Ten minutes later, I’m staring at a dead body.
The crime scene is on the executive floor of a business suite, and the victim was a CEO. He looks small and fragile in death. His head is hanging down like he’s taking a nap. That is until you see the stain of his life’s blood spreading like a dark bib over his white button-down.
I wish I could go back home and crawl back in bed. Or better, head to Club Empire and hang around until I hear the smooth, deep tones of my mystery dom.
I slide a hand under my jacket and press the marks on my back, and the pain soothes me. It will ground me, stabilize me, allow me to get me through the day.
“Godsdamned rich bastard,” my new partner, Detective Tim Burgess, mutters.
“What?” I glance from the dead body to him and realize he’s reading a newspaper while we wait for the techs to clear the crime scene.
“Not him.” Burgess jerks his chin at the dead body, then reads the headline out loud, “Billionaire Rex Roy to host Miss Olympus Beauty Pageant.” He folds the newspaper and stuffs it in his pocket. “Lucky fuck.”
“Rex Roy?” I say. “I’ve heard that name.”
“He owns half the city. Rich bastard.”
I nod. I’m trying to be accommodating because I’ve never had a ‘partner’ before.
“Some guys have all the luck. Unlike this guy, whose luck ran out.” He nods at the victim.
Our victim had a corner office, one worthy of the CEO of the company that owns the whole old brick building. Instead of boring greige walls and corporate decor, there are flood-to-ceiling bookshelves made of polished mahogany wood and a thick Persian carpet on the floor. Leather-bound briefs and a crystal decanter filled with whiskey grace the bookshelves. Everything from the Mont Blanc pens to the view of New Romes’ financial district speaks of wealth and power.
It doesn’t matter who you are. Death comes to everyone. I can’t stop it. Time and time again, I’ve learned I can’t save anyone. But I can seek justice for the dead.
It’s the least I can do.
The corners of the room hold a strong chemical scent—harsh, like the cleaning products on the custodial cart outside the door. It burns my nose and clears my head.
But underneath, there’s another scent. Woodsy cologne, just like the dom was wearing last night. The rich scent that matched his deep voice.
I stop that line of thinking. I’m here to work. My life is segmented into strict boxes. I live for my work, and when my cravings get too great, I go to the club for a carefully scripted scene.
The dom blurred the lines. And now, he’s in my head rent-free.
I thought I was safe. I thought the rules would protect me. And he didn’t technically break any rules, yet. . . he shattered me all the same.
I need to focus. There’s a body in front of me. A victim, a man who had once been at the height of his power. In one slice of the killer’s blade, he lost it all.
While I’ve been studying the office, Burgess has been staring at me. He’s a carbon copy of many detectives I’ve known—deep grooves along his nose and mouth and liver spots on his balding head. Aged before his time with the heaviness of someone who’s seen the worst of humanity and knows he will see much more before he dies.
He’s weighing me in the balance and, I’m sure, finding me wanting. First of all, I’m a woman. Second, with my sweater and jeans, brown leather boots, and hair pulled into a ponytail, I look more like a grad student than a profiler with seventeen solved cases under my belt. He doesn’t know what I’m capable of. If we’re talking about unofficial cases, my solve record is in the fifties.
Yesterday, I heard Burgess complaining about having to ‘babysit’ me. So, the best way to convince him that I know my stuff? Clearing this case.
I can’t allow my craving for the mystery dom to distract me.
“CEO of Martin Shipping,” I recite what I know so far. “Gregory Martin himself. Grandson of the founder. Raised to run this place. Inherited his position and most of his shares when his father died. Estimated net worth, a hundred million.”
Burgess grunts. “Found by a janitor. According to his assistant, he usually works late. Keeps night hours. Says he gets his best thinking done then.”
“His family didn’t expect him home?”
“He’s got an ex-wife in Florida. One son is in college, another is in boarding school. They see their father on assigned holidays.”
“And now he’s gone forever,” I murmur. Pain squeezes my heart. This is the worst part of a murder for me, imagining the pain of the loved ones left behind. I don’t have to imagine. I know from experience. In one night, my family was taken from me. Gone forever, obliterated from everywhere but my memory.
Burgess shrugs. “They’ll inherit enough money. They’re probably glad he’s dead.”
