Internal Affair (18 page)
“Loose ends,” they all said together.
“Exactly.” She moved into Daire’s embrace and gave him a quick kiss, not caring who might see. “How about we get take-out Chinese food and settle in for the night?”
Daire’s eyes darkened with emotion and desire. “I like that plan, but I can’t promise I won’t still get up in the night.”
She beamed up at him. “It’s okay. We can check the perimeter together.”
Epilogue
Six months later
On a warm spring day, almost nine years since their brutal murders, the time had come to give Rory and Sheila Callaghan a proper farewell. Daire had called the clan together to join him at the cemetery, and for the first time, he could gaze upon his parents’ headstone and feel a measure of peace.
They formed a semicircle around the graves. Daire held Parker tight against him with his arm around her slender waist. Ronan and Diego did the same with Cassidy, the much-loved middle of their threesome. Regan held Kyle’s hand to her right while she rested her left arm on the back of Jack’s chair. Finn and Michael had Craig sandwiched between them, no touching because a teenage boy didn’t like such a public fuss, but their closeness was obvious nonetheless.
Everyone had a paper cup with a bit of Jamison in it, because Dad and Mom had both loved the scotch and it was a fitting tribute to them. With most if not all the crime ring rounded up, a tightness Daire had carried with him all these years had eased. He could breathe again, sleep again, and the compulsive need to check everything and everyone in his life had started to subside.
The nightmare hadn’t completely ended, of course, wouldn’t for probably a few years. There’d be trials and a need to testify again and again, but not as many as they’d all feared, and Finnegan had been at the top of that ugly pyramid. He’d kept his own files, which made the investigation easier than they’d expected, and when confronted, his wife had handed over everything she had, even as she saw the life she’d planned going down the drain.
It had taken a few weeks, but internal affairs had finally cleared Daire, his brothers, and Regan of any wrong doing in the self-defense killing of Finnegan. Parker had been both reprimanded for her handling of the case and lauded as a hero against corruption at the same time. She’d accepted both with her usual equanimity. Daire would be forever grateful and humbled by how she’d put herself and her career on the line to find justice for his family.
She had also stuck with him and his needs throughout the long, sometimes agonizing process of uncovering who had ultimately betrayed his father. Every time she got up with him and held his hand as he roamed the house, he had fallen a little bit more in love with her. He believed her family was warming up to him, too, but that would take more time. It didn’t matter. They had the time. There was no rush. He could see his life opening up to marriage and children of his own now.
He raised his cup. “To Sheila and Rory, may you rest in peace.”
There was a murmur of assent, and everyone drained their cup, except for Craig, who had barely downed the drop or two given to him before Finn snatched it out of his hand.
Daire smiled at the mutinous look on the boy’s face and the indulgent smiles of his parents. Finn and Michael wore rings now, engagement rings. Michael had asked Finn to marry him and the plans for a big fall wedding were in the works. The loss of their parents would be felt anew with the event. That would be true for all the weddings to come and the grandchildren yet to be born. For the rest of their lives, he and his brothers would notice that two who should have been there were not. That was the legacy of Finnegan and his murderous greed.
“Well, now,” Uncle Jack said, releasing the brake on his chair. “It’s a fine day for the first barbeque of the season. Let’s head to my house. Cassidy, my dear, you’ve made pies, have you?”
“Yes, Jack, of course.”
“Good to hear. It’s a wonder you have time to do anything with those two boys sniffing after you all day.”
Cassidy gasped into a laugh, but Ronan and Diego just grinned at each other over her head before each pulled her into a kiss.
Ronan licked his lips. “She tastes like pie.”
“Sugar and spice,” Diego agreed.
“Pops! Don’t be such a troublemaker,” Regan admonished, although she, too, laughed.
“What?” her father said, looking up at her. “I’m old. I can say what I like. You going to pull out one of your floggers or something?”
“Sorry, Jack. Those are strictly for me,” Kyle chimed in and grabbed Regan’s ass. She rewarded him with a smack on his.
“Gross,” Craig muttered as he passed all of the adults at a quick pace.
“Just for that, we’re going to pick Endless Love as the song for our first dance at the wedding,” Finn called after him.
Michael pulled Finn into a hug. “Let’s make him dance with us, like they do with little kids. That’ll teach him.”
With his hand in Parker’s, Daire held back, waiting for the others to get ahead of them as they all walked to their cars. He wanted a few minutes to just gaze at his family and let the feeling of contentment wash over him.
Parker squeezed his hand and leaned into him. “I love your family, almost as much as I love you.”
He kissed the top of her head and held her even tighter. “I’m glad to hear that. They take some getting used to, but they’re mine and I love them, almost as much as I love you, too.”
They didn’t say anything more as they finally headed to his car. When they reached it, he opened the passenger door and watched her get in. He couldn’t get enough of her, and when he looked into the future, for the first time in all these years, he not only saw hope, he saw a woman, her, with him. He shut the door and turned, pausing one more second to stare at the gravesite.
“Good-bye Mom and Dad,” he said quietly, for his ears only. “We love you and miss you, but we’re going to be fine. I promise.”
Like the promise he’d made as he stared down at their bodies so long ago, he knew he’d keep it.
About the Author
I'm a corporate lawyer, happily married for over twenty years with three kids and four dogs. No white picket fence, but we do live in the burbs west of Boston. While my husband and I still do occasionally lick chocolate off each other, our more typical evening involves lying in bed once the kids are in theirs and reading separate books. Mine of course are romance. I started reading them as a defense against all those boring legal documents. Once I started, I couldn't stop.
I've also loved erotica since I was old enough to appreciate what sex is. I've been publishing erotic romance since 2009.
Besides my family, writing, and reading, my loves include the sight, smell, and sounds of the ocean (I'm a New England girl through and through), chocolate (naturally), prime rib (bloody), and good bourbon on the rocks.
Visit Samantha at
To chat with Samantha Cayto and other Wild Rose Press authors of erotic romance, join us at www.groups.yahoo.com/group/thewilderroses.
Also Available
Cuffed & Collared
Boston’s Brave Book Three
by Samantha Cayto
Regan Malloy is a dedicated homicide detective married to her job. A tough woman who holds her own when it comes to the opposite sex, she is nevertheless resigned to lonely nights with fantasy men. When a serial killer targets wealthy submissive men from an upscale BDSM club, Regan is convinced the killer is a woman and goes undercover.
Kyle Ramsey is a topnotch litigator juggling life as a divorced father and a workaholic. Raised to be strong and to always take charge, he has trouble trusting that anyone else can get the job done. When he finds his good friend murdered, he mounts his own investigation despite Regan's warning not to interfere.
Regan is furious to find the sexy lawyer at the club but can't deny her attraction or her need to dominate him. Kyle discovers more than clues as, to keep from blowing their cover, the fiery cop demands obedience. Together they embark on a journey to explore this new world of hidden desires, but the road could take a dangerous turn when they cross paths with the killer.
An excerpt from
Cuffed & Collared
Prologue
Her victim quivered beneath her, a mixture of fear and excitement. Soon, his movement would change. It would become more frantic, a desperate attempt to avoid the agonizing pain, and his feelings would be pure terror. Or, would they? Perhaps he would enjoy this final act of submission. Maybe it was what he had been looking for all along.
She didn’t know, and sometimes, like now, right before she began her serious punishment, she wondered was it really possible to derive pleasure from pain? All her victims seemed to believe so. They craved the sensation. They wanted to be at her mercy. They begged for it. Some even paid for it.
But no, she couldn’t imagine it. That feeling was not for her. She was a Domme, a sadist as some might call her. She was destined to inflict pain, not receive it, and she loved doing it. She loved every stroke she delivered, every grunt and groan and, yes, scream she pulled from her subs, especially at the first moment they realized she had changed the rules of the game. That moment when they understood she had turned play into reality.
Her breath quickened in anticipation. Her cunt tightened, and her body flushed with heat. She was wet with desire as her sexual excitement mounted. This was it. It was time. The urge to find her release was strong, yet she restrained herself. Rushing things ruined the fun. She needed to be patient, to take her time, let it last. And she could, she would, because she was the best.
She was the Mistress of them all.
Chapter One
Sergeant Regan Malloy squatted beside the king-sized bed to get a better look at the victim’s face. He was such a handsome man, and unlike the rest of his body, this part was unmarred by violence. She wasn’t going to insult the poor bastard by saying he looked peaceful in death, but she could say he looked relieved. After all the pain that had been inflicted upon him, she could imagine he had welcomed the moment of death. With the crime scene well-documented, she felt free to reach up and unstrap the gag from the back of his head and pull it away from his rigid mouth.
“You know what we have here, don’t you?” a voice asked behind her.
Regan looked over her shoulder at her partner, JoJo Mathers, an African-American woman several years her junior. “A serial killer.”
“Mmm hmm,” the woman replied through tight lips. Her gaze was fixed on the victim, thirty-eight year old Joseph Xavier Bennington, III.
As she stood, Regan looked at the man, too. He lay face down, covered in nothing except welts, cuts, and a large quantity of his own blood, on his massive and stylish bed. The killer had tortured him with a variety of as yet unknown devices for hours, by the coroner’s estimation, before neatly castrating him. Regan couldn’t tell just by looking, but she’d bet anything the ME would find the poor man’s private parts stuffed inside his rectum. A final act of violation and contempt by the killer, before, in a perverse act of mercy, lifting Bennington’s head and slitting his throat.
The M.O. was precisely the same as used in the murder of Eugene Morales. Even with only two victims to go by, Regan was sure they had a serial killer on their hands.
She turned to her partner. “Two men, both good-looking, fit, socially active yet single, wealthy and with powerful jobs. Both were killed in their own beds, tied up and gagged, but with no signs of forced entry or a struggle, implying they let their murderer into their homes and probably their beds as well. And having done so, they were both tortured to death in a sadistic, sexual ritual, and raped, although with what is unknown. Morales was straight by all accounts. We’ll check it, of course, but I bet Bennington was too.” Regan shook her head. “We can’t blame these on a Ted Bundy or a Jeffrey Dahmer. This time, it’s one of our own.”
“You’re convinced it’s a woman,” JoJo observed as they walked away from the bed and the sad remains of Joseph Bennington.
“I’m certain of it.” Regan was. It only made sense, and the idea turned her stomach more than any crime scene ever could. Being a woman who had achieved a measure of success in a profession still dominated by men, she felt strongly that women had a duty to wield their power wisely. If they didn’t, the world would be no better off than it was with only men in charge.
“It seems pretty clear,” she continued, “that we have a killer among the Femdom crowd. We know Morales was into the scene, and if we can determine that Bennington was as well, we should be able to establish what clubs, groups, and friends they had in common. Ugly as it is to have a second victim, it may give us the break we need for both murders.”
They walked into the hall and headed toward the living room. The victim’s apartment was a fancy and expensive one located in a high-rise building near the Theatre District of Boston. Although Regan’s knowledge of quality in furnishings and art was limited, she knew the price of real estate and could tell the guy had been loaded, with refined tastes, just like the first victim. Apparently their killer liked to prey on the well-heeled. Was it resentment for the wealthy, or was she one of them?
“Go ahead and bag him,” she said quietly to the attendants waiting in the living room.
“I guess the best source of information now may be his friend,” JoJo said with a toss of her head.
Regan followed the direction to the far side of the room into a dining space. Seated at the long, elegant table was the man who had called in the crime. Kyle Ramsey, according to the young uniformed officer beside him. The kid was giving the witness as much privacy for his grief as possible while keeping an eye on him. Until he was questioned, Ramsey was technically a suspect.
“I’ll talk to him,” she said to her partner. “Why don’t you start digging through the victim’s effects?” Although she phrased it as a suggestion, as the senior detective of the two, she was in charge.
