Black Light: Suspicion Page 6

  Thoroughly and satisfyingly fucked, but still, not the most professional appearance to have when beginning an interrogation.

  “Of course, I did,” she said.

  His jaw was set as he made his way around the empty station toward her. He’d put on a clean shirt. Long-sleeved button-down dark blue, tucked neatly into his jeans, with a wide black leather belt secured just below his navel. Of course, he’d seem even more spectacular after a roll on the couch. She probably looked like she’d been tossed around, but he still emerged as well put-together as ever.

  She pushed away the memory of his hard chest when he’d pulled his shirt off barely over an hour before. She hadn’t seen anything like him before. Fit, but not overwhelmingly rock hard. Tattoos covering his shoulders and down both arms, and one just below his right pec. Had she not been spreading her legs and mentally begging him to fuck her senseless, she might have taken the time to read the words inscribed there. Next time. She’d look next time.

  If there was a next time.

  Scott’s eyes darkened as he drew closer to her.

  “He’s in room one.” She handed him the cup of coffee she’d made him and walked toward the interrogation room.

  “Wait.” The single word could have boomed in the empty room.

  “What?” She turned to face him.

  “Tomorrow morning I’m picking you up at your place.” He took a long swallow of the coffee. “Okay, now. Who is this guy, and what’s his story?”

  Just like that, he turned off the deep dominant baritone, and the Scott she’d been working with over the past month returned. How could he switch that on and off so easily? She’d spent the entire ride to the station house trying to bring her mind down from the high he’d given her.

  “Sophie, who’s the guy?”

  “Oh. His name is Michael Carmichael—I know, who names their son that. Anyway, he walked in, told the front desk he wanted to confess, and said he’s the one who killed Susan James.” She nodded to the officer standing outside the room to open the door for them.

  “Any idea other than that?”

  “He’s a co-worker of the victim’s at McAnistor and Associates. Accountants, top in their firm from what I can see so far. We don’t have much yet on her background. Or his.”

  “Okay, let’s get his story and then we can check out the backstories.” Scott gestured for her to walk ahead of him.

  Michael Carmichael was a puny little thing. With his cropped black hair, thick plastic-framed glasses, and a white button-down shirt, he fit the stereotype of every nerd joke in the world.

  “Mr. Carmichael. I’m Detective Russo, and this is my partner Detective Nelson. I understand you have some information regarding the death of Susan James.” Scott took a seat at the table across from the suspect while Sophie stood off in the corner. They had a routine. He warmed them, and she finished them off if needed.

  “Yes. I want to confess. I told the officers that already, but they insisted I had to wait for you.” Michael flattened his hands on the table.

  “Well we’re here now, so why don’t you start at the beginning. How did you know the victim?”

  “We work together. She has-had—the office next to mine. I hated her, so I killed her.”

  Scott sat back in his chair and folded his arms.

  “I can understand that. I hate a few of my co-workers, but I wouldn’t go so far as to murder them. What made you do that?”

  “She was just a horrible person. Horrible.” Michael Carmichael shook his head as though he was disgusted with her still, even after death.

  “How so?” Sophie asked.

  “She stole accounts, for one thing. She’d visit clients and sweet talk them onto her list. I’m sure she even—even—” He swallowed. “Even had sex to get them.”

  The show of mortification on Michael’s face at his own statement made Sophie want to laugh. He could barely say the words; how could he have acted on them.

  “So, what happened? You went to her apartment, then what?” Sophie asked.

  Michael glanced at her then Scott. “I shot her.”

  Scott drummed his fingertips on the table. He was a casual guy, but he hated having his time wasted. And Michael Carmichael was wasting their time.

  “You shot her. Okay. Where, when, what happened? We need all of the details, or we can’t really know you actually did it,” Scott said, sliding the yellow pad toward him.

  “Well, I—I mean, I went to her apartment. We talked for a bit, and then when she wasn’t looking, I shot her.” He pointed to his left temple.

  “Hmm. On the left side?” Scott asked.

  “Or was it the right side? How far from her did you stand?” Sophie added.

  “Right. I was on the right side. Uh, close, but not close enough she could take the gun away,” Michael Carmichael lied.

  “I just have one more question. Why would you come to the police station late at night and confess to a murder you didn’t commit?”

  “Yes, that’s the real question here, isn’t it?” Sophie added, pressing her hands to the table. Scott kept his focus on Michael.

  “I-I-I didn’t. I mean why would I make this up?” Michael pulled at the top button of his shirt.

  “That’s a good question. How about you think about it, and we’ll be back after breakfast to get your answer.” Scott stood and grabbed the legal pad.

  “Wait,” Michael called out as they reached the door. “Okay, I didn’t. I mean… I wanted to, she really was horrible, but I didn’t.” The tension evaporated from his features.

  “Why would you confess? You know you go to jail for murder, right?” Sophie asked, walking back to the table.

  “My family. I did it for my family,” he said simply. She noticed the silver band on his ring finger.

  “What does that mean?” Scott asked.

  “She stole a lot of clients from me. Some really big accounts.”

  “That doesn’t really answer the question, though, does it?” Sophie pushed. “Why would you confess to a murder that hasn’t been officially filed as murder yet?”

  Michael turned to her, surprise in his eyes.

  “It hasn’t?” His fingers stilled on the button. “I heard her body had been found with a gunshot to her head. Why wouldn’t it be murder?”

  “So, you heard your co-worker was dead, and you assumed murder and then decided to cop to it? Why?” Scott asked.

  “I-uh.” Color drained from Michael’s face, and he bowed his head. “There’s a price on her head.” Sophie walked around Michael, coming to stand behind him.

  “Like a bounty?” Scott asked with narrowed eyes.

  “Yeah. A million dollars.” Michael turned around in his chair to plead his case to Sophie. “My wife just delivered our little girl two weeks ago. She was born with a small hole in her heart. Do you know what heart surgery costs? My insurance doesn’t pay enough. Between my deductible and out of pocket costs, it’s close to three hundred thousand dollars.”

  Sophie’s heart pulled for the guy.

  “So you thought you’d claim the bounty because she’s dead.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “That’s why I came tonight. I wanted to get in before the real killer claims it.”

  “Wait. Are you telling me the killer is going to waltz through the door and just confess?” Scott asked. His lips pulled back into grin and he started laughing. “This might be the easiest case we’ve ever had.” His eyes met Sophie’s.

  “Am... am I in trouble for lying to the police? Giving a false statement?” Michael wrung his hands and alternated his look of panic from Sophie to Scott.

  Sophie shook her head. “We need to know how you know about this bounty and how to get in touch with the person paying out the cash.”

  “Oh. I don’t know any of that.” Michael shook his head and wiped his hand across his forehead again.

  “How can you not know?” Scott pushed.

  “I read an email about the bounty, but it wasn’t sent t
o me. It was open on a laptop in the break room.”

  Sophie rolled her eyes. This guy was completely useless. “Someone just left it open for anyone to see?”

  “I don’t know. I read it, but before I could get any information, the door to the bathroom started to open. I didn’t want to be seen, so I ran out of the room.”

  Scott didn’t even try to hide his disgust at him. “Fine. Write up what you do know, and if we have questions, we’ll call you.” He tossed the legal pad onto the table and knocked on the door.

  “Thanks for coming in, Michael Carmichael. It’s been a real treat.” Sophie decided against flicking him in the back of his head before ditching him to write his statement. She and Scott headed out.

  “So, that was a waste of fucking time,” Scott fumed.

  “If what he’s saying is true, we could have more people coming in to confess.”

  “Right. So instead of investigating the fucking murder, we’ll be sorting out these assholes? Who would put a bounty on her head? Because of some accounts?” Scott pulled out his chair and threw himself into it. “And is a million dollars really worth prison time?”

  His head was in the game, fully focused on the case, but she couldn’t help but feel some of his abrasiveness, some of his irritation was directed at her.

  “Let’s talk with her boss. Find out to what extent she actually stole accounts. Get a list of those she affected the most and talk with them,” Sophie suggested.

  He nodded. “Let’s go. I’ll drive you home.”

  “I have my car,” she reminded him.

  “Don’t care,” he said and swung his keys around his finger. She followed him out of the station house and to his car.

  “I drove my car here. You don’t have to drive me home. I’ve been driving myself to and from work my entire life. You don’t get to just step in and start dictating where I go and how. It won’t work that way.”

  Scott stopped walking and turned to her. “I’m well aware that you are capable of driving yourself where ever you want to go—when you want to go. You made that abundantly clear at my apartment. Me wanting to drive you home has nothing to do with your capabilities.”

  Was that it? He was sore because she’d left him behind at his place and made her own way to the precinct without him?

  “Scott, if you’re mad at me because I—”

  He put his finger to his lips, signaling her to be quiet. “We’re not talking about that right now. I just want to go over some of your thoughts on this case on the ride home. We’ll talk about that tomorrow, like I told you earlier.”

  A beep of the car signaled the locks had disengaged, and she opened her door. Was he making her wait to talk because his anger was that great, or because he was fully invested in the case at the moment?

  For now, she’d just follow the flow. In the morning, she’d deal with the blowback from fucking him. Because obviously, that had been a big fucking mistake.

  Chapter 9

  The next morning Scott walked up to Sophie’s apartment door and knocked. He may have knocked harder than needed, but it was still the far cry from the full-fist banging he wanted to actually do.

  He’d thought waiting until morning to talk about her blowing out of his apartment would have given him the time he needed to smooth out his edges, but it only gave him time to simmer in his annoyance. If she wanted to keep them quiet at work, he could understand that, but for her to just run off the way she did, completely unacceptable.

  Obviously, communication needed to be worked on. Relationships like this didn’t work without communication.

  The chain lock on her door, a flip of the dead bolt, and the door opened. Fuck she took his breath away.

  Her hair lay around her shoulders, wet. She wore a deep-purple cotton robe, tied around her middle.

  “You’re early,” she accused.

  “How can I be early when I didn’t specify what time I was coming?” He raised the box of pastries he held. “I brought breakfast.”

  She eyed the white box. “A little cliché, don’t you think? Cops having donuts for breakfast?”

  He laughed. “Not just donuts, Danishes. Cream cheese and raspberry.” He gestured to the door. “You gonna let me in?”

  “I suppose.” She stepped back to allow him inside.

  It wasn’t the first time he’d been in her apartment, so he brought the pastries to the kitchen. “Don’t let me get in your way. We can talk once you’re dressed.” He smiled.

  Her eyes dropped, like he’d disappointed her somehow. Maybe she was hoping he’d rip the robe from her body, bend her over the kitchen table, and sink his cock into her hot, tight pussy. Not that he hadn’t imagined doing that exact thing the second she opened the door, but they needed to talk. And talking worked better with both parties clothed. At least, for him.

  He heard her bedroom door close softly down the hall. Whatever misconceptions she had would be worked out in the next hour before they headed into their day.

  When she came back to the kitchen a short time later, she was fully dressed in her usual button-down shirt and black trousers. He frowned at her coiled braid.

  “What?” she asked after too much time went by without him speaking. She touched the bun. “You don’t like my hair? It would have taken longer to dry it and iron it out.”

  He shrugged. “I like it down is all.”

  A little glimmer shone in her eyes. “Because hair pulling was on my list?”

  He let out a low laugh. “Sweetheart, I can pull your hair in a bun, out of a bun, French twisted, French braided. It wouldn’t stop me.” Her cheeks tinted the sweetest shade of pink. “I like your hair down because it gives you a softer look. Not so stone-hard serious.”

  “We’re detectives. Aren’t we supposed to be serious?” she asked, fumbling with the hem of her shirt.

  “When it calls for it, sure.” He leaned against the counter where he’d and had gotten a pot of coffee brewing.

  “You made coffee?”

  “Yeah. Figured we’d have a chat before we go in to work.”

  “You figured you’d lecture me before we leave.” She nodded. “You were upset with me last night.” She walked around the kitchen table, retrieved two coffee cups, and placing them on the counter just beside his hip. “I know I sort of bolted, but we had to get back to the precinct. And it’s not really a good idea to let this slip out yet.” She motioned a finger between them.

  The coffee pot brewed behind him.

  “And that’s why we need to have a talk. We probably should have done this before I spanked you or we became intimate, but we didn’t, so we’ll take the time now.” He turned around and poured coffee into the two mugs, handing her one and taking his to the table.

  She kept her back to him while she poured a spoonful of sugar and cream into her coffee. He waited while she stirred it, set the spoon in the sink, and put away the carton of creamer.

  “Okay, go ahead.” She gestured once she was settled in her chair across from him. The Danishes remained untouched.

  “You ran off, but I don’t think it had everything to do with work. We’ve had witnesses sitting and waiting on us, and you’ve never hightailed it like that before.” He gripped his mug. “Did you regret what happened? Were you maybe grateful for the reason to escape so quickly?”

  “No.” She let go of her cup and flattened her hands on the table, like she needed the stabilization. “Did you?”

  He laughed. “Regret spanking your delicious ass and then taking your body on my couch? Uh. No. No regrets from me.” He continued when it didn’t seem like she was going to speak. “Why would I regret it? I mean, maybe we should have gone a little slower, but no, Sophie, I do not regret anything last night. Except that I didn’t stop you from running out.”

  “We had work,” she argued again, but her eyes didn’t quite meet his, and her fingers curled on the tabletop.

  “Gonna call bullshit on that, and if you lie to me one more time, you’re going to e
xperience your first punishment spanking. Seeing as we have a really long day ahead of us, you’re going to want to avoid that this morning.”

  She sucked in her bottom lip and turned away.

  “Sophie, this doesn’t work if you can’t be honest with me. If you hide shit and run off, then this breaks down. So, if you don’t think you can engage in honest communication with me, then we have to stop now, before one of us gets hurt.” Namely him, because he was already starting to fall for her. He’d been falling for her since meeting her, and after seeing her desire to be submissive, and experiencing how naturally she fell into that role it would only be a matter of time before he sank too deeply into her.

  She stared at him silently as a soft blush deepened and rose to the tips of her ears. “You’re right.” After pushing the coffee away from her, she rubbed her temples. “I’m just not used to a guy being the one to talk about honesty and communication.”

  “I’m not like most guys,” he interjected. “So, tell me why you bolted.”

  “It really was because of the call, but I’ll admit I was a little freaked out. I mean, we’re partners, Scott. We work with each other every day, and we had just had sex—like amazing sex, and that changes things doesn’t it? I mean it’s different now, right?”

  He reached over the table and grabbed her hands with his. “It changes things outside of work. It changes nothing while we’re on the clock. You’re intense. I think you feel everything so much more than a lot of people. That’s why when you were nervous at the club, it got to the point it did, and last night, the little worry you had blew up into a huge deal—right? That phone rang and you couldn’t get out of my place fast enough. I was surprised you even put on your pants first.”

  She gave a little laugh. “Okay, so no more running off.”

  “No more running off. If work calls, we handle it together. You don’t run away, and you sure as hell don’t tell me to wait five minutes before following you. You don’t ever give me orders outside of work, got that?” He squeezed her hands.

  “I get it.” She nodded.