Vigilare (9 page)

“Do you think he may be linked to the other murders?”

“At this point, Gina, I don’t know what to think.” He paces, running his fingers through his hair.

Gina watches him. In this moment, after a long stressful day, she is aware of his closeness, his maleness. He’s handsome with his dark hair, dark features, light eyes, and five o’clock shadow. Very masculine in his build, broad shoulders, narrow-waisted, longlimbed—the perfect mix of brawn and brains. She blinks.
Snap out of it, DeLuca
.

“This case. It can’t be that mysterious. We have to be missing something. One little piece of the puzzle. We’re so close. I can feel it,” he says, knocking his fist against the tightness of his abdomen. “Remember that game? ‘You’re getting warmer,’” he refers to the childhood game where an object was selected and participants were gauged by how cold, warm or hot they were in guessing its identity. “I am so freaking hot right now, I just can’t put my finger on it.”

“Maybe it’s the fireplace.” She chuckles.

He looks to her annoyed, at first. His expression quickly changing as he takes her in, her auburn hair full and wavy, cascading around her face, accentuating her dark green eyes in the glow of the fireplace. The bruise at the corner of her left eye reminds him of his position, her partner—work partner. He pulls his stare from her, checking out her mantle. One piece of art accessorized with a few candles. Quite clean and stoic in its presentation. No family pictures. No present connecting Gina to a past.

“Where’s your pictures?” he asks. “Family? Friends?”

She hesitates. “My parents died in a car wreck when I was sixteen.” Clearing her throat, she continues, filling the silence. “No need to hold onto something...someone who’s gone. Keeps you in the past. Life’s about the future, so they say.”

“Sorry,” he speaks softly.

“No need for apologies, pity.” She sits back on the blanket. “I’m a big girl. Shit happens. I don’t have a very good memory anyway. I don’t recall a lot from my past. Maybe I blocked it out.” She yawns, stretching catlike—arching her back, her arms overhead. Tony eyes her, all too aware of her every move. “And with this job, I don’t have time for a social life, hence the exclusion of friends.”

The curve of her breasts have him locked up momentarily. Forcing his way upward, he scans over her neck. Walking to her, almost subconsciously as if pulled by some kinetic force, he kneels beside her. She sits upright from her stretching position, pulling her housecoat closed, purposely attempting to withdraw from his effortless affect. “What’s this?” He gently traces her neck with his finger.

She watches him, genuine concern in his expression. “Krav Maga training. We were learning how to get out of choke holds.”

“Looks like rope burn.”

“It is.”

“Does it hurt?” He rests his hand on the back of her neck, a gentle massage.

Gina moans faintly at his contact, kneading her tense muscles. Her eyes close, she wets her bottom lip with her tongue. “Not really,” she replies, her dark lashes open slowly to find Tony sporting a sexy smirk.

“Ms. DeLuca, where were you the night before last?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” she replies playfully. “You sound like Dr. Ryan.”

“What do you mean?” He indulges her now with both hands rubbing her neck and upper back.

Her head pivots to the side, pure bliss evident in her expression and in her vocal tone. “She came to see me today. Very suspicious of my injury.”

“You know what they say about blame. Deflection of guilt.” He bends his head into her neck, physically unable to hold it upright any longer, his resilient exoskeleton turning to mush in her presence. The warmth of his breath trailing her neck, followed by the cool, wet sensation of his mouth sends chills through her body like tiny shock waves. Each nerve ending teased, yearning to be touched. He kisses her softly over the length of the rope burn, graduating to a more arduous, urgent response once he reaches healthy, unscathed flesh.

Gina bites her lip, holding back a moan, but her body voluntarily reacts, arching her back into him.

“You like that?” he teases.

“Don’t get cocky, Gronkowski. Anybody would like that. We shouldn’t be doing this.” She pushes against his chest, turning her head away.

“Doing what?” He cups her chin with his hand, gently turning her face back to his. “This is medicine. Healing. That’s all that’s going on here. Just think of me as the medicine man.” He grins and with the same sweetness he lavished the rope burn, he
doctors
the bruise over her left eye.

“It’s all well and good until you pull out the
penis-cillin
, medicine man,” she says, causing them both to chuckle. Gina transitions to serious mode, lightly patting the side of his face. “This is elementary, Tony. Work and play don’t mix.”

“There is nothing elementary about you, DeLuca.” He guides her mouth up to meet his. Wondering which is warmer, the fire at her back or the fire at her front, Gina melts into it, matching him effort for effort. “You’re the freaking PhD,” he growls, pulling away from her, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. His chest rising and falling at a labored rate, he pivots to stand. “I better get going.”

Gina grabs his wrist firmly. He smiles, thinking to himself,
Well played
. “Oh, no you don’t. You can’t walk in here, turn me on, then leave me to turn it off. It’s like team sports. You finish what you start, Gronkowski.”

“Gladly,” he says, turning to her. She meets his mouth with her own, playfully biting down on his bottom lip before releasing it. He guides her body back onto the plush faux fur blankets beneath her, simultaneously releasing her robe. She smiles at his prowess with the material, returning the favor. His fully sculpted body now hovers over hers in the raw. With one swift movement, she flips him onto his back as she settles in astraddle his waist. His eyes grow wide with excitement.

“I have this thing about being on top,” she purrs.

“Just when I thought you couldn’t get any sexier.” He smiles mischievously, pulling her down to him.

Chapter 6

CITY HALL. EARLY morning. Downtown Vanguard has awakened. The sun is on the rise, the pavement is teeming with the hustle and bustle of those living the dream—working, playing, and living hard. The streets are filled with the sounds of engines purring, horns honking, some friendly and not-so-friendly morning exchanges between passersby. The city is alive. News vans have swarmed City Hall. The steps leading up to the building are over-crowded with rowdy patrons and some passive onlookers.

Detectives Gronkowski and DeLuca arrive on scene, jumping out of their police cruiser. Both are disheveled, tucking in shirttails and tidying themselves as they take two steps at a time, swiftly working their way through the crowd. Partially distracted by last night’s activities, and thoroughly tuckered out as pleasure trumped sleep, over and over again. Every step, every movement requires deliberate effort. Their scene assessment skills piqued one after the other with the onslaught of chaos.

“Take back our city!” a group of picketers chant, while a more peaceful congregation paces back and forth, holding signs that read,
Viva Vigilare!

A news reporter stands between two citizens, interviewing them for the local television news. “It may not be legal, but it’s just,” a woman comments into the reporter’s microphone.

The man across from her makes his rebuttal, “Murder is murder. We can’t have some vigilante running around killing people.”

“The hell we can’t. I’m just glad someone is finally doing what our justice system won’t,” the woman leans into the microphone.

“But you can’t have people taking the law into their own hands,” the man snatches the microphone away from her. “It’s madness!”

She snatches the microphone back. “You wouldn’t say that if it was your wife or daughter. Or even you. Men get raped, too, ya know!”

The reporter reclaims the microphone, looking into the camera for a quick sign-off. “Obviously a controversial subject. And we want to hear your thoughts at KVEN.com. Vigilante justice or coldblooded murder? For KVEN, I’m Samantha Storm.”

The assault of Tony and Gina’s senses continues as they near the top of the steps.

“The sonsabitches got exactly what they had coming to them,” a superbly dressed man with salt-and-pepper hair speaks authoritatively to a newspaper reporter. His wife nods approvingly.

“Citizens of Vanguard,” a familiar booming voice sounds over the crowd. William Truly stands at the makeshift podium in front of the doors to City Hall. His six-foot-four-inch frame large and commanding. The rumble of the crowd simmers as attentions turn to the ex-Navy Seal. His daughter, Emily Truly stands to his left, Aubrey Raines to his right.

Tony and Gina share a perplexed look at Aubrey Raines’ association with the Truly’s.

“We gather here this morning to celebrate a hero. To unite. Finally standing up for what is right...what is just,” William Truly speaks, a beacon to the crowd, they applaud and whistle. “Beside me stand two brave young women. Both victims of sexual predators. One saved, and one avenged. If you ask Vanguard PD, they’ll tell you this
vigilante
is dangerous...unfit to mingle in society amongst law abiding citizens. Law abiding citizens,” he repeats, something between a smirk and a grimace lining his lips. “Aubrey Raines, law graduate, future attorney, and rape victim advocate knows a thing or two about law abiding citizens,” he introduces Aubrey. The amped crowd cheers.

“These so called
law abiding citizens
...rapists...break the law, time and time again, and walk away with a few years in jail and a slap on the wrist. Only to be released, so they can find their next victim. We, taxpayers, house and feed these animals in the correctional system. Prison sentences for the possession of a minute amount of marijuana, a naturally-grown plant, mind you, often far exceed those of rape and sexual assault.”

The crowd riles to a frenzy, booing and hissing with her sharp commentary.

“I am ashamed!” Aubrey continues forcefully, feeding off the crowd. “To be part of a justice system that’s aware a woman is raped every two minutes and thinks current sex offender legislation is appropriate. This
vigilante
. The one Vanguard PD would have you believe is dangerous...murderous.” She looks directly to Detectives Gronkowski and DeLuca. The crowd eyes them disapprovingly. “Is a hero who saved my life and has avenged the souls, the lives of many others. This vigilante is no vigilante at all, but rather a
Vigilare
—one who watches over.” She slaps her hand down on the podium, quickly raising it above her head in a fist as she shouts, “Viva Vigilare!”

Her enthusiasm propels the crowd into an active chant, “Viva Vigilare! Viva Vigilare! Viva Vigilare!” Their clenched fists pumping in the air.

Gina and Tony stand amongst the rowdy crowd, feeling as though the space between is spinning, a surreal feeling. The clouds, ample and gray in the morning sky, cast a dreary hue over the city.

“Did we just step into a comic book?” Tony asks, still disbelieving of the scene as it unfolds. “Good, evil...Vigilare?”

Gina shakes her head, prodding him with her elbow. “If so, here comes the Riddler.” Encroaching upon them, a svelte Dr. Patricia Ryan beams smugly.

“
Officers
Gronkowski and DeLuca,” she greets them.

“Detectives,” Tony corrects agitatedly. Gina says nothing, maintaining hard eye contact, accompanied with brash body language.

“Quite the crowd,” she says, completely discounting Tony’s response. “With such a display, seems to me your case just took a serious nose dive. And they say, the public has no voice.”

“Separates the strong from the weak...adversity,” Tony says. “I like the pressure.” He grins, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning into Dr. Ryan. “Kinda turns me on.”

She returns his repartee. “Looks like something, or someone else,” she eyes Gina, “turns you on, too.” Her vision falls to his neck, where a slight small hickey resides, unbeknownst to him or Gina. “Vampires and Vigilares. We’ve become a regular Gotham City.”

Tony now aware of the mark on his neck, mentally talks himself out of the urge to cover it, his hands forcefully resting across his chest. Gina remains stoic, unyielding and unaffected by Dr. Ryan’s taunts.

“What’s the matter
Detective
DeLuca, cat got your tongue?” Dr. Ryan continues to jab at her.

Cat got your tongue
, the words echo in Gina’s head taking her memory to a haunted place. She is on her back, held down against her will. Her eyes frantic and searching, she struggles. The cries of a young boy to which she cannot respond propel her fight instinct. Her breathing is labored, her heart seemingly pounding out of her chest. She kicks, screams, attempts to free her wrists from the unforgiving hands crushing them to the bed beneath her. A masked man leans over her, a spider web tattoo on his neck. Removing the mask, his long greasy hair cascades over his unkempt facial scruff, causing him to remain unrecognizable, momentarily. The man smiles. Gina’s recognition kicks in, rendering her mute. “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” he says, a wicked laugh escaping his disturbed soul.

Dr. Ryan watches Gina come back to reality, a contented grin surfacing.

Gina’s jaw twitches, her initial instinct to attack, and not with her words. Tony, assessing her body language, readies himself to intercept should she come unleashed.
Woosah
, Gina exclaims internally, taking her mind-over-matter approach. Her balled up fists at her sides come to rest as she reciprocates Dr. Ryan’s instigating smirk. “Maybe you should let something or someone turn you on, Dr. Ryan.” Gina eyes her stifling pinstripe pantsuit, perfectly tailored, her blouse buttoned all the way up to her neck. “There’s a prescription for being uptight. It’s called getting laid.”

Dr. Ryan chuckles affectively, diverting her attention from Gina to Tony, with a quick return, “Do you have a card, Detective Gronkowski? Seems you have a very satisfied customer.” She smiles, wickedly. “I never do anything without a referral.”