, resting my head back against his shoulder, loving the way the word sounded as it hung in the air between us.

  "Easy, little tease. I know."

  His arms were wonderfully tight and comforting around me, and for minutes on end we remained that way, not speaking, simply reconnecting.

  It was Pierce who moved first, ushering me over to the couch and helping me to sit.

  "I'm gonna make us some coffee, okay?"

  The thought of being apart from him, even if he'd be in the next room, was too m
uch for me to bear. Shaking my head, I reached for him.

  "Stay with me."

  He nodded, and I curled up close, ignoring the pain and drawing comfort from his arms around me, his scent, the sound of his breathing.

  "I missed you,” I whispered.

  Pierce began to rhythmically stroke my hair, the touch soothing.

  "Feeling's mutual."

  "I really thought you...” I couldn't finish the sentence, but I didn't need to.

  "Never,” he said, his voice quiet, but carrying a firmness I couldn't ignore. “If there'd been any other way..."

  "I know, Sir."

  Later, we could have this conversation. Later, when the shock had faded a little and I could put together coherent sentences. For now, I didn't want to think about it—I only wanted to enjoy what I had, what I'd been scared I'd never have again.

  After a while, Pierce stopped stroking my hair, reaching into his pocket instead.

  "Give me your hand,” he said, and I held it out to him, puzzled.

  Carefully, he slid the silver, handcuff-engraved ring he'd taken from me when he left back into its rightful place on my finger. I stared at the symbol of ownership for a moment, adjusting to the feel of the metal against my skin, before smiling up at him.

  "You're my girl,” he told me, the intensity in his eyes holding me captive. “Don't ever forget that, little tease."

  "No, Sir,” I whispered, then forgot everything but his ownership as he kissed me softly. With a wordless murmur of contentment, I leaned in to his lips as he began to draw away, and his hand slipped to the back of my neck as the moment stretched on—a slow, unhurried repossession of his property.

  Me.

  "Mine,” he breathed as he pulled back, and I nodded, too emotional to speak. It was barely seven pm, but I was exhausted, and he saw it in my face.

  "Sleep now, little tease. I'll be here when you wake up."

  Obediently, I rested my head on his shoulder again, closing my eyes, and soon fell into a relieved slumber.

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  Pierce

  Knowing the pain would wake her if I tried to move her to her bed, I decided not to disturb Faye. Tilting my head to the side to watch her sleep, I relaxed properly for the first time in a month.