Whitton turned away from the scene. Lifting the blue and white taped police line, she ducked under and strode confidently towards the two men who would fill her in on all the details of this latest bloodshed.
“Detective Inspector Whitton, how lovely of you to join us again,” Barnard said, a hint of mirth to his words as he looked up to see her stomping towards them. “Do you ever go home? I would have thought now that you—”
She cut him off. “What have we got then?” She jutted her chin towards the body lying prone on the ground. A pool of blood congealed around his groin and midriff. More blood was splattered around like a water hose had been let loose, but all she saw was Rachel, lifeless and limp. Her heart broke a little every time. It sped up and threatened to explode as she tried to slow her breathing and not make a scene.
“Looks like a stabbing, Guv,” DC Branson answered quickly, rubbing his chin. “Guv, you okay?” His soft brown eyes focused in on her, and she felt the light touch of his hand on her arm. Sound rushed back in and deafened her.
She turned towards the touch and shook herself, clearing her head of the image. “What?”
He studied her eyes, finding a silent plea to just let it go. She was grateful when he did. “According to witnesses, there was a fight. Two or three blokes getting rowdy over a spilled pint. Next thing, this guy was bleeding all over the place, and the others legged it.”
She rolled her eyes at the waste of life over something so fucking trivial. “Right, do we have a name?” Her eyes were now firmly fixed on the body on the ground. It’s not Rachel, it’s not Rachel, the mantra in her head repeated.
“Wallet says Darren Barton.”
Barnard nodded towards the technicians who would transport the body back to the lab. Whitton acknowledged Barry; she didn’t know the other one’s name. Barnard added, “I’ll have more for you in the morning, but to be honest Whitton, it’s a cut and dry stabbing. Quite simply, the femoral artery was severed and he bled out. But I’ll have the official version with all the big fancy words on my desk by…shall we say 10 a.m.?”
The invitation to come along for a cup of tea and a formal discussion didn’t go amiss with Whitton. “Sure, we will be there.”
Chapter Six
It was just gone midnight when Whitton finally slid the key into the lock and pushed open the front door. She could hear music playing softly in the living room, the low hum of a Whitney Houston track. Shrugging off her jacket, she hung it on a hook and kicked off her shoes, breathing in the aroma of Rachel’s perfume that lingered like a welcoming hug. She liked coming home to this. Having Rachel here when she got home made her feel at ease. The living room door was open, and light flooded the hallway. Rachel didn’t like closed doors much now, not that Whitton could blame her.
Whitton felt the rush of air leave her lungs as she stepped inside and found the blonde nurse lying on her back on the sofa, her eyes closed. In an instant, she was transported back to the previous year and her worst nightmare.
She followed Dale into Rachel’s cottage as they raced to get there in time. Her lover’s lifeless body lay spread out on the couch, one arm flung limply to the side, hanging off the edge. Sophie’s legs gave way, but Dale reached out and caught her, easing her to the ground before attending to Rachel.
She shook her head, gasping for breath as she gripped the back of the sofa.
“Hey.” Rachel’s sleepy voice broke through the fog. Her eyes were wide and alert. “I was just dozing off,” she said, smiling up at her through sleepy eyes.
“Sorry, I just…” She ran a hand through her short, dark hair and licked her dry lips. Her heart rate beat rapidly still.
“Are you okay?” Rachel spoke softly as she stood and rounded the sofa. She gently placed her palms against Sophie’s chest. When Sophie nodded unconvincingly, she asked, “What time is it?”
“Midnight, one? I dunno, I lost track. It’s been hectic today.” Rachel’s lips pressed against the corner of Sophie’s mouth before she finished speaking. She kept kissing her, her lips moving slowly and gently around the edge of Sophie’s mouth, cheek, chin, always moving as Whitton began to join the chase.
“I can imagine. Wanna talk about it?” Rachel asked, her fingers deftly undoing each button until she could slide her palms inside the soft material, grazing gently over Sophie’s skin.
Whitton shook her head, their noses brushing against one another. “No.”
She sucked in a breath as Rachel cupped her naked breasts, fingertips gliding across her nipples. Finally, she let Whitton capture her lips, soft, so soft as they moved slowly against one another before parting to allow the probing intrusion of Sophie’s tongue, sliding easily in contrast to one another, arousal building. “Hmm, shall I take your mind off of it?” Rachel murmured.
Nodding again, Whitton felt herself melting into Rachel’s touch. Rachel had known how to play her from the very first moment they had met. Her touch always found a way to arouse her, take her mind away from the darkness. She found her eyes and held them, losing herself in the green. Rachel smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. She was so beautiful and alive. She needed to be reminded of that.
Rachel pulled at her shirt. Dragging it loose, she pushed it off to reveal bare, skinny shoulders. “You feel so tense,” Rachel whispered before dropping slowly to her knees. She reached forward and unbuckled the skinny belt that held Whitton’s trousers to her slender hips. Eyes locked and held as she worked the belt buckle loose and slid the zipper slowly downwards, smirking up at her lover. “I know just what you need.” She smoldered under hooded eyes, and Sophie was sure she hadn’t ever been more aroused than she was this very moment.
Rachel tugged the thin cotton material until it dropped with gravity and landed on the floor. The evidence of Sophie’s desire trickled unhurriedly down her inner thigh until Rachel’s tongue flicked out and licked slowly upward, meeting the line of Sophie’s underwear. She heard the gentle hiss of anticipation from Sophie, felt the strong hand of her lover thread through her hair in expectation, and she liked it. She loved the way that Sophie’s dominance so delicately straddled the line of erotic confidence. She peeled the shorts away and breathed in the spicy and powerful aroma of desire, enjoying the way that she could create such an abundance of wetness from her lover with just a few touches.
Sophie felt the muscles in her legs tense. Her glutes squeezed and relaxed as a rhythm began to build within her. Her hips pressed forwards, a hand tugging gently against Rachel’s head, bringing her closer, moving her mouth nearer until she felt that familiar warmth overwhelm her senses. Rachel’s lips, her mouth, and her tongue became the centre of Sophie’s universe. Knowing, experienced and gentle lips sucked and kissed her intimately. Her hips began to thrust harder, her muscles tightening, and her stomach coiling and rolling.
It wouldn’t take much, Sophie knew that. Rachel was too adept at this, too perceptive in her movements, knowing she would throw Whitton off her stride, forcing Sophie out to tumble over the edge. The two personalities of her lover were just as important, just as in control, but totally different. She loved nothing more than to start with Whitton and finish up with Sophie.
“Fuck, like that,” Sophie moaned. Rachel smiled against her as the fingers in her hair tightened their grip. “Rachel…don’t sto—” She didn’t get to finish, the words lost somewhere in her throat.
~Grave~
Rachel arched, a stream of profanity leaving her lips as she tried clamping her trembling thighs around her lover’s wrist, trapping her inside her as the orgasm Sophie had just evoked brought her shuddering to a wet, hot mess. A light sheen of sweat cooled her body, then she gasped for the breath she had been holding as her lover’s fingers curled deep inside her again. “Fuck, you’re so good at that.” She smiled against Sophie’s bare shoulder, nipping at the unblemished skin. The weight of her lover shifted to press against her, holding her legs apart. She gasped as Sophie’s fingers continued to move, touching her deeply with firm, ha
rd strokes that had her writhing again.
“Relax, let me take care of you,” Sophie whispered, kissing her. The kiss moved from lips to neck and collarbone.
Rachel bit down on Sophie’s shoulder. The insistent thrusting moved her against the sheets. Her hands gripped the cotton material, scrunching it between her fingers as her hips began to move, pressing up to meet every forceful thrust that Sophie offered until she could hold off no longer, gasping out a silent scream.
“Again,” Whitton instructed, not giving her a chance to recover as this time she sped up her movements. Faster, harder. “Again,” she urged. This time Whitton’s kisses moved lower. Warm lips sucked at Rachel’s nipple, licking and nipping at the soft skin of her breasts. Whitton followed the path down her torso, kissing the soft belly that she adored. Rachel gasped and groaned as Whitton withdrew her fingers and hooked her arms around her thighs, lifting her hips and taking her with her mouth, devouring her. She couldn’t stop it. Whitton needed to feel her, needed to taste her and hold her. Her grip tightened around Rachel’s hips, holding her tightly as she sealed her mouth to her, probing and lapping at her until Rachel was pleading and thrusting against her.
When Rachel stiffened, clamping her thighs together as she came again, and again, in an unmerciful explosion of pleasure that threatened to expose every raw nerve ending, she pleaded for her to stop. “No more.”
“One more,” Whitton insisted, gripping her hips more tightly.
Rachel pressed her palm against Whitton’s head and pushed her away. “No, no more, babe…too much.”
Whitton’s loosened her grip and rested her head against Rachel’s tummy, kissing the patch of skin there as she caught her breath, eyes screwed shut trying to work out what had just happened.
~Grave~
A summer rainstorm rattled the window. Raindrops splashed against the glass as Rachel rolled over and reached for a drink. “What brought that on?” she asked. Taking a sip, she let her tongue run across her dry lips, moistening them and tasting her lover again.
Whitton pushed herself up and leaned back against the headboard, the sheet draped across her legs. “I dunno, just…I needed to…” What did she need? Take her so many times just to prove she was alive? What if Rachel hadn’t stopped her? What if she had just ignored her and…she felt sick at the thought.
Rachel swallowed down the water. “I’m not complaining. I love it when you get like that.” She grinned and rolled back towards her. “You can take me like that anytime. I just want to make sure that you’re okay.”
Sophie nodded but avoided eye contact. “Yeah, I am now.”
Twisting into Sophie, she snuggled against her side, slipping an arm around her waist. “I’m really happy, Soph.”
“Good, would be pretty shitty if you weren’t,” she replied and wriggled when Rachel pinched her playfully. “I’m happy too.”
“I was thinking that maybe soon we could…I dunno, share the same bed?”
“We are sharing the same bed,” Sophie said, pursing her lips with one side twisting upwards into a half-smile.
Rachel leant on her elbow, resting her cheek in her palm. “Yeah, I think I’d just like to do it every night. I think I need to…like you need to know I am alive? I kind of need to know you’re there.”
Turning to face her, Sophie stroked her fingertips down her cheek, but she remained silent, just staring into the green that held her gaze.
“It’s okay, it was just an idea.”
“I’m not saying no…I just, let’s keep talking about it, okay? It’s a big decision, and if I am honest, one that I rushed with Yvonne.” She leant in and kissed her chastely. “I don’t want to rush anything with you. I love the way we are together; I love you.”
“Do you?”
Whitton frowned and sat back. “Of course, don’t you know that?”
“That’s the first time you’ve said it.” The gold in Rachel’s eyes brightened as they flooded with unshed tears.
“I have said it, haven’t I?” She was sure she had; she must have, because Rachel was the only light in her darkness. Rachel’s presence in her life was everything now.
Rachel shook her head. “I didn’t need you to until…until you just said it, and now, I realise how much I want to hear it.”
“I’m so sorry. I’ll do better,” Sophie answered, pulling the curvaceous blonde towards her, her arms wrapping tightly around her. “I love you,” she whispered again. “So much.”
She lay awake in the dark as Rachel slept contentedly in her arms, not daring to move in case she disturbed the peaceful look on her face. Closing her own eyes just brought back images of her lover lying half-dead. She couldn’t shake them, and she pushed the nausea back down, the darkness swallowing her up.
Chapter Seven
The morgue was busy again. Dr. Barnard’s minions were buzzing about like annoying fly’s in their navy blue scrubs and matching head coverings. Whitton’s foot tapped rapidly as she sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair outside of Barnard’s office. It was 11:03, and the pathologist was still finishing off the autopsy on Darren Barton. Dale had his head resting against the wall, eyes closed as he tried to grab a couple of minutes more sleep, grateful Whitton wasn’t making them watch it.
Whitton yawned and then jumped up from her seat in order to pace the room. The autopsy results would be pretty cut and dry. All she needed was a rundown from the doc and they could get on with tracking the guy that pulled the knife. She already had other officers on the CCTV, tracking the moron’s every move. If she was lucky, they’d have it all wrapped up by the end of the day. She stretched and felt her spine crack back into place.
“Huh? What?” Dale jumped and sat up instantly.
Whitton faced him. “Rough night?”
He moved his neck left and right as he yawned. “Yeah, Harry has a cough.”
Whitton nodded; his youngest daughter was a sweetheart usually. “Well, try and keep awake for the important things and maybe we can knock off early.”
“That would be pretty good.” He looked around the room and then glanced down at his watch. “Doc’s late, ain’t he?”
Whitton rolled her eyes at him, but she checked her watch anyway. He wasn’t that late, and she would wait anyway.
“Ah, detectives.” The man in question’s voice boomed as he came into the room, taking up all of the space in the doorway. His tall stature was equal to his build. “So sorry for keeping you waiting…” He looked from one to the other, a mixture of mirth and glee on his features. “You’re here for the Barton case, correct?”
Whitton nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Hmm well, yes, yes, yes, that’s all as we thought. Single stab wound to the upper left thigh that nicked the femoral artery, causing death within a few short minutes.” He handed over a file and Whitton took it. She studied him for a moment and noted the other file still in his grasp. “I’d say that you’re looking for a small knife. 3-inch blade at most.”
“What else?” she asked.
“Oh, Detective, you know me so well. Have a seat. Tea?” he asked, placing the file down on his desk. He crossed the room in just three steps. Lifting the kettle, he shook it to judge the amount of water it held and then, satisfied, placed it back down on the base and flicked the switch that would have it boil. He turned back to face them both, holding two china mugs in his hand as an indication.
“No, thank you,” she said. Dale Saint nodded yes and followed his boss in taking a seat on the antique couch.
While the doctor fussed with his teapot, he continued on. “Anita Simmons,” he stated so they understood he had moved on from the pub fight. “Her clothes were soaked with alcohol. Particularly around the front part of her blouse and her lap.”
He watched with interest as Whitton worked it out. “She was forced to drink it?”
~Grave~
Smoke wafted up into the air as Whitton blew out. She waited for Dale to catch up. It was another sweltering day, and she was at leas
t thankful that she had been inside the air-conditioned building. Now though, the heat hit hard. An ambulance screeched past with its lights flashing. An eerie silence following when the siren had been cut off.
“I need a coffee before we do anything else,” she said, walking off towards the main building.
“When are you going to tell him that you don’t like that shit tea he serves?” Dale laughed.
“When he stops looking at me like I am his favourite detective.” She grinned back, aware that Dr. Tristan Barnard had a little crush on her. It didn’t hurt to use that knowledge for leverage now and then.
Woodington General Hospital was the best and nearest place to get a decent caffeine hit. They waited in line like everyone else. “Think this heat is here for the duration?” Dale asked, fanning himself with a packaged chicken mayo sandwich.
“I think Rachel said something about a heatwave lasting several weeks.”
“Fuck. I dunno how much more I can take.”
She looked down the queue to see how much longer they had to wait. Three people ahead of them. “Well, I’ll put a word in with the guv and see if he might go for paddling pools in the office,” she deadpanned.
“Har har.” He shoved his sandwich at her. “Get me a large coffee, I need to take a piss.”
Her eyebrow raised, but she took the sandwich and nodded. Just two now in front of her. Placing Dale’s choice of sandwich down onto the tray, she slid it along and reached over for a blueberry muffin.
A voice in her ear whispered, “Hello, Detective.” A shot of arousal hit her and she felt the tension instantly leave her body.
“Nurse,” she replied sternly without looking back, as the body behind pushed up against her. She relished the feeling she got from it.
“What are you doing here?” Rachel asked as she slipped in front of Whitton in the queue. Her eyes locked and held Whitton’s gaze in place. Dark green with flecks of gold shone at her in a teasing manner that Whitton was still getting used to.
Grave Decisions Page 3
