by Elle Gray
“You’re so tense,” he whispers in her ear. “Try to relax.”
He slides his hands up to her shoulders and gently kneads and massages them, trying to work the tension out. It only seems to make her more tense. A shudder runs through her.
“I said try to relax, Cassie,” he repeats, his tone harder.
She lowers her head and buries her face in her hands. He tries to ignore it, not wanting to ruin what is a tender, special moment between them. The evening had been perfect. She’d been everything he thought she would be. Everything he desired. She is the one. He just knows it.
He steps back and picks up the bottle of shampoo. Squirting a dollop into his hand, he sets the bottle back down and then starts to gently massage the shampoo into her scalp. Her body is still stiff and tense, which annoys him. He tries to tamp it down, focusing on washing her hair.
“Isn’t this nice?” he asks, his voice soothing.
She sniffs but tries to stifle it. She can’t keep her entire body from trembling. He grits his teeth, trying to keep his frustration from bubbling over. It’s been such a beautiful evening so far, he doesn’t want to ruin it. He rinses her hair, then applies the conditioner, running it through her long, red locks.
“You have such beautiful hair,” he says. “It’s the first thing I noticed about you.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asks, her voice quavering.
“Because I want your beautiful hair to shine,” he replies.
The conditioner in, he grabs the mesh pouf and pours a little soap onto it. He hums to himself as he washes her back, his touch soft and gentle. From the neck all the way down to her feet and every place in between, he gently scrubs her. The intimacy between them heightens his senses. Heightens his arousal. He can’t stop the desire that’s flowing through him, and he knows he’ll have to have her again tonight. She makes him feel insatiable.
“Turn around,” he says softly.
She hesitates and doesn’t move at first, but when he puts his hand on her shoulder to turn her himself, she folds her arms over her breasts and turns. Her head is lowered, and she can’t meet his gaze. He slips his fingers beneath her chin and forces her head up. Cassie’s eyes are rimmed red and her lips are quivering.
“Why are you crying?” he demands.
“Please,” she whispers. “Don’t do this.”
“Do what? Hasn’t this whole evening been beautiful?”
Tears spill from the corners of her eyes and he raises his hand, gently stroking her cheek with the back of it. But she recoils like his touch disgusts her, and he can’t contain his anger any longer. He throws the pouf to the ground, his eyes narrowing and his jaw clenched tight.
“Why do you have to ruin this?” he shouts, making her flinch as if he’d struck her. “Why are you spoiling what was a beautiful evening?”
She falls to her knees, burying her face in her hands again, and starts to sob wildly. Enraged, he reaches out and shuts the water off, then grabs her by the hair and yanks Cassie to her feet.
“Get up!” he roars. “Let’s go. Now.”
Still gripping her hair, he throws open the shower door and drags her out, finally letting go of her once they’re both out. Grabbing a towel off the rack, he throws it at her none too gently.
“Dry yourself off,” he demands.
He quickly grabs his own towel and dries himself off as well. Wrapping his towel around his waist, he stomps out into the bedroom and throws on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. He grabs a pile of clothing and walks back to the bathroom and throws the pajamas at her. He’d intended for them to put on some comfortable clothing and spend the rest of the evening cuddling on the couch with ice cream and a movie.
But she’s gone and ruined it. She doesn’t appreciate what he was doing for her. She’s taking him for granted and there is nothing that infuriates him more. When she’s finished dressing, she walks out of the bathroom slowly, as if in a daze. He grabs her by the arm and hauls her out of the bedroom and through the house, taking her back to the basement.
They pound down the stairs together. She almost stumbles a couple of times but manages to keep her feet. He throws Cassie down on her bunk and quickly puts the shackle back on her ankle, locking it tight.
“You did this. You ruined this evening,” he spits. “Everything was perfect. Everything was beautiful until you went and spoiled it!”
“Why are you doing this to me?”
He flinches at her words and looks at her in shock. He doesn’t understand why she would ask such a question when the answer was so obvious. But then he thinks that maybe it isn’t so obvious to her. Yes, that’s it. If he explains it to her so that she can understand it, maybe then she’ll get it. Maybe then she’ll realize what he’s doing for her and will appreciate him for it. Maybe then she’ll love him the way he loves her.
“It’s because I love you, Cassie. I have from the moment I laid eyes on you,” he says. “We belong together, and I think if you search your heart, you’ll come to see that too. Just search your heart.”
Wanting to give her some time, he hands her the remote for the TV and leaves her in the basement, gently closing the door behind him. He’s confident that if he gives her some time to think, she’ll come to the same conclusion, and they can move forward. Together. He’s confident she’ll realize that they truly were meant to be together and will give herself over to him. Happily. Willingly.
He truly did love her from the moment he saw her. When their eyes met that first time, he knew she was the one. He’d followed her. Studied her. Spent a lot of time making sure he was right about her and had become convinced of it. He realized the woman with him at the time, Sylvia, wasn’t who he’d thought she was. She’d turned out to not be the one like he’d once thought, so he’d had to break up with her.
But he was sure about Cassie. There was just something different about her. When he first saw her, he felt a resounding shift deep within him. And that was how he knew. She was the one. She just needed time to come around to realizing that he meant as much to her as she meant to him. Things were going to be beautiful between them once she realized they were meant to be together.
He was a patient man. He’d give her all the time she needed to come around. And she would.
Twelve
Residence of Cassie Cooper & Bradley Sunderland; Seattle, WA
“I don’t think anybody’s home,” Astra says.
I knock again, harder this time, but already suspect that she’s right. It suggests to me that we’re on the right path here. That Brad Sunderland, the proud owner of the custom Seahawks tattoo, is the man in the dumpster.
“Let’s go around back,” I say when nobody comes to the door.
“Right.”
The house is a small Craftsman style home on a small lot in a middle-class neighborhood. According to the background Rick worked up for me, Brad Sunderland is the IT manager at a local law office. I have Mo out talking to the employees at the law firm to see if they have a lead on him, but I’m honestly not expecting that to pan out for us. My gut is telling me that we already know where Brad is: on a slab in the ME’s office.
We step off the porch and then follow a small path around to the side of the house and come to a gate. Astra uses the thumb button on the handle to open the gate and we step through. The side yard is narrow, and there is a path of flagstones that lead us to a small backyard, which contains a wooden deck with an electric roll out cover, four lounge chairs, and a barbecue. There’s a postage stamp square of grass and flowering bushes that run around the perimeter of the yard, adding a splash of color.
I step up onto the deck and walk to the French style doors and reach out, grabbing hold of the handle. I thumb the latch and the door clicks. It’s open. I turn to Astra and give her a nod. I unholster my weapon and hold it down at my side as I push the door inward. As I step over the threshold, I bring my weapon up and Astra follows me through.
“FBI. We’re entering the home,” I cal
l out. “Is there anybody here?”
“Call out if you’re here,” Astra adds.
We fan out across the room, our weapons at the ready, but I don’t think it’s necessary. The place just feels empty.
“FBI,” I try once more.
Nothing. Astra and I go room by room, checking to ensure that they are in fact clear and that no nasty surprises are lurking behind closed doors. A few minutes later, we’ve cleared the whole house and confirm that it is, in fact, empty. That done, we spread out again and start poking around through the personal effects in the house. We know each other so well, we don’t even need to coordinate our plans. We both automatically start searching the house, not for people this time, but for something to give us a lead we can follow.
I find myself in what looks like Brad’s office. There is a desk with a bank of four computer monitors, two side by side, and two stacked on top of those. I don’t know what you need four monitors for, but I’m not an IT expert, so what do I know? At first, I don’t see anything that catches my eye until my gaze lands on a silver picture frame. The man in the photo matches Brad Sunderland’s DMV photo, but sitting beside him is a stunning redhead.
I pick up the frame and walk out of the office and find Astra in the master bedroom. She’s standing in front of an open closet. She turns and looks back at me. One half of the closet is filled with men’s clothes, but the other half has some women’s clothes in it. But the hangers are all askew, and it looks like there are quite a few articles of clothing missing. There are some shirts on the floor as if they were dropped by somebody who was grabbing clothes in haste.
“Looks like somebody packed and left town in a hurry,” Astra says.
I hold the picture frame up. “I’d say it’s her.”
Astra walks over and takes the frame, looking down at the photo of what looks like a happy couple, cuddling together. They’re both bundled up and sitting in what looks like a horse-drawn carriage, their smiles wide. They look like a couple that’s very much in love to me.
“She’s gorgeous. They’re a very beautiful couple” Astra says. “But who is she? And more importantly, where is she?”
“That’s what we need to find out.”
I pull the phone out of my pocket and punch the button on speed dial for the shop, then turn on the speakerphone so Astra can hear and participate in the call as well. Rick answers almost immediately.
“Department of knowing all the things,” he announces. “How can I help?”
“Do you ever answer the phone like a normal person?”
“Not if I can help it,” he replies.
“I figured not,” I say. “Anyway, first things first, I need you to look and see if Brad Sunderland was married. And if so, I need to find out who his bride might be.”
I hear the clicking of keys in the background as Rick runs his search. As he does, Astra is opening drawers in the dresser, poking through everything in them. But judging by the look on her face, there isn’t much in there.
“Nada,” Rick says over the phone. “Not married, but I took the liberty of pulling up his social media. It appears that he was engaged to a rather comely redheaded lass. I mean, she’s a real looker, as they say. Yowza. I’ve always had a thing for redheads, you know.”
Astra looks up. “Who in the hell says yowza?” she asks. “That’s kind of creepy.”
“I say it. And big bandleader Ben Bernie started saying it back in the thirties, so there’s history to it,” Rick says defensively.
“I think that whole statement tells me all I need to know about you,” Astra says.
“I’m like an onion, Agent Wet Blanket,” Rick retorts. “I have many, many layers, and you will never know everything there is to know about me.”
“Nor do I want to, Ricky.”
“Time will tell.”
As they banter, a jolt of adrenaline fires through me, setting my blood on fire as I clutch the picture frame. I look down at the pale skin and green eyes of the woman in the picture with him, knowing that this is one of the biggest missing pieces to this puzzle. One I hadn’t expected, but one that could give us a massive break.
“What’s her name, Rick?” I ask. “The fiancée.”
“Oh right. Sorry. Her name is Cassie Cooper. Cee Cee to her friends, apparently. Kind of a lame nickname, if you ask me,” he says.
“And can you do your thing and give me her primary address?”
More keys clack in the background, and as I wait, I feel my stomach churning wildly with that familiar rush. Pieces are moving and falling into place, and though the picture is still far from in focus, it’s somewhat less opaque. Somewhat.
“Primary address is listed as 548 Norfolk Avenue,” he reports. “Same as Brad Sunderland. Looks like our lovebirds were living in sin. Doesn’t anybody wait for marriage anymore?”
“Right. That’s kind of what I thought,” I say.
“What, that nobody waits for marriage anymore?” Rick asks brightly.
“No, that－never mind,” I say.
Rick laughs on the other end of the phone, letting me know he was just yanking my chain. Astra rolls her eyes, but I can see the faint smirk on her lips.
“Rick,” she says. “Can you look at her social media activity? Credit cards? Can you give us her location?”
“Stand by,” he says to the sound of him pecking away at his keyboard. “No activity for days. Her last social media post was from more than a week ago. No ATM or credit card activity. Bupkis. It’s like she fell off the face of the Earth.”
“Or intentionally went off the grid,” Astra adds.
I glance over at her and see where she’s going with this. “Rick, have there been any large withdrawals from her account in the weeks or months leading up to her last transaction?” I ask. “Anything to indicate she’s been squirreling away cash?”
“Ummmm… no, not that I can see. Everything looks like normal activity to me,” he says. “She’s still got a very healthy nest egg in her account.”
“Is Mo back yet?”
“Yeah, but she just went to grab some coffee,” he says.
“Great. When she comes back to the shop, have her start going over Cassie’s financials,” I tell him. “Have her look for anything unusual going back at least a year. Anything that might indicate somebody preparing to bolt. We can expand out from there if need be. Coming from white collar, she might be able to pick up on something we don’t.”
“I’ll let her know,” Rick says.
“Thanks, Rick,” I say. “We’re going to head back to the shop soon, so we’ll see you guys in a bit.”
“Roger that, boss.”
I disconnect the call and drop my phone back into my pocket. Astra is still rifling through the drawers but turns and looks at me.
“Guess we have a black widow,” she says.
“Yeah. Maybe,” I nod. “We’ll have the crime scene techs go over this place from stem to stern. We can call it in from the road.”
“Sounds good.”
Thirteen
Barnaby’s Social House; Downtown Seattle
“How did I let you talk me into this?” I ask.
Astra shrugs. “My charm and grace?”
I laugh. “Yeah, that must be it.”
“Come on. Doesn’t this place give you all the feels? I mean, the nostalgia.”
“Is that what that feeling in the pit of my stomach is called? And here I thought it was called nausea.”
Astra grins at me. “Admit it. You missed this place.”
“Yeah, you keep believing that.”
With the techs going over Sunderland’s house, we aren’t going to get any useful information for a day or two. While there is still some stuff we should probably be doing－like tracking down Cassie Cooper－I let Astra talk me into coming out for a drink tonight. And of course, she dragged me to Barnaby’s Social House, which I think of as the Grant Bryant of bars－something I want nothing to do with.
Barnaby’s has not ch
anged one bit over the years. Everything is still all 80’s themed. It still plays 80’s tunes, names their drinks after 80’s celebrities－mostly the dead ones－and is still covered in memorabilia from the era. It’s still loud, gaudy, and entirely gauche. But for some reason, this was always Astra’s favorite place to come. The bar hasn’t changed one iota. It’s Astra who’s changed.
Once upon a time, this was where she would come to pick up her entertainment for the night. Occasionally for the weekend. There was a time when Astra believed in, as she called it, sampling a bit of everything from the buffet of life. But it seems that time in her life is over. Or maybe it’s just paused.
While I was away, she actually got serious with somebody and has been with him ever since. When we’re not working, they’re together every waking moment. They’re practically glued to one another. It’s actually pretty adorable. And entirely unexpected.
“So why did we come here tonight?” I ask. “I thought you were reformed and off the meat market?”
“I am. I just enjoy tormenting you.”
“You suck,” I say with a laugh.
“Benjamin doesn’t seem to complain.”
I squeal with laughter and shake my head at her. “You are terrible. Absolutely terrible.”
She gives me a wide smile. “I have missed the hell out of you, Wilder.”
“I missed you too. I’m so thankful to be back.”
“I’m glad you’re back too. Life was just less interesting without you.”
“Ditto,” I tell her. “So when am I going to meet the mysterious Benjamin Harper?”
“Soon, I hope,” she says. “He’s out of town right now, but he’ll be back soon, I hope. I miss him.”
A man saunters over to our table, a smarmy smile on his face. He leans against the table, his eyes fixed on Astra. It’s nice to see that some things never change. Ever since our days at the Academy, whenever we were out, the guys would always hone in on her straight away. I might as well have ceased to exist.
