Chapter 4
Nearly two weeks of run-of-the-mill cases, then tonight, another call. The now infamous killer, officially coined The Widowmaker by every media outlet in the state, is back at it.
My camera shutter clicks, and I cringe a bit at the monicker. While I can appreciate the nod toward the spider, did they miss the memo mentioning that a widowmaker is technically a term for a deadly heart attack?
Good job, guys.
Way to use your heads.
I snap another pic. This time, I’ve captured an image of the glass of wine and open book on the coffee table. We have another Caucasian male. Like the four previous victims, his throat’s been cut. After death, his shirt was torn open, giving his attacker access to his torso, our killer’s canvas of choice. My head tilts as I observe and snap another picture. Then, I’m just about ready to wrap things up.
The next place I focus is on the front door. Like every other access point, there are no signs of forced entry, and it only adds to the elegance of his kills. It isn’t lost on me that his scenes lack the messy, emotional chaos I’m accustomed to seeing. There’s almost a level of arrogance to it.
The Widowmakeris clearly never in a rush, taking his time to make precise cuts, and I have yet to see an incomplete web, which would indicate that he’d gotten spooked and left in haste. No, he takes his time, creating a masterpiece to his liking before standing over these poor, innocent people, admiring his handiwork.
A voice fades into my consciousness, and I realize I’d zoned out, startling when a dark figure walks up beside me.
“You good?” Martinez asks, intentionally not making eye contact. From a distance, I imagine it would look like we’re just discussing the case.
“Yep, just finishing up.”
He nods and tucks his hands into the pockets of his slacks, the badge on his hip glinting in the light of the foyer chandelier.
“Got plans tomorrow?”
I nod. “I do. I’m meeting friends for brunch. Obligatory once-a-month check-in.”
“Hm,” he mumbles. “You working tonight, then?”
“Yeah, but not until late. Thought I might get some cleaning done before I log in.”
His head dips with another nod, but I catch the hint of a smirk on his lips this time.
“Or… you could do something else with your time,” he suggests before adding a not so subtle, “Green light?”
The more he uses the term we agreed upon to discretely discuss whether we’d hook up for sex, the more it grates on my nerves. Perhaps it’s his overuse of the phrase that gets to me. In the few weeks since our last hookup, he’s asked to come by my place and get laid at least ten times.
Ten.
I’ve had excuses to thwart his advances, usually it’s been that I’m busy being Madam Divina Dreamwalker, but I actually am free for a bit tonight. And there’s also the fact that I’d prefer for Martinez not to get bored and move on. Because, if I’m being honest, the low-commitment sex appeals to me. None of the pesky emotional stuff, with all the physical benefits. For a selfish, brute of a man, the sex doesn’t always suck. I mean, it’s not always great either, but it does the trick.
Most of the time.
Well, some of the time.
Shit, maybe it does suck.
“Green light,” I finally echo, and his smile broadens.
“Eight?”
I nod. “I’ll be ready.”
And by ready, I mean I’ll arrange a much-needed meeting between my razor and my legs when I get home.
* * *
“Shit, babe, you’re so fucking wet,” Martinez growls, but what he doesn’t know is that I pre-lube before he gets here. Learned that trick when I realized he’s not well-versed in foreplay. This way, he walks away thinking he’s a stud, and I walk away without crotch burn.
Win-win.
“Right there?”
He’s breathless and panting behind me, squeezing my hips so tight I’m sure they’ll be bruised in the morning.
“Right there,” I answer, straining my voice to sound pained and sexy, doing my best porn star impression. Meanwhile, I’m squeezing my eyes tight, thinking the filthiest, most depraved thoughts I can conjure, hoping to beat Martinez to the finish line.
But he’s fast.
Always faster than me.
“Motherfucker!” he belts out, and I frown at the awkward choice of words. I mean, in this instance, am I the motherfucker? Or maybe it’s just a general declaration?
Hell if I know.
His pelvis slams against my ass with one final thud as his body goes still behind me. And there it is, another race he’s won.
Awesome.
He smooths his hand down my spine, then smacks my ass in this overly macho way he hasn’t earned, seeing as how he hasn’t made me come in months.
Does he know that? Maybe.
Does he seem to care? Absolutely not.
He leans forward, kissing my back as he pulls out of me. “Shit, babe. You were great. As always,” he adds with a quiet laugh.
The bed shifts as he climbs down, and I fall onto my side just in time to see him removing the condom as he struts toward the bathroom like a fucking peacock. Staring at the ceiling, I push a hand through my hair, thinking I should’ve just passed on tonight and cleaned my place like I originally planned to. God knows this wasn’t worth it.
The toilet flushes when he gets rid of the condom, then he”s back. I fix my expression as he slips into his underwear, and then his pants. He makes his way back over to the bed, and I pretend I’m not annoyed and frustrated when he kisses me.
“You make me wait too long,” he says. “We’ve gotta put forth a better effort to hook up more often. Believe it or not, I miss you. You and your weird little hourglass tattoo.”
He laughs then, leaning down to kiss the ink on my bicep. Ink that is definitely not a “weird little hourglass”, but I don’t correct him. He’d forget the explanation by the time he gets down to his car anyway.
“I should take off,” he says.
He stands, and I rise off the mattress, too, not expecting to get groped while I search for my bra, but here we are.
“God! You’re so damn sexy, you know that?” He gives my ass a squeeze as he pulls me into him, and then cranes his neck lower to draw my nipple into his mouth.
Awesome, foreplay after sex. Pretty sure that’s not how it’s supposed to go, but whatever.
“I swear, I could stay here and fuck you all night.”
I force a smile and don’t pull away when he kisses me, slipping his tongue inside my mouth.
“Not so long a wait next time,” he reiterates, and I nod.
“Okay.”
He kisses my forehead this time, finishes dressing himself, then I’m locking the door behind him a moment later.
A sigh leaves me as I walk over to my bed, stripping the sheets and pillowcases. Naked and wanting, I open the small door in the corner where the stacked washer and dryer are hidden, then toss everything in, using two detergent pods instead of one. Martinez wears this spicy-ass cologne that stays soaked into my things for days if I don’t. It’s so strong, it once literally kept me up for an entire night after he left.
The machine whirs, and I gather what I’ll need to shower, but the sound of tires screeching just outside my open window steals my attention. Martinez is long gone, so I’m curious as I move toward the window.
With a quick glance through my blinds, I find my father climbing out of his car with an angry scowl on his face, the phone pressed to his ear as he clutches his briefcase in the opposite hand. His mouth’s moving, but I can’t hear his words over the machine, so I double back, lifting the lid to stop the cycle.
My father’s an incredibly hard man to anger, so something feels off. Staying hidden as I peek through the blinds again, I do the one thing I’m certain I shouldn’t be doing.
I listen.
He storms toward the house, but only makes it a few steps before halting.
“I don’t care how much money or power you have. Do you hear me? If you feel you have a valid grievance, have your lawyer contact mine. Until then, we’re done with this. I’ll no longer be accepting your calls.”
He backs the phone away from his ear a few inches, and I assume he’s going to hang up, but he presses it to the side of his face again.
“Is that a fucking threat?” he asks, and then pauses while awaiting a response. “Hello? Hello? Damn it!”
This time, when he lowers the phone and trudges toward the house, he makes it inside and shuts the door behind him. One by one, lights begin to pop on, and I consider tossing on clothes to check in with him. However, the sound of my twenty-minute warning alarm sounds off, which means that’s exactly how much time I have to shower and dress before I’m expected to sign into the system to start taking calls.
Guess Dad will have to work through this one on his own.
I start gathering my things for the shower again, stopping beside my nightstand. A thought pops into my head, and I slide the drawer open, removing the purple, silicone vibrator from inside it. There’s no doubt that I’ve earned a bit of me-time, but then I remember how I tend to knock out cold after I come. With a three-hour shift ahead of me, that’s probably not a good idea.
So, I set it back in its place, and pull out the bottle of sleeping pills instead, setting another alarm on my phone for exactly two and a half hours. That’s when I’ll pop a couple, and by the time I’m done taking calls, my head will hit the pillow, and I’ll be out in an instant, sleeping like the dead.
My vagina objects to the idea of being put on the backburner, but she’ll have to wait. Apparently, her needs are secondary on both mine and Martinez’s list of priorities.