Safeword (6 page)

The office was mostly deserted when I arrived, so I started a new pot of coffee in the break room and dove back into Arnold Stevenson’s open cases and fresh parolees. Cole’s office came through mid-morning with a report on the physical evidence.

“Hey, Myah, evidence report.” She stopped typing, attention on me. “Fibers were 75 percent wool, 25 percent nylon, common to wool coats, sweaters, and every yarn store in the country. Too common to track. A footprint was found in the mud beside the porch, size twelve shoe with extremely worn tread. Impression depth and size indicates a man between five-foot ten and six-one, a hundred eighty to two hundred pounds. Wear shows no sign of unique walking characteristics, though there were minute traces of mud in the treads inconsistent with the soil around Arnold’s house.”

Myah raised her eyebrows. “Enough to compare with other locations?” She meant the land around the rivers. Based on water content in specific areas, Cole could isolate a mud sample’s origins. Anything to tell us somewhere else our killer had been.

“Looks like he had enough for a few comparisons. So far, nothing. Inconsistent with the banks of the Mississippi down at The Landing and on the Missouri in St. Charles. It’s possible there are tributaries or ponds that match, but he’d need another sample.”

“That would take another victim,” she grumbled. “No, thank you.”

“I’m meeting with the ex-Mrs. Stevenson in an hour. Up for lunch downtown?”

“In this crap weather, you want to drive twenty minutes just for lunch?”

I shrugged. “Gotta be there anyway to meet her, so what’s the difference?”

“Okay,” she conceded, grabbing her coat.

Melissa Stevenson was a pinch-faced woman with a chain-smoking habit that belied her corporate appearance. We stood outside and shivered next to a smoker’s butt receptacle while she puffed away, unwilling to make her office aware of her involvement with the police in any way.

“So you worked with him?” she barked. “He ever say anything about me?”

“No, ma’am,” Myah said, her tone steady despite shivering in the cold.

“No surprise. He never said anything about me when he should have.” I wasn’t sure what that meant.

“We understand you and your ex-husband had some differences of opinion with regard to custody of your son, William.” I consulted my notes. “For about fifteen months, you’ve been in and out of the court system over visitation.”

She snorted. “Saying it was a difference of opinion is like saying it’s a tad nippy today.” She blew a stream of smoke at me in defiance. I didn’t react. “Arnold was never around, and when he was, he could always get called away. I didn’t want him foisting Billy on those ancient neighbors of his. But when he had him, I could never make plans so I could be available for him to dump Billy back on me. I had him all the time even with Arnold’s visits, so it made more sense to petition to stop visitation. Arnold didn’t have what it took to be a father. Not a good one. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, though.” She glanced pointedly at my ringless left hand. “You’re not married, so you wouldn’t know about work-life balance. You don’t have to do it.”

I bristled, but remained stoic. Let her make her assumptions. “Fifteen months is a long time to fight with someone. Sick of it?”

Her spine stiffened. “Hell yes, I was sick of it. Cost me money I could have been putting away for Billy’s future. Doesn’t mean I killed him.”

“Not directly,” Myah goaded. It earned her a glare.

“I didn’t. Believe it or not, I’m not thrilled Arnold’s dead,” Ms. Stevenson said. “He tried to make the city better, safer, even if it was at Billy’s and my expense. World’s worse off with him gone. Maybe not
my
particular world, but I’m not the only one here, am I?”

Myah and I said nothing, our silence and disapproving looks intended to make her feel the need to explain. We didn’t wait long.

“I don’t know who killed him either.” She stamped her cigarette out on a flat surface of the giant ashtray and lit another. “And before you go thinking I might have hired someone, don’t. I don’t have that kind of money, since the lawyers have bled me dry. But if you want to check my whereabouts on the night in question, I was having a very nice, very public birthday dinner for my boyfriend with my son and my boyfriend’s parents. We went back to my house for cake and ice cream, and Jake stayed the night. Before that, I went to work, went home, took Billy to basketball, and went to my knitting circle on Thursday nights. Same old, same old, and I didn’t meet some shady character under an overpass to discuss bumping Arnold off.”

“Boyfriend’s full name and address? His parents, too,” Myah sniped, writing it down. “Knitting circle location, basketball league, and the number of a colleague who can vouch for your presence at work.”

Melissa’s glare went stony and she delivered the information with barely checked contempt. “Is that all?”

“We’ll be in touch,” I replied, turning on my heel and walking away before I could say anything she could complain about to Kittridge.

“What a lovely woman,” Myah grumbled as we climbed into the car. “And calculating.”

“Calculating or not, she’s not a good candidate. It’s not against the law to hate someone.”

“It should be. But you’re right. Stevenson’s house wasn’t merely tossed, it was destroyed. Someone angry did it, and while Princess Selfish there is certainly angry enough, she was all of what, five-two and a hundred-ten? Not strong enough to do the damage. Hiring someone wouldn’t have had the rage element.”

“Unless she hired them and told them to really tear through it.” But it was moot. She probably wasn’t our perp.

“Doubtful she’d include rape in the list of the killer’s to-dos.” Myah sighed, taking off her gloves and splaying her fingers in front of the heat registers. “Back to square one.”

“Sort of,” I said grimly. “We don’t have to talk to her again at least.”

“There is that. Let’s find some decent food to make this drive worthwhile.”

§§§

“SO HOW’S the week been?” Dr. Laura Ribaldi asked as Ben and I got comfortable side by side on her couch in their Clayton office suite a few days later. The windows looked west, over sprawling city peppered with trees that, in spring, would leaf out beautifully and carpet the area in green. Now, they were covered in white and strangely elegant despite their starkness. The windows in Ben’s office afforded the same view, though it’d been awhile since I’d seen the inside of it. I smiled at the memory of my first few visits there, the things we’d done on his desk, floor, and couch. I wondered at the couch I was sitting on with a speculative look at Laura. Her stern look brought me back to the present, though.

“Good. Well, work’s been hard, but home life is better.”

Ben patted my knee reassuringly.

“What’s going on at work?” she asked, relaxing in her giant chair, which made her diminutive form even smaller.

“The murder of a colleague. Myah’s lead. It was... brutal.” I could think of so many other words to describe it: horrific, heinous, monstrous, atrocious. But all those words described my attack, too, and were hard to swallow. “There are some similarities. Restraint, sexual assault.” I resorted to clinical words as a shield against their more vulnerable meanings.

“Are you coping with that?”

“I think so.” I breathed out. “It’s not easy, but I haven’t panicked. Not even at the scene. Despite the reminder, I’m sleeping better.” I darted a glance at Ben, who scowled playfully at me. “Well, kind of. Ben had to order me into it the first night.”

“Order you into it?” I’d learned one of Laura’s interrogation techniques was to parrot my words back to me with a slightly different tone, a mix of curiosity and interest which made me want to explain. Her utter lack of judgment and her natural understanding of my inherent nature helped. She was also a submissive.

“Yeah, I was restless and couldn’t shut my mind down. He did the Dom thing with the tone, you know?” She gave me a knowing smile, nodding. “Calmed me right down.”

Ben cleared his throat. “I simply turned his focus to how tense he was, then forced him to relax a body part at a time. When it was done, he was already letting go of the day and easing into sleep.”

“It was more than that,” I said earnestly. “You know it was. You took control of my thoughts and directed them where you wanted them to go. I responded, like a good sub does. It felt good, even without sex involved.”

“Did it feel good to you, Ben?” Laura swiveled slightly to focus on my partner.

He cleared his throat again. “I was just helping Gav. I didn’t mean for it to turn into a power exchange.”

“But it did,” she guessed.

“Yes,” I answered.

“No,” Ben said at the same time.

She looked at us in turn, waiting for one to clarify. Ben said nothing. Frustration surged in my chest, and I bit down on the sarcasm dying to come out. I wanted him to explain how he didn’t see it as I did. I wanted to know how his anticipating what I needed, getting in my head and taking control, and guiding me to where he wanted me to go, resulting in my submitting to him, wasn’t a power exchange.

“I submitted,” I finally said, voice cold. “But Ben doesn’t want my submission.”

“Gavin,” Laura admonished. “You know you’re not allowed to assume what anyone in this room does or doesn’t want. You’re allowed to ask only.”

“Okay,” I said, chagrined and irritated in equal parts. “Ben, do you want my submission?”

He was quiet, head lowered, and for a brief moment, I saw the weight he carried, not only for his own recovery but mine, too. He had to be healthy himself, but also had to consider my mental health. While I didn’t like it, was frustrated by his refusal to even attempt dominating me again, I could understand it. The irritation ebbed, and I put a hand on his leg, just above his knee.

“Of course I do,” he answered. “When you’re ready.”

“Which is not something you get to determine, Ben,” Laura reminded gently. “Just like Gavin doesn’t get to mind read, neither do you.” She paused, pursing her lips. “Ben, what’s one of the most basic principles the BDSM lifestyle contains?”

“There are many basics, Laura, and I don’t need to be schooled on any of them.” A brief flash passed over his face, and my heart skipped a beat.
There he is! My Dom, confident and in control.
The wave of desire welling up was wholly inappropriate, and wholly unstoppable.

“Communication,” she said, ignoring him. She was
a
sub, but not
his
sub, and as his business partner, she knew him better than anyone but me and could get away with talking to him in such a manner. “Open communication is a must, or people get hurt. Gavin may be communicating with you, but you don’t appear to be listening. He’s sleeping better. His touch aversion has all but disappeared, if only with you. He’s focusing on a difficult case at work without a single panic attack. And yet you say he’s not ready to begin another facet of his treatment. Why?”

Ben met her with stony silence.

“May I speculate?” she asked politely, indifferent to his glare.

“By all means.” His sarcasm was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Laura stood, looking out the windows at the wintry landscape. She squared her shoulders as she spoke.

“Gavin has been the one more outwardly demonstrative of the effects your attack has brought on you both. His reactions have been more immediate, more on the surface, and therefore, front and center since the verdict and your one failed scene six months ago. They are easier to focus on, and after all, it’s your place as his Dom to care for your sub. His troubles give you a point of direction. Gavin is your compass, yours to read and determine the best direction in which to travel.”

It made me smile, being considered as such, but I remained quiet. Ben’s leg against mine was rock hard, and I thought I knew where she was headed, so I plucked his hand from his lap and entwined our fingers, offering my proximity and support, if not exactly agreement, for his position.

“I believe you’ve been playing a particularly well-disguised avoidance scheme. You may not even be aware of doing it. Your attention has been on Gavin’s recuperation, and because of this, you have suppressed your own recovery.”

Ben snorted. “That’s not true, Laura. You have sessions with both of us privately, as well as together. I’m getting help.”

She gave him a rueful, if sympathetic nod. “We spend most of our one-on-one time discussing your worries about Gavin. Tell me, Ben.” She moved back to her chair, her steps calculated, almost predatory, in their careful approach, as if she expected closing the distance between her and Ben would elicit a reaction again. The chair creaked as she gracefully sank into it, steepling her fingers in front of her lips. “Does what happened to you make you uncomfortable?”

“I wasn’t the one completely violated.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Laura would have made a hell of a detective.

“Yes, of course it does,” he finally acquiesced.

“What about it makes you uncomfortable?”

“Serious?” he scoffed. “Everything. Forced to watch Gavin being tortured. Hearing such hatred pointed at someone I love and being unable to stop Lane from inflicting the pain he did.”

“What about being restrained and whipped until bloodied yourself, beaten badly enough to require hospitalization?”

Ben was silent for so long, I thought he wouldn’t answer. I barely breathed, knowing if I made a move or a sound, Ben would latch onto it to change the direction of Laura’s concentration.

“It’s nothing I haven’t endured before.”

“In your capacity as a Dom, though, right?” she asked, not stopping for an answer. “To see what level of sting a crop provides. To feel the vulnerability a sub feels when unable to see or move in bondage, or speak while gagged. It was all to learn a sub’s viewpoint so you could better dominate, isn’t that right?”

“You know it was,” he snarled, his grip on my hand so painful, my fingertips went numb.

“Perspective is key here, Ben. You imagined yourself a sub in those teaching moments, didn’t you? This wasn’t
your
vulnerability, it was a
sub’s
. A
sub’s
heightened senses and heart flutters. A
sub’s
trust on the line, not
yours.
”