“Checking out both sides?”
“I believe in both sides.”
“Impossible.”
“But true.”
Hmmm. I was a little suspicious, but I let it go.
“You ready to tell me who I am?” he said. “Besides the jester?”
I put my finger to my chin in mock thought.
“After hearing your path in politics, I could say you are Switzerland, but that’s a little too pat. You’re more than that.”
“Oh really?”
“You aren’t the jester. You aren’t the king—the king is too stodgy and set in his ways. You aren’t the prince, either. Princes can be whiny babies like Luke Skywalker. You’re a little like Han Solo—sort of rebellious but sexy.”
“Sexy?” he said and wiggled his eyebrows.
“Oh yeah,” I said, nodding. “So, I think you would probably be Sir Lancelot.”
“We’ve gone from Star Wars to King Arthur in one conversation.”
I shrugged. “You don’t like Lancelot?”
“Sure, I like Lancelot.”
“Wait!” I said so loudly he jumped. “You’re fucking Robin Hood!”
“What?”
“Yeah. That’s who you are. Case closed. You can’t argue.”
He laughed so loud that people turned to look. But I noticed that everyone who turned smiled. The dude was loved by everyone.
“This was really nice,” I said as he held out his hand to help me up from the booth.
“Yeah,” he said and frowned slightly. “I don’t remember the last time I’ve enjoyed myself so much. Thank you.”
“Do you want to go dancing in the Castro?” he asked. “It’s only midnight.”
I yawned. “Can I take a raincheck? I’m still on Sumatra time.”
“Of course.”
He pulled in front of the hotel, and there was an awkward moment when the valet ran over to open his door. He looked at me, and I gave him a sad smile and shook my head.
“Goodnight,” I said and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “I had a great time.”
He nodded and then I was gone before he could say anything else.
Upstairs, I stripped off my clothes and collapsed into bed, staring up at the velvet night sky. It was a clear night in San Francisco, and I could see the stars and a sliver of the moon.
Life was good.
I thought about the mayor. He was sweet. And not my type. But I’d still had a good time. I hoped we could be friends. I thought of Ryder and smiled. He was my type. Then I thought of James. He was off the hook for a while. I needed to resist having sex with him at all costs. It would open up some deep wounds I didn’t need to deal with right then. Like I had for years, I’d continue to love him at a distance.
But then, after I crawled into bed, my phone dinged. A text from James.
“Five tomorrow?” Followed by his address.
Fuck. So much for my pure thoughts about loving him from afar.
Because I knew that as soon as we were alone together within a mile of a bed it was game over.
Fourteen
James picked up the phone on his desk and then set it back down.
His head hurt something fierce.
Last night was the first time he’d been drunk since Genevieve died.
The night of her funeral, he’d gotten smashed. His daughter found him passed out on the kitchen floor the next morning. He’d been so ashamed. He’d vowed to never drink too much again. And he hadn’t. Until last night.
Seeing Gia and feeling all the feels for her had done it.
It hadn’t helped that Nicoletta had kept refilling his glass.
Come to think of it, that was pretty strange. She usually encouraged him to stop at two drinks, but last night, she just kept refilling his glass. He wondered if it was because she sensed how he was feeling about Gia.
He wondered if it was some sort of revenge. But that didn’t make sense. How could her revenge be getting him drunk? Unless she was secretly angry at him and wanted him to pass out so she could leave without making love to him or staying the night.
Nah. She didn’t have a conniving bone in her body. He was imagining things. She was just being her usual nurturing self. She probably saw he was hurting and confused and was giving him what he actually really wanted—more booze.
He shook out two more aspirin and downed them without water before he turned back to the stack of reports on his desk. He sighed.
Moving up in the cop world meant more paperwork and less time on the street. If he’d only known.
His phone rang, and he scooped it up.
“Lieutenant?”
“Speaking.”
“This is Sergeant Ernst. You told me to call you if there were any crimes I thought you might be interested in?”
He closed his eyes thinking Spit it out, son.
“Yes?”
“In particular, anything that might be related to the protests at the opera house…?”
“Go on,” he said impatiently. Did someone else throw something on one of the actors? He would have heard about it from Nicoletta.
“We just found a DOA, and it looks like it might be Carl Rosenbloom.”
“Jesus,” James said. “What time was the call?”
“O five hundred.”
He glanced at his watch. Less than twenty minutes ago. Good.
“Text me the location I’m on my way.”
In his unmarked sedan, James raced through the streets of San Francisco. This was bad.
This marked the second murder of someone on the gala fundraising board in two days. It was not a coincidence. He would need to warn the board members. He would also need to warn Gia.
Just thinking her name made him feel on edge.
Why did she have such a powerful effect on him? They were terrible for one another.
They’d tried and tried again.
It would never work.
And yet, she was suddenly all he could think about.
God damn it.
Why did she have to come back into town? Why couldn’t she leave him alone and stay far away in a distant country where he didn’t have to see her and smell her and feel her cheek brush against his?
The address took him to a residential neighborhood.
A two-block area was marked off with yellow crime scene tape. Neighbors lined the tape, curious.
As he pulled up to the scene, the rookie cop recognized him and lifted the tape allowing his vehicle to glide underneath. A few squads were parked in a semi-circle to hide the body from onlookers.
He parked and was greeted by his homicide lieutenant.
“Identification confirms its Carl Rosenbloom.”
James nodded. He bit his tongue but inside he was thinking, Motherfucker.
He called the chief.
“Commander?”
“We’re dealing with a serial killer, sir,” he said. “This is the second member of the opera fundraising board to be found dead in as many days.”
“Jesus. Are you at the scene?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Call me when you’re done. We’ll meet this afternoon and form a task force. We need to get ahead of this before the media gets wind.”
James glanced at the people behind the crime scene tape. No TV crews, but he recognized a young man, slouched to one side, wearing expensive sneakers, a hoodie, and Elvis Costello glasses. It was that scrappy, new newspaper reporter for the Daily. The kid had recently graduated from Berkeley and was working the crime beat. One of the first things he did was stalk James with calls and emails until James had let him come into the precincts and introduce himself. Daniel Quan. James admired the kid’s ambition, but that didn’t mean the little punk wasn’t going to be a royal pain in the ass. Especially on a case like this.
“That might be a problem,” James said into his phone, keeping an eye on Quan who had begun talking to a woman with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m off to do damage control right now.”
/> But by the time James sent an officer over to the woman, Quan closed his notebook with a smug thump. Fuck. He’d gotten her.
The woman was Rosenbloom’s daughter. Soon they had her in the back of a squad, away from prying eyes and pesky reporters, but James saw by the way Quan took off on his little scooter, that the kid had figured out who the victim was and the significance.
Damn it to hell.
By the time James made it back to the station, news had spread: Someone was killing members of the opera fundraising gala board.
When James rolled into his office, his secretary, Josh, rolled his eyes.
“Did you see the news crews out front?”
“I’m sure the orbiting satellites saw them too.”
“You’ve got exactly three billion messages from reporters, including the New York Times reporters and Associated Press.
James shook his head. It was already a national story. This was going to be a major problem.
But then the day got even worse.
When he rolled into the conference room, the chief was sitting there with the district attorney, Mark Nolan.
“A witness just came forward. We have a suspect.”
“Fantastic,” he said and pulled up a chair. “Who’s our guy?”
“It’s not a guy. It’s a woman,” the DA said. “Her name is Gia Santella.”
Fifteen
There was something about Gia Santella that was irresistible, Charles thought.
And he was disturbed by it.
Sitting in his favorite armchair smoking a cigar while a silky-wigged head bobbed between his legs, he tried to analyze what it was. The fading sunset over the bay lit up the room in a reddish-gold color.
Thinking of her had made him hard as a rock. Granted, she had a smoldering sexuality that made every man from eighteen to one hundred horny, but it was more than that.
But what was it?
He looked down at the dark head between his legs and gave a small groan.
Having Nicoletta dress up like Gia Santella was hot. It turned him on.
When he got to her place, he made her put on the dark wig and the black leather pants.
Her soft, warm mouth raised, and her eyes met his.
“Like this, baby?” she said, caressing him with both hands.
He shook his head. “You know what I want.”
She laughed. “I know. Just teasing.”
He forced her head down and thrust forward. His cock was so hard.
He was about to explode. He tried to keep his thoughts on Gia, though.
She was like a fascinating puzzle he was in the midst of solving.
Maybe part of what made her so attractive was that she seemed to do what she wanted to do when she wanted to do it.
The unspoken rule at the committee meeting was that nobody drink anything except water and coffee, but she walked right over behind the bar and poured herself a drink.
The gall! A few eyebrows had been raised. Nicoletta made a face of disapproval. But he couldn’t stop staring, waiting to see what she would do next.
He’d seldom met a woman who really didn’t seem to care what everyone else thought of her. After the meeting, she barely paid attention to the rich and powerful men fawning over her. In fact, it was as if she barely noticed them.
When he was in front of her, she was polite, but seemed unimpressed.
It wasn’t something he’d ever experienced before.
Usually women simpered over him.
Like the woman between his legs. She thought she was in control with his cock in her mouth, but he controlled it all. She just didn’t know it yet.
He knew she would do anything for him. She didn’t have to say it. He could feel it.
And why not? She saw the way other women looked at him, and it made her insanely jealous. She would die before she admitted it, though.
But it made sense.
After all, he was the whole package: handsome, rich, powerful, talented…. What else could a woman want? He could smile at a woman in the right environment, and an hour later she’d want him to be the father of her children.
It had been like that his entire life. And even from an early age, he knew that it was where his power lay. His mother had doted on him and told him that he was so handsome and so talented and smart and wonderful that he could have the world eating out of his palm.
He’d never doubted it for a second.
And his mother had been right. He had become even more powerful as he grew older. He knew just how to manipulate people—women and men—to get what he wanted.
He was unstoppable. And right then, he was at the height of his power.
But he wasn’t through yet. He had some ways more to go before he could sit back and revel in his power and wealth. It wouldn’t be long.
So why had meeting that bitch today threw off his game so much? He hated that when Gia Santella had looked at him, he’d felt strangely diminished, as if when it came to him he was like a dime a dozen.
He didn’t like it.
Not one bit.
Nicoletta drew back and her huge eyes met his.
“More, baby?”
“Don’t fucking think about stopping,” he said, his breath raspy with lust. “Seeing that video of you killing Rosenbloom turns me the fuck on.”
“It wasn’t me, silly. I just pointed the gun.”
Like he didn’t know that. Marshall’s video skills were outstanding.
She gave a knowing smirk and licked her lips before her head dipped back down.
He put his large palms on the back of her head, pushing her mouth on him until he was as deep as he’d ever been.
His thoughts briefly turned analytical as he got back into the rhythm of her mouth. Then with a start, he realized that everything had worked out perfectly.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized that meeting Gia had been his destiny. Her appearance had solved the biggest one of his problems—finding a fall guy. Nicoletta was right. Gia Santella would be the fall woman. His problem had been solved so easily. When her gaze had flickered over him and dismissed him, she had no idea that she’d made a fatal mistake.
His eyes closed as the head bobbing between his legs brought him nearly to a climax.
He leaned back with a smile on his face that turned to a grimace of intense pleasure. He was almost there. He was nearly at the ultimate release.
Thinking of Gia Santella had aroused him.
“Yes,” he moaned. Yes, he would show her that he was something special and that his attention should not be dismissed.
He would call her and invite her to a meeting. A deadly meeting.
If she wasn’t already in prison for murder. The wheels had been set in motion.
His excitement grew. He gripped the silky head hard and thrust his hips upward. As he erupted into an incredibly intense orgasm, his last thoughts were that Gia Santella would pay for her dismissive behavior.
And pay dearly.
Sixteen
“Gia, where were you last night?”
It was James. I was scrutinizing the financial numbers Dante had sent me trying to figure out who could have embezzled the money from the hotel.
“Huh? Last night?”
“Yeah. Where were you last night?”
I rolled my eyes He must have heard about my date with the mayor. Was he jealous?
“In bed.” I wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “Why?”
“There’s a problem.”
“What’s that?”
“Carl Rosenbloom has been murdered.”
“Oh, my god,” I said. I didn’t know the dude besides our brief meeting where his slimy lips slobbered on my palm, but his murder meant another gala board member dead. “What the hell is going on?”
“We have a witness who saw you talking to him a few minutes before he was murdered.”
“Impossible,” I said and scoffed.
“Where were you yesterday, say, about one i
n the morning.”
“I was in my hotel room. In bed.” Having phone sex.
“Were you anywhere before that? With anyone?
“Yeah,” I said. “Before that I went to dinner with the mayor at Rossetti’s. Why?”
I could almost feel his jealousy through the phone line. Oh well.
“Did he come up to your room with you after dinner?”
“Is this police business or are you just jealous?” I asked.
“Were you alone?” James repeated, clearly irritated.
I laughed. “Sort of.”
“What does that mean?”
Jesus Christ, did he need me to spell it out?
“I was alone, but I was on the phone with someone.”
“Huh,” he said dryly.
He had no right to act that way. He had no claim to me.
“I’m looking for an alibi for you Gia.”
“What the fuck?”
“Just answer me and I’ll explain.”
“Fine. I was on Facetime. In my bed. Naked. Having phone sex.” There, nosy.
“Jesus.”
“You fucking asked.”
He exhaled. “You’re right, I did.”
“Why? Where were you? With Madame Butterfly?”
“I’m not a suspect,” he said, not answering the question.
“Wait? I’m a suspect?”
“Maybe.”
“That makes no fucking sense,” I said.
He kept talking. “So, the mayor will verify you were in your hotel room during those hours, right?”
“It wasn’t the mayor.”
“Whatever. Will that person vouch for you?”
“Uh, yeah. Duh. Obviously, whoever thought they saw me was mistaken.”
“Obviously,” he said. “Can I get the name and number of the person you were speaking to on the phone?”
I reeled off Ryder’s name and number.
“Ryder, huh?”
“Yep.”
He hung up without saying goodbye.
What the fuck? He had no right to be jealous. Jesus. And how in the fuckity fuck could I possibly be a murder suspect.
Dark Justice Page 8
