The Eternal Engagement (8 page)

CHAPTER 17

Mona

 

 

A
mong her peers, Mona Lisa was best known for finding that one speck of blood that linked murders to the scene of the crime. But she'd stopped investigating crime scenes when they'd left Selma.

If the forensic specialist assigned to Calvin's case had collected and tested blood samples from the base of Calvin's head, they might've found two types. Calvin's and the man she was headed home to. When Steven punched Calvin in the back of the head, Steven's knuckle bled. She knew because she saw the cut on his hand and there was blood inside one of the plastic gloves Steven put on after hitting Calvin but before shooting him.

Working at the lab in Bakersfield was less stressful than working for the police department in Selma. Mona was skillfully trained in identifying fingerprints and palm prints, photographing and videotaping crime scenes, collecting evidence, attending autopsies, and testifying as an expert on many court cases. Depending on what lead was allegedly sent, it could attach her to the crime. If it was tangible and submitted as an exhibit in court, she could ultimately end up being an accessory to three murders.

Halfway home Mona realized she hadn't completed the drug tests. Sure the remaining hairs were floating on the table or scattered on the floor, she knew by now all of the affected samples were tainted.

Errors and omissions were inevitable in laboratories and in courtrooms. Specialists never wanted to appear incompetent, but like with the OJ trial, experts were fallible too. Whomever those potential employees were, they might get a needed break, as the test results would be labeled inconclusive.

En route to her home, she stopped at her bank, checked the contents of her safety deposit box. The video camera was there. She was partially relieved.

One block from home, she heard her phone chime two times, signifying she'd received a text message. The cell was inside her purse; she'd check it later. Mona zipped into their driveway, turned off her engine, left her key in the ignition, then hurried into their bedroom. She shoved panties, bras, socks, shirts, a pair of jeans, a sweat suit, and a pair of tennis shoes into a black overnight bag, then hurled the bag onto her shoulder with no intentions of ever coming back to him. No note. No good-byes warranted.

After swiftly turning to exit the bedroom, she screamed “Ahhh!” In the blink of her eyes, she felt like she'd collided face-first into a brick wall. Mouth wide open, she held her breath. Her heartbeat tripled.

“Leaving without telling me?” he asked, blocking her exit. “It's because of Sarah McKenny, isn't it?”

Tears streamed down Mona's cheeks as she exhaled. “I can't do this anymore, Steven. I just can't. You sent Davenport that lead, didn't you? But why frame Sarah? You know she doesn't deserve this. And what was the lead that you sent? I know you. I know you did it. But I can't believe you sent something without my knowledge and consent.”

Pounding on his chest, Mona yelled, “Why didn't you talk to me first? Tell me! Why?” She fell to her knees. “Oh, Jesus, what have I gotten myself into?”

She'd always followed Steven's lead. She wasn't in love with him, but she did trust him. Until now. He used to tell her everything first. Not anymore. Now he held secrets? Tears filled her eyes. “So now you're hiding shit from me, Steven? Things that could send me to prison!”

He pulled her up. “You weren't crying when I gave you that hundred grand six years ago. Or when I gave you another hundred Gs or that last hundred thou six years ago. Besides, I told you to stop watching the damn news at work, but no, you won't listen!” he scolded, removing the bag from her shoulder.

He'd changed. She'd changed because of him. Mona buried her face in her palms so she wouldn't have to search his eyes for lies or the truth.

“Baby, this new guy Daniel was put on the case and came calling, questioning me about my whereabouts the night of Calvin's murder. Said someone reported seeing my SUV parked in Calvin's yard. Wasn't hard for him to single me out, being I was the bounty hunter looking for Calvin. You saw the whole thing. You were there too. You saw Calvin get his gun.”

And she had proof of who pulled the trigger. What was the lead he'd given? That she was there? Mona uncovered her face, narrowed her eyes at him. “And Katherine? How is she involved? She just happened to be the reporter on this?”

“What? I don't know; it's her job. She's still the lead anchorwoman in Selma, isn't she? She reports all of their big cases. You're not still bitter about her taking that Lincoln dude from you, are you? Is that what this is about? Katherine?” he asked, facing his palms up and at her. “Lincoln?”

“Fuck you, Steven!” she yelled, slapping his hands away from her. “You've always been jealous of my relationship with Lincoln. This here conversation is about you giving that detective only God knows what. I demand to know what it was!”

His lips tightened, eyes narrowed. “What, what was?”

“You bastard. Don't play mind games with me. After all I've witnessed because of you, I have to live with myself. But I don't have to live with you.”
How dare his ass try to hide shit from me.

Steven dropped her bag to the floor, embraced her. “Baby, what was I supposed to do? Let him shoot me, shoot you? You're just as guilty as I am. A simple-ass failure to appear for a DUI, Mona. Granted it was his fourth time driving under the influence. But Calvin should've taken his ass to court. Sarah should've left Calvin behind bars instead of putting their house up as collateral. Now his stupid ass is dead and this is what his wife gets for bailing him out. You can't feel sorry for people like that. So, yes, I had to give Daniel information that would take the focus off of us.”
Us?

CHAPTER 18

Steven

 

 

T
alking wasn't going to make things better between them. He knew what she needed and exactly when to give it to her good. Right now.

Sex was a sedative for Mona, especially her favorite, oral. No man could make love to her better than him. He'd learned all of her erogenous zones. Could polish her pearl to perfection. Make her come fast or slow. Hard or soft. He controlled her pussy.

Steven pressed his lips to Mona's forehead. Trailing kisses to her nose, he moved to her lips, sucked tenderly before gently luring her tongue into his mouth. “Everything's gonna be all right, baby.” The tip of his tongue danced along her cheek, outlined the perimeter of her ear, then slowly penetrated her ear.

Mona grunted, then moaned.

The welcoming sounds resonating in his ear made his dick grow tight in his pants. He squatted to align his mouth with her breasts. Opening every button on her white blouse, he lowered her lace bra beneath her titty, then clenched her nipple between his teeth. Firmly, he cupped her pussy into his palm, lightly scratched his middle finger along her shaft.

Mona whispered, “Steven, don't,” as she squirmed in his hand.

The moisture from her excitement soaked his palm. “That's my girl. Let it flow for your husband. I got you.”

Steven kneeled before Mona, unzipped her pants. Lowering her thong to her thighs, he teased her clit with his tongue, allowing her juices to saturate his palate. “Relax, baby. Let go,” he said, laying her on the bed.

After removing her pants, he released his manhood, tossed their clothes to the floor beside the bed. Burying his face in her pubic hairs, he inhaled, filling his lungs to capacity. He held his breath, savoring her sweet fresh scent of cocoa, then blew cool air on her clit. Mona Lisa smelled and tasted just like chocolate. The only taste he preferred more than hers was whiskey.

Steven figured if he got her undressed, made her cum hard, she wouldn't go anywhere. At least not for a few hours. By then he could convince her to stay by her own will.

He stroked his long, stiff erection, rubbed the tip inside her vaginal lips, then slid the head in. He didn't stop sliding until his entire shaft was inside her, then he pressed deep, applying the pressure Mona loved. He held his dick in position, awaiting her flood of fluids.

When Mona came to him, thrusting herself harder and harder against his erection, she repeatedly screamed, “Steven, I hate you!” Her body couldn't stop trembling as she soaked the mattress.

Showering his seeds, he came with her. “I need you, Mona. You don't hate me. You love me,” he whispered. “And I love you too, baby. We're in this together. I got you. Trust me. Thanks for staying with me.”

CHAPTER 19

Mona

 

 

W
hat just happened had nothing to do with their staying together.

Sex was Steven's way of reminding her what she'd be missing if she ever left his ass. His big dick was good; actually, it was fucking fantastic. But his dick was no magic stick, had no superpowers, and no matter how hard, his dick would never make her feel the incredible connection she'd felt when Lincoln was inside of her. If she hadn't aborted Lincoln's baby, her life would be different.

There were many times when Steven was sucking her clit that she held the back of his head and came hard in his mouth while fantasizing about graduation day when she'd sexed Lincoln between the bleachers. Like the first time Steven went down on her at Grist Park in the back of his SUV.

Based on what Steven had done, Mona's decision to leave him remained the same. An innocent woman was in jail, and Mona's name might be in Calvin's file.

Steven unzipped her black bag, emptied the contents, tossed her bag on the bed, wrapped his arms around her, then pressed her head to his strong chest. “You have my word. I promise it won't happen again. Now put those things away.”

New tears streamed down her face. He dried them with the back of his hand. But it had already happened again. Two more not-so-accidental deaths had occurred during their road trip from Selma to Bakersfield. One was in Macon, Georgia, while Steven was taking Brian Norris into custody. The other, Terrence Vince, an inmate on the run, was gunned down by Steven in Kansas City, Kansas.

“Your random acts of violence aren't exciting. Not knowing when or if you're going to kill another person is driving me insane. This is not what I signed up for. Bounty hunters are not the same as assassins. You're wearing two hats. I'm not taking any more chances that you'll randomly murder innocent people. What happened to you? You used to be the nice guy. You used to make me feel safe. You kill the wrong person and sooner or later someone will kill us! That's if you don't drink yourself into an early grave. Stop it! We've got more than enough money. Quit, go back to making a decent living working nine to five, and I'll stay.”

She'd stay as long as Lincoln didn't resurface and ask her to be with him. Nothing or no one could keep her from loving Lincoln. Not Katherine or her son Jeremiah.

Steven laughed. “Decent doesn't cut it, Mona! I've never worked a decent nine-to-five job, whatever that is. I'd die living paycheck to paycheck trying to get rich working for the man or one of these oil companies here in Bakersfield! I've been on the streets all my life. Hunting is what I live and breathe. I don't like working indoors. I'm not like you. I can't sit at a desk or stand in a lab for eight hours. I hate wearing ties, I hate punching clocks, and I refuse to call anyone ‘boss.' ”

Mona shook her head. “You don't get it, Steven. I don't care about your not wanting to work inside. I cannot, will not, live like this another day. Go on. Kill everybody in Bakersfield if you want to. But do it without me. Murder is wrong! I'm done!”

She stood naked in front of him, hoping, whether she stayed or not, he'd make the right decision.

“You're the one who doesn't get it. Sit down,” he said, backing her up to the bed. Sitting beside her, Steven explained. “I said I wasn't going to tell you because you already know too damn much. But those three murders,” he said as though someone else had committed the crimes, “had nothing to do with bounty hunting. They were all a work for hire.”

Frantically, Mona shook her head, remained silent, scooted to the edge of the bed farthest from him. Her lips tightened with anger.

Staring at her, he confessed, “We received a half million dollars . . . a head. But you know this here isn't about money. We've been together practically all our lives. I'm
not
letting you leave me.”

Now that she knew the truth, leaving was her only option.

He was
paid 1.5 million
because somebody wanted all three of those men dead. What Mona didn't know was who or why.

Steven moved so close to her she had to straddle the corner of the bed, then firmly plant her feet on the floor to keep from falling off. “When my clients are paying that kind of money, they become my pimp and I'm their whore, baby. I'm in too deep, Mona. If they say, ‘jump,' I don't even ask, ‘How high?' I just do it.”

That was the dumbest thing she'd heard him say. Was he serious? What clients? Was he working for the mafia? Drug dealers? Mona tapped her foot, became silent. She nodded, then shook her head. She knew what she had to do.

“Greed is what gets most people caught. I'm not selfish, you know that. I anonymously sent each of the widows a cashier's check for a hundred thousand. I admit I didn't tell you that I sent Sarah money when I knew she was in jeopardy of losing her house. She was desperate. Each widow was strapped for cash. They chose to deposit the checks I sent them, and they were foolish to spend the money. That was on them.”

Mona sprang to her feet, stared down at Steven. “So you blackmailed them as insurance to cover your ass.”

Holding up his pointing finger, he interrupted, “Our asses. I knew if they were ever questioned, they couldn't prove to authorities where the windfall money came from.”

A question for every dollar he'd given those women was in her head. How could they not know where the money came from? Whose name was on those cashier's checks? The answers didn't matter right now. Mona thought about the three six-figure deposits Steven had wired to her account. She didn't know the legal name on the account. Six years was a long time ago. Constantly gasping for air, she paced in front of him.

“I love you, Mona. I gave you my word. Calm down.” He stood, hugged her.

“I'm okay,” Mona lied, then kissed him. “I just need something cold to drink.”

“I'll draw your bubbly bath water,” he said, releasing her. “That always helps to relax you.”

Steven shouted from the bathroom, “We've got a big job tomorrow. Another FTA. Thirty Gs.”

That meant he'd give her six grand, the same amount she'd earn in a month working at the lab.
I can't. I just can't do this again
. She knew his name—Steven Cunningham, Incorporated—was on all of the paper checks he'd given her. Money was not going to be her pimp, and she wasn't going to be her husband's whore.

Mona quietly entered the bedroom, dressed from the clothes he'd scattered on the floor. Panties, bra, blouse, and pants were on in less than a minute. She opened the bottom drawer, wrapped her other gun along with the box of bullets in a T-shirt. She left her black bag and jeans on the scrambled sheets, bypassed their kitchen, ran out the front door, got in her car. Her purse was still on the passenger seat. Opening then closing her armrest compartment, her registered gun was there. She stuffed the wrapped T-shirt and its contents into the glove box.

She mumbled toward the sky, “Thanks for giving me that push.”

The next-door neighbor, Mama V, waved. Mona backed out of the driveway, fanned her hand in front of the windshield, then sped off, leaving a cloud of smoke behind. Never again would she return to his house. This would be the last time she'd exercise her right to remain silent and let an innocent person like Sarah McKenny go to jail.

What if Sarah got the death penalty?