Runner's Moon Trilogy Megabook Series (23 page)

He never said a word to her on the drive back to her little cottage. Pulling up in the pseudo-driveway, he threw the car into park and finally turned to her.

"Tomorrow you're going to start looking for more gainful employment."

"Don't you think I've tried before?" she asked him as she started to open the passenger side door. In the interior light, her black, shoulder-length hair gleamed like rain-washed streets in the darkness. Now it appeared mussed and in need of some serious brushing. DeGrassi had to curl his hands into fists to keep himself from reaching out and combing his fingers through its thickness. It would feel like heavy threads of silk if he did, and his impulse was something he couldn't afford to give in to.

"A girl like you has no business selling her body on the streets."

Something that looked like pain flashed in her steel-gray eyes. "I don't have any skills, Lieutenant," she snapped back, emphasizing the one word to make sure he caught its double meaning. "My education is limited. But I owe you for what you did for me tonight. Give me some suggestions, and I'll give them a thought."

DeGrassi snorted. Turning his head so that he looked out the front windshield, he vainly tried to rack his brain for an idea that wouldn't sound too lame. After a brief struggle he 308

gave up. "Sorry," he admitted with a slight shake of his head.

"It's been too long a day. I'm too tired to think at the moment. But I'll tell you what I would do. I'd get down to the employment agency first thing in the morning and fill out an application. You never know. Something might be available you can get training in."

She continued to study him as if he was a rare strain of bacteria under a microscope. "There's something I just don't get, Lieutenant. Why should you care? I mean, why did you stick your neck out for me like that?"

"You wanted me to," he replied quickly. Too quickly, but it was the truth.

"Naw." She reared back slightly and shook her head.

Sadness seemed to suddenly come over her. Locks of ebony brushed across her cheeks. Someone needed to push them away before a stray hair caught at the corner of those sculptured lips. "Admit it. You have an ulterior motive, Vice Man. Nobody does a hooker a favor unless they want something in return."

The insinuation hit him like a bolt of lightning. "Get out of my car!" he yelled and reached across the seat. He had intended to push her out if he had to, but the woman was quicker. Before he was halfway across, she opened the door all the way and jumped out of the vehicle. He watched her march angrily away, her pleather-clad buttocks rolling seductively and temptingly, wrenching a groan from deep within his chest.

The door was open too far for him to close from inside.

Getting out, he was forced to walk around the car to shut it.

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Once he was back behind the wheel, DeGrassi threw the car into reverse, spewing gravel from under the tires. He then pointed the hood toward town and his own empty apartment.

The woman was right. Why in the world did he stick out his neck for her? It could have been for any number of reasons.

But it sure as hell wasn't because he wanted a piece of that perfect ass. Hell no. She was a hooker, remember? A second-class whore. What the hell was he thinking?

He reminded himself that the last thing he needed was to try and dip his wand in a polluted pool.

He ran a red light. Didn't matter—there wasn't any oncoming traffic. Gunning the engine, DeGrassi pushed the speed limit. Then he wondered why. Okay. So I'm not in a big-ass hurry to get home. It was more like he had to put as much distance between himself and that Tarakon woman as he could, and quickly.

All right, hot shot, why did you hang your reputation out to dry for her?

DeGrassi smeared a frown over his face. Fuck if I know.

Maybe he was an old softie determined to pull at least one soul out of the gutter. Or maybe he instinctively believed she didn't want to be in the situation she was in. Not the court situation, but the hooker one.

For some reason he couldn't put a label on, DeGrassi felt deep down the woman—Roni—-hated her status in life as much as he did.

Hey, whores had been peddling their wares since biblical times. It wasn't like it was an occupation that had sprung up overnight. But it wasn't like there weren't any other job 310

opportunities out there, either. More socially acceptable jobs.

Jobs she didn't have to perform flat on her back ... not unless her name was Michelangelo.

All right, it was a question worn ragged from overuse, but what was a woman with—Roni's—-stunning looks doing selling herself to every pervert in the city?

A sudden blaring horn jolted him out of his ruminations.

DeGrassi slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel to the left, narrowly missing the other driver pulling into his lane.

The near-miss flooded his system with adrenaline, and he took a second to draw a deep, shaky breath.

Dammit. He couldn't concentrate. He couldn't keep his thoughts straight. That Roni woman was like tape residue.

She was gone, but something of her still clung to him. Still stuck to him. And he didn't know a single damned way to get rid of her.

He remembered when he had spotted her sitting on that fire hydrant, right before Tayson had solicited the redhead. In that split second, when he had seen the officer lean out his car window, he had nearly broken his cover. He had come this close to yelling out to the guy to choose the redhead and to leave the black-haired woman for him.

DeGrassi trembled. Leave the black-haired woman for him?

A low groan rattled in his chest. Oh, Jesus, he was definitely a goner.

Pulling into the parking lot behind his apartment complex, DeGrassi parked the car in his assigned slot before dragging himself out from behind the wheel. What time is it, anyway?

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They had gone before the judge a little after eight, which would probably put the time around tenish.

He walked into his apartment and dumped the keys on the small bar separating the tiny kitchen from the living room. A quick check of the fridge reminded him he hadn't bought anything to fill it for nearly a month now. And no magic genie was going to put food in it while he was out chasing hookers wearing skin-tight pants.

Grabbing the last beer, he popped the top and chugged it down on his way to the bathroom. Shedding his clothes, he climbed into the shower and turned the water on as hot as he could stand it.

Face it, Thom, old boy. What good would a hooker do you anyway?

The water poured pain across his back and shoulders, but he needed that right now. The scalding was like a penance of sorts. The heat matched the fire in his loins and in the blood that sluiced through his veins. For whatever good it would do him.

As far back as he could remember, he had been forced to face the cold, immovable fact that he had a problem. A very real, very severe, and unfortunately often incurable problem.

At least for him, anyway.

Reaching down between his legs, he grasped the thickened rod and stroked it. It was steel-hard right now, literally quivering in his grasp. DeGrassi groaned loudly and threw back his head. In the quiet privacy of his personal space, he could dream of her. He could imagine ... Roni ... taking his engorged member in those delicate-looking hands and 312

pumping him. Stroking him and running those manicured little nails over the satiny skin until his nerves screamed.

Eyes slitted, he could envision her standing there in front of him with the water making her ivory skin glisten in the steam. Her hands would take him, massage him ... pull, pump, pull, pump.

Oh, sweet, glorious heaven.

And then she would kneel in front of him. DeGrassi felt his breath catch in his chest as his imagination ran vivid. The water would plaster that beautiful black hair over her scalp as she leaned in toward him. Those luscious lips would open up for him, open wide, until the tip of him was just inside her perfect mouth. She would look up at him with those incredible silver eyes with the diamond chips, and she would watch his expression when he slid all the way to the back of her throat with one huge gulp.

His hips bucked as his hand squeezed his throbbing erection. Gasping, his hips bucked again, but DeGrassi kept pounding, pushing, pushing himself to a release. He was close. So damn close.

Oh, please, let me come this time!

Her tongue would be like a miracle. It would circle him, tease him, stroke him until his brain went numb and there was nothing left in the world except the exquisite tightening in his groin just before he exploded. And then, when she clamped down to suck on it like the vacuum from hell—

A guttural cry burst from his throat. He felt himself slamming against the side of the shower stall as his release finally came. Once. Twice. The spurts were barely there. And 313

then it was over. Short and sweet. Too damn short, and not enough sweet.

He let a minute or two pass by as he continued to lean against the stall, while the water went from hot to tepid.

Finally, he straightened up and rinsed off, got out of the shower, and dried off.

Naked, he walked into the dark bedroom and threw himself onto the mussed covers.

What was it she had tried to accuse him of? That he wanted her to put out for him because he'd gotten her out of some time behind bars? The thought was almost laughable.

What would be even funnier would be the expression on her face if he tried to collect on that suggestion.

What could she do for him that half a dozen doctors and specialists hadn't been able to accomplish? Geez, even his shrink had suggested he try using a prostitute, and that had been some years back. It hadn't helped, either.

After a urologist had confirmed there was nothing physically wrong with him, two psychologists had told him it was probably psychosomatic. Well, hell, he could have told them that. Performance anxiety. No shit. One doctor even laughed and told him he just needed to find the right woman.

The right woman.

A porcelain face with sparkling opaline eyes, framed with jet-black hair, floated into his line of sight. DeGrassi gave it a good hard stare, then dismissed it with a snort.

Rolling onto his back, he scratched himself, then folded his arms under his head. Women were always trying to fawn over him. All types of women—didn't matter what their age, social 314

status, or marital status was, either. Some even had gone so far as to cup him, hoping for an invitation. When he turned them down, a few had gotten angry. Shit, he wouldn't be surprised to hear that some of the guys down at the station thought he was a queer. He wasn't. But, unfortunately, the equipment didn't work for the fairer sex, either.

In truth, it worked for no one but himself. For his touch alone. His hand and his imagination. Those were the only stimulants his body would respond to, for as long as he could remember. And it made for some very lonely nights. It made for some even lonelier years, too.

Oh, yeah, the sight of a sexy woman turned him on. There had been plenty of times he had nearly busted out of his pants when a goddess had beckoned to him. But when it came time to plant his trusty sword into her sheath, said sword became a dagger. Then, finally, a penknife. It was like watching the air go out of a balloon.

There was no denying that Roni Tarakon was one hot woman. Sexy. Desirable. Beautiful beyond all description.

Okay, she was a whore, but a damn fine-looking one. One who took care of herself. DeGrassi bet that if he had her tested for drugs, she'd come up clean.

There was a lot more about Miss Tarakon than met the eye. Hell, just look at her house! It had been spotless and neat. The furniture hadn't been the expensive kind, but it looked damn comfortable. And homey, especially with all those plants. The woman had a green thumb, that was for sure.

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The sight of that comfy little pillow sitting on the porch swing just wouldn't leave his mind's eye. What would an evening be like with him and her on that swing, toeing the floor so they gently rocked back and forth, and listening to the night sounds coming from the woods?

What would it feel like to have her head resting on his shoulder so that he could breathe in that sweet maple scent?

Would her hair feel like silk, like he imagined? What did her shampoo smell like?

Lost in his reveries, DeGrassi slowly drifted to sleep, a soft smile curving the corners of his mouth.

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The sound of his cell phone going off roused him from sleep. That annoying bleeble told him it was from the station, but he'd left the thing on the bar along with his keys.

Muttering an obscenity, DeGrassi stumbled into the living room and glanced at the cell's display before flipping it open.

"This had better be life or death, Tayson, or I'm drilling you a new one when I get to the office." It was two-fucking-thirty in the morning. Even the bars were closed. What could be so important?

"Sorry, Thom, but I thought you might want to come check this out."

The man's tone of voice sent cold chills down his back.

DeGrassi was instantly awake. Tayson worked the streetwalker scene exclusively. It was him and his partner, Wade McCormick, who had front-row seats to solving the Crescent City Cutter murders.

"Why? What's up?"

"I'm over here on Plymer. 3400 block, right next to a market. We got victim number four."

"What's that got to do with me? I was just helping with backup today," DeGrassi reminded him. Still muddled, he tried to get a mental picture of where Plymer was, when it hit him with icy clarity. At the same moment, Tayson confirmed his growing fear.

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"I know that, Thom, but after I saw the vic ... or what's left of her..." The man's voice trailed off. DeGrassi could hear him breathing heavily over the line. "It might be that girl you processed today. That's why I thought you might want to get over here. To make the ID."

DeGrassi was already heading for the bedroom. "I'm on my way," he responded tightly and closed the phone. Less than a minute later, he was running out the door.

The 3400 block of Plymer was right on the dividing line between their precinct and Ballus Street Station's. Once it was determined which direction the killer was moving, the chief of police had put all precincts on alert. Which meant every station had a squad specifically assigned to help coordinate with the city's efforts.

DeGrassi did a quick plotting of the killer's hits. The maniac was heading due southeast, which meant he was crossing now into their territory. Which also meant things were going to get uglier if they didn't catch the guy pretty soon. The further this guy went, the more bodies he left behind.

But what bothered DeGrassi more was the fact that Plymer Avenue was eight blocks over from Dross, where yesterday they had busted Roni and her gal pals. The Cutter was working their neighborhood now. DeGrassi almost patted himself on the back for getting Roni off the streets in time, when the purpose of him being out at three a.m. came back to stare him in the face.

The cluster of flashing red-and-blue light bars helped him locate the scene. The revolving globe on his dashboard 318

granted him access to the crime scene and the yellow tape that marked the final boundary. DeGrassi pulled his badge out of his pocket and clipped it to the waistband of his jeans. Two uniformed officers greeted him as he made his way down the narrow alley. McCormick was waiting for him. Not too far away, Tayson was squatting beside the vic's remains, which had been covered with a tarp.

"It's nasty," McCormick commented. DeGrassi gave him a surprised stare. The man looked green around the gills, and that wasn't like McCormick. As he walked over to Tayson, the man stood and waved a hand at the corpse.

"The guy's getting messier, but it's the Cutter's handiwork.

No doubt about it."

A glance down at the small hand peeking out from under the tarp burned the image into his mind. The nails were well-manicured. Just like Roni's.

He took a deep breath and knelt. Grabbing the side of the tarp, DeGrassi lifted it just enough to peer at the body.

Like with the other three victims, the clothing had been sliced from the torso before the maniac continued to slice through the skin and intestines. Strips of black leather lay on the cement. Everything was saturated in blood. There wasn't much left, but there was enough to tell that the woman had been wearing black leather something.

His eyes quickly sized up the victim's height. The comparison was close. Too damn close to suit him, and DeGrassi fought the wave of nausea that swelled in his stomach.

"Well?"

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He shot Tayson a "just wait" look and dropped the tarp.

Scooting forward a bit, he gritted his teeth, then slowly lifted the edge to peer at the face. Or what was left of the face.

There wasn't much. The hair had been neatly scalped from the skull and placed, along with both ears, in the victim's left hand, as if they were pieces of a costume she could remove at will.

DeGrassi stared at the length of black hair. It was thickly matted with blood and dirt, but it was definitely black. The ears were pierced but bore no earrings. Did Roni have pierced ears?

He desperately tried to remember if he had noticed that detail, but his mind was a blank. Worse, the gorge that had threatened to rise was now centered in his throat.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice was yelling no! No! No!! as he struggled to his feet before he made an ass of himself.

"Well?" Tayson asked again.

"It's ... possible," he forced himself to admit.

"Damn. That's what I was afraid of."

"What about the other girls?"

McCormick rejoined them. "Other girls?"

DeGrassi turned to the partner. "Yeah, remember? The redhead and the blonde? She was friends with two others.

Have you seen them?"

Tayson answered, "I remember. No. There were no witnesses as far as we know, but I have a couple of officers scouting the area."

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"The body was found by a vagrant scrounging in the trash cans," McCormick added. "So, are you giving us a positive ID

on this one or not, DeGrassi?"

"There are similarities, but I won't make any firm commitment when she looks like that," he told them brusquely. "She'll have go to through fingerprint and DNA."

"Do we have anything to compare DNA with?" McCormick asked.

DeGrassi motioned with his head. "I can get some. It'll take me about an hour to get it to the lab."

Nodding, Tayson ordered him, "Double-check to be sure she's not still out there somewhere running around."

"Don't worry. I will."

Something was nagging at him. Something that persistently tried to get his attention. DeGrassi shook his head, hoping to rattle the pegs back into the correct slots.

Ever since the Cutter had started his campaign, many officers had been forced to take on double shifts. Doing three in a row was beginning to tell on him.

He strode back to his car, passing the coroner, who was headed over to the body to do his thing. Poor guy. The man looked as worn to the bone as the rest of them.

All the way over to Roni's house, DeGrassi tried to make sense of what his sleep-deprived brain was attempting to tell him. Deep down, he couldn't believe that it had been her body lying there in thin strips, like a filleted fish. Surely she wouldn't have gone out to hustle after all the trouble he'd gone through to keep her out of jail.

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Waiting at a red light, he spotted two women working the driver and passenger of an SUV, over in a vacant parking lot.

When Roni had told him she worked days, he'd believed her.

When she'd told him she would go looking for more gainful employment tomorrow, he'd believed her.

Everything in him told him it wasn't Roni underneath that tarp. And, dammit, he would prove it by going over to her place and waking her up. See those silvery eyes drooping with sleep, that mass of black hair bed-tousled.

Pulling into her driveway, he got out and started to walk around the side of the house to the front door. He noticed there weren't any street lights or any kind of security light.

DeGrassi frowned. Every home needed some kind of light outside the premises to deter would-be burglars or such. The little cottage was as dark as the back side of the moon, and the woods loomed up behind it like the clouds of a swelling thunderstorm.

He had to be careful taking the steps leading up to the front door. Once he was there, he knocked first and then counted to thirty. A quick feel around the outside of the doorjamb didn't find a doorbell, so he tried beating on the door again.

Still no answer. Not even the sense of someone moving around inside.

"Roni? It's me, Lieutenant DeGrassi! I'm here on official business!" he added, although he didn't know why. But he felt better after admitting it.

Crap. He felt better just being here, waiting to see her again. Needing to see her again.

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After a good couple of minutes, he opened the screen door and reached for the inside doorknob. It was locked.

Fuck a duck. Now what was he going to do?

Hoping the woman was still asleep, he ventured around the little house to see if he could spot the bedroom window.

Unfortunately he could, much to his dismay. The damn thing was wide open. A sheer lacy curtain drifted back and forth over the sill. Sticking his head partly inside, he called out Roni's name. Again he got no response. Worse still, the place felt empty, which made the lump of ice in the middle of his stomach grow larger.

The window was at shoulder level for him. It didn't take much effort for him to grab the sill with both hands and heft himself up, over, and into the room. He slid onto the wood-paneled floor with ease.

"Roni?"

The place was darker than the bottom of a well. By feel alone he found the bed with its flowerbed quilt. Flat and empty. The thing was still made up, which told DeGrassi she hadn't even gone to bed. Fuck!

The light switch wasn't too difficult to find. He kept his eyes closed for several long moments after flipping the switch, then gradually opened them until he could see.

He was right. The bed was made. But over against the corner sat a narrow chair with a tufted seat. Black garments lay over it, tossed there randomly. DeGrassi walked over and picked one up. It was the black leather vest Roni had worn that day. In that instant, a sense of immense relief washed 323

over him. In the next, he wondered if she had any more of those black leather thingies.

The closet was within arm's reach. He opened the bifold doors.

The thing was filled with Jekyll and Hyde. One side of the closet held a profusion of color. A rainbow of clothing, ranging from powder blue to brilliant red, pale yellow to green, made up the left side of the small space. Dresses, blouses, pants ...

DeGrassi held up the sleeve of one blouse in a leafy green.

The tags were still on it. In fact, most of the clothing on that side was still tagged. He recognized the name of the department store. It was good quality without the exorbitant price.

The other side of the closet held what he thought of as her hooker wear. All of it was black—bustiers and more pants.

Vests. Some sheer things that laced up. All kinds of kinky wear in satin, and fur, and velveteen, and leather. He saw rhinestones and black lace, not to mention a piece that looked like it was made of alligator.

This was crazy. She had bought all this pretty stuff but never worn it. Looking at a long, soft skirt in butter yellow, DeGrassi began to see a side of the woman he had suspected existed. Four years on the street had not made her callous.

That part of Roni continued to exist inside her. The part that hid from the sun.

Yeah. DeGrassi smiled. That was exactly what she was like. She hid her true self from the sun, from the bright, hopeful, uplifting side of life. The clothes, this house. She was never here during the day. That's when she went on the 324

streets, to separate the person she wanted to be from the person she had no choice but to be. She never wore these clothes because they would reveal that part of herself that was too vulnerable.

But the dark clothes were like a disguise. Anything that would reveal her softer side was kept hidden. She hooked as far away from her home, her sanctuary, as she could so that part of her life would never intrude upon it.

And the plants. DeGrassi glanced around the room. Sweet heavens, the place would rival any nursery.

His eyes settled once again on the made bed. A made bed.

Visions of his own never-made bed came to him. He bet that if he went into the tiny kitchen, there wouldn't be a single dirty dish in the sink. And the fridge would have food in it.

"Roni, dammit, where the hell are you?" he growled.

His eyes lit on the small bureau. On top was a hand mirror and a brush. A brush. Grabbing the brush, he examined the strands of dark hair caught in between the bristles.

Unconsciously, he held the brush to his nose and inhaled.

There. It was there. The sweet scent of maple syrup.

And then it hit him—what his mind had been trying to tell him all this time. The body. The victim. There had been no scent of her when he'd viewed the remains. None. Yet he knew that he had been able to detect her scent even when she had sat in that chair next to his desk, and that was ...

what? Two, three feet away from where he'd sat?

He took another whiff of the brush. Her smell still clung to the fine strands, which meant he should have smelled her when he'd lifted the tarp. But the smell had not been there.

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The victim wasn't Roni. He would swear to it. The DNA on the hair follicles would prove it wasn't her. Going into the bathroom, he grabbed a hand towel from the bar to wrap the brush in and left it on top of the dresser.

So where on Earth was she?

Maybe she went to spend the night with a friend.

He started. A boyfriend? No, asshole. One of her girlfriends. Maybe one of those two who worked with her.

But what if it was a boyfriend?

DeGrassi caught himself grinding his teeth at the thought.

What kind of man would put up with a woman who had been selling her body all day? He refused to listen to the little voice inside his head—the one that kept prodding him, asking why should he care.

Without his realizing it, his eyes drifted back to the black garments lying on the chair. Taking a mental step back, he slid on his police persona and scoured the room. There was absolutely nothing in the place that even indicated she had a significant other. There were no personal photos, no pictures except for the framed paintings and posters of trees and forest landscapes hanging on the walls. No mementoes. No cutesy stuffed animals. Nothing.