When I woke up… was it hours later?
I glanced at the red numbers on the bedside clock and they made no sense. My eyes took too long to adjust before I could read.
Been out for a while then. I swallowed and then groaned at my sore throat. Talking was going to be a challenge.
It took me a little longer to realize I was no longer in my office, but in bed. He must have carried me up, tucking me beneath the sheets before strolling out causally without a care in the world.
Why should he have any worries? He was the apex predator and the one person tasked with bringing him down was too busy fawning over his dick to be of any use.
I flexed my thighs and groaned again. This time in pleasure. I was sore in the right ways there, and could feel the plumpness of my cunt and the wetness from our combined juices. I cupped myself, wanting to hold it all inside.
My dirty thoughts sobered as I realized how close he’d come to killing me. I needed to get my shit together and bring him in.
No matter how much I wanted him, or how much I wanted to believe he’d stop killing, I knew it was only a matter of time before someone else ended up dead like his wife.
I lay there, my body remembering his. My body would always hold the memory of him deep inside.
A loud knock jolted me awake again. I shot up, panicked for some reason I couldn’t put my finger on. It took another knock before I was fully awake.
I checked the clock as I rose from the bed. It was nearly noon. Apparently a night of rough sex with a criminal and nearly having the life choked out of me made for good sleeping conditions.
Pulling on a robe, I made my way downstairs as the knocks kept coming. I saw two squad cars outside the living room window as I passed to the foyer. Guess my time off was over.
“Hold your fucking horses.” I was going to strangle whomever kept knocking.
I opened the door to find Mick and three grim faced officers behind him. My danger radar went off even as I narrowed my eyes on him.
“Wanna tell me why you’re here?”
My voice was still a low raspy mess, but at least I wasn’t straining. I prayed I’d covered my bruised throat well enough with my robe collar.
It was Mick who handed me the paper. I knew what it was without looking. Search warrant. What I didn’t know was why. The paper dangled between my fingertips as I stared my partner down.
“What is going on, Mick?”
He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “We have reason to believe you’ve been aiding a killer.”
What. The. Fuck.
“Why didn’t you call me or warn me?”
Mick had the nerve to look ashamed. “You know I couldn’t do that.”
Like fuck he couldn’t have. Cop code my ass.
I was seething, but stepped aside to let them in my house. I knew there was nothing to find, but last night replayed in technicolor as they started the search in my office.
Dried semen on a desk does not a co-conspirator make. That’s what I told myself at least.
I cornered Mick in the kitchen. Partly to keep my mind off of being fucked and because I wanted a better explanation.
“What’s the deal, Mick? You’ve known me too long for this bullshit.”
He leaned against the counter and sighed. “Tip came in. I thought it was bullshit, but there are photos…”
“Photos of what?”
“Of the inside of your house. Of something going down in your attic.” His cheeks went a little red. “Of you fucking the killer.”
I tried to keep my expression neutral. That bastard was trying to take me down before I took him down. This is why you need to be more careful who you let put their cock in you. Half of them were bastards. The other half were psychos. This one was both.
So much for true fucking love.
I opened my mouth, but he stopped me with a raised hand. “No, don’t tell me. We all make mistakes.”
Mistakes? This was turning into a royal fuck up that no amount of dick was going to fix. I was innocent though and they had no proof otherwise.
I thought of one of the things my killer said to me. And maybe I want to ruin you.
“Detective Jones, we’ve got a body.”
He looked sad and then grim as we both made to leave the kitchen.
Up in my storage space, near the spare bedroom, was an arm. I looked up with the rest, unsure how to explain a dead body in my attic. The same way I couldn’t explain fucking an escaped serial killer. Shit happens sometimes wasn’t a good explanation.
I pinch the bridge of my nose to stave off a headache. “I didn’t do this, Mick, I’m telling you straight up.”
It’s all straight forward in the eyes of the law. A body in my attic? Evidence. My lack of an alibi? Possible conviction. A brand new prisoner for the system.
I watched the officer beside him release his cuffs. He started reading me my rights and I realized how thoroughly my killer had fucked me in the last twenty-four hours.
“I’m sorry, Lonnie. We have to go with the facts.”