Syrah and Swingers Page 17

“Asia’s dead, isn’t she? You haven’t thrown her in my face nearly enough. Anything she said to you is hearsay. Inadmissible.”

  Joy scoffed. “We don’t need Asia. Evan Owens turned himself in. I’ll get him to talk.”

  “Can I go now? Or are you going to charge me with something?”

  Joy leaned over and met Draven eye-to-eye. “You screwed up, Draven. I was the one that got away. Nothing has mattered to you as much as me. And that made you weak and messy.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We’re going charge you with accessory to attempted murder—mine. And kidnapping. I will testify against you!”

  Draven rose from his seat. He stood before the two-way mirror. “Given the fact that you and I attended swingers’ parties, and given the fact that you watched me choke a girl makes you a dubious witness.” Blackmoor let one side of his mouth curl into a smile.

  No! Steele—he wanted to tell Steele! Joy’s confidence sank. “I couldn’t stop you!”

  “Not with that black behemoth ramming you right next to me.” Draven moved his hips forward and back. “This tape proves it, Joy.” Blackmoor spun around and stepped toward her. “You are obsessed with me. You wanted to be alone with me now.”

  “I…I…” Joy stormed out and slammed the door shut. There was nothing she could say to defend what she’d done, where she’d been. He had won—stripped her bare.

  Max and Steele met her in the hallway.

  Steele assured her, “Nothing that bastard says changes how I feel!”

  Joy bit her lips and nodded. She hoped he wasn’t just being kind, showing pity.

  “That smug son-of-a-bitch!” said Max. “Don’t let him get under your skin, Joy.”

  “He’s not dumb enough to leave fingerprints at Joy’s place,” said Steele. “But we know his game now.”

  “Scour his clothing, every inch of it. If he brushed against Monty and he left so much as a scale, it’s as good as a fingerprint.”

  Max and Steele exchanged looks.

  Max said, “Joy, look at me.” He waited to get her attention. “Even if that’s true, all we have him on is kidnapping a pet python.”

  “He was in my home! He knocked me out, and I woke up in that barn.”

  “He’ll say he was never there.” Max kept his voice low. “We need proof to show otherwise.”

  “We had a team at your house,” added Steele. “They found a pink scarf behind the sofa. The lab is testing it for DNA.”

  “He’s framing Asia!” yelled Joy.

  “And she’s dead,” Max reminded her.

  “And she recorded her death,” Steele added. “I’ll wager Blackmoor isn’t in the picture—literally.”

  “Joy,” said Max. “I hate this too, but we have to cut him loose.”

  Joy’s eyes shot daggers at both of them. “No!”

  Steele reached for Joy’s shoulder, but she pulled it away. “Hey, we’re on your side. We’ll get the bastard—just not today.”

  Joy changed her tune, like someone had flipped the channel. “You’re right. I’m speaking like a victim. Let him go. Do it.”

  Max and Steele exchanged glances again. “I’ll do it,” said Max.

  27

  The civic center complex in Grape Gulch had only opened a month or so earlier. It had numerous vacant offices that awaited the growth of the city and expansion of the government. But for now, it was an oversized, half-occupied building. At this time of night, a few decorative lights illuminated the Spanish adobe façade, which included a clock and bell tower, but the deserted street sat dark and empty. Nothing occupied the hill except for the civic center, so all of the revelers, lights, and music remained a block over on Stagecoach Street.

  An even darker cross street ran from the civic center down the hill. Bleak plots of land on either side awaited the construction of businesses.

  Blackmoor had no sooner set foot outside the precinct than Joy ran out after him, and Max and Steele ran out after her.

  When halfway across the street, Draven Blackmoor turned to face the trio. “Coming to join me for a celebratory drink?”

  Joy withdrew her Glock and pointed it at Blackmoor. She pulled back the slide, loading a round in the chamber. She had only to pull the trigger to finish the task. Her eyes focused on the target—Blackmoor’s chest. Her finger itched to send a fatal bullet crashing through his sternum and destroy his evil heart.

  “Joy, don’t!” pleaded Max. “He’s not worth it.”

  “He has to pay for what he’s done!” shouted Joy. “He’ll never be caught.”

  Blackmoor laughed. He took a few steps toward Joy. “There’s the beast. The natural born killer.”

  “Stop right there!” screamed Joy.

  Max could not take a chance at jumping her and the weapon firing.

  “Sorry, I just wanted a better view of your face,” said Blackmoor. “Prove me right. You can do it. Kill me.” Blackmoor swept his hands to the side as if opening his arms to the bullet’s embrace.

  Steele pleaded, “I know what it’s like to feel dead. That’s all I felt after Dante died! I felt even less when I took out his killer.”

  Max added, “He’s right! Kill him and you kill yourself. It’s what he wants!”

  “You made me feel again, Joy,” said Steele, softening his tone. “Kill him and you kill us. If there is an us? I don’t mean to presume.”

  Joy blinked. Her hand trembled. Her jaw dropped. Her breathing quickened. She worked to steady the gun.

  “So this is the man who taught you true love.” Blackmoor bowed from the waist. “He made you weak! Kill us both—pull the trigger.”

  Max jumped in front of Joy and stood between her and Blackmoor.

  “Get out of my way, Max!” Joy screamed.

  “He’s nothing special! You taught me that. We’re all killers, Joy. We all have it in us. So, if you want to kill him, go ahead. But you’ll never kill the past—the psychological crap he dragged you through. You saved yourself—you walked away. Walk away now! Or, prove Draven right—you are a killer. And no better than him.” Max stepped aside.

  Joy sucked in a lungful of air, preparing to shoot. She exhaled slowly. She took aim and held her breath. The moment had come.

  She howled as she capitulated. She lowered her weapon. But her shoulders remained tense. Her spine stiff.

  An explosion rang out. The flash of the weapon came from the shadows across the street.

  Blackmoor flew forward, landing on his face. He groaned.

  Joy pointed her weapon at the flash.

  Bo Williams stepped into the light. His face had a menacing scowl. Bo had stronger Asian features than his sister, like half-moon eyes and lighter skin, but he had the same strong nose and chin and broad lips. His curly short hair formed a poof atop his head. The sides were shaved and tattoos along his temples and down his neck. Bo aimed his gun at Blackmoor, intent on finishing him off.

  “Stop or I’ll shoot!” shouted Joy, aiming squarely at Bo’s chest.

  “He killed Asia! I loved her!” Bo shot a round at Joy.

  Max, Steele, and Joy hit the deck, but on her way to the ground, Joy squeezed off a round that hit Bo in the shoulder. He dropped the gun and sprawled out on the street.

  Joy raced to Blackmoor and flipped him onto his back.

  Steele called for two ambulances.

  Max rushed to Bo and confiscated his gun. “He’s alive!”

  Blackmoor coughed and laughed at the same time. “You saved my life, Joy.”

  “I saved a human being, but there’s no life in you, Draven. You’re pure death and always will be.” She leaned closer to his ear, acting like she was checking his breathing. “And no matter how many people you watch being killed, you still can’t feel a thing. That—my ability to feel—is what separates us. You didn’t take it from me and never will.”

  “He deserves to die!” Bo shouted to Max. “He kept Asia away from me. I loved her!”

  Although Bo had also
molested his sister, he had a history of abuse too. Bo’s words intoned heartfelt love, yet the pair of them had lived in a den of lies, betrayal, and decadence for so long, it was no wonder he could not see the error of his own sins against his sister, his incest. He meant what he said. Maybe he thought only Asia could understand him and love him back, confusing a sister’s love with more. “Bo, if you loved your sister, you can prove it.”

  Bo’s face contorted. “How?”

  “Avenge Asia,” said Max. “Testify against Blackmoor and help us put him away.”

  Bo rolled to his side and slammed his fist on the asphalt. “She’s dead. I tried to protect her.” He rolled to his back and faced Max. “I’ll tell you everything! How he trained me to kill and not be caught.”

  Max turned Joy. “We’ve got a witness. Arrest Blackmoor. He’s going to jail!”

  Blackmoor laughed. “Bo won’t live long enough to testify. My army will destroy him.”

  “Not if they can’t find him—which I’ll make damn sure of, Draven. I have connections.” Joy pushed so hard on Draven’s exit wound, which had come through his chest, that he let out a cry. “It’s the only thing you’re capable of feeling. Pain.”

  “And you so like inflicting it, Joy.”

  Joy let go of him and marched away. She glanced over her shoulder. “Have it your way. Bleed to death.”

  Steele shoved a pair of handcuffs on Blackmoor. “You mess with Joy, you mess with me,” he whispered so that only Blackmoor could hear. “I’ve been where she was. But I pulled the trigger. You remember that.”

  Max offered to write up the report. He would say that Joy had drawn her weapon to save Draven Blackmoor’s life when Bo Williams tried to kill him. “ Steele, get Joy home. She’s seen enough of Blackmoor. I’ll get him processed.”

  Joy didn’t argue.

  Steele followed Joy home. She fumbled with the keys. Her hands still shook.

  Steele gently took the keys from her hand and opened the door.

  Joy headed straight to the bedroom and crumbled down next to Monty’s enclosure. She leaned her hand against the tempered glass. Steele sank down beside her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  Joy spun to face him. “Thank you, Steele.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled his hair loose. “For saving me.”

  Steele put his hands on each side of her face and held her. “You have no idea how you have saved me too.”

  Joy ran her hands over his muscular shoulders. “I saved ‘us’—there is most definitely an ‘us.’ Unless what you heard Draven say makes you want to run for the hills. Because I’d understand. I lived in an abyss for a while.”

  Steele let out a heavy sigh. He leaned over and kissed her. His hands dropped to her back, and he pulled her into his chest until their ribs met. She arched her back and pressed into him. They dove into a kiss. Their hands and tongues and souls sought the other.

  They parted long enough for Steele to jump to his feet. He offered Joy a hand up, which she took. The moment she stood on her feet, she wrapped her arms around his waist and her lips over his. They spiraled, refusing to part, and stepped over each other’s feet to reach the bed.

  Still locked in an embrace, Steele used his right hand and Joy her left to peel the covers back. They broke apart only so their hands were free to peel clothes off of each other, urgently needing to feel skin against skin.

  They tumbled onto the billowing mattress; their fingertips roved over the undulations of muscles and across sensitive indentations of flesh; they sighed, feeling each other’s warm breath; feeling each quake and shudder of satisfied pleasure.

  They listened to the intoxicating rhythm of each other’s gasps and grunts, their hearts pounding and pleading for more; they remained entwined with purpose—to be filled and inflamed and fulfilled, refusing to let even the smallest distance drive a wedge between them.

  They climbed higher, but neither hurried to reach the top; they locked their fingertips together, and rocked, and rocked, and rocked, taking one small step, then another, and another, and another, wanting to hold back and stay in this moment forever.

  They floated, hand-in-hand, to the edge.

  Their chests heaved with the effort of their mutual resistance, until they reached he edge. The smallest breath would send them flying over the peak.

  In unison, they inhaled. Exhaled. Their lips touched.

  They cried out in sheer wonder of the ultimate embrace of body and heart and soul that neither of them had ever experienced before.

  The flames forged them.

  Two became one. Separate became joined.

  They clung to one another and spoke without words: “I’ll never let you go.”

  Their breathing slowed.

  They spooned under the sheets and cradled one another.

  “We’re so flawed,” whispered Steele, “And so perfect.”

  Joy covered his hand with hers and squeezed it to say, “I know.”

  Neither of them would ever forget this moment—the moment they forged ‘you and me’ into ‘us.’

  The next morning at the station, Joy and Steele rushed about their duties with renewed zeal. The strength of the power of their relationship left no doubt in either of their minds that they had a life-partner, and that meant they’d moved past needing to reassure the other of a solid union—they’d joined forces.

  Joy sat before Max with her steaming cup of coffee. “You look tired. Did everything go well?”

  Max nodded. “He’s behind bars where he deserves to be. At least until his arraignment.”

  Chief Goldsby stormed over to them both. “In my office, now!”

  Other officers turned. Everyone knew that tone, and it meant trouble.

  Max surmised that even with Blackmoor’s arrest and Joy’s rescue, the chief had not forgotten about their trip to see Belladonna—a trip they had not reported to Captain Banks or anyone else.

  “Don’t worry, Max. I’ve got your back,” whispered Joy just before they entered the room.

  “I think we’re both on the chopping block this time, Joy.” Max closed the door behind them and took a seat facing the chief. Captain Banks, arms folded and a scowl of disappointment on her face, stood just behind him.

  From behind his desk, the chief remained serious but cocky. The cat had caught the canary. “Detective King, Dr. Burton, insubordination is inexcusable! While on duty yesterday, you flew to Chowchilla prison and visited Ursula Winters, who died of suicide before your very eyes. That taints my department. Captain?”

  Captain Banks kept a rigid posture as she stood behind the chief. The muscles of her face and neck could not be any tighter, so much so, she spoke through clenched teeth, like she didn’t like what she was about to say, but she had to say it. “Joy, I’m glad you’re safe and unharmed. And you both did an exceptional job of discovering Draven Blackmoor’s influence over Asia Williams—which still boggles my mind and needs corroboration—but…” The but could not have been heavier. It fell like an axe striking the chopping block.

  Max and Joy had not told the captain about Blackmoor’s bigger plan—they needed proof, like Bo’s testimony, before suggesting Blackmoor had trained an army of serial killers. Who would believe it?

  The captain continued. She kept a stoic expression. “You are both relieved of duty pending an investigation. You will turn over your badges and guns. If I were you, I’d prepare for the worst—that means you will no longer be on the W.V.P.D.”

  Joy reached over and put a hand on Max’s arm. “Max didn’t do this. I did. I made the arrangements to meet with Belladonna.”

  The chief’s cheeks flushed red. His nostrils flared. He relinquished the task to Captain Banks as if to punish her for standing up to him earlier and for supporting Max. “King accompanied you, Dr. Burton, of his own free will. Captain?”

  Captain Banks closed her eyes, but her voice remained firm. Her job was on the line. “I’m glad you explained your culpability, Dr. Burton, but…�
�� The axe fell again. “…that does not excuse insubordination and rogue officers taking action without the approval of their commanding officer. Please set your badges and your guns on the desk.”

  Max pulled his gun from his hip holster and set it on the desk. He pulled his leather case out of his pocket. He opened it and peered at his smiling face, remembering the day the picture had been taken; he’d been accepted into the force. Max ran his fingers over his badge. He’d never planned for any life but this one. And at this moment, he knew he’d taken that path not to follow in Chief David King’s footsteps. He wanted this life. He set the badge on the desk, knowing he had laid down his life.

  The phone rang. The chief let it ring and ring.

  With anger flushing his face, the chief picked it up and barked, “I said to hold all—” He listened. The color left his cheeks. His scowl drooped into saggy fear. “Put him through.” A moment later, the chief only got in two words, “This is—” That was followed by multiple answers of “Yes, sir.” “Yes, sir.” And one, “Immediately, sir.” Followed by “Thank you, sir.” The chief hung up.

  Max turned to Joy, and he swore he saw a twinkle in her eye and a mischievous smile.

  Chief Goldsby cleared his throat. “That was Reno Webb, the Director of the FBI. He informed me that he had arranged and monitored the secret mission to Chowchilla and that, due to reasons of national security, neither myself nor my staff could be informed until now.”

  Max’s brain analyzed the fortuitous call. Joy had worked for Webb. She must have called in a favor. Or was she still working for the FBI? Either way, now wasn’t the time to ask questions—it was a time to gloat. Max let a narrow smile slip.

  Joy demurred so as not to offend the chief. “I apologize, Chief Goldsby and Captain Banks. We couldn’t say a word. We’d hoped to be up and back, mission accomplished without repercussions to either of you or to the W.V.P.D.”

  Captain Banks let out a sigh of relief. Her voice remained appropriately authoritative but punctuated with enthusiasm. “I’m relieved to find you both followed protocol. Under the circumstances, please take back your weapons and badges and get back to work.”