Mutual Possession (Nine Tenths of the Law #1)

13. Spencer

Chapter thirteen

Spencer

Colin Trine lives in a nondescript one-bedroom unit in a block of four, making it trickier to find our way in without nosy neighbours spotting us. We spend two hours watching the place, to see who’s home, who isn’t, and what the movements are.

Unit three’s occupants are in their backyard, doing maintenance. Conveniently making enough noise with their music that it will help mask our approach despite how inconsiderate they’re being. Unit one hasn’t so much as made a peep. There’s no car in their driveway, but they each have a small garage, so that’s not a clear sign they aren’t there. Unit four left a half hour into our watch. The dog that lives there has been barking ever since, so there can’t be another person in there.

The house that backs up to Trine’s yard left in a flurry of noise and chaos an hour ago, giving us our in once we determine the coast is clear.

“I’d fuckin’ hate to live here,” Kendrick mutters. “That dog’s about to drive me insane, and haven’t those assholes heard of headphones?”

“What do you do when your next-door neighbour makes noise?”

“Turn on the blender,” he says, deadpan.

“This is why we spend more time at mine.” And why he’s moving in with me and not the other way around. I wish we could do it today. No more travelling between our apartments. No having to go to him and make sure he’s in my space. We’ll share a space.

“I don’t need to do anything, because my neighbours aren’t inconsiderate,” Kendrick says. He finishes the rest of his takeout coffee and drops it into the small bag at his feet. “If they were, I’d just kill them.”

“That gets me hot.”

“Does it?”

I leer at him, and he shakes his head in exasperation. Fond exasperation, at least.

I’m not lying, though. I love how ruthless he is. That he’s mired in the grey, just like I am.

“We’ll go around the back,” Kendrick says, pushing the car door open and stepping out. “Go in through the family’s backyard. They have a doorbell camera and security on both corners of the house, but it doesn’t look like there’s any in the back.”

“Rookie mistake.” Most professional thieves would never be so stupid as to break in through the front yard. The ones who know what they’re doing steal small valuables. Things that can be stuffed into pockets and bags. Things not as likely to be missed. Bigger items are too hard to move, both from the property and when selling. It requires more coordination.

The place next to the family has no security, so we at least don’t have to circle around the block to get there. It’s like playing musical fences.

I hesitate with one hand on the top of the six-foot fence, raking my gaze down Kendrick’s form. “Why don’t I do this, and I’ll let you in the front door?” Impact on his leg can’t be good. Whether or not he wants to acknowledge the truth, he’s hesitant on it now. It’ll take a long time before he completely trusts it. And I don’t want him injured again. The brutal physical therapy he endured isn’t something I want him to go through again.

He’d healed faster than anyone could have anticipated, largely due to Kendrick’s stubborn nature. A boon and a curse. I just want to make sure he didn’t heal too fast and rush his recovery. The risk of re-injuring is too high. And of course, he’d never fucking tell anyone if it bothers him.

“Stop it,” he says tersely, narrowing his eyes at me. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” I ask innocently. I know he can see right through it, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try.

“Act like I’m fragile.”

“Me caring about your well-being means that I think you’re fragile?” He’s the strongest person that I know. Well, maybe except Maverick, who’s a goddamn battering ram. The point is that I would never think of him as fragile. That doesn’t mean he’s Superman and can just do whatever he wants without consequence. It doesn’t mean he can’t break.

He gives me a look that tells me exactly what he thinks of my statement. And then hikes himself up and over the fence.

He’s already halfway to the back door by the time I follow him over. His curls bounce as he walks, and I snicker at how they so beautifully convey his irritation. They’re so attuned to his moods, like a separate entity that feeds from him.

It doesn’t take long for me to get through the flimsy lock. More people need to use deadbolts on their back door. So much concern for the front and too much neglect for the back.

Kendrick goes ahead of me into the small laundry the back door leads to.

“Would you like to get fucked?”

Kendrick trips, whirling around, bracing a hand on the washing machine. “Excuse me?”

Pretty sure from that reaction he heard me just fine. “You said you’ve never had anything in your ass, but would you like to?”

“You’re asking me this now ?”

“Why not?”

“ Why not? We’re here to search this guy’s unit, not talk about my sex preferences.”

We can do both. I’m good at multitasking. Besides, this is more important. Colin Trine can wait. “I want to know.”

“What purpose could you possibly have for asking me? You want to fuck me, Spence?”

“What if I said yes?” The idea isn’t unappealing. Just… not something that fills me with need the way that Kendrick holding me does. It’s not the same, and I don’t know why. There has to be a way that I can give him what he needs. We’ve never tried it, so we can’t even reasonably conclude that it wouldn’t work. It’s another form of ownership; why would I say no to that? Helping him jerk off was fucking incredible. Watching the pleasure on his face is easily the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Knowing I was the one responsible for it and no one else.

Why can’t we try it?

My heart skips a beat.

It’s true.

Why can’t we try it?

“We’ll talk about this later, alright?” Kendrick says, rubbing his forehead. “Put some gloves on, and let’s search the place.”

“What if I said yes?” I press. I don’t give a flying fuck where we are, I want an answer. Everything else can wait.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t let you do, Spence, I told you that last night.”

He did. But I like hearing it. “What if I want to piss on you?” Mark him up and make him dirty. It’s not my thing, and it’s not on my bucket list, but I’m curious to know just how far he’d let me go.

He closes his eyes briefly. “If that’s what you wanted.”

Holy hell, that’s so crazy hot. “What if I wanted to do it right now?”

His jaw moves, like he’s contemplating whether I’m serious or not. I’m one hundred fucking percent serious. I want to know if he’d let me, right here, right now, in some random house with the risk of getting caught.

“You really want to leave your DNA in this place, so it can be used to trace back to you?”

“If they think they can tangle with me, they’re welcome to try.” Anyone tries to get between me and Kendrick, and they’re going to have a problem they can’t handle.

Kendrick closes the distance between us and takes my face in his hands, eyes hard and determined. “You want to piss on me, Spence?”

“No.” The idea of coming on him is a different story, though. Something to explore, in great detail. “But you’d let me?”

“I already told you that you can.”

“And you’d let me fuck you.”

Kendrick caresses my cheeks. “Whatever you want.”

The kiss I lay on him is needy, and twisted, and filled with all of the confusion swirling inside me. Too many thoughts and not enough conclusions. His words match his actions, and I still have trouble connecting them. How can he be happy with what we have when he doesn’t get everything that he needs? Six gives Greer everything he needs, even when Greer doesn’t think he needs it. Especially then. Greer pushes back only so far because at the end of the day, he gives up all his control to Six. He trusts Six to take care of him, to put his needs above everything else.

Absolute trust.

We have that. I trust Kendrick with everything in me. If I wanted to do this, if I wanted to give this to him, I know he’d do everything he could to make it good for me.

And I want it. Not for me, but for him. That can’t be wrong, can it? The motivation may be different, but isn’t that enough of a start? If I can’t get it up, there are toys we can use. Hell, he can fuck me if he wants to. I know he wouldn’t ever hurt me. I can be whatever he needs in order to fulfil us both.

Kendrick pulls away, and my heart races at the glazed-over look in his hazel-green gaze. I love the way he responds to me; it feeds the monster inside me. He kisses my forehead, and I shiver all the way down to my toes.

“We can talk about this later, Spence, I promise. Put your gloves on for me, and let’s get this done.”

More reasonable than pissing on him here, I guess.

Though after a sweep of the open-plan living and kitchen area of the unit, I may prefer it. “This guy is the most boring person I have ever met. He doesn’t even have Rice Bubbles. There’s just… porridge.” I wrinkle my nose and close the cupboard. Who only has porridge? Where’s the sugar rush? The sweetness? The crunch.

“Not everyone has sugar for breakfast,” Kendrick says absently. He flicks through the letters on the bench. “Just bills.” He holds one up. “Overdue water.”

“His salary isn’t something to sneeze at, and this place can’t cost more than four hundred a week. Is he just forgetful or spending his money elsewhere?”

“Excellent question.”

The question is answered the second we step into his bedroom. My stomach churns uncomfortably, and bile rises in my throat. “What the fuck?”

There’s barely any room to move in here. Pictures cover the walls. All of Vanessa Ferguson. Some alone, some with other people. The common denominator is definitely her. There’s a computer set up right beside the bed, with six monitors. They’re all on. One of them is open to the website Six sent us earlier. One is some kind of chat room. And the rest are cameras. Specifically, cameras inside Vanessa’s home. Her living area, her kitchen, laundry, and one that looks out into the backyard. Not the bathroom, bedroom, or toilet. Those are all the most intimate areas. Why have they been left out? Couldn’t get access, or something else?

“Are there any recordings? We’ll be on them if there are copies,” Kendrick says. “Six will have to go into the server and erase everything.” He strokes his jaw. “Fucking cameras . We should have looked for that.”

Why would we? Hidden cameras aren’t on the list of things to look for in a victim’s house. Unusual, and so incredibly fucked up. “And disable the cameras. Why are they even still recording?” Wait a second. “The murder. Fuck me, he could have it recorded.”

Kendrick shoves the chair out of the way and starts playing around with the computer, half leaned over to reach the keyboard. Tech isn’t my speciality, so I leave it with him to search the room more thoroughly. The wardrobe is just as fucked up as the rest of the room. Worse, actually. There’s a goddamn shrine in here. With candles and everything. A large full-body poster of the woman that looks like it might have been in some kind of “sexy” pin-up magazine and blown up to real size. It’s all incredibly weird shit.

Dangerous weird shit. People that go to this length are capable of anything.

“The recordings are only forty-eight hours,” Kendrick says behind me. “They record over the oldest files as it records new.”

“Why?” That seems counterproductive. Doesn’t he want recordings to jerk to later or something?

“It doesn’t look like he saves anything anywhere. Doesn’t seem to be about keeping it or sharing it on his website. He likes to watch her in real time?”

“So, no murder footage?”

“Not necessarily.” Kendrick stands and looks over the back of the computer monitor. “There might be something in the hard drive that we can recover. We need to check the cameras in the house too. If they use a micro-SD card, then Six may be able to get it off using some of the software he has.”

If Six can’t, no one can. The doctor’s a powerhouse when it comes to hacking.

“Unless he has the cameras hooked up to power—in which case, the wires would make it pretty obvious, right? And we didn’t see anything—it’ll only have a certain amount of battery time.”

The implications of that don't sit well with me. It means he has to be replacing the batteries on a regular basis. “He has regular access to her home.”

“Did she let him in, or did he break and enter when she wasn’t home?” Kendrick asks.

If he was waiting for her to leave, he knew a lot about her schedule to be confident about it. How long has he been watching her like this?

“He might have witnessed the murder himself,” I say thoughtfully. “There’s no recording in the bathroom, but if there was a second person in the place, he’d have to have noticed it, right? There’s no way he’s not watching these every night, like a sick fuck.”

Kendrick scratches his forehead with a frown. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

“What do you mean? All the signs point to him.”

“Right. For Vanessa. But what about the first murder? There’s not a single thing here about her. Not a picture, nothing.”

He’s right, of course. This guy’s a one-woman show, and based on the dating of some of these pictures, he’s been on this singular track for a while.

“Let’s pack up everything here so we can sift through it, piece by piece.” Sometimes it’s the little things that make all the equations add up. I want to know if he’s hiding anything else. “You don’t think he killed the first woman? He may have been inspired by the first killer.” In which case, it’s a copycat case. Everyone’s a murderer these days. Watch enough TV and you think you can get away with it.

“I don’t know what I think. We need to question him, somehow. Without drawing attention to ourselves. We should—”

We both freeze at the sound of the front door opening, hands automatically going to the weapons at our hips.

Well, well. With a self-satisfied smirk, I say, “Looks like someone answered your call.”

“I bet our guardian angels get hazard pay.”

Colin Trine himself appears in the doorway, rooted to the spot and staring at us in shock.

I give him a two-finger wave. “Trine, just the man we wanted to see.” His eyes shift between us. He’s about to bolt.

And there he goes.

I do love a good chase. Does he think he’s gonna get far? I have a good four inches on him, and I never lose a target.

“Spence, wait!”

Too late, I’m already hot on his heels. He conveniently leaves the front door open for me—common sense says to put as many obstacles as possible in a pursuer’s way, and yet they never do.

The small front fence is no deterrent, and I easily vault it, the slaps of my sneakers on the pavement loud. He goes left at the end of the unit block, and then the idiot ducks into a side “alley,” which is just a grass-filled gap between two houses’ fencing. It leads out into an empty playground, but he doesn’t get that far.

I shove him against the green corrugated fence, a hand flat in the middle of his back to keep him from moving. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay there,” I hiss in his ear.

“Get off me!” he cries out. “I’ll call the police—”

“How?” I ask with huffed laughter. “You think I’m going to let you go, so you can?” I wonder what he thinks we are. Home invaders? Killers? The last part is true but only in the strictest sense. Sanctioned murder. The distinction is enough to let me sleep at night. “Lucky for you, you don’t even need a phone call.” I flash him my fake badge. “I think you and I need to have a good, long talk about the sick shit in your apartment.”

“Appreciating someone’s beauty is not sick!” he sputters.

“That’s what you think you were doing? ‘Appreciating’ her beauty?” I drawl. “Is that why you killed her?”

“I didn’t—wait. She was killed ?”

I share a glance with Kendrick as he approaches us. Some people lie with an ease that’s hard to separate from reality. This guy doesn’t seem the type to have it roll off his tongue so easy.

“What the fuck ?” Kendrick growls, ignoring Colin. “Do you know what the word ‘wait’ means?”

“Sure I do,” I say casually. Knowing the meaning of a word doesn’t mean I’ll obey it. “But he was getting away.”

“He couldn’t get away from a wet paper bag,” Kendrick says with a snort.

True enough.

“They said it was a… a… an accident,” Colin sputters, grief in his voice that makes me acutely uncomfortable. He’s acting like he has a right to it, to her . “Someone killed her?”

I flip him around so I can see his face. There’s that sadness and terror I heard. A fraction of panic but not the kind that says, “Oh, shit, they found me out.”

What a fucking mess. “Call Greer, get him to come arrest this idiot.” Murderer or not, he’s got more than a few charges we can stick him with, the creepy fucker.

“Why am I under arrest? I didn’t kill anyone!” He tries to push me out of the way, and I tighten my hold, slamming him back against the fence.

“Did I tell you to move? No? Then fucking stay put.”

Kendrick’s already moved a few feet away, phone to his ear, but he’s got his eyes glued to me. I know if something happens, he’ll be back here faster than Colin can say “shit.”

“Why were you so obsessed with her?” I don’t really care, but it gives me something to do while we wait for the cavalry.

“She—she was nice to me. No one is ever nice to me.”

“Can’t imagine why.” How many women has he stalked over the years, based on that kind of logic? Creating a disturbing connection to them just because they smile in his direction? A slippery slope to travel down.

“Greer’s on his way. Let’s take him back to the unit to wait; we’re too exposed out here.”

I don’t particularly want to set foot in that place again, but Kendrick’s right. Being out here in the open is dangerous, in more ways than one. Don’t need anyone to see us here and call the cops. Other cops, anyway, before Greer gets here.

“Tell him to bring boxes.” We need something to pack up all the shit into. I shift my jacket so that Colin can see my firearm. “Try to run, and I’ll shoot you in the back.”

His eyes widen further, and his footsteps are wobbly as we escort him back to his creep cave.