My Boss is a Serial Killer (18 page)

But they were no longer listening to me.
Suzanne probably felt a lot of animosity toward me, because she was
not referring to her job so much as to Bill when she accused me of
jumping on her territory. Regardless of that, she and Charlene had
a long history of rivalry that had sprouted its office-political
limbs years before I ever showed up at MBS&K, and I’d bet you
even they didn’t fully understand where it all had started. It was
like one of those old monster versus monster movies, Dracula versus
the Werewolf, or Frankenstein versus the Mummy, where the monsters
are in conflict simply because they are both monsters. In this
case, it was Uber-Paralegal versus Robo-Secretary, a battle in
which the casualties all die of ennui.

“
You can’t seriously feel threatened
because someone else got sent to do research. It happens all the
time. Gail’s done it, and Daphne’s done it, and Melinda’s done it.”
Charlene was somehow capable of listing any person who’d ever left
the office for a research project, and she would have done so,
except Suzanne interrupted.

“
I don’t care who gets sent where, as
long as it’s not my job they’re trying to steal out from under
me.”

Sincerely, Charlene said, “I don’t think
anyone here wants your job. Your job seems pretty awful.”

Suzanne blinked in amazement. “And just what
do you know about what I do?”

“
Well, you never seem very happy with
it.”

“
We don’t all come swinging in to work
humming the Brady Bunch theme song,” snapped Suzanne, shooting a
condescending look in my direction, “but that doesn’t mean I’m
unhappy.”

Charlene continued, obliviously, “You’re just
unhappy because Bill Nestor doesn’t use you any more. So big deal.
Everyone else does. You’ve got plenty of work.”

Finally it seemed to occur to Suzanne that
their voices were very loud, and she lowered her tone to a whisper
when she told Charlene, “You have no idea what you’re talking
about.”

“
Well, it’s Bill, right?” asked
Charlene, also lowering her voice in one of her unusual bows to the
social niceties. “You like Bill Nestor and like working with
him.”

Like anyone who’d thought her motives were
not apparent, Suzanne looked mortified for the briefest moment
before saying, “I’m a valuable resource, and I work for
everyone.”

“
Yeah, that’s what I was saying before.
But Bill can’t ask you out anyway; it’s against company
policy.”

Suzanne had gone a deep shade of red. “I’m
completely uninterested in being asked out.”

“
He wouldn’t ask Carol out, either,”
said Charlene, as if this was supposed to be reassuring.

“
Since you’re so interested, Charlene,
Bill is up to his eyeballs in eligible women. They come tromping
into the office every week and flash their money around, and he
never asks anyone out. So you see, it’s not really an issue about
whether Bill has a date this weekend. I’m talking about my
job.”

Charlene peered at Suzanne for a few seconds.
“That didn’t make any sense.”

“
I don’t remember asking for your
opinion about anything,” Suzanne said to Charlene. She finally
turned her attention back to me. “I dictated some notes that I need
transcribed today, but it looks like Bill gave you the afternoon
off.”

I was happy to be receptive, if only to stop
this ugly scene. “Just give me the tape. I’ll do them.”

“
Oh, heavens, no. By all means, go on
your merry way. I’ll just tell Brent I need a secretary to cover
while you’re gone.”

She flounced away—I was surprised by this,
not sure I’d really ever seen anyone flounce before, but there it
was. I looked to Charlene, who was watching Suzanne as if
mystified.

“
That was strange,” said
Charlene.

“
I didn’t mean for you to get
involved.”

“
I don’t like her antagonizing you that
way,” said Charlene, now speaking very softly indeed. “She’s done
this before, picked on a secretary, gotten people transferred or
fired. The firm doesn’t get a lot of good, long-term secretaries,
and I don’t want to see you driven away just because she’s jealous.
Turnover is so unproductive.”

Coming from Charlene Templeton, this was as
serious a vow of friendship as I’d ever heard.

My research-weary, preoccupied brain had me
feeling punchy, so I had a beer that didn’t make me any more
clear-headed but did make me feel better about being punchy. Then
my cutie-pie Gus called and made me feel even sillier, in a happy
kind of way.

“
I’m so sorry; I got so busy this
week,” he told me. I had only heard from him briefly since Tuesday
night. He’d given me a short call on Wednesday evening saying, “I
got paged onto a case, and I have to work on it before my weekend
off, but I haven’t stopped thinking about you all day.” The case he
was helping with was one that had made the news, the shooting death
of a young man in a department store parking lot. I had tried to
catch Gus on the news but he wasn’t lead on the case so they didn’t
let him talk. Now, tonight, he said, “My supervisor really works
hard to make sure I get free weekends with my son, so I try to do
all I can during the week to keep her happy.”

“
Augustus,” I said, “you don’t have to
explain yourself to me. Someone got shot. I think that’s more
important than my social life.”

“
Hey, I found something interesting
today,” he said.

That made one of us. I exclaimed that I was
interested in his discovery.

“
Seems like a shame to have to wait
until next week to tell you about it.”

“
That is a shame,” I agreed. “How much
time do you have before Doug gets here?”

Doug’s mother was bringing the boy to Kansas
City that evening, but the drive from Omaha took several hours.

Gus told me that his son wouldn’t be in town
until after nine. So I suggested that he come over to my house and
tell me about his interesting discovery, and he was not averse.
This was my attempt at lobbying for another dose of the Gus-man,
because he could have just told me his interesting information over
the phone. It was nice of him not to bring that up.

“
Are you still at work?” I asked,
hearing the familiar sounds of phones and voices behind
him.

He said that he was just heading out the
door.

“
Come over before changing your
clothes,” I said. “Bring your badge.”

He laughed softly, voice low over the phone.
“What for?”

“
I want you question me, put me under
some sort of arrest and maybe search me for concealed
weapons.”

“
Fine,” said Gus. “But you have to put
on one of those little—” and here I was sure he was going to
suggest “French maid uniform” or “lace corset” or “leather
bustier,” but what he said was, “—secretary outfits with the
buttoned-up sweater and sensible pumps.”

“
You sick monkey,” I murmured, feeling
a thrill all the way through my body.

“
Do as I say,” Gus warned, “or I’ll be
forced to treat you as a hostile suspect.”

“
Oh, God, yes, do that.”

“
I’m Detective Haglund with the KCPD.”
Said detective stood glowering in my doorway. To my great pleasure,
he wore a light trench coat, even though it was seventy degrees
outside, and had his badge flipped out, pushed toward me. “Ma’am,
I’d like to ask you some questions.”

And in keeping with his request, I wore a
tight pencil skirt, my four-inch pumps and a silky blouse buttoned
as high as it would go, nearly pinching my neck. I’d even fastened
my hair back in a prim little barrette. I wore not a stitch of
underwear.

“
What is this about, Officer?” I
asked.

“
I’m investigating suspicious
activities,” he said, filling the doorway with his big
solidness.

“
Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t help
you.”

“
Ma’am, I’m afraid this is not a
voluntary interview.” Gus moved through the door, and I blocked his
path ineffectually and purposefully. Our bodies had to smash
together for him to get by, his arm had to circle my waist to keep
me from tipping over on those ridiculous heels. My skin had little
defense with just that filmy blouse between him and me, leaving my
nipples deliciously grazed and standing out rather sharply against
the material. Gus’s eyes lingered there and tickled me.

“
You can’t just barge in here making
all kinds of demands,” I told him haughtily as I closed the front
door. “I have my rights.”

Gus caught me by the shoulder and spun me
around with startling ease, herding me against the wall of my front
hallway. “Put your hands against the wall, ma’am,” he instructed
brusquely, and I did so without thought, utterly at his command. I
hadn’t heard this tone of voice from him before. I loved it. A yelp
of surprise escaped me when he kicked my feet apart, and I would
have fallen but for his arm around my waist. He held me steady,
kept me from twisting my ankle or stumbling, pressing my hips
enticingly against his groin which was, I noticed breathlessly,
showing signs of enjoying this game as much as I. Then he leaned
into me and began a full body search. As his fingers stroked from
my wrists down to my ticklish armpits, he said in my ear, “We have
received information that you are exerting influence on an officer
of the law.”

“
I haven’t done anything,” I argued,
trying not to giggle when he poked at my underarms.

“
Be still,” he ordered softly, his
mouth so close to my ear that I could feel his breath there. “Our
source is utterly reliable. He states that you seduced him by a
copy machine. He states also that you exerted unfair influence over
him by charming his sister.”

“
Neither of those things is a crime,” I
said defensively. “It’s not my fault his sister doesn’t know squat
about her word processor.”

He paused for a moment, and I realized that
he was controlling his laughter. Then the full-body search was on
my breasts and lingered there for a few seconds, teasing me until
my limbs began to melt into a pool of pure lazy liquid. I sagged
into the gorgeous bulk of him, ready to be ravished.

“
Don’t try that with me,” he said
roughly, giving my arms a gentle tug upwards. “I’m not just some
dumb cop. You’re going to answer my questions.”

“
You haven’t asked me any questions,” I
murmured, eyes half-closed.

His hands came to my hips, snagged my skirt
and began tugging it up my thighs. “What I want to know is why a
beautiful woman like you wants to seduce some dumb cop.”

I twisted earnestly under his touch. “I
have—,” I tried to say, though his full body search had reached
fully into my body, and it was a little hard to speak, “I have
parking tickets I want fixed.”

“
Is that so?”

“
And that dumb cop was extremely
sexy.”

“
Interfering with a law enforcement
officer is a felony. But he refuses to testify against
you.”

“
He can do anything he wants against
me.”

“
Don’t get cute.” Gus cushioned my head
and then pushed me against the wall, his massive frame pressed hard
behind me. I think he had four hands. They were all doing fabulous
things. “If you want to avoid prosecution, you’re going to have to
get very cooperative with me.”

“
Yes, Officer.”

“
That’s Detective.”

“
Yes, Detective.”

“
I’ll need to confiscate your
belongings.” He meant my clothes. I was already half out of them.
But as I tried to reach for my buttons he stopped me. “Did I say
you could move? You assume the position, and I’ll take care of
this.”

“
Yes, Detective.”

“
I think you can leave the shoes
on.”

“
Oh absolutely.”

I was permitted to move, a little, to
accommodate the strip search. Now ordinarily I might be a little
shocked at the thought that I’d be stark naked in high-heels while
a detective interrogated me in a kinky sex game, but at the moment
it seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do. I was happy to
comply with all the demands; I am a law-abiding citizen, after
all.

“
I win again,” I said softly as my
skirt hit the floor. “I’m always the first one naked.”

“
You should be naked all the time,”
confessed Gus, not in his play-acting voice but in his dead-serious
horny-Gus voice which was just as good.

“
You get naked, too,” I said. “I’m
eager to bribe you to drop the charges against me.”

I felt rather than saw him shake his head,
and I heard rather than saw the unfastening of his belt buckle. He
turned me again and kissed me for the first time since he’d
arrived, and I hadn’t realized how much I’d been looking forward to
that. I felt tender like an open wound, his clothes softly
scratching at my skin. Into my hand he pressed a condom and said,
“The dumb cop says you’re handy with these.”

“
That dirty rat.” I performed the
requested action and the empty package drifted to the floor beside
my blouse. Then suddenly I was lifted, my back against my cold
hallway wall, my only means of support the imposing bulk of Gus
Haglund. You always see people having stand-up sex in the movies
and stuff and it looks cool but it doesn’t entirely seem plausible.
Turns out all you need is a strong enough guy. I linked my ankles
behind his back and my arms around his neck and held on. He still
had on his work clothes and his trench coat, making me feel more
than undressed. I felt positively and thrillingly exposed. Inside
me he felt big enough to tear me in two, but, you know, in a good
way. I kissed him deep and hard, I trusted him to take care of
everything, and I let him have at me. The next day my shoulder
blades would have pale purple bruises, my back would be scraped as
if by a rough plaque of cardboard. At the moment, though, I noticed
no discomfort except for the yowling ache inside me and Gus was
fixing that problem. He pinned me with his eyes and shoved—at the
count of five, I think my whole uterus turned inside out. It was
that hard. He almost scared me, because we did this so well
together. But what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.