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Authors: C.E. Lawrence

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BOOK: Silent Kills
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CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
When she walked into the Bronx Major Cases station house, Susan Morton was annoyed to find the mealymouthed little sergeant with that ridiculous accent hanging around, drooling over Elena Krieger. His tongue was practically hanging out, and he was blushing like a schoolboy, all stammers and twitches—
like a damn epileptic
, she thought irritably. God, the Brits were unbearable—the way they used their self-deprecating charm to mask the subtle contempt underneath all that politesse and good manners. She could feel it, though, like a poison seeping through everything they said and did.
Her eyes met Krieger’s, and an imperceptible acknowledgment passed between them. They were enemies, and they were rivals. Not for anyone in particular, but for all the men around them. They were each used to being the most beautiful woman in any room, and now they both had competition in the other. Susan felt the thrill of battle stir in her groin. She had never been one to back away from conflict, and she wasn’t about to start now.
She sized up Elena Krieger, cataloging her physical attributes. Silky reddish hair—not as thick as her own, she noted with satisfaction, though she felt a twinge of envy as she took in the creamy white skin and blue eyes. Long legs—ridiculously long—and though she had to admit Krieger had great tits, she suspected anything that large and firm was the product of a surgeon’s knife rather than nature. Her hand reflexively went up to her own very pricey pair—real silicone, which she had to go to Mexico for, after all that crap came out about ruptured implants and autoimmune diseases. Bunch of crybabies, all those women—they probably just wanted reimbursement for replacement boobs.
Krieger was wearing a tight-fitting tailored suit, military grey with snappy white trim. It became her, but then with her figure, Susan thought, most things would. She smiled a little as the first dozen ways of screwing with Krieger came into her head. No need to hurry, though—she could wait.
Krieger said something to the little sergeant, and he threw back his head and brayed like a donkey.
“Oh, you don’t say!” he bellowed, tears of laughter spurting from his pale eyes. Susan decided it was time to put an end to this foolishness, so she stepped forward.
“Excuse me, Sergeant Rubbles.”
He paused and looked at her, as if he had only just noticed she was in the room. That did not please her, and she decided to add him to her list of enemies.
“It’s Ruggles, ma’am,” he said, all smiles and red ears. He did everything but bow to her—and yet there it was, that subtle put-down she knew so well, the little smirk in his voice that said
You’re just a child—I’m the real adult here.
“Yes, whatever,” she answered with a wave of her hand. “Can you tell me when my husband—Commander Morton—will be back?” She emphasized “Commander” to remind the sergeant of his place.
“Well, he’s downtown at a meeting, so I expect it’ll be quite a while. Would you care to wait?”
“I’ll wait in his office, if you don’t mind,” she said, her tone making it clear that it didn’t matter whether he minded or not.
“Certainly, ma’am, make yourself at home,” he said with a friendly smile, but his eyes betrayed how he really felt—narrowed at the outer edges, a sure sign of disdain.
“If he’s going to be a while, I think I’ll go out for a bite,” Krieger said without looking at Susan. “Care for anything, Sergeant?”
Ruggles blushed. “If you could bring me a coffee I’d be very grateful,” he said, fishing through his pockets for money.
“No problem—my treat,” she said, laying a hand on his arm. The color drained from his face and he practically had an orgasm right there on the spot. It was disgusting, Susan thought.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” Krieger said. Without even a glance at Susan she turned and walked across the lobby toward the front entrance. If Ruggles was aware of this slight, he showed no sign of it. His eyes followed her as she headed for the exit.
Susan watched Krieger walk away with that masculine stride of hers. No doubt the woman was a dyke. Without saying another word to that puppy in love masquerading as a policeman, Susan retreated into Chuck’s office to wait—for what, she wasn’t sure, though she hoped it was for Lee Campbell. It was so much fun to torment him by flirting. She knew he would never say anything to Chuck about it, and she enjoyed seeing his discomfort. The idea of a straight man who wasn’t attracted to her was outside Susan Morton’s emotional range, so she imagined he secretly found her little games as titillating as she did.
She closed the door behind her, took a seat behind the desk, and whipped out her nail file. Susan found it difficult to sit still. She was too antsy to read, and there was nothing to see out the window except a dirty old air conditioner and some dusty old buildings. She whittled away at the nails on her left hand, the fine white dust floating in the air around her.
She had to admit Elena Krieger was a formidable foe, though Susan had no doubt she could best Krieger on the field of war she knew like no other—sex. Susan Morton was used to having her way, especially with men. The only man who had wriggled free from her grasp was Lee Campbell, and the thought of it still rankled. It’s not that she actually loved him or even truly wanted him—it’s that he didn’t appear to want
her.
And if a man didn’t want her, she couldn’t control him. Control was her drug of choice—sweet, satisfying, and soothing. There was nothing like knowing a man was at your beck and call, not because you were having sex with him, but because he had the
hope
of having sex with you. That was the sweetest of all. You didn’t have to actually do anything except exist—and be lovely, of course—and men would do anything for you.
Susan pulled out her pocket mirror, carved cedar with a round beveled glass in the center. It was a present from Chuck when they visited the Grand Canyon. She had been less than entranced with the hotel they stayed at. She preferred four stars, at least one swimming pool, and a Jacuzzi when possible. Their place was more
Twin Peaks
than Hyatt Regency, with its raw pine interior, fireplaces, and calico curtains. Maybe Chuck thought it was charming, but she thought it was low rent. So as a consolation he showered her with little presents, souvenirs from the trip, mostly just trinkets she later threw away, but she had kept the mirror. It was useful to keep in her purse—the cedar cover was sturdy, and so far she hadn’t lost it or broken it—the fate of most of her mirrors.
She held the mirror up to examine her face. The morning light behind her was flattering, as she knew it would be. She had an uncanny ability to assess the lighting in any room and know whether it would be soft and flattering or harsh and glaring. This office was good in the morning, with the diffuse northern light seeping in through the dusty window. She took out a lipstick and applied a layer to her lips, her movements smooth and practiced. She pinched her cheeks and dabbed on a thin shine of lip gloss.
Satisfied, she tucked her mirror back into her pocketbook and leaned back in the chair. If anyone came in now, she would be ready.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Lee Campbell arrived at the station house in the middle of a shift change. The lobby was bustling with cops coming and going. There was no sign of Sergeant Ruggles, so he went back to Chuck’s office. When his knock on the door received no answer, he entered.
Sitting behind the desk as if she owned the place was the last person he wanted to see.
“Why, hello,” said Susan Morton, all smiles and sweetness.
Sugar and spice and everything nice ...
except that she was much more snakes and snails and puppy-dog tails.
“Didn’t you hear me knock?” he asked, not even trying to hide his irritation.
“Sorry, sugar, I was on the phone,” she said, pointing to a pink cell phone on the desk in front of her. He didn’t even know they made pink cell phones. “But come on in—the water’s fine,” she purred, rising from her chair.
She was exquisite, as always. At college they called her The Face That Launched a Thousand Hips, because of her promiscuity. But there wasn’t a man on campus who would kick her out of bed, as Chuck would say—and he still considered himself lucky for ending up with her. Lee considered him cursed. Whatever Susan Morton brought with her, it wasn’t good luck. Excitement, maybe, and sex—oh, she liked plenty of that. Her vigorous libido was probably the only thing about her that wasn’t phony.
She rounded the edge of the desk and planted herself in front of him. “So, what brings you here, handsome? Another one of your meetings?”
“Did you see Detective Krieger? She was supposed to meet me here.”
“Oh, the giantess with the German accent? She was here, but she went out.” Susan gave a disdainful laugh, which came out a little forced, but it conveyed what she intended. “She’s quite a piece of work.”
“Really,” he said, trying not to engage her.
“Don’t be shocked if I tell you that women judge each other far more brutally than men,” she said, bending down so that her breasts bunched up and nearly popped out of her expensive, low-cut silk blouse.
“Nothing coming from you would shock me.”
She smiled. “Oh, well played—
snap
. It’s good to know that your struggle with depression hasn’t robbed you of your wit entirely.”
Lee felt the heat rise to his cheeks. He had to hand it to her—she knew where to stick the needles. Her comment was utterly inappropriate, but accomplished what she intended, a warning shot across his bow. She was letting him know she could go there—and would, if necessary, in a heartbeat. He had to stand his ground, or she would rip him to shreds. He could see the predatory gleam in her green eyes. He had to show her that he wasn’t afraid of her. The only problem was that he was.
She licked her lips and watched him, leaning back in the chair with feline grace. If she had had a tail, she would have flicked it.
He decided to quit playing around. “You know,” he said slowly, “it must be hard for you to try to compete with a woman like Elena Krieger.”
A cloud passed over her lovely face, her brow hardened, and she twitched. He could see her trying to ignore the comment, but it was too much for her. She responded in spite of her best instincts to steer away from the topic. She just couldn’t help herself.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she’s quite a woman, isn’t she? Successful, brave, brilliant—and beautiful, of course. That must be hard for you.”
Her mouth flattened into a hard line. “What are you talking about?” she said, squeezing the words out between clenched teeth. “Are you implying there’s something between that—that Teutonic
freak
and my husband?”
“Oh, no,” he said, but he could see her brain working as she turned the idea over in her head. “Chuck isn’t that kind of guy. He would never do anything like that.”
She must know better than anyone what a doggedly faithful husband Chuck was, but her narcissism was wounded—he had sown a tiny seed of self-doubt in her exquisitely tuned self-regard. It was a dirty trick, and he felt low for using it, but she deserved it. He hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite him—or Chuck, for that matter. He almost wished he could take it back, but it was too late now. She had pushed him, and he had responded in her language, the language of threats and innuendos and emotional blackmail. It was why he ran from her all those years ago—and yet somehow Chuck was so blinded by her beauty that he couldn’t (or wouldn’t) see her for what she was.
The door opened and in walked Detective Leonard Butts.
“Hey,” he said, holding out a bag of pistachios, “anybody want some nuts?”
Lee was so glad to see the little detective he felt like hugging him.
Butts tossed the bag of nuts on Morton’s desk and sank down in one of the captain’s chairs. He leaned over and rubbed his left knee. “Think I overdid it at the gym yesterday,” he said in response to Lee’s glance. “Squats with weights—it’s a real killer on the cartilage. I’ve lost five pounds this month, though,” he continued, patting his stomach, which did look a bit trimmer, Lee thought.
The detective’s entrance had broken the mood. Susan obviously realized her confrontation with Lee was over—at least for now. She rose from her chair, smoothed out her expensive skirt, and sauntered to the door. As she passed Lee, she flicked out her hand as if to wave good-bye. The gesture was too close to his face, though, and one of her long fingernails grazed his cheek, drawing blood. Startled, he drew back, his cheek stinging.
“Oo, how careless of me,” she said. Holding his gaze, she put the finger in her mouth and sucked on it, slowly and sensually.
Chuck Morton chose that moment to enter the room. Seeing him, Lee took a step away from Susan, but she held her ground. She removed her finger from her mouth and smiled sweetly at her husband.
“Hello, sugar. What took you so long?”
Chuck’s eyes narrowed. He looked back and forth between his wife and his best friend as if he were checking to see if they were indeed standing before him, and not apparitions. Then he smiled, though Lee saw the strain lines around his mouth.
“Sorry, honey, but this isn’t a good time. Can we talk later?”
“No problem, sugar. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by to see if you wanted to have lunch. But I’ll see you tonight—I’m cookin’ up something special.”
I’ll just bet you are
, Lee thought.
Chuck gave a nervous little cough. “I’ll walk you out.”
“See you boys later,” she called over her shoulder, and left the room with a swing of her perfect hips.
When she and Chuck had gone, Butts shook his head. “Man, she is trouble with a capital T. If I was you and I saw her comin’ toward me on the street, I would cross to the other side. She is one dangerous female.”
Once again Detective Butts had hit the nail on the head.
BOOK: Silent Kills
3.38Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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