Four
Standing outside the two-story building that housed the detective's division for the Tulsa Police Department, I hesitated. Even though I’d promised the girls I wouldn’t work on the book without them, I didn’t think speaking with a detective about police procedure qualified. I figured there wasn’t any harm in gaining insight into police investigations while they were at work. The reason for my hesitance wasn’t that they would be angry, but more about running into a certain detective again.
I’d called ahead and spoken with a Lieutenant Cross. He was a gruff man who’d sounded extremely put out by my request, but finally agreed to let me speak with a detective. I’d specifically asked for a seasoned officer, one who had been on the force more than ten years, hoping to avoid a certain detective for obvious reasons—I was embarrassed he’d seen my ass in the air. I may be extremely attracted to the man, but the last two times we’d come into contact had been disasters. However, attracted or not, since I was using him for my hero it was best if I steered clear of him. Preferably, an ocean’s distance between us, but since I couldn’t disappear as I always did to write this book, I’d have to settle for precautionary measures such as calling ahead to ask for a older officers to help me. Dammit, I should have asked for a woman detective. That would have assured me I wouldn’t end up with Triple D.
The Lieutenant had put me on hold, then, after a few minutes, he’d returned and barked out, “I’ve got someone in-house if you can come within the next hour.” I agreed immediately, of course, and he told me to report to the second floor and ask for a Detective Bill Reed. When I asked his age, so there were no surprises, he’d growled, “Old and ugly. You wanna talk to Reed; get down here in an hour.” Then he’d hung up as abruptly as he'd spoken.
He was totally going in my book.
So, here I was, entering the elevator of the detective division, on my way up with a notebook, coffee in hand, sunglasses and a baseball cap covering my face and hair . . . just in case.
When the doors opened, I took a deep breath and exited. I walked down the hall until I found the door that read Detectives Division. When I walked in, I found what I expected in a civic building. Gray everything. The walls, the floors, even the desks. The standard and boring city-issued décor was quite honestly kinda cool in a Law and Order kind of way. Since I’d started writing, I’d had to rely on history books and pictures to influence my stories and keep them authentic. Seeing these offices helped to cement in my mind the world my characters would live in daily. It was actually exciting to be able to see firsthand how my fictional world would develop.
After taking in the room, I approached the receptionist. She was an older woman with gray hair and a kind smile, who was dressed smartly in a business casual blue blouse and black slacks. I told her why I was there and she put the phone to her ear and buzzed Detective Reed while she instructed me to take a seat. Five minutes later, a large man with salt and pepper hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a friendly smile came around the corner.
“Are you Miss Royse?” Reed asked me.
“I am. Are you Detective Reed?”
“The one and only. Come on back with me and we can talk at my desk. Most of the detectives are out, so it’s quiet.”
When he motioned for me to follow him, I stood up and grabbed my notebook and to-go cup of coffee from Gypsy’s I purchased on my way to the station.
“I see you like Gypsy’s too,” Reed replied as he motioned to my cup.
“Too?” I asked as dread seeped in.
“The coffee here is swill, most of the boys grab Gypsy’s on their way in,” he chuckled as my panic fled.
Reed stopped at a desk that had a twin butted up to the length of it in a mirror image. He had a picture of an older woman on his desk, and you could tell by the mischief in her eyes that she was a ball breaker. The matching desk that I assumed was his partner’s, had a picture of a beautiful dark-haired woman with two small children smiling large at the camera sitting on it. It was nice to see that both Reed and his partner were dedicated family men. Seeing their dedication to family, I immediately wanted to put Reed and his partner in my book. I envisioned them as seasoned, yet loving family men, who fought crime and kept the streets safe for everyone else, while they put their lives on the line.
“Miss Royse?” Lost in thought, I jumped at my name and looked toward Reed.
“Yes?”
“You gonna have a seat?” he replied as if he’d already asked that question.
“Oh, yes, sorry. Writer’s block,” I explained as I sat down.
“You have writer’s block?” he chuckled with confusion written on his face.
“Oh, yes, all the time. I can’t go anywhere or meet new people without turning them into characters. My writer’s block makes me block out the world and lose myself in my head.”
“Sounds like a good place to be if you’re a writer, I’d think,” he replied.
“Yes, exactly, though my family and friends find it irritating,” I laughed.
“Cross said you needed information for a new book you’re writing. What can I help you with?” Reed smiled.
He was so nice.
“I need to know basic police investigative steps. I can improvise how they handle the case within the story, say the officer doesn’t follow procedure, but I need to know what that procedure is to begin with.”
“That would depend on the case and the victim. But, standard procedure would be to take the complaint, investigate any leads, and then make arrests based on the evidence obtained during the investigation. Once an arrest has been made, we would then turn over the evidence and findings to the prosecutor.”
“It’s all very clinical, isn’t it? I don’t know why I imagined that each case would be handled based on the evidence, sort of one size doesn’t fit all scenario. But you’re saying that it’s pretty much the same no matter the case.”
“There’s nothing pretty about murder, Miss Royse. If we want the sons of bitches, pardon my French, who commit the crimes to pay then we follow the rules to the T so we can convict them.”
Pulling my pen from my binder, I jotted down what Reed had said. While I was writing, it occurred to me that it would be fascinating to see him in action, to see him interview a suspect or witness, even investigate a lead.
“Do you ever permit civilians to ride along? I’d love to see what a day in the life of a homicide detective is like.”
“Not as a general rule, but I wouldn’t be opposed to taking you,” he grinned. ”I suppose I could ask my Lieutenant. But I’ll warn you now it’s boring legwork and you’ll likely fall asleep,” he chuckled.
“Oh, I wouldn’t mind; I’m always looking for new characters for my books and getting out and meeting new people is a great way to fuel my creativity.”
“What type of books do you write?”
“Up until now I’ve always written historical romance novels. However, recently, I’ve had an idea for a contemporary romantic suspense. My biggest hurdle is that after years of writing about history, I’m finding I haven’t got a clue how romance works in this day and age,” I explained with a sigh.
“I reckon it’s the same now as it was then. Boy meets girl, they fall in love and get married.”
I wasn’t about to argue with the man since he was doing me a favor, but he was wrong. Boy meets girl, boy ignores the girl for football and leggy blondes with big boobs, and then girl kicks his ass to the curb for all of the above and consumes a carton of ice cream.
With a possible ride-along in my future, I figured I could wait to ask him more questions about a day in the life of a detective. Not wanting to overstay my welcome and push Reed’s lieutenant too far, I stood to leave.
“I’ll let you get back to work since I’m sure there are bad guys to catch,” I chuckled. “I look forward to working with you, Detective Reed, and I appreciate it more than you know for allowing me to ride with you and see you in action. Do you have a card I could have in case I need to contact you?”
Reed smiled, stood, and pulled out his card and handed it to me as I grabbed my cup of coffee. I had no doubt, looking at his smile and those bright blue eyes, that he’d been a heartbreaker in his day. Broad shoulders and thick hair coupled with those eyes, smile, and handsome face would have melted lots of women’s heart.
“I’ll ask my Lieutenant about the ride-along after he’s had a meal. The only time he's in an agreeable mood is right after he’s eaten,” Reed laughed.
“Oh, I know all about men who need food to calm their savage beasts. I have to keep my fridge stocked or my—”
“Is that so?” a voice growled from behind me, which, of course, made me jump and turn too quickly. When I turned, my hand, which held my coffee, slammed into a hard chest and erupted down the front of a shirt.
“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me,” Triple D bit out as I looked up at him in shock.
“This is getting ridiculous,” I blurted out. “Are you following me?”
“Coffee . . . that shit’ll kill ya,” Reed chuckled.
“You came to my place of business, darlin’, how the hell do you figure I’m following you?”
“I don’t know,” I argued, “but twice in a few days seems highly unlikely.”
“That’s three times in four days,” he argued as he glared at me.
“No, that’s twice in four days. I had nothing to do with your faulty cup yesterday,” I also argued as my temper ignited. I had a bad habit of turning to anger as a way to deal with conflict, and, boy, did this fall into that category.
“The hell you didn’t,” he snapped. “Word of warning, sweetheart; sunlight and spandex don’t mix.”
“Don’t you sweetheart me, you big ape, and what does that even mean, they don’t mix?” I asked miffed as he turned to leave.
“It means when a man walks down the street and gets an eyeful of ass, he’s gonna react,” he barked over his shoulder as he headed out of the room and to what I assumed was the men’s room.
“Is she Sandra Dee, Vaughn?” Reed oddly shouted at the retreating man.
“Am I who?”
Reed turned his attention back to me, but didn’t answer my question instead, he oddly asked, “What’s the name of your perfume? I’m thinkin’ my June would like it.”
“I don’t have any on.”
“Not today, you were wearin’ it on Tuesday.”
“How did you know I was wearing perfume on Tuesday?”
“My partner came back smelling like a beautiful woman after your first encounter.”
“He’s . . . he’s your partner?” I wailed.
“He has been for goin’ on six years.”
My eyes swung to his desk and the photo of the beautiful brown-haired woman with two smiling kids, and I felt ill.
“I’m sorry, I have to leave,” I replied quickly, then bit my lip before I burst into tears over the fact that my dream man was married. God, I felt like an idiot. “How did he even recognize me behind these glasses?” I whined.
“I’m thinkin’ it was the spandex.”
I looked down at my outfit, which did consist of spandex running pants in black and another pink, zip type athletic top. Shit, I was practically dressed identical to yesterday.
“I have to go. Thank you again,” I rushed out as I turned to leave.
“I’m sure he’ll be right back,” Reed jumped in as I moved away from him.
“So? He can come back or not come back. What do I care?”
Reed’s eyes were gleaming with hilarity, no doubt because I’d mucked up his partner’s shirt again.
“You got a card with a number so I can call you about that ride-along?” he asked with a grin.
“I, um,” I sputtered, thinking I should avoid Reed since Vaughn was his partner. After thinking about it for a moment, I figured what did it really matter now. I’d been intimidated by Vaughn because I was attracted to him and I’d imagined all sorts of naughty things between the two of us. Since he's married, there was no reason to be intimidated.
“Ok, yeah, I’ll leave my card.”
I dug one out of my purse, handed it to Reed, and then decided to make a hasty retreat before Vaughn came back. As I made my way toward the exit, for some bizarre reason I had to know Vaughn’s full name. It was the final piece of information I needed about the man to build his character. A name said something about the owner, and for that reason, I had to know his. Turning back to Reed, I called out to the detective.
“Detective Reed? I, uh, I wanted to make sure I give credit in my book properly so I’ll, um, I’ll need your partner’s name for my research.”
Reed smiled as if he could read my mind, and I was glad I was hiding behind sunglasses. If he could see my eyes, he’d see the misery I felt at knowing the man I’d fantasized about was married.
“Vaughn, Detective Dallas Vaughn,” he replied with a knowing smirk.
God, that was a great name.
“Thank you,” I answered then hurried out of the office.
Of course, he’d have a beautiful wife, two beautiful kids, and a name that even sounded like a romance novel hero. “Men like that don’t exist, mom? They do, they’re just taken.”
I sighed in despair that Dallas Vaughn wasn’t available then I remembered suddenly, he’d winked at me and ogled my ass while he was married. “Shit, mom’s right. I’m spinning my wheels, looking for a fictional man that doesn’t exist.”
***
“Don’t say a word,” Dallas grumbled when he sat down at his desk.
“Now, why would I say anything?”
Dallas ignored Reed as well as his wet shirt. He hadn’t replaced his backup from the last disaster and was stuck wearing the coffee covered mess.
He was still pissed for reacting the way he had when he heard Sandra Dee say she stocked her fridge for her man. In the past four days, his mind had kept drifting to the girl-next-door when he should have been working, and when he walked in and saw her standing there, he took it as a sign to proceed. He figured, fuck it, he didn’t have time for a relationship, but he wasn’t gonna ignore the fact that everywhere he turned, there she was. If he couldn’t get her out of his mind, couldn’t stop thinking about her cupid lips and big green eyes, there was a reason. Except now, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it because he didn’t mess with another man’s woman.
“What the hell was she doing here?” Dallas finally asked out of curiosity.
“It’s the damnedest thing,” Reed chuckled. “Seems your Sandra Dee, who I’d like to point out is more of a Sandra Bullock, is one of them romance authors. She came in to discuss police procedure for a book she’s writing.”
“Jesus . . . Please tell me you don’t agree to help her,” Dallas asked with a sigh. The last thing he needed was a constant reminder of what he couldn’t have.
“Oh, I agreed all right. I’m gonna take her out with me once I get the okay from Cross. A man my age doesn’t often get the chance to spend a day conversing with an angel.”
“The hell you are,” Dallas bit out fiercely. “We don’t exactly interview law-abiding citizens. She’ll end up hurt or worse.”
Reed thought Vaughn’s outburst was telling, which made him even more determined to get the okay from Cross. “I’m not stupid, Vaughn,” Reed egged Dallas on. “I’ve got a few interviews with an eyewitness to that drive-by shooting over at Shady Park that should interest her, I think.”
Shady Park apartments were a safe haven for criminals. Officers who went there during the course of an investigation did it with eyes in the back of their heads and their hand on their gun. Vaughn knew this, of course. Reed watched as Dallas’ eyes became intense and his jaw ticked at the mention of Shady Park in his Sandra Dee’s future. Reed chuckled at Vaughn’s obvious display of irritation and decided to let him know he was joking. “Rein in your temper, for Christ sake, I’m only kidding.”
Dallas stared his partner down, then broke eye contact as he picked up his phone. “What’s her name?” Dallas asked as he punched in the code to retrieve his messages. When a business card landed on his desk, he picked it up. The card was light pink with the name Nicola Grace Royse printed across the front in fancy script. It didn’t escape his attention the card was as feminine as the owner was.
Tossing the card back to his partner, Dallas pushed images of Nicola Royse and her firm ass, full lips, and silky hair that he wanted to bury his hands in out of his mind and listened to his messages. When he got to the third, his eyes shot to his partners.
“They found a foreign hair on Stacy White-Cline’s body,” Dallas told his partner. “It’s dark-brown and our victim was blonde. They’re sending it off for DNA analysis.”
“About fuckin’ time we got a break in this case,” Reed responded.
“It’ll take months for the DNA to come back. But it’s something,” Dallas agreed.
“This guy covers his tracks like a pro; we need all the help we can get. If dating websites are where he stalks his victims, then there’s no trace of him. It’s as if he’s able to delete all traces from the sites and their lives.”
“That’s because whoever we’re dealing with is a computer expert,” a tall man, dressed in a black suit that couldn’t have spelled out FBI any clearer than if he’d had the words tattooed on his forehead, replied.
“Who are you?” Dallas bit out as he stood from his desk.
“Agent Dane Parker, FBI,” the man answered, pulling out his badge.
“Is there a reason you’re showing up unannounced and uninvited?”
“I’m on a special task force investigating The Harvest Killer. Your Shallow Grave murders pinged on our radar. I’m here to take over the investigation until we can ascertain whether we’re dealing with the same man or not.”
“The Harvest Killer hangs women on poles like a scarecrow. How the hell do you figure it’s the same killer?” Reed asked in anger.
“Serial killers are known to change their MO,” the agent replied. “Your Shallow Grave Killer leaves them in fields just like the Harvest Killer. It’s possible this is his home base and when he’s not traveling the highways, killing at harvest time, he’s quenching his thirst for the kill at home.”
“So I’m supposed to do what exactly? Hand over our investigation and play nice while you’re in town? Is that what you’re tellin’ me?” Vaughn seethed.
“It became our jurisdiction the minute it tied to our case,” Parker informed Vaughn. “I’ve already met with your lieutenant and he knows the score. He assures me you’ll cooperate fully with our investigation.”
“Right,” Vaughn growled, looking back at Cross’ office. “Tell me, Parker, the minute you figure out this case isn’t connected to yours, are you gonna hightail it out of here?”
Parker grinned at Vaughn because he knew the man already had ideas of running him out of town. “My priority is the Harvest Killer, so yeah, Vaughn, I’ll get out of your hair when I’m done. Though, we’ll assist in an advisory capacity once we’ve determined the cases aren’t connected. Until then, the investigation is ours.”
Reaching across his desk, Dallas grabbed the Shallow Grave file and shoved it into Parker’s hands.
“Have at it, hotshot,” Dallas grumbled as he headed for his lieutenant’s office.
“Hey, Vaughn,” Parker called out as he watched the detective leave. When Dallas turned around, his jaw ticking as he tried reigning in his temper, Parker replied, “You’ve got something on your shirt.”
Dallas didn’t knock on his lieutenant’s door: he barged in unannounced and found the man on his phone. Cross looked up and narrowed his eyes at Dallas before he bit out, “I’ll have to call you back, baby. Apparently, Vaughn has a death wish.”
Dallas crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Cross to hang up. As soon as he ended the call, Dallas thundered, “You brought in the fuckin Feds?”
“I don’t answer to you; you’d be wise to remember that, Vaughn,” Cross barked out. “The captain and I want this bastard caught. We sent what we had two months ago and they showed up unannounced this morning, spouting off this was now their case, and that it’s tied to the fuckin’ Harvest Killer.”
“How the hell do they figure it ties into their case? Agent Parker’s explanation reeks of manipulation of the facts.”
“Captain Daley said hand it over, Vaughn, so I handed it over. That’s how it works. If our government says it ties in, then it fuckin’ ties in,” Cross growled.
“Bullshit,” Dallas snapped back. “Captain Daley hates government interference more than you do.”
“That may be, but he isn’t balking this time, so play nice with the feds, Vaughn, or look for another job,” Cross advised.
“Right,” Dallas seethed and then turned on his heels and headed for the exit. He might back off since his hands were tied, but he’d keep a close eye on Parker. Something wasn’t jiving with their bullshit explanation and Dallas hated unanswered questions.
***
Dark Prince opened his browser and read the last email Taryn Rivers had sent him for the third time. She was perfect. Long legs that could wrap around his hips as he pounded into her, lush, full breasts he could clamp to bring her more pleasure, more pain. An ass that could handle any strap or crop he owned. But his favorite part was her hair. It was the perfect shade of blonde. Not so light that is was like snow, but it had glimmering shades of gold throughout that made it perfect. Staring at her picture, he felt his cock lengthen when he thought about putting Taryn in a cage, about strapping her to a St. Andrews cross as he broke her in. His blood heated to a boiling point as he thought about his hands wrapped around her neck, squeezing until she lost consciousness. It was time to find her and bring her home.
He opened the detailed information on her email and copied the IP address, dropping it into a program he designed. He’d written this program specifically for his own needs so he could find his slaves easily without waiting for them to correspond. He liked to watch them from afar while he messaged with them, to make sure they fit his needs. However, he didn’t need to watch Taryn to know he’d finally found the perfect slave. She’d responded to his orders quicker than any slave had before. She’d wanted to please him, didn’t question his commands, just answered him quickly, seemingly truthful, and had no hesitation taking a picture for him.
When his program finished searching and came back with a business address instead of a residence, he frowned. He’d given specific instructions for her to follow, one was to take a picture of herself and send it back to him within ten minutes. A picture that required her to be shirtless with the words “Master’s Good Girl” written on her chest in lipstick and she’d done it with a minute to spare. How had she done this at a coffee shop? Was she piggybacking off their wireless system?
Dark Prince opened each and every email she’d sent the night before and noted that the IP address was the same. Hitting reply to her last email, his jaw ticked, and his breathing increased as he typed his instructions. He needed her at home, not out at some fucking coffee house where there were witnesses. He’d been careful, put safeguards in place to remain undetected, and he wasn’t about to risk being seen with his future slave by approaching her in public. He needed her at home so he could claim her for his own.
Hitting send, he opened the program that allowed him access to Plenty of Fish and Sub Seeking Dom incognito. Opening Taryn’s profile on both sites, he routed all her messages to his computer as well so he could keep an eye on who she was interacting with. If anyone got too close before he had a chance to secure her, he’d just have to take care of that problem as well.
***
Women have been disappointed by men since the dawning of time. Sure, there’s been a good one every thousand years or so—ok, maybe not that long, but it feels that way. However, for the most part, they have left women wanting.
My brothers were a perfect example. Bo and Finn were handsome, funny, immature, and left women crying in their wake. Then there was Dallas Vaughn, with his bulging biceps and honey-colored eyes, who didn’t wear a wedding ring so women knew he was taken. And I knew why. He’s a man.
Period.
End of story.
Say no more.
I’m sure you all decided after reading that that I’m bitter, because I’d had my head in the clouds for far too long. Well, rest assured I‘ve been converted.
Anyhow, now you know what I was thinking after I left the detectives behind while I headed to Kasey’s yoga studio for a little bestie pick-me-up. Yeah, the word bestie made me cringe, too, but that didn’t make it any less true: it’s our BFF’s that got us through life’s disappointments—that and a half-gallon of rocky road.
“Men are pigs,” I announced when I walked in.
“What have Finn and Bo done now?” Kasey asked without looking up from her desk.
“Nothing today, thank God, but there’s still daylight left so I’m sure they will. I’m talking about Dallas Vaughn, not my wayward brothers,” I exclaimed.
Kasey still didn’t look up, but her mouth pulled into a grin. “Ok, I’ll bite. Who’s Dallas Vaughn?”
“A certain detective who is married,” I informed her.
Kasey finally looked up from whatever report she was working on and gave me her full attention.
“How do you know that?”
“I made an appointment to interview a detective about police procedure and ended up talking with his partner.”
“And he told you he was married?”
“No, I saw a picture on his desk of his wife and two kids. Kasey, two—count them: one, two—and he ogled my ass, the pig," I whined. "I’m glad I poured coffee down the front of his shirt today.”
“Hold on, you poured coffee on him again?” she laughed.
“Yep, and he deserved it. God, to think I was attracted to him and writing a book about him, and he’s just like all the rest. Do you know he blamed me for his coffee mishap yesterday, can you believe that? The arrogant schmuck!”
“Let me guess, it was your fault he looked?” she chuckled as she rose from her desk.
“Exactly! He said something about spandex and the sun don’t mix, whatever that means.”
“Oh, shit,” Kasey gasped as she threw a hand to her mouth.
“Oh, shit, what?” I squeaked out thinking I wasn’t about to like what “Oh, shit” meant
“Do you wear underwear with your yoga pants?”
“No, I don’t like panty lines,” I muttered, feeling the punch line coming.
“Then he probably got a good look at your cherry pie.”
One eye started ticking as I envisioned Vaughn walking down the street, minding his own business, until I shoved my ass in the air and gave him a shot of my Twatus Maximus. Well, hell, I guess you couldn’t blame a guy for that. I’d probably look, too, whether I was married or not.
“Ok, so that explains him ogling my ass,” I replied as I fell into a chair. “But he still winked at me and flashed the sexiest grin I’ve ever received, and I’m pretty sure a married man shouldn’t wink and grin at another woman, so he’s still a pig.”
“Does this revelation mean he isn’t gonna rescue me in your book?”
“No, I’ll keep him as the hero, since I’ve built the story around him. But I won’t enjoy writing the sex scenes.”
“Oh, man, can I help you write them?” she asked excitedly. “I haven’t had sex for over a year and could use some visuals for my dates with B.O.B.
Horrified at the thought of imagining Kasey in all her naked glory, I shook my head vehemently and I cried out, “I can’t write sex scenes with you as the heroine. I always put myself in that role so I can feel what they are feeling. If I didn’t, they’d be wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. No freakin’ way do I wanna envision your ass or any other body part in my head, Kasey.”
Kasey sighed dramatically and was about to argue my point when my cell phone rang. Pulling it from my purse, I noted the call was from Janeane and answered.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“We gotta meet. Dark Prince just sent an email, and there’s another list of instructions that we have to complete by eight tonight, or we aren’t “trainable,” he says.”
“Oh, for the love of . . . have you had lunch?” I asked her, looking at my watch.
“Nope, what are you thinking?”
“I’m with Kasey right now. We can meet you for lunch if you can get away and answer his questions.”
“Nic, I’m not writing on my boobs again for this guy. I still have lipstick stains on my chest from last night.”
Boy, we had to think fast to get that order accomplished in the time frame allowed. It had to be Janeane’s boobs so we’d hauled her into the bathroom, stripped her down to her underwear, and wrote “Master’s Good Girl” on her chest. Luckily, the walls in the bathroom at Gypsy’s were stained wood, and it looked like a room in a home. If he’d asked for a specific location like a bed, we would have been screwed.
“We’ll figure it out. Can you meet us at Gypsy’s? I’ll order you a sandwich so you don’t waste time waiting.”
“That’ll work, see you in ten.”