Chapter 3
ADRIAN
Who is this woman? I stare at the small-framed brunette, wondering how in the hell such an eccentric, young woman could own a prestigious place like the Monroe Street Gallery.
Don’t get me wrong, I saw the Jaguar she pulled up in, and I also see that she’s got an invisible mask on using her strange, almost erratic behavior.
And that makes her all the more intriguing.
“Did you know Mr. Blueson?” I name off the victim with a casualness that hopefully slips past her as we teeter by the front door of the place. Her arms are folded across her chest, pushing her breasts upwards.
It’s a shame they’re covered so well.
“I recognize the last name,” she says, her eyes darting around the chaotic mess of people. I’m used to working through it, but I bet this lady isn’t. She’s probably too worried about keeping the atmosphere right.
The thought almost makes me laugh.
“There are a lot of people who come through these doors to purchase art,” Liliana Wilson continues. “It’s hard to keep up with all of them.” There’s a tell in her face as her lip twitches. I can’t decide if she’s nervous because law enforcement is intimidating…
Or if she’s got something to hide.
“I was just wondering if you knew him. To be at a gallery at this time of night…”
“Well, I don’t think he was supposed to be here,” she muses, pursing her lips as her gaze flickers back toward where his body was.
She lets out a bout of giddy laughter, and then quickly clears her throat as I raise a brow.
“Sorry. Um, I left earlier this afternoon. We closed due to the upcoming show this weekend. It takes time to prepare for such an event like that.”
“I see,” I say flatly, confused. “Do you have any cameras?”
“Of course,” she hums. “Of the front door. Jen didn’t want to put them on the back exit—where the alleyway is. She always said no one knew about that entrance.”
“Naturally,” I scoff, shaking my head.
“So I put a camera there,” she continues, her voice sharp as she scrunches her nose, shuddering. “I don’t like the aura in here now.”
“Yeah… Dead bodies will do that.” I rub my forehead, trying my best not to make fun of the woman. The longer I look at her, the more I realize that her persona is a bit messy—starting with her wild, wavy caramel-colored hair with flecks of white… paint in it.
“We can go to my office, if you’d like to have the footage,” she says, her voice bringing my gaze from her speckled locks to her plump set of lips. “I figure you’ll need it?”
“Are you consenting to giving us the footage?” I have to make it clear, and she looks at me like I’m an idiot.
“Yes, officer,” she rolls her eyes, and then saunters off through the now-thinning crowd of investigators. She doesn’t glance over to the spot of dark red on the floor as she passes by, heading to a small hallway off the main floor.
I follow behind her, wondering how many nerves she grinds daily. My guess is quite a few. She seems awkward and…weird.
But that’s probably an artist thing.
“In here,” she opens a door with a code, and then gestures for me to step inside first. As I brush past her, I catch a whiff of her perfume, a musky, natural scent. I have to admit, it gets my cock a little stiff.
But just a little.
“You have a nice office,” I state it without emotion, taking in the extraordinary abstract pieces. Some of them have feathers and other odds and ends mixed in with the paint, as if the colors work as an adhesive. “Are those yours?”
She gives me a strange look as she plops down at her marbled top desk. “Yes, they are. Are you interested in art?”
“Not in the slightest,” I answer, continuing to scrutinize the room. There are no pictures, no evidence of a personal life, and in fact, the room feels…cold. It’s as if it’s set up for aesthetic purposes only. It doesn’t fit the strange demeanor.
In fact, it is the opposite of what it should be, I think.
“Hmm,” she doesn’t look up at me as she whips her top desk drawer open and pulls out a USB. “You want them like this?” Her green eyes stay focused on the screen, while her hand holds up the drive.
“That’ll be fine. If there’s an issue, we’ll just come back and take the entire computer.” I smirk as she cocks a brow at me.
“You’ll need a warrant for that.”
“We won’t have an issue getting one, Miss Wilson.” I keep my tone stern, though if there’s any part of my words that phases her, she doesn’t show it. She’s a fucking cinder block when it comes to investigative tactics, and I find it odd, given her little eccentric spells.
Who are you, Liliana Wilson?
“Is there anything else I can get for you?” she asks me in a flat tone as she finally peers over at me, meeting my gaze. The way her jade eyes bore into mine does something to me, and the darker parts of my mind run wild with the things I could do to her…
But I don’t have the luxury to do that with women who are a conflict of interest.
And also, I’m just feeling like a total fucking perv right now.
“Do you happen to have the guest lists for any events you’ve had here recently?” I ask, distracting myself from my thoughts.
She tsks, as if she’s mulling it over. “I’m sure I do somewhere. I suppose when I find it, I can send it over. I’m not… I’m not all that organized with that stuff. But…” Her voice trails off as she looks back up at me. “I can dig for it tomorrow.”
“Or you could find it now, since you’re sitting in front of your computer.”
She stiffens then, shaking her head as if I've just hurt her feelings. “Detective Shaw, with all due respect, it’s nearly one o’clock in the morning. I understand that this is what you do for a living, but the rest of the world needs sleep…”
“Someone was murdered in your gallery,” I throw at her, letting my tone grow sharp. This interrupted my fucking evening.
“People are murdered everywhere all over this city,” she says, her tone growing with an edge that causes my dick to go rock hard. “It’s always been like that.”
She’s not wrong.
“So, if you wouldn’t mind,” she says, holding my gaze, “I’d really like to be excused for the evening to get some rest… And then I will search for the file tomorrow.”
“I’m really not done asking questions,” I urge as she stands to her feet, shoving the desk chair forward.
“Well, I’m really done with answering them for now,” she tells me, folding her arms across her chest. “Like I said, I need to get sleep. So does Jen. We have a gala this weekend, and I really need my team not to be harassed by the investigation. They had nothing to do with…with whatever happened.” There’s a flicker of genuine fear in her eyes as she says the words, as if she’s not sure how I’ll respond.
I consider pressing, but decide against it. “You have the footage then?” I hold out my hand, gesturing to the flash drive in hers. “Hand that over, and I’ll let you go.”
“Of course,” she lets out a clearly relieved sigh, extending her arm.
“Thanks,” I take it from her, my fingers brushing hers ever so lightly. She visibly straightens at the contact, and I can’t decide if she’s attracted or disgusted. The latter strangely makes my dick keep throbbing, and I let her step out in front of me so that I can adjust.
Who is this woman?
I shudder to myself and watch as she stalks right through the mess, ignoring her building manager as she slips through the front door. However, I don’t miss the way she wraps her arms around herself as soon as she thinks she’s out of sight.
She’s hiding something. Has to be.
But fuck, I’d still bend her over, hiding something or not.
“Hey,” Parker, my partner, calls out, “What’d you figure out?”
I turn to him, giving him a look he already understands. This is going to be a long fucking night.
Hours later, when the sun is up and the rest of the world is well into their day, I’m finally opening the door of my townhouse.
I blow out a heavy breath and slam the door behind me, locking it.
My hands rest on my tired eyes, and as I rub, the fatigue seeps into my body, beckoning me to get some sleep.
I toss my suit jacket onto the entryway bench and kick off my shoes. My mind replays the events of the night, and I can’t for the life of me come up with how Victor Blueson, the son of a wealthy business mogul, ended up bludgeoned to death in an art gallery.
And there’s only one shot of him entering the gallery—after hours.
Not another soul was there. They were all accounted for and had left.
So, what was he doing there so late, all by himself? My mind can’t comprehend the situation, and the murky way it settles in my gut confirms that this case is going to be a pain in the ass—which is the last thing I need right now.
But fuck, that Liliana Wilson.
She is something else. I still can’t decide if she’s a problem or if she’s just too goddamn weird to understand. I climb the stairs to my bedroom and strip down as soon as I step inside. I toss my clothes into a fucking pile beside my hoodie, jeans, and backpack that were discarded in a hurry.
That’s what I should’ve gotten to do.
The fact that I missed out on having my own fun tonight causes my cock to grow hard again, but this time, it’s out of frustration. It would figure that the one night I have to indulge in my own fantasies, I have to deal with the aftermath of someone else probably getting theirs.
My hand drifts to my erect cock, and I let it out of my boxers, the full fucking nine inches springing out in desperation. I wrap my fist around the shaft and stroke, letting out a grunt of satisfaction.
It’s fucked up to masturbate after just working a crime scene, but who the hell is going to judge a man for having unmet needs? I shut my eyes and brace against the wall, thinking back to tonight and ElizaQueen’s ass up on the bed.
Except it does nothing for me.
“Fuck,” I grumble in frustration, stroking more vigorously. My body jerks against my hand, desperate to get some sort of sexual release. I need it. I need to get off. Keeping my eyes shut, I let my mind just go wherever the hell it wants to.
And it runs straight to the little artist I talked to tonight.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. My head spins as the fantasy takes shape in my head. Liliana Wilson is bent over her fucking desk, nose bleeding all over that marble top, and my cock is pressed against her tight little asshole.
“No, no…” She whines for me to stop, but the head of my dick is already pushing into her. She wriggles against me, trying to dodge what she knows she can’t escape. My grip on her wrists tightened, jerking at her shoulders.
A scream slips from her mouth, and I cross the barrier, stretching her open for my thick girth.
“There it is,” I growl, slowly working her body open to take me.
“Oh,” she cries out, saliva now mixing with the red liquid on the desk. Maybe it’s not fucking blood. Perhaps it’s paint. I don’t know. I don’t care, I just want this fat cock inside of her ass as far as it’ll go.
“You’re gonna take it all.” My voice echoes in the empty office, as I’m finally buried all the way, my balls pressed up tight against her. She squirms, screams, and lets out a guttural cry as I rear back and slam into her all the way.
“Oh fuck!” Her voice shatters the fucking windows, and I come hard.
All over myself.