Grace (4 page)

Celina closed her eyes as the tears escaped. What she wouldn't do to feel those protective arms around her right now, saving her from the current situation.

This was more than just some bad situation. She could see the evil in his eyes, the anger in his tone with each lie, each demand and she feared the final outcome.

He had warned her to behave, promised to untie her hands and provide better sleeping arrangements if she obeyed.

She had no idea how long she had been captive there. It could have been days. She felt giving into his demands was her best option.

So far, defying him had caused the madman to lash out in rage, leaving her bloodied and battered. She closed her eyes but even that couldn't hide the images already imbedded into her brain.

If help didn't come soon, she feared she wouldn't survive.

It was five o'clock and Grace prepared to leave for the night. She had half an hour to get to May's party, and the traffic outside was a nightmare.

If she left now, she would have plenty of time.

Quickly, she organized the mail she still needed to go through, separating it into junk and important piles, until she came across the large, yellow envelope. She recognized the address and knew exactly who it came from. She gave into the temptation that she should open it and pulled out the neatly folded white piece of paper.

The words ‘
Die Bitch
!’ stood out in bold, black letters.

Grace had little reaction to the note. At this point, it no longer affected her. She'd investigated plenty of homicides in her career that after thorough investigating turned out to be a farce of some kind and even cases that left many people angry with her.

This guy was angry, but he got what he deserved and he was locked away in a prison upstate for at least another year.

She immediately thought of the Smith case she solved two years ago and how the boyfriend had been responsible for kidnapping the missing girl and tried to trick the young woman's parents into believing she was kidnapped for ransom. After an intense investigation, Grace figured out that both the boyfriend and the victim had created a plan to ask for ransom money. The night the exchange was supposed to take place, Grace went undercover, finding the so-called kidnapped victim Lori Smith unscathed and waiting patiently behind the wheel of the getaway car.

The parents were outraged, and the case solved, but the boyfriend had lost it, shooting the father while trying to evade capture.

From prison, he sent Grace hate mail. This note she now held in her hands was from him. She placed the note back into the yellow envelope, then stuck it in the bottom drawer along with the others.

She wasn't as affected by this letter as she had been when he first started sending them. They were meaningless and so was he. Right now, she had a party to attend.

Grace grabbed her things and headed out the door. She practically made it to the elevator when her cell phone rang.

"Hello,” she answered.

"Is this Detective Grace Martin?"

"Who's this?” She didn't recognize the voice on the other end.

"This is Jerry Hughes, Celina Marquette's boyfriend. I didn't hurt Celina! I didn't kill her!” he yelled into the phone.

Grace didn't know how the kid had gotten her number or why he called her. She wasn't the lead investigator on this case, Frank was.

"Calm down, Jerry. The police are doing their job. They need to investigate everyone. Why are you calling me? This isn't my case. It's Detective Frank Lupine's case.” She wondered why she had decided to turn her cell phone on at all.

"I heard you're working a similar case and that there may be a connection to Celina's disappearance. I need your help."

"I don't know who you heard that from, but right now, you should be speaking to Detective Lupine. He's in charge of Missing Persons and this case."

"I love Celina. We were planning to get married. Her parents know I didn't do this. They want to meet. Will you meet with us?"

"The Marquettes need to speak with the detective in charge of the case. I'm sorry, Jerry, but like I said, I'm not the one to speak to about this."

Grace got off the cell phone and made it down the two floors to the lobby before her phone rang again.

"Hello,” she answered.

"Hello, Grace. It's Frank. I need a favor. I know Jerry just called you. I'm friends with the Marquettes and they only want to find their daughter and move things along. What did you think about the file I sent you?"

"Shit, Frank, you know better than to get personally involved with a case. Push it off to someone else if you can't stay neutral."

"It's not like that, Grace. I know the family and they're good people, but more importantly, I've seen the similarities in the case you're working on and Celina's. Her apartment was left the same way. She lived in the same apartment complex, hung out with the young woman who's the victim you're investigating.... There's something there, I just know it."

Grace thought there was, too, but she would need her commander's approval to investigate further. She stepped back into the elevator and hit the button for the fifth floor. Maybe the commander was still around.

"I'll see what I can do, Frank."

"I want Jerry involved. We'd like to meet you, Grace, tomorrow. Can you meet the three of us for lunch downtown?"

"Are you sure you want him involved? Have you thoroughly checked him out?"

"Yes. Now help me out, please,” Frank asked again.

Grace agreed to meet them tomorrow, then turned off her cell phone before closing it. She immediately went upstairs to discuss everything with her commander.

"Hey, Lieutenant, were you uptown all day?” Detective Tommy Johnson asked as he met Max by his cubicle.

"Yeah, I liked sipping tea and munching on fresh pastries instead of smelling dead bodies and stepping in cat shit,” Max added sarcastically, then stretched while picking up the phone on his desk to check his messages.

He rubbed his face, touching the whiskers. He needed a shave. He felt old, tired, and his head hurt.

"What's the latest on Celina Marquette?"

"Well, so far, no prints but Celina's and her boyfriend's. He did answer all our questions willingly. Apparently, he was planning to marry Celina."

"What about his little drug problem?"

"It's little."

"Now, Tommy, did you check it out thoroughly? Who is his supplier? Where does he go to get hooked up? You never know where this might lead."

"Do you really think this has something to do with drug dealing?” Tommy asked.

"No, I don't, but all leads must be investigated thoroughly.” “Who's Detective Martin?” Max asked while listening to the messages.

"I took the liberty of appointing Jones to take care of her since you were busy all day. Jones said she was pissed off, but the cases weren't similar at all."

Max laughed then hung up the phone and changed the subject. “Do you have someone covering the boyfriend?"

"His every move."

"Good. I don't trust him one bit, and then there's that small connection I found between him and one of the other missing women."

"What connection?” Tommy asked, rather surprised.

"Tory Williams worked as a temp for the same company Jerry works for."

"Could be a coincidence."

"Or it may not be. We'll check that out tomorrow. I'd like to ask him a few questions myself. He seemed rather nervous to me."

"You have that effect on people, Lieutenant."

Max laughed.

Tommy smiled, then headed to another desk.

Max exhaled, stretching his arms out behind his shoulders and back. He cringed because of his tight, sore muscles and wished he had made it to the gym this week. He felt out of shape and overweight. He wasn't, but it was going on Day Ten of no gym, no balanced meals and a few donuts too many added to his handlebars. Next time he got to the gym, he would focus on that area big time.

He ran his hand over the slight bulge on either side of his waist and damned the ‘job’ for the umpteenth time. Then he thought about the gym in the uptown police department. That was a beauty. He practically drooled when he checked it out this morning. If he had taken up the commander's offer to work out there, they would have had to physically remove him from the room. He was shocked at the size, the equipment and the fact that the uptown brass actually encouraged their officers to work out and take a break from the job.

Max shook his head and laughed. “Pansies,” he whispered into the air.

He glanced around the office. There were still a bunch of detectives coming and going. The majority looked just as exhausted as he felt and was sure he looked.

He rubbed his hand over the hard whiskers, then urged himself to get back to work. His eyes were tired, and he daydreamed about a thirty-minute nap until the phone on his desk rang simultaneously with his pager.

Two-minute break officially over
.

The doorbell rang and he was annoyed with his company's unpunctuality. She was ten minutes late, which aggravated him to no end.

He kept her waiting a moment as he looked at his image in the mirror. He was a fairly attractive man, above average with dark ebony hair styled by the salon's finest. The scattered silver streaks appealed to him. They made him look distinguished, superior, and high class. At least that was what he had been told.

The legal position he held reinforced this as well as his wealth and charitable contributions.

People loved him, and he pretended to care.

He had an image to uphold, a façade that presently seemed more like a burden.

There were other ways he was more interested in spending his time at the moment, and that interest was now downstairs sleeping from exhaustion.

He smiled when he thought about the ways to awaken his most recent brown-haired beauty. His groin pulsated, instantly aroused by the fantasies. He caught sight of the figure still standing by the front door. He needed to snap out of it, focus on his mission, but his manhood had something different in mind.

He opened the door, keeping his angry expression while he gave the blonde the once-over.

She smiled cordially, then swayed her hips slightly to the side, rubbing her palms against her hips while winking.

He watched, confident she knew she would have to make up for her late arrival. He abruptly pulled her inside, slamming her thin, model figure against the wall. The blonde was tall and actually had a couple of inches on him, but he was definitely in control.

She caught her breath. He heard her and identified the surprised, scared, yet turned-on look in her eyes. The blonde was fully aware of his reputation and his power. People respected him, feared him and were constantly at his beck and call.

He imagined what she was thinking. She was just like the others.
I could land a guy like this.

She probably thought if she did, she would be set for life.

The blonde gently touched his face. He pretended annoyance and insult at her late arrival when really all he wanted to do was make her disappear. It was all the same game, just a different bimbo. None had any clue about his true intentions. They were all pawns in the game, the one he created and mastered.

"I'm sorry, baby ... forgive me?” she whispered.

He pushed aside his annoyance and focused on the strategy. In an instant, he was back into play mode, ready to teach her a thing or two and cure his current ailment.

His hand lay flat against the wall and above her shoulder while he pressed his body against hers. She moved her hips against his arousal.

"You're late!” he scolded, clenching his teeth, envisioning biting her.

"I'm sorry, baby.... I'll make it up to you.” She laid the palms of her hands against the wall in defeat, then closed her eyes and stretched her neck out, asking to be reprimanded.

His lips covered her neck and it was all he could do not to sink his teeth into her flesh.

Quickly, he made his way up her throat with his tongue, nauseated by the taste of cheap perfume, until he caught her lips with his own. He began kissing her, brutally hard.

His other hand rubbed across the sequins on her black, fitted dress until it found her breast. She was small, too thin to really be satisfying, but his body was in need of instant fulfillment. She would do.

"Punctuality is important to me,” he scolded as the sound of little beads scattering across the tile entranceway echoed in his ear. He pulled at her dress, practically ripping it.

His breathing intensified when he lifted the material up and away from her thighs. He felt the clasp, the thigh-high stockings and garter belt.

She was nothing but a slut.

His mind filled with angry thoughts.

"I said I was sorry,” she whispered, then kissed his neck, rubbing her hands down his black dress shirt.

Her hands reached the waist of his pants, undid the black designer belt and pulled the zipper. Then she went to work on him with her mouth.

He watched her, and the muscles in his shoulders tightened. His hands gripped her hair and held it above her head.

Filthy, disgusting slut.

She wasn't his type at all. He craved class, sophistication and intelligence in a woman. Brunettes with well-endowed figures.

He needed to do her, get this date over with and move on to something more satisfying and fulfilling.

He gazed toward the open kitchen, the small television and gray screen and couldn't help but wonder what his little slave was up to. He abruptly pulled the blonde up from her position.

She eyed him, licking her lips. Did she actually think she looked sexy and appealing? If there were a mirror nearby, she would be able to see the streaks of smudged, slut-red lipstick that now spread beyond the lines of her lips.

He abruptly pulled up her dress, wedging his body against hers and the wall. She sank her fake red acrylic nails into his shoulders. He took her right there against the wall.

His body needed fulfillment, and he knew he wasn't getting much from the whore until the thought of slitting her throat brought him to climax.