Authors: Ronica Black
“Jeff, how about giving me some light over here?”
He rose quickly and turned one of their powerful standing lamps toward the sofa. “What’ve you got?” He bent down, resting his hands on his knees.
“You see that little piece stuck in between the back cushion of the couch and the cushion of the armrest?” She maneuvered the tweezers to the point of focus and hovered them above the reflective piece protruding slightly from between the cushions.
“What is it?”
“Not sure, but it looks…” She grabbed the small, shiny white piece with the tweezers and held it up in front of the light. “Like a tooth.”
“It sure does.” Jeff took a closer look. “And knocked out pretty hard too.”
“Mmm.” Patricia eyed the tooth. It appeared to be a front tooth, long and thinner than a molar and separated from its source without the root.
She placed it carefully in the plastic baggie. “Hey, guys, we need forensics in here on the couch!” She called into the back room, prompting two-white suited young men carrying tackle boxes to enter the living room. “I found this embedded between the two cushions over there.”
“What’s your take so far, Jeff?” she asked as the men carefully vacuumed the sofa for any trace fiber evidence.
“She’s gone.” Jeff looked around. “Or someone sure wants us to believe that.”
“Uh-huh. Most likely dead or seriously injured.” The blood they’d tested was of human origin and O positive, Reece’s blood type. But that didn’t mean it was hers, and even if it was, it didn’t mean she was dead. But from the quantity, she had to be seriously injured. And now the tooth. Whoever it belonged to had it knocked out of their head at great force.
They both turned and watched as the two men lifted the cushions off the couch, revealing a small splatter of blood on the armrest where the tooth was found.
“If someone did come in here and attack Reece, they confronted her in this room first,” Patricia concluded, thinking things through in her mind.
“Struck the first blows. She loses the tooth.” Jeff picked up on her train of thought.
“Yes, then she flees to the bedroom where they have the major confrontation,” Patricia finished.
It had been over twenty-four hours and they still had no leads as to where Kristen Reece was. What was worse was that their surveillance team had pretty much cleared Adams of being around Reece during those vital early-morning hours when she’d disappeared. They had followed Adams from the club to her home back up in the hills, and she had stayed there throughout the night, alone.
“Here, mark it and rush it to the lab.” She handed Jeff the tooth and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” he called after her.
“La Femme.”
*
Patricia walked into the nightclub and headed for the bar. Anger and frustration fed her heart, encouraging it to pump harder and faster, spreading her discontent throughout her tense body.
The place was unusually crowded for a Tuesday night, and she looked around at the mass of women dancing, laughing, embracing. Velvet Revolver
pounded from the speakers, paralleling her anger. She came to a standstill behind the group of waiting women, some wanting a drink, some wanting drugs, all wanting a lay. She thought about turning sideways and winding her way through them, but she needed to see who was working the bar before she went up there, entrapping herself in all the women.
She felt a hand on her arm from behind, halting her progress, and she was about to turn to voice her protest when a deep voice sounded in her ear.
“Hello, Patricia.” She froze and her body went frigid and ramrod straight as recognition of the voice took effect. She turned and looked into the eyes that had always been so easy to drown in.
“Hello, Liz.” Her voice did little to hide her anger and resentment.
“Let’s go somewhere where we can talk.” Liz gently took her hand and led her through the crowd.
Patricia thought briefly about protesting, but decided against it. Her anger and determination fueled her confidence, allowing it to burn hot and fierce within her. The crowd soon parted when they saw it was Liz and they stared and whooed as they always did, casting Patricia daggers dripping with jealousy.
They walked past Tyson, who stood guarding the private staircase with his massive arms folded across his equally massive chest. He nodded his shiny bald head in acknowledgement as they headed up the stairs.
Patricia pulled her hand away and climbed up the stairs without assistance. Liz didn’t look back at the break in contact, and Patricia examined her from behind. Worn blue jeans fit snugly to her long, strong legs, while a tight, threadbare white tank top hugged her trim torso and defined, muscular back. She looked away, reminding her libido that Liz was no longer attractive to her. She was a killer, a murderer, even if she had been able to alibi her way out. Liz was smart enough to have figured out how to get exactly what she wanted while at the same time keeping herself in the clear.
They stepped into the dimly lit VIP room and Patricia was surprised when Liz didn’t offer her a seat on one of the several overstuffed sofas and chairs. Instead, they continued through the room, passing by a few moaning women, engrossed in one another in a heated sexual encounter on one of the sofas. Liz led the way to her lair, where she typed in her code and allowed Patricia to enter the private room before her.
“I see the place hasn’t changed much.” Patricia looked around. Memories of their sexual escapades flooded her mind and she had to swallow back a surfacing desire.
Liz closed the door behind them. “Why change a good thing?”
“I hope you at least changed the sheets.” Patricia was in no mood for light chitchat. She hated what Liz had done to her and how out of control she could still make her feel.
Liz raised a questioning eyebrow at her, the coldness of the remark not escaping her. “Maybe if you had stuck around, I wouldn’t have had to change them.”
“Hah.” Patricia scoffed. “From what I saw, you didn’t need me.” Her face heated with angry blood as she looked at the bed and remembered walking in on Liz and another woman making love. Hard as she tried, the image of them sweaty and sticky and locked in an uncompromising position never would leave her for good. It lingered, along with the feeling of betrayal.
“Still a scotch drinker?” Without waiting for a reply, Liz walked over to the bar and filled two glass tumblers with ice. “I told you, Patricia, it was just sex. It had nothing to do with the way I felt about you.”
“That was the problem, Liz. Everything with you was always just sex. Including me.”
Liz opened up an expensive bottle of scotch and filled their glasses. “That’s where you’re wrong. You know you meant more to me than that.” She walked over to Patricia and handed her the drink, then sat down on the sofa.
Patricia sat as far as she could from her former lover, who was relaxed and braless beneath the tank top. She looked away from the vision of the dark nipples trying to poke through the fabric and sipped her scotch.
“Let’s cut the bullshit, Liz. Why are we here?” She needed to stay mad. It was easier to handle Liz if she could hate her.
Liz set her drink down on the coffee table and sat back to cross her legs, resting a black-booted ankle on her knee. “That’s what I want to know, Patricia. Why are you here?” Her voice was calm, yet silently demanding.
Patricia rimmed her glass with her finger while she locked eyes with the piercing blue ones across from her. “I just want to get laid like everybody else.”
“Now who’s bullshitting?” Liz raised an eyebrow. “You and your people have been harassing some of my girls and some of my paying patrons. I don’t appreciate it, and I’m asking you to stop.”
Patricia laughed heartily. “Tell us the truth about the murders and we’ll back off. Until then, we’ll be all over you and your women.”
“I’ve already told you, I don’t know anything about any murders.”
“You’re running out of time.” Patricia placed her unfinished drink on the table, stood, and walked to the door. “I can help you if you come clean now. Otherwise…”
Liz got up and followed, stepping in close to Patricia, briefly rubbing her scantily covered breasts against the back of her arm while her fingers wrapped around Patricia’s elbows. Squaring herself against the detective, she leaned in and murmured in her ear in a raspy, sex-laced voice, “Tell me, Patricia, do you still taste like honey? I can still remember…like warm, sweet honey, right out of the hive.”
Patricia shuddered and fought the urge to turn to hit her, knowing that Liz would block the blow and then pull her against her passionately for a deep, knowing kiss. It had happened many times before, but this time she wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t do it. Liz was no longer just a cheat, she was a murderer.
“I haven’t had honey in such a long time,” Liz purred. “Let me taste you, let me run my tongue up deep into your hive.”
The words waged a battle against her anger and before they could win, she had to force herself to pull away, to walk hastily out of the door and away from Elizabeth Adams. She should have known better than to go traipsing upstairs with the woman, alone. It had never been hard for Liz to turn her on, to get under her skin. But then again, sex had never been their problem. At least she didn’t think so. But apparently she hadn’t been enough for Liz.
Trying her best to clear Liz from her mind and her aching nerve endings, she descended the stairs and stepped down into the dancing wave of women. T.A.T.U. was singing as Patricia pushed and slithered her way through the sweaty bodies and shoved her way up to the bar.
The young pierced bartender slid a drink napkin in front of her. “What can I get you?” Her hair was so black it was almost blue and as she turned, Patricia could indeed make out a blue streak running down the side of her head.
“Water. And you?”
The girl had bent to fetch the bottle of cold water and she made eye contact with Patricia as she came back up to hand her the water. “That’ll be a dollar fifty, and I’m not for sale.”
Patricia eyed the studded collar on her neck, the rings through her lip and eyebrows, the black fingernails. “What’s your name?” She unscrewed the lid to her water bottle and took a large gulp, hoping it would put out the flame burning within her ignited by Liz and her words.
“Blade,” the girl answered, rolling her eyes.
“Of course it is. Blade is a very tough, scary name. But somehow I don’t think you’re so tough, and you’re certainly not scary.”
The girl didn’t respond. She just stood staring and eventually began to mindlessly wipe the bar.
“I’m Patricia.”
“Yeah, I know who you are.”
“You do?”
“Yeah, you’re that fucking cop who was in here the other night asking questions. I never forget a face.” Blade nervously licked her dark lips and Patricia wondered if the lip ring was painful, or if it, like other painful things, eventually became numb. Ever present, but still numb nonetheless, until it was messed with.
Patricia leaned on the bar with her elbows, knowing the nice approach wasn’t working. “Let’s go somewhere and talk.”
“Not interested.”
Blade wasn’t intimidated by her in the least, but at least she knew she was making her sweat. The girl looked past the bar and toward Tyson. Patricia also knew that Liz was probably watching them as well from her security cameras.
“Why not?” she asked.
“I don’t have anything to say.”
“We don’t have to talk. We can do something else.” Patricia placed her hand on top of the girl’s, who immediately stopped wiping the bar and looked at her, completely startled.
“No thanks, you’re not my type.”
“Why?”
She looked past Patricia for the second time back toward Tyson. “Because you’re old and you’re a cop.” Her eyes floated back to Patricia’s.
“Hey, us cops need to get laid too, ya know.”
“I said no. Now fuck off.”
Patricia tightened her loose grip on Blade’s hand, and the girl’s eyes widened. “And I’m saying to you that you will leave with me now without causing a scene or I’ll arrest you right here and now.”
“What for?” She remained perfectly still, the vein in her neck giving away her true fear as it pulsed quickly.
“For distributing narcotics, for starters.” Patricia removed her hand from Blade’s.
Blade opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.
“You think we don’t know about your peddling on the side? We do. But the real question is, does your employer know?” Blade’s eyes grew wide once again and she looked nervously around, afraid someone of importance had overheard. “You see, I’ve noticed that you always sell your drugs over there.” Patricia pointed to the dimmer side of the bar. “Away from the cameras. How do you think Ms. Adams will feel about you pocketing all her profits?”
Patricia knew Liz was aware of the distribution of drugs in her club. But she also knew the girls gave Liz a majority of the profits. Of course, it was all done so that Liz could disclaim all responsibility. But Patricia knew Liz would be furious if she found out one of her girls was holding out on her and pocketing all the profits.
Blade dropped the bar rag and let herself out. Shoving her hands in the pockets of her baggy black Dickies, she said, “Let’s go.”