Authors: Stephanie Whitlock
There was no lust in his movements, no desire. No part of what he meant to do carried any emotion one might associate with the action. It wasn’t about the act, but the humiliation he would inflict in the taking. He was all rage and pain and hatred. When she felt the cold harsh flesh of his finger tips slip beneath the band of her panties, she struggled more firmly, pushing back. She bowed into him, kicking back with one foot and connecting hard with his shin. She needed him to lower the blade at her neck, just a smidge. The rage that her fight stirred in him preluded her success. He pulled the blade back and she watched, as if in slow motion, as he raised his arm, intent on hitting her in the head with the hilt of his pathetic little weapon, but he would never get the chance.
With speed he did not expect, and strength she should not possess, she kicked off hard from the wall, spinning round on him as he staggered. Her hands found the wrist of his weaponed hand and spun it around behind him with such force that the shatter of bones echoed off the stone beside her. His pain etched scream, followed by a torrent of obscenity and threats, squealed from him as her right foot came down on the back side of his knee. The blow reduced the joint to a sack of bone meal, causing her would-be attacker to crumple to the ground, sobbing like a wounded dog. She wanted the fight to last, to leach out every blood curdling squeak within him before it was done, but he failed her. Two blows and he was nothing more than battered meat, cringing on the ground. Pulling a tissue from her vest pocket, she bent down and lightly grasped the hilt of his diminutive blade between her small fingers.
As she stood, all manner of flood lights began to kick on around her. Uniformed officers appeared, half a dozen or so, that had been waiting for the end of the event to swoop in and remove the attacker. As she walked back to the backpack she had dropped, a woman trotted forward. In her hand was a simple manila envelope. Dropping the blade lightly into the bag, she smiled as sweetly as she was able, and lifted her book bag from the ground, handing that to the C.S.I. as well. Her work was finished, the uniforms and the C.S.I. team would wrap her messy assault into a neat little package for the D.A.
“Glad to see this one ended quickly. I’d hate to think of you slaving away out here all night. It is a Sunday after all. There seem to be fewer and fewer criminals roaming the park these days. Soon, you will put yourself out of a job.” She looked up to see him standing atop the wall before her. A rather large, barrel chested man in his late fifties, Captain Harvey Moreano had found her in the academy. He had freed her from the routine training that would have been her life for the year since, brought her into the bait program and had given her life purpose, but still she did not like him. She couldn’t even bring herself to trust him. She could count on one hand the men she could honestly trust, care about, and he would never rank among them. Despite his pride in her, and his appreciation for her abilities, something she found most men who worked with her scoffed at or envied to the point of rejecting her as a colleague, she had never, and would never, feel anything more than tolerance for him and his presence. He was her boss, and nothing more.
“There will always be more.” Her voice was cold, clear, ice water on a hot day. Silk and cream, with the unmistakable bitterness that comes with hatred.
“Heh, how can you be so sure?” His smile was rimmed with amused pride as he watched her lift her small frame effortlessly up and onto the wall, as if she were stepping over a low curb. A hint of pleasure swiped across his face, but died before she met his gaze, she would not have appreciated it.
“Because there are still men here, Captain, and as long as men exist, women will be victims. Of that, I am certain.” The cold glaze of her voice held no hint of mockery and deep down he knew she meant every word.
“Such a dark view of life for one so young. Ah, well, shall I get one of the uniforms to drive you home?” He knew the answer, it was the same every night, but he always felt compelled to ask. She was his protege, his master piece. He had hand picked her from the academy only a few months into her term. Her scores were off the charts and her physical capabilities were beyond listing, so much so that even he was not fully aware of what she could be capable.
“No Captain, that will not be necessary.” Her calm tone, with its formal distance, was her norm, especially with him. Always beyond reach, she was. He nodded and she turned and walked off into the dark of the park, completely unafraid of what might lie in its depths.
“See you tomorrow, Elizabeth.” She merely lifted a hand in acknowledgment as she drifted out of view among the trees and shadows. After all, what does a shark have to fear from mere fish.
The lights changed and the traffic stopped. Feeling the soft soles of her sneakers move over the street in front of her building brought on a small sigh of relief. Her apartment was the one place she felt truly safe. It was her sanctuary that no one who knew her from work had ever seen, not even the Captain. Almost jumping onto the sidewalk, she paused for a second in front of her door, but the doorman was no where to be found. In the four and a half years since she moved in she had never actually opened the door herself, the doorman was beyond reliable. For a moment, she bristled, but the desire to lean against her closed door calmed her nerves. Assuming that perhaps he had to use the restroom, or was helping another tenant with something, she brushed against the door and pushed into the brightly lit, marble encased, lobby. The instant her eyes adjusted to the lights, she regretted ignoring the warning bristle seconds earlier. There, in the center of the room were two bodies. Her stomach turned, not at the sight of the blood, but at the eerie familiarity of the scene.
Pulling the ice around her heart a little tighter, she knelt just outside of the scene and took it in. Two male bodies lay face down in the center of the floor, blood pooled around their abdomens, causing the whole of the marble lined room to reek of brine and iron. Studying their features and clothing, recognition washed over her with a sickening rush. While both bodies were male, one was clothed in a familiar floral-print dress. His face was obscured by the pool of his hair, but the other body was definitely the doorman, the uniform was unmistakable. Their hands were bound behind their backs with duct tape and several deep stab wounds were visible along both sides of their spines. Pulling her cell phone from the hidden pocket inside the hip of her skirt, she called dispatch. Training kicked in, shutting down her heart just as it was beginning to ache against her sternum. With a flat tone, she gave them her cadet badge number and a run down of the scene spreading before her.
When the call ended she moved to the elevators and locked them down using the emergency responder’s code. Something was wrong, there was something missing from the lobby. Looking around, she realized that the desk clerk was not at his post. Fear gripped her more tightly as she looked back down at the male body clad in the floral dress. Sure enough, she could picture his face now, his pony tail pulled back neatly along his neck. This must be him.
No other resident should have to see this
. These men had been here for years, selflessly helping all who passed by with groceries or the occasional wayward dog or unruly child. She had kept her distance, but their professionalism had put her at ease as she passed them each day. Returning to the door, she steeled her nerves and stood guard.
So much for a quiet evening at home
. While she waited for the detectives and the coroner van, she studied the crime scene again, making a mental note of every thing she had touched or stepped over. She tried to settle the uneasy pinch in her gut that the image before her stirred. So familiar, she had to close her eyes against the memories that climbed up from her mind’s secret hoard.
It took only about fifteen minutes for the force of homicide division to descend on her once secret place. So many questions, so many faces. It took hours for the coroner to collect the bodies and the C.S.I.s, some of whom she had just left working the scene in the park, to work slowly through the lobby. As the stretchers rolled past her, weighed down by the heavily laden, cold, black, body bags, she closed her eyes against the thought of death.
“Are you alright, kiddo?” Her brows pinched at the term. The voice, deep and cool, had called her something she found more disturbing than any obscene or foul name she had heard in the park.
“Don’t
ever
call me that.” Her voice growled between gritted teeth as she face the person belonging to that voice. Something inside her, deep, secret and utterly neglected, fluttered slightly. He was, surprisingly, not what she had expected. He was young, though older than her by at least five years, tall, six feet if not more, and lean. His suit jacket, navy blue and very well made, hung unbuttoned over his white dress shirt and was held open by the long, well-formed, hands on his hips. His face was lean and strong, topped by what she could only imagine was soft thick black hair, and featured piercing sky blue eyes. Her hazel eyes flashed stormy gray under the thick arch of her auburn lashes, as his concerned expression soured at her biting words.
“Sorry, ma’am. As I was about to say, the department can provide you with information should you need to speak to a grief counselor. A discovery like this can lead some to nightmares.” His voice was strained, terse, to match hers.
“She’s fine.” Turning, she watched the Captain push into the lobby of her building.
Great
, she thought to herself, as another piece of her privacy was shattered.
“Elizabeth, I expect to be briefed on this situation tomorrow. Are you planing to stay here or do you need a hotel room?” The detective standing in front of her looked back and forth between them several times before he spoke.
“Captain Moreano, you know this girl?”
“GIRL!?” She was dangerously close to losing her control. Exhaustion and stress were weakening her usually cool exterior to the point that her drawl, something she could normally completely suppress, came flooding forward. Not to mention the fact that this man, who had already made offenses she would normally never forgive, caused her blood to run hot, hotter than she had ever felt, were she honest with herself. Her eyes flashed coldly at the attractive man glaring back at her. Moreano placed a light hand on her slender shoulder in an effort to calm her. “If we are finished, I need to sleep. My test is tomorrow morning.” It was nearly two am and her final academy exam was promptly at nine.
“I can make a call and postpone it, if you need...” Moreano didn’t get a chance to finish as she side stepped out of his unwanted touch.
“No need. I will be fine. Can I go now?” She asked coldly of the man in the navy suit, but she didn’t wait for the response. Gliding inches past his broad shoulders, she strode purposefully to the stairs door, and, without looking back, she disappeared through it. Anger warred with sleep as she jogged up the six flights of stairs. Reaching her floor, her heart calmed as she clutched her keys.
Home
, she was finally home. Within minutes, she was safe in her cocoon, doors bolted and wrapped in her deceptively feminine, soft lavender bedding. Sleep came fast, the last image to cross her mind was that of the detective, standing over her, his jaw clinched against her sharp retorts.
Despite her lack of sleep, and the stress of discovering a murder scene in the wee hours, the cadet graduation test had been beyond simple. The most aggravating part had been the time constraints. Each section had a set time limit and finishing early had meant sitting in silence, watching the other cadets struggle with their exams. She had sat perfectly still, not yielding, as some did, to sleep or bored doodling or fidgeting. It only stood to point out to her how little patience she had for her peers. Resigning herself to the lost minutes, she replayed the attack in the park and then, reluctantly, her discovery in her building’s lobby.
That had been her morning, but now, nearly three in the afternoon, she was sitting stiffly in the Captain’s office. Having just finished her exposition, she drummed her sharp fingers on the arm of her chair as she listened to his one-sided phone conversation. Hanging up the line, he lifted the phone again, pressed a short series of numbers and ordered someone to join them. Elizabeth gritted her teeth. Company was unwelcome, always. When the door opened to allow the lithe frame of the young detective from the night before to enter, her disquiet deepened to ring in her ears. She wanted to stand, take a more direct position against his entrance, feeling vulnerable sitting with her back to him as she was, unable to face him directly. She was at a distinct combat disadvantage, but she knew it was inadvisable to move just yet.
“Good, have a seat detective Barrow. I’d like to formally introduce our newest homicide detective, Elizabeth Cord.”
“What?” They shouted in unison, followed by a huffed and frustrated groan.
“Captain, I am not a detective. Besides, what about the bait program we are running in the park? It’s important to me!” Again, her drawl peeked at the corners of her words, drawing the unwelcome gaze of the man who was in the process of plopping unceremoniously, though surprisingly gracefully, into the chair beside her.
“Bait program?” His eyes widened questioningly, but seeing the furrow that crossed her shapely brow, he changed targets. “What do you mean, new detective? She can’t be a year out of high school.” The chuckle he added to the end of his cut made her curl her fingers into her palms, clinching her fists so tightly she could feel her nails cutting into the skin. Opening her mouth, she intended to reduce him to dust, but the Captain raised a staying hand.
“Barrow, that’s enough, Elizabeth calm down. I know this is a shock, but I have more important news. By the way, Barrow, I would refrain from teasing her about her age as Elizabeth is recently twenty four years old, rather sensitive about it, and far more capable than you seem able to understand, unfortunately.” Her smile was wicked and cold, but faded fast in the face of Moreano’s scowl. “She also just passed her Academy exam with a perfect score, meaning that there is no reason for me to hold her back as a patrol rookie for the minimum year. Using the year she has already spent in the bait program, I am promoting her immediately. You are our leading detective, at least for now, so I am assigning her to you for training. She is going to help you work the murder of those two men last night. Her previous knowledge of the building, and the men themselves, could prove useful.”