Sympathy For The Devil (23 page)

A shiver ran up Tash’s arms as she stared at the dead women and let the implication of her cousin’s words sink in. “They suspected Archer?”

“No. Cops there have no idea who he is. And these were cases with dead ends that no one was interested in picking up again, but they’re supposed to be sending a detective down. By all accounts, it sure as hell
looks
like the same guy. And that he started with Chelsea. First victim is often the significant one. And no matter what way you look at it, bodies pile up when he’s around.”

Natasha shook her head. “No, it just doesn’t fit. Though there’s obvious rage with these crimes, they’re not crimes of passion—the killer is a meticulous, intelligent person. If it was Archer,
knowing
that he’s already a suspect, why the hell would he kill more women, and so frequently, as soon as he got back in town?”

Keisha met her eye. “Perry’s theory is that it’s a game. A dare.”

Tash rolled her eyes. “Oh, for Christ sakes, Perry thinks he’s the star of some crime movie and isn’t listening to reason, but
you
know better. I’m on record as Archer’s alibi.”

Her cousin’s eyebrows rose purposefully. “Oh yes. I know all about that.”

Heat rose in Tash’s cheeks though she ignored the implication. “So it’s not him. I need to look at Chelsea’s investigation, to see what else might’ve been missed. And I
swear
the files won’t leave the station.”

Keish sighed and glanced at her watch. “I need to go grab some lunch. You have half an hour and I neither see nor know
anything
.” She casually pulled a box from the corner of the table and pushed it in front of Natasha before leaving the room.

Tash pulled the lid off the box before her cousin was even out of sight. Half an hour. She’d have to move fast.

****

Thankfully, Keisha didn’t notice that when Tash said the files wouldn’t leave the station, she said nothing about
details
from the files.

A list of names and dates to follow up with were scrawled in blue ink along her inner arms and on the palms of both hands, which Tash was careful not to let her cousin see as she exited the station.

With the extreme summer heat bearing down on her Tash went straight from the station for her office, careful to keep her hands loose and her arms from rubbing on her sides. First thing Monday, she
had
to remember to pick up a new phone—photos of the relevant info would’ve been a lot easier.

The office was dark and, with the curtains drawn, slightly cooler than the outside. After flipping on the fans, she sat at her desk and swiftly jotted down everything she’d written on her arms, washed the ink off, and then sat down again to go over everything.

Devin
didn’t
have a confirmed alibi the night Chelsea died—in fact, his story changed in two interviews. Once he said he was at a bar, the next he said he was alone at home. The bar didn’t check out and no one could corroborate his whereabouts. He had an apartment in town at that point—Chelsea lived alone in their house—but no neighbors recalled seeing or hearing him.

Right away, she could tell even rushing through the various detectives’ notes that he was front and center as a suspect. And she couldn’t entirely blame them. Chelsea’s body was found in the creek some ways behind the house—Hastings Creek, once again—and it looked as though she’d been dumped near there too. The house’s contents were haphazardly tossed about, like a spontaneous home invasion. Water still ran in the kitchen sink, as if she’d been washing dishes when surprised. The hinges on the back screen door were bent but the lock hadn’t been forced.

Other suspects were few and far between, and it hadn’t looked like Devin helped matters. He clammed up immediately—guilt, the officers’ reports had said, but Tash suspected that if they’d come at him aggressively from the start,
of course
he’d be difficult to deal with.

Of the other people the police looked at, there was someone she’d had a traffic accident with three weeks before her death, a disgruntled gardener, and a local elementary school teacher who claimed Chelsea had an affair with her husband. The rumors of that were unsubstantiated and due to the nature of the crime, no one seriously looked at the woman.

With so much coming back to Devin, however, Tash remained convinced he had to know
something
, even if he didn’t realize it.

She fished his cell number from her pocket and dialed him on her office phone to invite him for dinner. Surely despite not wanting to speak to the police, he’d talk to
her
.

He had to if he expected her to clear his name.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Natasha popped her last piece of tiramisu in her mouth, her eyes closing in ecstasy at the burst of flavor. “Oh my God, this was fabulous.”

“Dessert was bought.”

“Yes, but...” She licked the fork very thoroughly—not to be sexy, but because she
loved
dessert of any kind. “...everything was fabulous.” She nearly asked if he could stay and cook forever but bit back that comment, avoiding his gaze lest she blush.

Her apartment had never smelled better in the entire time she lived there—probably in the entire time it existed. Fresh cappelletti, homemade vodka sauce, garlic bread and salad. Her stomach was full to the point of near discomfort and she leaned back in her squeaky chair, expelling a breath and staring down at the empty, crumb-laden plates on the table between them. She would do dishes—it seemed only fair—but mostly she wanted to curl up and take a nap.

Of course, there were a great many other things on her mind as well. Like getting him to answer some questions.

Devin Archer sat across from her, casually leaning against the back of his chair and with his arm on the edge of the table.

“So can we talk about some stuff now?”

He raised a brow. “Stuff?”

“I’m trying to prove your innocence, remember.”

He glanced away, shaking his head.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I’m not used to...
this
.” She gestured at the table. “To sitting down to dinner and small talk, and not talking about work. I don’t date, I don’t ever...just shut my brain off. I don’t even know how to.”

His dark eyes moved her way, cutting her a sideways look. “Were you thinking about work when I was fucking you?”

She’d finally had an evening where her cheeks had maintained a normal color—now she was blushing anew, immediately hot and deliciously uncomfortable.

“If so,” he continued, “I’m going to have to step up my game.”

“No,” she admitted. “That is the one time I stop. But it’s not really feasible to have sex twenty-four-seven.”

He stood abruptly, his height and broad shoulders imposing in her small kitchen. Her lips parted in a question she failed to ask as he grasped her hand, drew her to her feet. Immediately he held her close, walking her back until her ass hit the counter. His mouth descended, claiming hers in a deep, long kiss that left her head spinning and body tingling with desire.

Just as she was leaning into him, he pulled back. His lips brushed hers again, just gently. “Get dressed.”

“Uh...” A little wiggle and, yep, she was definitely still clothed. “These don’t count?”

“To go out.”

They’d just eaten and it was after seven on a Sunday night. “But—”

“Now.”

And she could easily guess where he wanted to go, though she wouldn’t say it. She had a brief moment of wanting to argue before she gave in, slipping past him for the bedroom.

At least she still had Dani’s shoes.

****

“You don’t understand,” she whispered, struggling to keep up with him while in her heels. “I was the one who told the police the last victim went here—if they figure it out...”

“Sunday night the regular owner isn’t around—an assistant manager runs things,” he said, keeping their pace at a quick clip. His arm was around her shoulders, making it perfectly clear as they trekked through the parking lot that she was with him. “You’ll be fine. No ID as you’re my guest.”

She bit back a comment and focused straight ahead.

At least she’d anticipated where they were going and put on something appropriate—this time it was a little red dress, one that didn’t cover near enough of her thighs. It hugged her curves and hopefully was sexy without being trashy.

If I’m even in it this long
.

Besides, she had another reason entirely for being willing to go to The Box tonight. Her theory was that someone was trailing Devin, or watching him while he was at the sex club. It seemed likely that, if she paid attention, she’d notice the guy lurking around tonight.

Just keep telling yourself that, Tash, when you’re getting whipped later
.

The bouncer at the door nodded, didn’t ask for ID or anything. Devin swept past him with Tash locked at his side, and again they delved into the club. It disturbed her just how familiar she was with the place already—the black and red marble carpet, dark walls and low lighting; the sounds of low, seductive music, occasionally chatter and laughs, and moaning; the scent of pheromones and arousal in the air.

In the main area, nervousness twisted her stomach and she clung to Devin. There were a lot of single women around—what if he planned to pick someone else up too? She didn’t think she’d be okay with that, not in the least bit. For the time being, she said nothing, preferring to at least temporarily—if not warily—trust him.

He led her to one of the unoccupied booths. She slid onto the seat silently, moving toward the middle and watching him head to the bar. A dozen or so patrons were seated at various tables, facing the stage again. Another show, maybe? She squirmed in her seat and looked down, still a mix of mortification and arousal.

The table and vinyl seats smelled clean, at least, and she settled back while Devin returned with their drinks. He had whiskey and he brought her a cocktail. Generally she was a beer drinker, but then generally she didn’t go to sex clubs either; she accepted the drink and immediately started downing it through the straw.

“Nervous?” he asked, a subtle smile curving his lips.

“Terribly,” she mumbled around her straw.

His hand moved to the back of her neck, rubbing slow, relaxing circles. It had the desired effect, little by little the tension leaving her body. “Do you want to go? This will be the only time I ask.”

Hell yeah, she wanted to run. But his hands felt so good on her body and already arousal was flooding her system. With it came a calm that relaxed her mind, eased her racing thoughts.

Tash shook her head and took another sip of her drink.

The lights around them darkened slightly, the ones over the boxy stage brightening. Figures moved off to the side; Tash watched their approach over the rim of her cocktail glass. Three men in leather leading a woman—this one was a dirty blonde with a deep tan in a short, white nightie and platform white heels. The innocent angel about to be debased for a crowd—or at least that was the role she played. The assured look she gave the ground suggested she was quite adept at what she was about to do.

Devin’s arm slid over her shoulder, pulling her into his warm, sheltered embrace. Her drink was empty and she set it on the table with trembling fingertips before settling against him again, watching the show.

The lights over the stage took on a red glow, casting sinister light over the blonde in white. One of the men—tall with hard, defined muscle, in black paints and a plain black mask—grasped her hips from behind and jerked her against him. She gasped, tipping her head back, and his hands moved up to roam her front. Over her stomach, shifting the short nightie enough to reveal a scrap of white lace panties covering her pussy, then up to her breasts which he grasped and rubbed roughly. His hands folded over the material of her bodice and then he wrenched the nightie in half, exposing her bare nipples. The fabric tearing sounded through the room, over the low-playing music.

It wasn’t until a second man in a mask stepped up that Tash saw the flogger, and then it was only a moment before the black leather falls struck the woman’s breasts. She cried out, her knees bending, but the man at her back kept her standing. His mouth was near her ear, and though his voice didn’t carry, she moaned as if in response to something he said.

Tash shifted in her seat, squeezing her thighs together to relieve some of the pressure building between them. And it wasn’t just her—from the corner of her eye, she saw others at the visible tables moving, whispering and touching each other. She wondered if Devin was as hard.

His hand touched her knee, slid up, up, smoothly along her inner thigh and past the short hem of her skirt. She felt his eyes on her, studying her as she watched the stage.

“Are you wet, Natasha?”

She swallowed nervously. He’d seen her in all sorts of positions, said a great many things to her—why did this still have her panting and trembling?

“Answer,” he said in harsh warning.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Spread your legs,” he breathed in her ear.

This wasn’t like the mezzanine level last time, or on the porch of his house—this was basically in public. Granted, no one was paying any attention to her, but she blushed hotly nonetheless.

The pressure of his fingers increased and she relented, parting her thighs just slightly.

His breath tickled her throat, nose grazed just behind her ear. “Good girl.” The tips of his fingers slid to pussy, pressing against damp silk panties. Her entire body jerked suddenly as he touched her clit, not orgasming yet but damn, she was close.

“Not until I tell you,” he warned, stroking her through her panties.

She breathed deeply, nodded, and tried to watch the scene on the stage but was too focused on his hand working between her legs. His fingers traced circles around her clit, dragging over the material of her panties for a few moments before delving past them and against her bare skin.