15. 15
I’m standing on a huge stage on my free afternoon that weekend. My mind is trying to catch up to how I got here, but it’s not working. This is the last place I expect to find myself. Remy invited me to come here, like on a date. Going to dancing studios or dancing seems to become our thing, and I have no idea how that happened. I’m so not the dancing type, but I’ve fallen for a dancer all the same. He slept over after the concert a couple of days ago, and then we both went our separate ways as we got back to reality.
It’s the first time that we’re seeing each other in four days. We haven’t talked about my freak out in the bathroom and we certainly didn’t talk about Remy’s conclusion that Chester is in love with me. That’s a thought I’m pushing as deep down as I can. We’re dealing with a serial killer and missing kids. Confusion about maybe or maybe not crushes can wait.
Remy walks on stage, taking me in his arms and pressing a kiss on my nose. I don’t know when I’ve turned into a public displays of affection kind of girl, but here I am, beaming like the moon on a full moon’s night. “You’re here!”
“Yeah, that’s what we agreed upon, right?” I wrap my arms around him. “What are we doing here? I can’t keep letting you dance with me while all I do is let you lead me.”
“I wanted to show you what you’ve inspired.” I furrow my brows in confusion. What I inspired? I didn’t do shit. He points his head to the seating in front of the stage. “Take a seat. I’d say take the front row. We’re not expecting anybody else.”
“Is this one of these shows where there’s audience participation? Because if so, I’m moving way to the back.”
He laughs. “No audience participation needed. But I’ll go see if Nourah is ready.”
“Nourah?” I ask, something inside of me twitching. Remy might be a the-more-the-merrier kind of guy, with his whole talk about people joining each other on their travels through life, but I’m not that okay with it. Fuck, is this what jealousy feels like? I don’t need Remy to ask other people on our dates. Wait. This is a date, right? I didn’t misinterpret this? The confusion must be obvious on my face, because Remy starts to laugh.
“Nourah, just like me, is a retired dancer. I’ve known her since we were together on stage in New York. The retiring age for female dancers is a lot lower than that for men by the way. Very unfair, but there’s just more of them, forcing them out of the spotlight sooner rather than later. We rekindled here. She moved back, with her husband and her two kids. Twins, absolute cuties, very loud.”
My cheeks heat as I feel the green demon inside me die down and nod my head. I take a seat in the middle of the front row, and sit down. The lights in the theater go out, while the lights on the stage go on. A slender black girl with a head full of gorgeous curls in a black one-piece walks out on stage and takes position in the middle of it. Smells like teen spirit by Nirvana start playing, and I don’t know where this is going to go. Bit of a basic choice in terms of grunge if you ask me, but hey, we can’t all be educated like Chester forced me to be. Remy joins her on stage.
They start a contemporary dance routine, and my eyes are glued to the way their bodies move to the music in such a way I never considered possible. The grace, the emotion. It’s like they’re retelling the song in a whole other language. Their limbs do things with such an ease I didn’t even know was possible, but they’re doing it. When the song ends, my eyes are watery and I swallow hard. Fuck, he’s a good dancer. I can taste his talent. It’s both raw and refined and it’s there in buckets.
When the song ends, Nourah and Remy take a moment to snap out of their character. She lays a hand on his cheek and presses a kiss against his other before she disappears off of the side of the stage. Remy jumps off stage without using the stairs and makes his way to me.
“What’d you think?” he asks me with a wide grin.
“I think New York is missing two amazing dancers, and they’re crazy for retiring you guys, even if it was voluntary in your case.” My eyes fall on the side of the stage. “Furthermore I think it should be illegal for Nourah to have legs like that, because godfuckingdamnit, I’m jealous as hell.”
“You liked the dance?” he asks, suddenly a lot shier than before.
“You made me listen to the music in a whole other way. It was… please don’t make me put it into words. I suck with words, I’m better at shooting stuff. It was everything.”
He lets his forehead fall against mine. “Funny that you mention it, going to the shooting range was part two of this date.”
The corners of my mouth pull up when I hear him mention the word date in the same sentence as shooting range. He’s pulling out the big guns, both literally and figuratively. “Oh you’re going down,” I tell him. “And just so you know, I don’t think you can convince a whole stadium to start dancing like this to grunge. Or rock. Or metal for that matter.”
“That was never my intention, tireur d’élite. I just wanted to see if I could understand Chester’s and your love for the music. I think I’ve found a way to start to relate. It’s actually very full of emotion,” he concludes as he frowns, like the discovery surprises him. We slowly start to make our way to the exit.
“Remind me to take you into a mosh pit next time.”
I’ve managed to make Remy hit a target a whooping two times. It’s his first time shooting a gun and unlike Chester he hasn’t spent countless hours playing video games. He gave in after only forty-five minutes, telling me he creates things, he doesn’t kill things. And I can’t even blame him. Having just seen what he can do on a stage, I don’t want him to do anything else besides that. I don’t want to pull him into my world, where things tend to get ugly. Just let him create some beauty. We can all use it.
“So, you’re a lover, not a fighter?” I conclude as we make our way to the exit.
“Yeah, if you’re ever in danger I’ll scare everyone who needs to back off away with my big, old, wicked love.” He pulls me closer to his body and wraps his arms around me. One of his hands tangles in my hair, grabbing the ponytail I tied my raven black hair up in and forces me to look up into his vibrant blue eyes.
“How about I just shoot whoever needs to be scared away and you make big, old, wicked love to me after that?”
He nuzzles the side of my head, bringing his mouth closer to my ear. “Lovemaking? Are you sure you’re up for that? What happened to hooking up?”
“We’re both developing,” I conclude, letting my hands roam over his body, pushing them up over his toned abs as my hands sneak under his shirt. “You show me the ropes of the world of lovemaking, I teach you how to kick ass.”
“So, do you want me to make love to you when we reach the parking lot and I’m taking you against the hood of your car, or do you want me to kick your ass?”
My insides clench hearing him say those words, as I feel butterflies go fucking crazy. It’s like they’re at a rave after being awake for two days straight or something. I bring my mouth to his ear, giving a kiss beneath it before I bite down on his lobe. “I want you to pull my hair and smack my ass when you bend me over the hood of your car, then I want you to take me home and make love to me.”
He doesn’t have to be told twice. Taking a step back, he grabs my hand and starts pulling me along after him to the parking lot, and I almost have to run to keep up with him. He opens the door to the underground parking lot.
The shooting range is deserted, and to be frank, I wouldn’t even bat an eye if it wasn’t. We reach his car and the short walk over here was enough foreplay in itself. He bends down to kiss me, but my hands are already busy opening his pants. When I’ve undone them and grab his dick through his boxers, I let my head fall back in my neck. Fuck, this is taking too long.
I’m not the only one who seems to be thinking this way. He turns me around, unbuttons my pants and pulls it halfway down my legs. I let my hands fall down on the hood of his car, looking for some form of stability. My panties get ripped to the side.
“Ready?”
“Hurry the fuck up.”
He doesn’t fight me on it, but just pushes himself inside of me. Wasting no time at all, he starts fucking me. I’d almost forgotten I told him to pull my hair and smack me, when he wraps my ponytail around his wrist and then grabs it at the roots. He almost pulls me up backwards, not sparing or going easy on me, and I’m loving every second of it. When he spanks me, both the smack and the moan that leaves my mouth echo through the parking lot. There goes trying not to be caught. If anyone was in the vicinity, they’d know what’s going on here.
I can’t do much more than hold on and enjoy the ride, my hands leaving sweaty handprints all over the hood of his car. It doesn’t take long before I feel myself starting to build. Instead of making me topple over the edge, Remy slows down, pulling back my head even more. I love being the boss, I love being in control, but something about being with Remy is making me surrender. It’s not so much that I’m suddenly submissive when it comes to him, it’s more that I like to be dominated by him.
“Please,” I whimper, trying to push myself back on him, but it’s no use. The hand he has on my hip has me in such a grip I’m only able to give into what he wants me to do.
“Please what?” he huffs at me in a low voice.
“Harder,” I plea with him.
“Funny that you think you’ve got anything to say about what’s going on right now,” he grunts.
“You’re usually so nice.” His hand comes down on my ass cheek again, and I know I’ll be able to see the traces of it tomorrow. Then he picks the pace up again and starts thrusting into me with long strokes. I feel myself squeezing around him and I bask in the feeling of being full of him.
“I can be nice,” he grunts, as he keeps pounding into me. Something incoherent leaves my mouth, as I just surrender myself to him. I feel a warmness spreading through my body, starting at the base of my spine.
“Don’t stop,” I beg. And he doesn’t. He keeps giving it to me as my legs start to tremble and my orgasm crashes through me. I can’t breathe the whole time I’m convulsing around him. The grip of his hand in my hair tightens as I feel him following me over the edge of the abyss. His fingers on my hips hurt and I love it. Maybe there should be something wrong with that, but I don’t care.
When he lets go of my hair, he bends over me and presses a kiss against my neck.
“If this is what it’s like going to the shooting range, we’re going to be regulars here.” I snort, as he puts my panties and pants back in place.
“I come here with my team a lot, I do not want to think about doing this with them.”
“Good, let’s keep this between us. Now, get your ass in the car, we’ve got a lovemaking appointment next.”
I shouldn’t be so excited about the prospect of having sex with Remy while still catching my breath after the previous round, but I make sure my ass is in that car in practically no time at all.
“We’re being followed,” I say after turning another corner and seeing a black SUV about four cars back. It’s been there for a while and I get this hinky feeling. Now that we’ve turned yet another corner and it’s still right behind us, still keeping the same distance, I’m sure about it.
“What?” Remy says, his eyes looking in the rear view mirror. There’s worry on his face, his eyebrows folded together and his mouth turns into a hard line.
“Black SUV. Try driving a little slower. Go to the right lane and lower your speed.” Remy does as I tell him, and while the SUV keeps driving in the middle lane, it also lowers its speed. This is not just someone who’s following us, this is someone who knows how to tail. It doesn’t feel right.
“Now what?” Remy asks. The knuckles of his hands turn white on the steering wheel and his shoulders tense.
“There’s two things we can do,” I say, looking over my shoulder to see if I can get a look at who’s driving the car. “We can try to lose him, or we can stop and see what happens.”
He starts chewing the inside of his cheek. “What do you think is best?”
“I’m not prepared for a confrontation. I say we lose him.” I grab my phone, open the camera and zoom in as much as I can before I take a picture of the license plates.
“Okay, and how do I do that?”
“Drive really fast?” I suggest.
“I’ve lived in New York for the last fifteen years, I’ve spent more time on subways and in cabs than behind the wheel, I’m not that good of a driver,” he says with his teeth clenched together, like it hurts him to say it. I don’t really feel like confronting an unknown subject when everything around me is going to shit. This crazy idea forms in my head.
“Trust me?” I ask Remy, as I make sure to look him in the eye.
“With my life.”
“Good.” Because in dangerous situations like this, that might very well be the case. “Make sure you keep your foot on the gas. I’m going to put your chair back, so stretch your leg and keep speeding.”
“What are you doing?” His voice is a little higher than it’d usually be. He’s been at the office while I’ve been in the field, but he hasn’t actually been in any high pressure situations with us. I don’t think this is the sort of adrenaline that does it for him, and I can’t blame him. Us high-pressure adrenaline junkies are a whole other species from regular people. Reaching over, I make his chair slide back. I unbuckle my seatbelt and start climbing out of my seat.
“I’m going to take over the driving,” I say at the same moment I wiggle myself in between his lap and the steering wheel. It’s a tight fit, but we’ll have to manage. Because I’m sitting on his lap, I can reach the gas even though my legs are shorter than his.
“Okay, let go of the steering wheel, grab my phone from my back pocket and send Ches the pictures I just made of the plates of the car tailing us. Then call him and explain everything. Code is 071217.”
I step down on the gas and start speeding up, exceeding the speed limit by a lot. I change lanes and dart from left to right, squeezing through tight spots. The car is following like it’s nothing. I make a sharp right, almost cutting off another car, but I manage to pull it off without any hits. My heartbeat is steady and calm. I need to keep my head in the game to make it through this.
“Ches,” Remy says right before he puts the phone on speaker.
“You’re not Abby.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” I snap, passing a lot of cars. We’re lucky it’s not too busy on the road right now. If it had been rush hour, this would never work. But this is my city, I know where to go. I’ve been trained to do this and I rely on myself to get me through it.
“Someone’s tailing us,” Remy says, “Abby is trying to lose the car. I just sent you pictures of the license plates.”
“Find out who we’re dealing with,” I say, barely making it past a truck that’s stopped in the middle of a busy road trying to unload its goods. The car is still following me though. Now that he knows I’ve seen the tail, caution has been thrown to the wind and he isn’t trying to hide from me anymore.
“On it,” Chester says, as he starts tapping.
I maneuver the car to one of the industrial areas, because there will be less civilians there who I could potentially hit. Fuck, what if this is the serial killer? Has he been following me? The one time I don’t have my own car and my own gear I end up in a situation where I”d really love to have my own stuff. You’d think I’m some sort of doomsday prepper if you see my car. But the most useful thing in Remy’s car is probably a bottle of antifreeze which I could use to poison somebody. Not really the defense I’m going for in a situation like this.
I turn around a corner, going through a very tight alley. The car just fits, but I manage to drive through it without scratching the sides. I think. Besides, if I did damage Remy’s car, he’s loaded enough to get it fixed. Getting out of this safely is more important.
“I think you can pull over,” Chester says. “It’s a car that’s registered to the feds. It was given out to the team Winny and Beckett got here with. Chances are it’s one of them.”
Relief. I feel relieved. Don’t know why the FBI is tailing me, but at least it’s not the serial killer.
“Hold me,” I command Remy, and he wraps his arms tightly around me. I step on the breaks, and stop the car in record time. With not having my seatbelt on, I’m happy Remy’s strong arms keep me in place. Coming to a standstill so quickly while driving at such speed without a seatbelt might not be the wisest plan, but thankfully we get out of it without a scratch.
The black SUV comes to a standstill about ten feet behind us. To my delight, I see that the side mirrors are scratched. I’m absolutely going to gloat about that. I open the door and get out of the car, Remy following in my footsteps. Beckett gets out of his car at the same time.
“Why the hell are you tailing me?” I snap. “That could’ve been seriously dangerous!”
“It was perfectly safe until you took off like you’re trying to win the IndyCar 500. You know going over the speed limit like that is an offense?” He looks mad.
“Oh cut the crap, you were tailing me before I started speeding. I made us take at least four different corners just to see if you’d still be there. Why were you tailing me?”
“I wasn’t tailing you.”
I throw my hands up in the air in frustration. “Yes, you were! I’m not some stupid little girl. I’ve actually got enough training for the both of us.”
Remy puts a calming hand on my arm. “I think he means he was tailing me, Abigail.”
I turn my head around, to see Remy glaring at Beckett, who in his turn crosses his arms and scowls at Remy.
“Well then, why are you tailing Remy?” I’m so not in the mood for this. We’ve got at least two million more important things to do.
“You know having sex in public is considered public indecency. I could arrest you for that.” His cheeks are flushed, but I think it’s more out of anger than anything else.
“You watched us?” I let out aghast.
“There shouldn’t have been anything to watch at all! That’s illegal.”
“Wow, really, public sex, Abs?” Chester says through the speaker of my phone. Oh fuck, he’s still on the line?
“Bet you enjoyed the show,” I snap. “Anyway, you can’t arrest me for public indecency. It’s not a federal offense and certainly not a reason to tail us. Why were you watching us in the first place?” I refuse to get embarrassed by this. A long silence follows, but I’m not saying anything until I’ve gotten an answer.
“I don’t trust this one,” he says, pointing his head to Remy. “Something feels off. I’m trying to figure out why that is.”
That’s nuts, because I don’t trust people easily, but I’ve had no such problem with Remy whatsoever. The weird thing is that even now that Beckett is acting like a total asshat, I still trust his judgment when it comes to people. It’s sort of his job after all.
“Can’t you try to figure that out without scaring the bejesus out of us?”
“You weren’t supposed to notice me.”
“Guys,” Chester says through the speakerphone. “Can we get back to the public sex thing?”
“No,” all three of us answer at the same time. “We’ll see you in a bit,” I tell Chester before I disconnect the call.
“The fact that I was not supposed to know you were tailing me is redundant. Do some good old detective work, look through his file or something.”
“I don’t have a file,” Remy says at the same time Beckett says: “He doesn’t have a file.”
“Then why don’t you trust him?” I don’t get it. There’s absolutely no reason not to trust him.
“Gut feeling,” he says, and as much as I want to scoff at that, that’s how I operate too. I just don’t have the same gut feeling about Remy.
“What did I do?” Remy snaps.
“I’m not sure yet, that’s why I’ve been following you.”
“Really?” I yell, because something inside of me snaps. “You’re spending your time tailing a dancer? Why don’t you go make a profile or something? That’s what you and Winny do, right? You come up with what kind of a person the serial killer is like, so he can then be tracked down? Go do that! Go work some statistical bullshit. Grab your research! Go over yet another Jeffrey Dahmer interview or something, so you can reach another conclusion! But don’t aimlessly follow someone without a reason, when in just a few weeks, he’s going to kill again!”
I’m kind of out of breath after yelling that. It’s not that I think Beckett is doing a bad job. I don’t actually have an opinion about whether or not he’s doing his job, because I have no clue what he’s up to. Remy grabs me and pulls me close, turning his back to Beckett, but I keep staring at him over his shoulder. I don’t want there to be another victim, and as long as he’s out there, there are going to be more and more. He isn’t going to stop, and he isn’t going to let me off the hook. He’s going to taunt me until he is stopped, and I need Beckett to make sure that happens.
Beckett sighs, his green eyes finding mine, and I’m surprised to see a little sadness in them. “We’ll get him,” he states, seeing right through my little meltdown. His eyes shift to Remy’s back again. “I’ve just learned to trust my gut feeling.”
“So have I,” I say, still looking over Remy’s shoulder. “And both me and Ches trust him.”
Beckett scoffs. “I don’t think the hacker is your best moral compass.”
“Neither is your dick,” Remy snaps at Beckett as he turns around. I have no idea where that’s coming from, because his dick isn’t even a topic of this conversation. What’s he implying? That Beckett doesn’t trust Remy because he has a crush on me too? It almost makes me want to laugh out loud. Remy seems under the illusion that everybody in this freaking world is in love with me.
Beckett just rolls his eyes at Remy. “Just know that I’ll find out everything there is to find out about you.”
“I expect nothing less of you,” Remy says as he starts pushing me back to the car. “I do expect a formal apology once you figure out you’re wrong. I’ll accept a handwritten letter.”
I fake gasp. “You’re assuming he can write.”
To my surprise both Beckett and Remy chuckle.
“There’s a little something on your, eh…” I say, looking back at Beckett one last time. His hand automatically reaches for his mouth, trying to wipe something away that isn’t there.
“No, not there,” I go on with what I assume is an evil gleam in my eye, “on your side mirror. There’s like a buttload of scratches there.”
We get into the car under the sound of a cursing Beckett, who’s looking at his mirrors. Fuck him. Upside of making him look at his mirrors is that he’s too busy to follow us once we finally take off again.