Authors: Ronica Black
Patricia’s soft, knowing hands explored Erin’s nude body, stroking, awakening. She pulled her mouth from Erin’s, trailing her way down her neck to her breasts where she sucked and tugged on the nipples over and over again, causing Erin to pant with need.
She looked up and Erin realized the face had changed back to Elizabeth Adams. She licked her way to Erin’s stomach, pausing just above the pubic line.
“Look at me, Mac.” The voice was Patricia’s, the face Adams’s. “I want you to watch. Watch me love you.” She eased her way down with her tongue and Erin could feel the hot wetness of it lapping at her most sensitive spot. Her head swam. Pleasure came at her in giant waves. Unable to control herself, she threw her head back and came hard against the dark head between her legs.
The morphing of Patricia and Adams seemed strange by the light of day, but in the dream it had seemed completely normal and understood, exciting Erin to the point of no return.
She now understood why she had slept so well. A powerful orgasm had ripped through her body in the middle of the night. She threw the covers back and got dressed in a pair of athletic shorts and a tank top. Trying to clear her mind and her body of the feelings of desire the dream evoked, she padded into the kitchen and poured herself a small glass of orange juice. She had always loved the mouth-puckering taste of the citrus first thing in the morning; it never failed to awaken her senses.
As she downed her juice, she walked over to the front door, curious to see if there was a morning newspaper on the drive. Just as she unlocked the deadbolt, the doorbell rang. Startled, she opened the door without first checking through the peephole.
“Katherine Chandler?” A young, thin lad stood partially hidden behind a giant bouquet of roses.
“Yes,” she answered, completely taken in by the beauty of the deep velvet red of the roses.
“These are for you.” He handed her the enormous bouquet. “Have a wonderful day, ma’am.” He gave a quick smile and disappeared.
“Thank you,” Erin called after him, dazed.
She couldn’t get over the size of the bouquet. It must’ve been two dozen easily. She sat it on the coffee table and fingered the envelope, knowing the romantic gift had to be from Adams. Slipping the envelope open, she pulled out a single sheet of heavy, rippled paper. In the center, a simple message was written in a very neat, yet unique hand.
Counting the minutes until tonight,
Liz.
Oh boy. She tossed the card aside and eyed the roses, which took up most of the coffee table. If she had met Adams outside of this investigation she knew she would be dangerously affected by the attention; any woman would. Her stomach flip-flopped a little as she realized what the flowers meant. Adams was after her and now she had to play her cards just right. She had to continue to intrigue the possible killer without getting too close and most importantly, without blowing her cover. Could she do it?
A sense of pride washed over her. She had hooked Adams, hadn’t she? Maybe she could also get the confession they were hoping for. Even if she couldn’t, she wasn’t about to go down without trying. She carried the bouquet into the kitchen and filled a vase with water. As she arranged the fragrant blooms, she hoped for her own sake that Adams’s behavior would continue to be predictable. It would make her task all the more achievable.
*
Liz’s heart thudded madly in her chest and she walked with difficulty over to the edge of the cushioned floor. Snatching up her water bottle, she sipped slowly and gratefully as John began jumping over three-foot high stacks of pads. He cleared them with at least two inches to spare, and made it look easy. She was always amazed by his agility and grace. It was as if the man had no bones, just limber, agile muscle.
Thoughts of past events flashed through her mind. Men who had caused her grief and pain smiled at her, beckoning her to fail. Her hatred for men as a species ran deep within her bones. She eyed her instructor of two years. Had he not earned her respect, she would’ve hated him too. But he was one of the only men she’d ever allowed to play a part in her life. He wore loose-fitting gi pants and a T-shirt with a dragon emblem on the front. “Warrior Spirit” was written underneath.
Yes, that’s what she was, too. A warrior. Even if she had thought for a brief second that she would collapse as she too jumped over the stacks of pads.
They concluded their workout with punches, John holding a thick black pad in front of his midsection, standing in the center of the room. Harder and faster, Liz punched and pushed until he hit the edge of the mat, then they turned and she punched and pushed him back to the center.
This time she knew he would resist her forward pursuit. She breathed deep and advanced with quick hard punches, pushing her body weight against him. Slowly, she was able to gain on him, forcing him back to the edge of the mat. Her entire body cried out for her to stop, but she kept pushing, ignoring the pain. John stepped off the mat and lowered the pad.
“Good job.” He slipped his hand out from the pad and high-fived her.
Liz resisted the urge to collapse on the floor in sheer exhaustion. Instead, she walked the mat, her hands behind her head, opening up her lungs for much-needed air. After a few rounds, her breathing had steadied and she sat down to stretch. Across from her, John spread out his legs to match hers. With their feet touching, they clasped forearms and he pulled her toward him slowly and carefully to stretch her legs.
“You know, the police have been hounding me,” he said. “They’re telling me that you killed some guys. Shot them, mutilated them.”
She let the words float around in her brain, trying hard not to get angry. Goddamned cops had been harassing her for weeks, following her, questioning her and her associates. Now they were bothering John. She knew what they were trying to do. They were trying to embarrass her, mark her good name, piss her off.
“Should I keep teaching you, Liz?” he asked as she eased back. “If you’re using what I teach you to hurt people, then—”
She broke their grip and hastily stood. “Have you seen me hurt people?” The anger she had tried to force back seeped into her voice. “Have you seen me kill anyone? Mutilate them, shoot them?” She was shaking, but not from the strain on her muscles.
John stood too, his concern and confusion evident on his brow. “No, but I don’t spend every waking hour with you. What am I supposed to think when a bunch of homicide detectives turn up here asking questions?”
“I would think that you know me better than that, John. That you might actually trust me.” Feeling upset and somewhat violated over the police questioning John, she walked past him and picked up her towel to wipe the sweat from her face. “Tell the police to fuck off.”
John watched her in silence, but the tension had left his face. Liz figured her flat denial had settled him. Grabbing her equipment bag, she headed for the door.
“See you later, then?” she questioned over her shoulder.
“Yeah.”
She rode back to the club with the air conditioner turned off in her Range Rover. The stereo she blasted happily most days was silent, allowing her thoughts to churn in her mind. Salty sweat secreted through her pores in the stifling heat of the vehicle, but she didn’t notice. John’s words played through her brain, along with her previous confrontations with the detectives.
She never had been able to keep her cool when people said something to upset her. Whereas many people were able to let criticism slide off their backs, she allowed the words to fester in her skin, to irritate her to brash action. She knew the police were counting on that. They were trying to get under her skin.
She pulled up behind her nightclub and sat for a moment behind the wheel, watching the sun shimmer against the silver paint of her Range Rover. The truck spoke to her in its female British accent, letting her know she had reached her destination. Liz glanced at the clock on the dash and realized she only had an hour before Katherine Chandler arrived. Grateful for the distraction from her problems, she shut off the engine and hurried inside to get ready for her date.
*
“Hi,” Erin said loudly to the backside of Kristen Reece.
Reece turned, wearing tight jeans and tight T-shirt with the sleeves and collar cut off, allowing her breasts an ample stage on which to display themselves.
“Hey, you.” Reece smiled at her and opened a beer as a gift. “You’re back.”
“Well, we didn’t get to finish our conversation.” Erin took a sip of the cold beer and gave her a broad grin.
Reece looked at her for a moment as if thinking. She looked nervously up at the camera in the corner of the bar, then grabbed Erin’s hand and led her hastily away from her workstation.
“Where are we going?” Erin followed behind as best she could, tugged through dozens of lesbians as Reece steered her to the center of the dance floor.
“I figure I only have about thirty more seconds before Tyson comes to take you from me,” Reece yelled above the dance music.
“Yeah?”
She wrapped her arms around Erin’s waist and pulled her close. “Yeah. So let’s dance.”
Wedged between moving waves of women, they began to move in rhythm with the dance music. Erin smiled, genuinely enjoying the music and the dance. Although it was obvious that Reece was into her, she didn’t feel intimidated like she did with Adams. The bartender seemed less intense and more willing to just have fun. A new song melted into the old and the crowd cheered as they recognized the beat. Laughing, Reece and Erin once again joined their moving neighbors in dance.
“Aren’t you going to get in trouble for dancing with me?” Erin asked, wondering if she had succeeded in causing tension between Adams and Reece.
“Oh, absolutely.” The bartender leaned in to speak closely against Erin’s ear. “But I happen to think you’re worth it.”
They danced close together, grinding with the strong bass of the music. Erin let the beat throb through her veins and raised her arms in the air, feeling completely free.
“Mind if I cut in.” The words fell upon them as a statement rather than a question. Erin immediately recognized the deep, smooth voice floating to her from behind.
Reece’s face turned to stone as she looked over Erin’s shoulder and into the eyes of Elizabeth Adams. She released her hold on Erin’s hips and leaned in once again to murmur into her ear. “Call me, gorgeous.” With that, she shot Adams a cold glare and turned to walk back over to the bar.
“You look amazing.” Adams came to stand before her, holding Erin’s hands out from her sides and examining her with wicked appraisal.
“So glad you approve.” Erin acted bored, all the while trying to ignore how good Adams looked in the black sleeveless shirt and faded jeans.
Adams stepped closer and placed her strong hands on Erin’s hips, pulling her in for a dance. Erin swayed a little, overwhelmed by her strength, aroused by her scent. Adams led, slithering her body against Erin’s, pulsing with the powerful music. Heat rushed to Erin’s cheeks as she allowed herself to move in time with Adams, their bodies meshing, touching, warming. She shuddered and tensed with anticipation as Liz leaned in to breathe in her ear.
“You don’t like me very much, do you?”
Startled by the forwardness of the question, Erin shook her head, not quite sure what to say. She decided to be honest. “I don’t even know you.”
Seemingly satisfied by the answer, Adams gripped her hand more firmly. “Well, let’s go remedy that, shall we?” She turned and led Erin through the staring women and out one of the back doors of the club.
The sun was bidding the desert good night, casting a warm purple and orange glow across the sky. Erin squinted more out of habit than from the light. “Where are we going?” she asked as they entered the alley behind La Femme.
“For a ride,” Adams tossed over her shoulder. Releasing Erin’s hand, she climbed on to a sleek black Harley-Davidson.
“Oh.” Erin fought the urge to melt on the spot. Elizabeth Adams looked so strong, so alluring, straddling the machine in her sexy outfit and black motorcycle boots. “I thought we were having dinner.” She was stalling. She didn’t want to climb on the back of the bike. Or maybe she really did, and that was the problem.
Adams smiled and reached back to harness her black mane with a dark-colored bandanna. “I thought we would ride my bike to the restaurant.” Tying the bandanna snug, allowing it to mold against the top part of her head, she then reached in her back pocket to retrieve another one, which she offered to Erin. “You want one?”
“No, no thanks.” She stood still, unmoving toward the bike. The thought of sitting so close to Adams, of hugging her from behind, stirred her in ways she didn’t think possible.
“Are you scared?” A trace of concern softened Adams’s eyes.
Erin knew she couldn’t show fear. No matter what kind of fear she was feeling, she couldn’t allow this predatory woman to see it. “No, I’m fine,” she said and walked over to the bike. “Let’s go.” She slung her leg over the 600 pounds of machine and rested her hands softly against the thick, black belt Adams wore.
“If you’re going to ride with me, you’ll have to hold on tighter than that,” Adams said with a laugh over her shoulder. She grabbed Erin’s hands and wrapped them tightly around her abdomen, then reached forward and brought the engine to a roaring life.