Chapter 20 #2
I give her what she asks for. I press her harder against the door and slide my hand up her thigh, pushing the skirt until there’s skin above her stockings. She gasps against my mouth and wraps one leg around my hip, pulling me closer, grinding against me through the fabric still between us.
I kiss down her neck, biting at the junction of shoulder and throat, and she makes a sound that’s more need than permission.
I drop to my knees and push the skirt higher.
She looks down at me with Mara’s case number still crumpled in her fist, and the contrast between the grief in her face and the desire in her body is the rawest thing I’ve ever seen.
I press my mouth against her pussy through the thin fabric of her underwear, and she tips her head back against the door.
I pull the fabric aside and taste her tangy arousal.
I flick and tease her with my tongue as she whimpers, grips my hair with both hands, and thrusts against me.
She rocks against my mouth while sealed case files sit on the desk behind us and armed men pace the corridor outside.
I’m planning to give her an orgasm and then reevaluate if she wants to leave before continuing, but a sharp tug in my scalp has me pulling away to look up. “Ouch,” I say with a feigned wince.
She tugs again, though less sharply. “Now.” She pulls me up by the collar instead of the hair, which is marginally better. “I need you now.”
I stand. She reaches for my belt and works it open.
I lift her onto the edge of the desk and the case folders scatter as she drags me closer, wrapping both legs around my hips.
When I line up my cock with her opening, she lunges forward and takes me in completely in one thrust. She lets out a small whimper wrapped in a breath and starts thrusting.
I pull out almost completely and enter her again in one steady push. She grips the desk edge and arches into me. The room is wrong for this, with the sealed files, armed men beyond the door, and Mara’s case number in her palm. Yet the wrongness makes every touch more desperate.
She pulls me deeper. I brace against the desk and drive into her harder. She digs her nails into my shoulders, making a sound against my chest that’s grief and need tangled together.
The desk rocks under us. Another stack of folders slides to the floor.
She wraps her arms around my neck and holds on while I fuck her with all the desperation that comes from watching her hold character through the worst confirmation of her life and not being able to openly stand beside her during the revelations.
She comes with her face pressed against my shoulder and her body shaking against mine. I follow her within seconds, burying my cock deeply and holding her while my cock spasms, and I come inside her. Again without protection.
We breathe.
I pull back. She straightens her skirt while I button my shirt and pick up the jacket from the floor.
The case folders are scattered across the desk and the floor, and one of them has a shoe print on the cover that I put there, which will require an explanation I don’t have.
No one will dare ask for it, so that’s the important part.
Margot stands at the desk and stacks the scattered folders with steady hands. She’s compartmentalizing.
She’s adjusting her panties and garter when she speaks. “The ligature pattern was right-dominant.” Her voice is calm now, the grief pressed down into a place she’ll deal with later. “Grant is left-handed.”
I stop buttoning my shirt. “What?”
“Grant is left-handed. The ligature analysis showed right-dominant strangulation.” She meets my stare.
“He killed her. I know he killed her. I was married to him for three years and I know what he’s capable of.
The dominant hand usually applies the primary force, and the examiner flagged the pattern as inconsistent with Grant’s handedness.
That either means someone helped restrain her, or the report was altered to protect whoever else was involved. ”
“Or it was a deliberate misdirection to keep it plausible why they wouldn’t file charges.” I offer the alternative gently.
She nods. “Yes, that could be it.” She doesn’t sound convinced.
The implication is enormous. If Margot’s supposition is accurate, Grant didn’t just kill Mara alone.
The forensic evidence suggests a second person at the scene, or the evidence itself was manipulated.
Either way, the people who sealed the analysis knew, because sealing the ligature findings protected more than just Grant.
It kept him as an active asset to Kirill’s organization.
“Kirill’s network sealed the finding that pointed beyond Grant.” I finish buttoning my shirt and look at her. “They weren’t just protecting him. They were protecting whatever the full picture showed.”
“How long have you known about the handedness?”
“Since the first time I read the autopsy report.” She smooths the blazer.
“I read it seventeen times. I memorized every measurement, every notation, and every inconsistency the examiner flagged. The ligature pattern was the first thing that told me the case was wrong, and it was the thing nobody would listen to when I tried to explain it.”
“You tried to explain it?”
“I tried to explain it to a detective, a victim’s advocate, and a legal-aid attorney.
The detective said handedness analysis wasn’t conclusive.
The advocate said the case was closed. The attorney said I didn’t have standing to request a review.
” She looks at me. “Kimberly was the first person who listened. She’s the one who told me to write it down and keep copies. ”
“Someone called in heavy favors to bury what Grant did.” I straighten my tie, which is only slightly crooked now.
“That means Kirill has an advantage over Grant that goes deeper than a legal favor or his usefulness.” Margot buttons the blazer and straightens the collar.
“Grant isn’t just an asset to Kirill’s network.
He’s a hostage. Kirill owns him because Kirill knows what really happened in that room when Mara died, and Grant can’t afford to let anyone else find out. ”
She just connected an evidence chain and reached the conclusion about the same time I did.
She flashes a cold smile. “Grant is in a different kind of prison.” She seems to take a little satisfaction for that. “He’s still walking around and breathing, so it’s not enough.”
I walk toward her. “Do you want Grant prosecuted, or do you want him dead? The goal dictates the path we use to get there.”
She hesitates, clearly torn. “I want the evidence exposed, and then…I want him dead. Maybe a few months after he’s been in prison, someone is waiting in his cell to strangle him.” Her eyes sparkle, and she’s clearly given it some thought.
“It will be my pleasure to arrange that when the tim?—”
A knock on the door interrupts my offer. Kolya, who is supposed to be outside, speaks through the wood. “Kirill’s courier left new terms. He wants a secondary exchange within forty-eight hours at a different location. The courier indicated the timing is non-negotiable.”
I look at Margot. She’s already straightened her collar and smoothed the blazer. Her hands are steady. “Tell him I’ll be ready.”