Femme Fatale (Black Rose Book 2) (20 page)

Agent Turner

I stretch my legs out in front of me, squirming and trying to get comfortable in the standard FBI office chair that goes with the standard metal desk in our bureau office. I rub my eyes. This time, I am tired due to fatigue. We’d brought in Brandon Jenkins, the guy from the bar, and he lawyered up immediately. We didn’t have enough to hold him.

This case is beginning to get to me. It’s hard enough dealing with one serial killer, but dealing with four of these guys working together is wearing me out. They may not all be serial killers, but working as a team is making it much easier for Richard to wreak havoc. I have my head down, and I’m rubbing my eyes when I hear someone slap the doorframe and speak.

“You guys better get going. You’ve got a body outside of that downtown bar you’ve been watching. It’s some weird shit too.”

“What?” I query.

“Looks like somebody tacked, and I do mean tacked, a note with a black rose on a dead body and then dumped it in the alley behind
Tacks Bar and Grill
.”

I’ve always wondered why they called the bar we’ve been watching
Tacks
. I found out when my partner was questioning Brandon earlier. It’s funny how some nicknames just stick, and by all appearances, this dead guy has been stuck with tacks in more ways than just his nickname. I know
Black Rose
has attached the note and black rose with tacks purposely. I learned years ago that everything the man does has meaning.

As Rene and I leave our office, the fatigue I have been experiencing is gone, replaced with a sudden surge of adrenaline. As morbid as it is, I’m excited about seeing what kind of shape the dead body is in. Out of all the serial killers I’ve ever dealt with,
Black Rose
is special in more ways than one.

“There’s always a method to his madness, isn’t there?”

“The guy is smart, David.”

“Don’t tell me you’re bonding with the dreaded
Black Rose
.”

“I don’t bond… and you should consider yourself lucky I’ve allowed you to bond with him.”

“Why?” I ask her, genuinely curious.

We get in the car and she turns sideways to give me her full attention.

“You need it. You need to believe in something bigger than yourself. You need to know that justice will be served no matter the circumstances. I can’t give you that because I have to stay within the prescribed perimeters of our job. He’s no threat to what we share. Now, if he was a woman, I’d kick both your asses.”

“You threaten me with something I enjoy?”

“You doubt I could make the experience unenjoyable? You underestimate me, love.”

“Never, I can assure you that isn’t going to happen. Time to see what our serial killer did to his victim,” I state as we pull into the alley.

“Great, your boyfriend Billy Bob McGee is here. I mean, seriously, how fucking cliché is that name of his.”

“He told me his mother named him after some song.”

“Mm, I’m certain the two of you have had some real enlightening heart to hearts. I mean, it’s pretty damn obvious he goes out of his way to be at every crime scene that he knows you’ll be at.”

“Now who’s jealous, David?”

“Agent Turner at work!” I snap, taking my frustration toward the man crushing on Rene out on her.” She just ignores me.

“I know, David, at work you’re in charge. Anywhere else, though, you’re my bitch,” she tells me, smiling wickedly.

Ignoring her, I get out of the car and huff my way past good ole Billy Bob. Unfortunately, I’m not fast enough to miss hearing him address my partner.

“Hey, Miss Rene. I was hoping you’d be here.”

I know she’s rubbing it in for my
Agent Turner
remark when she answers.

“Well, I couldn’t pass up a chance to see you.”

I don’t want to do or say anything unprofessional, so I direct my full attention toward the body. I can’t resist rolling my eyes when he saunters over with Rene and speaks.

“Well, looks like your boy
Black Rose
is at it again.”

“We don’t assume anything, Officer McGee. This could be a copycat.”

My tone is biting as I answer the man, but he doesn’t seem to notice since he can’t take his eyes off my partner. I’m seething with jealousy and desperately trying not to let it show. It’s becoming more difficult to hide my true feelings though. This crush of his has been going on for years.

Damn, am I actually defending a serial killer, or am I just setting my partner’s crush straight? It’s probably both. Yeah, it’s definitely both.

“Looks the same to me,” McGee answers, not getting the hint as usual.

“Well, you aren’t the agent on duty, now are you?”

This guy brings out the worst in me. I force myself to turn my attention back to the dead body, and I’m relieved when the ME joins us. He bends down across from me and speaks.

“Well, just when you think you’ve seen it all. This took one hell of an imagination.”

I eye the tacks that spell out various offenses in different colors on the subject’s body.

“Yeah, the guy’s nickname is Tacks.

I read the note that has been tacked to the man’s nude body along with a black rose.

Two down, two to go. Where I stop, nobody knows.

Black Rose

The subject’s stomach has red tacks pressed into it that spell out the word
killer
. In yellow on his inner arm, is the word
rapist
, and on the opposite inner arm, is the word
liar
in blue.

I look up at the ME and speak.

“Do you notice anything about the color choices of the tacks?”

“Yeah, they’re the primary color group.”

“You got it. I’m not sure what his reasoning is on that one.”

“His mouth must have been held open when he died. It’s literally locked in place like that,” The ME notes.

I take my gloved hand and do a sweep of the corpse’s mouth.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” I state as I gently pull a tack from the back of his mouth. “He used black for this. I wonder how many of those were forced down his throat?”

“Won’t know until I get him on my table.”

“Well, one thing is for sure; this is going to be a very interesting autopsy. I’m looking forward to seeing what you find.”

“I’m looking forward to it too. Interesting doesn’t begin to describe the story this body will tell me.”

Charles

I slam my hands against the leather bar my wife is leaning against, making her jump and pinning her in.

I nuzzle my head in her hair, taking in her scent.

“Don’t you dare fucking move.”

I back up to remove my suit coat and neatly place it on a stool after I fold it. I stare at her, holding her immobile with just my gaze as I slowly roll up the sleeves of my dress shirt to reveal my tanned forearms. I study her as she watches me. Her eyes follow my movements, and she wets her lower lip with a flick of her tongue. My voice is barely above a whisper as I speak.

“I’m convinced you have a hand fetish, love. All that kinkiness in you that I bring out—kink you never knew you’d be into. The way you study my hands is… shall we say,
a dead giveaway
—pun intended, of course.”

I circle around to the back of the bar and pour myself a shot of Patron two fingers deep, quickly tossing it back. I make myself another before reaching for a deep red burgundy blend to pour into a wine glass. Setting everything down on my wife’s side of the bar, I walk back around and pour the glass of wine, swirling it in my hand as I eye her.

“I would say this is an appropriate drink for a woman who’s developed a taste for blood.”

When she reaches for it, I squeeze her chin between two fingers until she flinches in pain.

“I told you not to fucking move!”

I bring the wine glass to her lips, forcing her to take a huge gulp.

“Oh, I bet that’s warm going down. I wonder what those tacks felt like going down our victim’s throat as I made you keep feeding him.”

I had purposely solicited her participation in force-feeding some of the tacks I made the man digest. After all, we’re partners in crime now.

“With the excitement of having our second victim behind us, I wonder if your pussy taste different now that you’re a murderer well on her way to becoming a serial killer? Drink the rest of the wine.”

I note that her fingers tremble as she takes the wine glass from me. As soon as she sets it down, I lift her up onto the bar. My fingers feel for the pocketknife I always carry, flicking it open in one quick motion and slicing through the pretty pink lace panties she wore for me. I swipe a finger over her opening.

“So, now we know killing makes your pussy wet. Such a bad little girl you are, wrapped up in all that innocence. You just never know what’s really in a person’s heart, do you?”

My tone is taunting, almost accusing in nature. I move my jacket out of the way and pull two stools up on either side of me. After removing her shoes, I place her bare feet on them, but she’s still trying to hold her thighs together.

“Spread them. You know how I like you.”

I bend down, spreading her knees apart so her legs are open wide, and I bury my face in her sweet little slit. I slowly rake my tongue up and down her opening, savoring her taste. One finger inside her opening has her quivering and soaked. When I add a second and pull them back toward me, her body starts quaking on the edge of release.

I want to taste her. I want her climaxing so long and hard that her juices are dripping down my chin. I will never get enough of this woman. If I could eat her alive, I would. She is my drug of choice—the only thing I crave more than killing—and now she’s my partner as well.

Oh, how I love the sweet way she trembles under my carnal assault, screaming out my name as an orgasm rages through her system. It’s the same kind of release I am now experiencing in the emotional realm because I no longer have to hide any part of myself from her. We work together toward common goals: cleaning up the streets and avenging the weak. She has now witnessed, firsthand, the beast inside my soul. She’s privy to all my darkness and every soiled secret. She’s met the homicidal madman in the guise of a gentleman, the one who plays the part so well he remains undetected in my high society circle of acquaintances.

I’m not just a man. I’m a primal predator constantly on the lookout for my next target, and she’s a woman now given over to base instinct. The funny thing about it is that she’s just as dark as I am. I just never saw it until now.