Scorned (2 page)

              “Stop it; just go out and have fun. You were planning on doing that anyway.”

              Claire thought hard about it. She did have the night off. So what if she had no one to go with? She had a hot new body that would have every guy in the place eating out of the palm of her hand.

              “Fine, go have fun with your new boy toy.”

              “Thanks, I will.”

              Claire hung up with Rebecca and marched herself over to the closet. A short black dress rested on a hanger begging to be worn. She took it with her and slipped the dress over her head. She chose a matching pair of seductive black peep toe heels that exposed her recently painted red nails.

              She strutted over to the window one more time. She loved how hot she looked and was ready to make men’s tongues hang out of their mouths.

              An hour later, Claire found herself at the Whiskey J’s Saloon. The name fit it well as it had an old west appearance with wooden floors and bar stools. Blinding multicolored lights bounced off the bottles of liquor from behind the bar. It was tempting, but Claire knew she had to restrain herself. Men were eying her up like wolves stalking their prey. She could still have her fun, but she was not to let her guard down.

              This was her first time coming to Whiskey J’s. A friend of Rebecca’s recommended the place to them and said they would have a time they’d never forget. Claire was skeptical from the moment she heard of the place. All she could think of was the old west with cowboys smoking cigars, playing cards while the women waited on them hand and foot. Then the guys would slap their waitress’s asses as they handed them another beer. She was pleasantly surprised to see it was nothing like that.

              The Saloon had been divided up into two sections. One part of the bar still had that old west type of feel, while the other looked more modern and up to date. Claire passed one man with a wolfish grin.

              “Hey baby, let’s dance.”

              Claire held back her laughter as the man drunkenly gyrated in front of her with his hands tucked behind his head. She didn’t exactly know how to get out of it without using one of her girlfriend’s as an excuse. She was on her own with no one to bail her out. Claire let a smile slip. She couldn’t contain her laughter anymore.

              “Sorry, maybe later.”

              Claire pushed passed the drunken fool and made her way to the bar. There were a lot more men there than women, but most of the bartenders were men too. One in particular caught her eye. He was tall and ruggedly handsome. His muscles bulged out of his tight black t-shirt as he poured the drinks.

              Claire bit her bottom lip and sashayed up to the bar. The bartender couldn’t tear his eyes away from Claire’s toned body and low cut neckline.

              “What’ll it be?”

              “Pomegranate martini.”

              The bartender’s attention was firmly on Claire. He lost focus while checking her out. His eyes never strayed far from her face or the top of her dress.

              “Hey buddy,” one of the patrons from the other end of the bar shouted as his arm waved in the air. “I’ve been waiting five minutes. Can you fucking come take our order?”

              The bartender slid the martini towards Claire. His dark eyes exuded warmth as they stared at her. She took a sip and nervously smiled. Another shout emanated behind her. She turned and saw the annoyed patron standing next to her.

              “Excuse me sweetie,” he said as he edged his way between Claire and the man sitting next to her. “Look buddy, I know she’s hot, but I need a Bud Light, strawberry martini, a lime and two shots of tequila.”

              The bartender slammed the shaker on the counter and poured the liquor into the silver cylinder. He forcefully shook it, no doubt wishing it was the asshole’s head, and drained the contents into a martini glass. He slid them along with the two beers to the man barking orders.

              A twenty dollar bill was slammed on the bar in front of Claire. There was something about the man collecting his drinks that sent a chill down her spine. Her eyes gravitated towards him involuntarily.

              “So, what’s a beautiful lady like you doing in a dump like this,” the bartender asked. Claire ignored him. Her eyes remained locked on the man carrying the beer and shot glasses.

              “What? Oh, sorry,” she replied. Claire peeled her attention away from the man long enough to see the bartender was checking her out. The attention sent a warm sensation throughout her body. It was nice to feel wanted, but she was not ready for a hook-up, even if he was a gorgeous bartender.

              Claire took a sip from her drink and glanced back at the man with the drinks. He rested everything on a nearby table that could barely fit two people at it. His hand reached inside his pocket and pulled out a small clear tube. He moved quickly, but Claire noticed clear liquid dripping from the tube into one of the shot glasses. An overly excited grin was plastered the man’s face, reminiscent of a young boy that realized he was about to lose his virginity.

              Claire knew he had evil intentions and that he planned on using that drink to score with some girl he would’ve otherwise had no shot with. She quickly chugged her drink and jumped from her chair as the bartender turned to help another customer. If Claire was going to do something, she needed to act fast.

              She followed the man back to the other side of the bar where he placed the drinks next to a hot blond in tight fitting skinny jeans and a low cut blouse. Seeing the girl wrap her fingers around the shot glass forced Claire to relive the worst night of her life.

              Blurred images of a man leading her out of a bar filled her mind. The cold night air stung her skin as they made their way to a car. She loosely remembered a firm hand rubbing her leg while she did her best to stay awake. The hand wasn’t forceful, it was almost loving as if the man believed what he was doing was consensual. But it wasn’t. She never wanted that and she was sure this girl didn’t either.

              Claire came to her senses as she watched the woman raise the glass to her lips. She was out of time. Claire hurried over to the woman and tried her best to act like a bubbly air head.

              “Oh my god, I love that bag. Where’d you get it?” The woman looked at Claire like she had five heads and slowly put down the shot glass. Claire’s eyes stared at the sparkling royal blue clutch that sat on the bar.

              The woman shook her head and appeased Claire. “My girlfriend got it for me at the mall.”

              The answer was meant to brush Claire off, but she took it as she needed to be more forceful. She inserted herself between the woman and the man who tried drugging her. There wasn’t much time before one of them asked her to leave and she needed to find a way to get rid of the drink,

              Claire positioned herself in front of the man blocking his access to either shot glass. She rambled on about how that color blue was her favorite and would match a dress she’s been dying to wear. The idle chit-chat bored and annoyed both, but it provided the much needed distraction Claire’s fingers lightly traced the rim of one shot glass and moved it next to the one the woman tried to drink. Her hand switched to the drugged drink and inched it back towards the man.

              Once the switch was complete, Claire excused herself and watched to make sure the devil took the bait. He downed the drink, not knowing what he consumed, and smiled at the thought of getting lucky.

              Claire kept her eye on the less than happy couple. He was slurring his words after twenty minutes and was falling over himself. The woman he was attempted to drug left with another guy. Claire knew something had to be done about creeps like him. She thought giving him a taste of his own medicine would teach him a lesson, but knew he would inevitably strike again. Next time it could be her or Becky or Sheila.

              Claire used the man’s vulnerability as her moment to strike. She hurried to his side before he fell off the bar stool.

              “Hey there,” he said. His words began to slur again. “You looks ot. You wants to back house n fuck?”

              His boldness surprised her. Claire wondered how much fight this guy had left in him and momentarily second guessed her decision. But knowing what he tried to do to the other woman infuriated her and finalized her decision “Sure, she replied. How about I drive?”

              The man smiled as he threw an arm around Claire’s waist. “So what’s name?”

              Claire thought about telling him the truth. But then again, if her plan didn’t work out, someone would know what she did. “Stacy,” she lied.

              The man cupped her face with his right hand. “Nice meet you. I Ambrose.” He leaned in and planted a kiss on her lips. Claire wanted to pull away. The thought of this low life’s lips touching hers repulsed her, but she needed to play along with it.

             
Nothing will get in your way of what you want
, she reminded herself.

              She didn’t have to act too much. Ambrose was ready to drop the moment he took a step forward. Claire helped him to her car and placed him in the backseat. He let out a low moan. She entered the driver’s seat and looked back at the crumpled heap that was once a smooth talker.

              Now that Claire had him, she didn’t know what to do with him.
What has gotten into you
? An image of the man that drugged and raped her flooded her mind. He was the reason she was like this and she wasn’t going to let it happen to another woman. Claire started her car and sped off with Ambrose passed out in the backseat.

Chapter 2-Ali

              Nightmares have plagued me for the first six months of 2006. Dreams of burning buildings, people drowning, and dead body after dead body piling up at the foot the Ulster County Police Station’s steps filled my mind. It didn’t matter where I went, I saw the faces of the seven students that were murdered by a cold calculating twenty something year old. If that wasn’t bad enough, I had to live with the lasting image of firing the bullet that ended his life. You would think all of this could be avoided by simply waking up. Unfortunately for me, these images were burned into my brain, forcing me to live with them every day.

              The media wasn’t any help. Every day there was a new headline that took a shot at me, my actions or the Ulster County P.D. Throughout the last six months, all I read were bold captions of:
Detective Ryan Slays Campus Killer. Campus Killer Thwarted By Police. Police Under Fire.

              Okay maybe all of the headlines weren’t too bad, but they constantly reminded me of what happened for months leading up to the Campus Killer’s death. His reign of terror ended when I killed the miserable son of a bitch. That’s what brought this media hail storm to the Ulster County P.D. Half of the town and my police department billed me as some sort of hero. They were no longer afraid to leave their homes or walk around campus because some deranged killer was on the loose. Others condemned me for using such deadly force to stop a potential suspect without ever letting him defend himself.

             
I was justified
. That’s what I had to keep telling myself. Several months of investigating the deaths of six victims led to one last game of cat and mouse. He baited me into following him into a high speed chase down I-84 until it abruptly ended at the airport. He was on the run and wanted me to watch as the last opportunity to catch him slip through my fingers. I wasn’t going to let that happen.

              It replayed in my head every day. Intense fear burned in those eyes as I yelled freeze. The tip of a knife slithered out from his sleeve and pressed against an innocent woman’s throat. My hand shook as I readied my aim. I wanted to take the sick bastard down. The smirk on his face told me he knew I wouldn’t fire my gun, not when I had a petrified woman staring back at me.

              Before I could react, a tall, dark, and handsome hero came to my aid. I don’t know how he knew where to find me, but lucky for me he showed up just in time. He jumped into attack mode in a flash, saving the woman’s life. That’s when I saw red. A crimson stream poured down Matthew’s pristine white shirt. My body reacted faster than I realized. The trigger snapped back and a loud blast shot from the barrel of the gun. A bullet sized hole blew through DeFalco’s head. The live drained from his body, but his face has haunted me ever since. I don’t know why, but something feels unresolved, like I missed something.

              My life changed completely after the shooting which I was very thankful for. I moved into a new house and sold my old one. It was something that needed to be done, especially knowing Nick DeFalco easily found it and attacked it. He may be dead, but it still wasn’t safe for me to live there anymore. My house was plastered across the TV several times. There would never be any privacy there, and would make me an easier target for criminals to attack. Amanda never felt safe again either. There were too many students murdered on campus which had everyone on edge. But Amanda was different. She was taken hostage by the killer and was forced to watch her boyfriend become the seventh and final victim. After being released from the hospital, she moved in with me, believing I was the only one that could keep her safe.

              Matthew stayed at the house for a while too. The stab wound caused him to lose a lot of blood, but was able to recover a few weeks later. He was more than happy to have me as his personal nurse during his recovery.

              “What do you think about taking some time away from New York,” he asked after only a week into his recovery.

              “You shouldn’t be flying in your condition.”

              “I’ll be fine. I get the stitches out next week.”

              I reluctantly agreed on the condition that the doctors had to clear him to travel. We waited and booked the first flight out to Saint Lucia. Matthew promised paradise and that’s exactly what I got.

              The Island was more beautiful than I could’ve imagined. The landscape was absolutely mesmerizing. The gorgeous colorful flowers stood out against the bold green trees and bushes. The sky was cloudless, and every breath I took was filled with intoxicating aromas from nearby restaurants. It took us an hour to get to the hotel, but it was well worth the wait. The windows were surrounded by large green plants. The brown, grey and beige tiled floor were spotless. We could see our reflections bouncing off of them as we rolled our bags up to the front desk.

              The room was massive. A king sized bed sat in the middle of a spacious room. Next to it were a set of doors that opened into a terrace with a view of the crystal blue water.

              “What do you want to do first,” Matthew asked.

              My lips curled into a smile. I flung my arms around his neck and smothered him with long passionate kisses. “This is too much. You’re too much.”

              “It was nothing really.” Matthew’s modesty was one of his better qualities that I found incredibly attractive. I planted another kiss on him and pulled him closer. Matthew’s hands moved up my back. The mere touch of his fingers on my skin was electric.

              We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Each layer of clothing was carefully peeled away until we could feel the smoothness of each other’s skin. Matthew held me in his arms. His massive hands caressed my back. His lips worked their magic down my neck to the collarbone.

              I bit my lip in an attempt to silence the breathless moans that escaped me. We moved to the bed. The floral scented sheets were ripped from the freshly made bed. They were thrown into a pile on the floor next to our clothes. I could feel him pressing into me. My nails dug into his back. It was perfect. He was perfect. And I…I was in paradise.

********************************************************

              The incredible memories of that trip were what I clung to these last few months. When I came back to work, I was remanded to desk duty until my therapist concluded that I was fit to return to field work. Until then, I was forced to sit back behind my desk and do mind numbing paperwork. The Lieutenant and I knew I was more useful tracking down criminals and investigating crime scenes. How was I doing anything helpful by sitting around doing nothing?

              The alarm clock blared loudly. The annoying DJ’s voice echoed in my head as if he was personally trying his best to wake me up. I cringed at the thought of getting up. My hand blindly searched for a way to shut him up, hoping for a few more minutes of blissful silence. U2’s hit song, Beautiful Day, replaced the DJ which I was thankful for. I laid there listening to the song, taking in the words. I wanted nothing more than to stay in that bed. If I could think of any reasonable excuse to call out and stay home, I would’ve taken it. All I needed was a bit of encouragement. I reached back, feeling the other side of the bed. I hoped my boyfriend Matthew was still there. He had spent every night holding me for the last six months, but was usually gone by the time I woke up. Today was no different. His side of the bed was straightened up and tucked in; making it look like no one had slept on that side of the bed.

              Knowing he was gone was the only thing that forced me out of bed. The covers were thrown aside as I placed my feet on the floor. I missed the feeling of my soft beige carpet from my old house. Now they walked on a rougher much older carpet as they carried me into the kitchen. The aroma of coffee filled the house and I instinctively gravitated towards it. It was like liquid gold to me. It was the only thing that could wake me up in the morning. Two white cups sat on the counter. I grabbed the coffee pot and poured its contents into the cups followed by milk and two sugars for each. I took the mugs down the hall to the spare bedroom and opened the door. The sight and smells that emanated from that room were not for the faint of heart.

              The room reeked of beer, old rotting food and vomit. This was how Amanda chose to deal with the death of her boyfriend Shawn. There wasn’t much I could do about her drinking problem. I poured out every bottle she stashed in my house, but she always went out and bought more. She waited until I went to bed every night before sneaking out, as if I was her mother and she was trying to escape my wrath.

              When Amanda returned, she would stumble to her room, and collapse face first onto the bed where I found her in the morning. Sure enough, I walked into her room this morning and found her the same way with her clothes half hanging off.

              “Get up you drunk,” I commanded while kicking the mattress. She mumbled something incoherently, but I chose to ignore it. “Get up, take a shower and I’ll drive you to work.”

              Amanda turned her head to the side. “I’m not going. I’m off today.”

             
Lucky her.
“Then at least get up, drink some coffee and clean up this pig sty.”

              Amanda hated being told what to do. It was a trademark of being part of the Ryan family. We inherited the trait from my father, a man who refused to ask for help but somehow expected us to go out of our way to assist him with everything he did. Amanda was becoming just like him, especially when she had spent the night drinking and refused to get up the next day. I placed the mug down on the nightstand and left her alone. There wasn’t much I could do for her. She needed to find her own way out of her misery.

              I drank my coffee while getting ready for work. My pink tank top and running shoes sat idly in the corner of the room. Even my daily routine seemed to suffer from DeFalco’s attack. No matter where I went, the memory of him and what he did to me and Amanda haunted and corrupted my life.

              I dragged my feet for nearly an hour before finally deciding it was time to go back to work. The station was quiet when I walked through the double doors, but Rodney seemed to beam with delight when he saw me plop down in the lumpy leather chair.

              “What the hell are you so happy about,” I asked.

              “What? I’m just happy to see my favorite partner.”

              Normally I was his only partner. It was a running joke we shared for years. We were always partners; that was until I was benched. The department felt I needed to take some time away and seek counseling to deal with the shooting. It was a policy every officer faced when they pulled their gun and fired it.

              “Sorry partner; just not in the mood for it today.”

              “What’s wrong?”

              I stared at the small stack of paperwork that sat on the corner of my desk. I hated thinking that was what I had to look forward for the rest of the day. “I got a great idea. You stay here and handle this crap, and I’ll go on patrol.”

              Rodney laughed loudly as the door at the back of the pit slammed against the wall. A short gray haired man with the red face stood in the doorway. Without having to look at him, I knew it was Lieutenant Esposito.

              “Detective Ryan; my office; now.” Esposito’s voice was stern. Usually he would be screaming his head off at one of us, especially if that someone was me.

              I stared at Rodney. “What the hell? I’ve been on desk duty for the last few months. What the hell could I’ve done to piss him off?”

              Rodney’s hulking frame shrugged its shoulders. A toothily grin made me think something was up. I didn’t like surprises and wasn’t in the mood to play games or get yelled at.

              My throat felt like I had a golf ball stuck in it. I entered the office and closed the door behind me finding the Lieutenant hovering over his desk. Esposito tried to look intimidating, but it was hard to do when he stood five foot five inches tall and the rest of the department was close to the six foot mark. His voice on the other hand was scary as hell. For such a small man, his voice was as loud as someone yelling into a megaphone.

              “You wanted to see me sir.”

              “Ryan, I’d like you to know I appreciate all that you’ve done for this department.” Right away I didn’t like where the Lieutenant was going with this conversation. “You’ve served us well. Hell, you took down a serial killer on your own.” The Lieutenant paced around his desk and took a seat on the corner. “But there comes a time where an officer needs to take a good hard look at their lives and make a decision.”

              My heart was racing. I wanted to stop him from finishing his thoughts. I wanted to shut his big mouth up. Tears were welling up at the corner of my eyes. Being a cop was everything to me. It was one of the few things I had left in my life. I couldn’t let the Lieutenant take that away from me. I wouldn’t.

              “Just say it already,” I finally blurted out.

              “Okay fine,” he snapped. “We have decided to promote Officer Rodney Johnson to Detective, effective immediately.”

              I slammed my hands on the arms of the chair in protest. “How dare you? If you think I’m going to take this…” I stopped as the weight of what the Lieutenant actually said sunk in. “Wait, you’re promoting him?”