Prologue
Sunday, July 6th
Royal Hotel, Valle Luna, Az.
"How bout we play a little game?" The hot, young blonde leered at him playfully, while removing his tie and shirt.
She smiled wickedly and licked her lips as his dress slacks dropped to the floor, exposing his blue jockey shorts and a small, protruding erection. He looked down at himself and laughed sheepishly.
"What kind of game?" He asked her, a little excited at the prospect of something kinky.
She lowered herself and lifted his ankles, one at a time, free of his pants. She tried to come back up but he gently pushed on her shoulders, urging her head to pay his manhood some attention.
But she resisted his hold quickly, forcefully pushing him flat on his back on the bed. The move was lightning quick, knocking the breath out of him.
"It's just a fun little game that really gets me going." She purred in his ear while crawling on top of him. She grabbed his right wrist and brought it seductively up to brush against her negligee covered breast. "You ever been tied up?" Her grin was predatory and he licked his lips nervously, his mind still reeling from her quick positioning of him.
"Uh, sure…all the time." He lied.
She jerked his hand up and had it bound with a nylon before he knew what was happening. She was so quick, and he couldn't seem to think or respond like he should. Panic began to flood his brain and he realized she was binding the other hand as he tried to regain focus on the blurring room.
She rose from the bed and stood looking down at him, her expression now cold, her eyes dead, chilling him to the bone.
"What's going on?" He tried to free his hands but they were bound tight, too tight.
"I'm going to go change into something more comfortable." She smiled at him, seemingly ignoring his question of concern. He recognized the smile cracking her suddenly stone face. He gave that smile a million times a year. The fake, insincere smile that he used to comfort questioning clients, his questioning wife and anyone else who happened to stand in the way of what he wanted. With frightening clarity, he suddenly realized he was about to get fucked, just not in the way he had originally hoped.
The mysterious woman disappeared into the bathroom and he quickly looked around the posh hotel room, searching for some way out of the predicament. He tugged at the binds, but they wouldn't give. They were surprisingly strong and the task was going to be much more difficult than he realized.
Just give her what she wants and get yourself out of this.
"I've got cash in my wallet, along with my credit cards." He stammered out with a thickening tongue. She must've slipped something into his drink, his senses were numbing fast.
"Please, just take my wallet and go. I won't report this. Just please, at least free one hand before you go."
She didn't respond. Sweat trickled down his balding head.
How did he get into this?
It was usually so easy to sleep with these women. All he ever had to do was flash his money and mention his unhappy marriage and they eagerly crawled into bed with him with hopes of becoming a kept mistress or maybe a future wife.
Yep, money makes the world go round and the pussy wet.
He laughed at his thought. They were becoming stranger by the moment. He looked at his bound wrists and scowled, this was no time to be having foolish thoughts. His blood boiled with a surge of growing anger, and he jerked hard at the stocking bindings, determined to get free. But the struggle only seemed to make the binds tighter, causing his hands to purple with trapped blood.
"Hey!" He slurred out towards the silent bathroom.
Ok, next time, no bondage.
His head pounded with pain. He tried, once again, to be nice. "I got about four hundred dollars cash in my wallet. Just take it. It's yours."
He held his head up, straining to see any movement at all from the bathroom.
Silence.
"Shit". He let his head fall against the bed.
"I don't want your money, honey." She was next to the bed with catlike quickness.
She was dressed in jeans and a tank top. Her thick blonde mane was pulled back into a dark blue baseball cap. Her arms were bronzed and strong and her breasts swelled under the tight tank top.
Maybe she still wanted to get it on.
He grinned at her and felt drool trickle down his mouth.
She held up a syringe and flicked it with her finger. "You shouldn't still be this active big boy. Guess I should've given you a little more to start with." Some liquid shot out of the needle in a quick spurt. "It makes it harder on me to inject you when you're still able to move around."
She sat next to him on the bed and leaned on his chest, aiming the needle up towards his armpit. "Don't move or it'll hurt."
He didn't know what was going on and he tried again to move his wrists but they wouldn't give. She sensed his panic and pressed harder against him, trying to hold him down with her weight. Suddenly, he remembered that his legs were free and he brought his knee up hard into her back just as she was injecting him, shoving the needle deep into his armpit.
He howled in pain and she jumped off him, punching him hard in the jaw to silence him.
"Shut up you idiot!" She seethed at him in anger. "It's your own damn fault it hurt." She looked at her hand, opening and shutting her fist, examining the impact from his jaw. Scowling, she hurried off into the bathroom with the empty syringe in hand.
Blood pounded angrily up to his jaw and he realized she had probably cracked it. He swallowed warm blood and blinked back tears from the pain. The searing liquid from the syringe surged through his bloodstream, weighing him down, virtually paralyzing him. Attempts to move his limbs failed, and panic washed over him, causing him to hyperventilate.
He looked over as she returned to the bed, looking very pissed off rubbing her sore hand.
"You ready to behave now?"
He tried again, one last time, while he could still utter the words. "Take my wallet." He thought of the pictures inside it, of his beautiful wife and two sons. He began to cry without control.
What had he done to them? Why?
"Take my money and leave me. Please." He looked at the stranger with blurred, teary vision.
"I told you, I don't want your money."
He gulped for air in-between sobs and tried desperately to think.
"What do you want?"
She leaned in close to him and jerked his hand free of the bind. She whispered in his ear with a voice as cold as ice, "Your blood."
* * * * * *
Tuesday, July 8th
Corona County Desert, Valle Luna, Az.
"Nice looking family." Detective Stewart was flipping carefully through the expensive, leather wallet with latex gloved hands.
The younger, thinner Detective Hernandez stood from his kneel over the stinking dead body. "Yeah, I know. What a shame." He always took homicides to heart, no matter what the case involved. It was always a life lost.
"Do we have any masks left?" Hernandez asked covering his mouth with his hand. "I think I might toss my cookies."
Stewart let out a raspy asthmatic laugh. "Again? Christ kid, you gonna throw up every time we go on sight?" He was the one who had to collect most of the forensic evidence, from on or near, all the sun exposed bodies. His partner just couldn't handle the ones baked in the heat. They had been out here an hour already and this was the closest Hernandez had come to the body.
Jeff Hernandez scowled at the fat detective. "Not every time. It's just that the last three have been left to ripen in the sun and the smell of flesh cooking is not as appetizing to me as it is to you." He patted Stewart's belly playfully as he walked by him towards their crime van.
"Fuck you Hernandez." Stewart shot back only half meaning it. "Listen kid, if you can't take the heat then get out the kitchen." Jeff was climbing through the van searching for a mask. Stewart continued, talking louder so he could hear. "Working homicide in Valle Luna, you're gonna see a lot of bodies cooking in the heat." He had been working homicide in the Valley for ten years now and he remembered how hard it was for him to get used to the sweltering heat and what it did to bodies. At least once a day in the summer, he wished he was back in Jersey.
"Quit calling me kid. I'm not a child." Hernandez proclaimed in a muffled voice from behind a white cardboard mask.
Stewart couldn't help but laugh at the site. Hernandez looked and sounded ridiculous with the mask on. He wiped the warm sweat from his brow. "You are a kid Herny, a baby for Christ's sake. What are you, twenty five? Twenty six tops?"
Stewart knew exactly how old the younger detective was and Jeff hated his new little nickname.
He started to yell back a response but yanked the mask down first. "I'm twenty nine, asshole. And if you call me "Herny" one more time I'll be forced to kick your fat ass."
Jeff squinted into the sun as Stewart began to laugh again.
"Twenty nine?" He said with a mocking tone. "Oh, well excuse me, I was way off. But you're still the youngest homicide dic in the department." Stewart wheezed out more laughter at his partner. He swallowed wrong and began to cough, reddening his sweating face.
"Serves you right, dickhead." Hernandez looked past the coughing man to an approaching car kicking up the desert dust. "Besides, I'm not the youngest one in homicide anymore."
Stewart breathed deep, trying to control his lungs. "Oh yeah? Then who is?" He looked questionly at Hernandez and turned to follow his gaze.
"Erin McKenzie." Hernandez stated with a smile and snapped his mask back to his face before once again crouching next to the body for more examination.
"No fucking way." Stewart said in astonishment, watching the unmarked police car come to a stop.
"Yep, as of Monday she's homicide." Came the muffled reply. Hernandez looked up from the body to watch as his friend exited the car. "And she's only twenty eight." He smiled under his mask at the shocked look on Stewart's face.
Erin moved with athletic grace towards the two detectives. She pulled off her silver framed Revo sunglasses and tucked them into the unbuttoned collar of her sleeveless silk blouse. Her shoulder length light brown hair was pulled into a pony tail exposing her high cheek bones, striking features and graceful neckline.
Stewart stared at the fit woman walking towards him in silence. She stood before him smiling slightly as she looked at him with bright green eyes.
"What's up guys?" She tucked one hand into her black slacks. Stewart ran his eyes up and down her body, part smitten and part pissed that this woman was on his turf.
He noticed her firearm resting against her hip on a thin black belt along with a cell phone. He scoffed when he found her badge on a chain hanging down into her blouse. He despised cops who wore there badges around their neck. His was tucked proudly in the breast pocket of his shirt, where it should be.
"How are ya Mac?" Hernandez answered from the crime scene. She quickly turned her eyes on her friend. Stewart began coughing again and he leaned against the van for support.
"Just ignore him," Hernandez stated, referring to his rude partner. "He's pissed because you're invading his crime scene and because he quit smoking last week." Erin kneeled next to him and they both looked back up towards the red faced man. "And well, he's pretty much pissy all the time."
Erin laughed. She knew Stewart was a lost cause and she didn't want to get into a pissing contest with him over territory. She knew she was being thrown into their turf and the fact that she was female didn't help matters any.
"I'll watch my step." She glanced back down at the body before them. "So what've you guys got here?" The male appeared to be middle aged and he was strewn on his back, the bottom half of his body nude. Blood stained his genitalia and a single bullet hole marked his forehead. His hands were already bagged in brown paper bags in order to preserve any forensic evidence under the fingernails. She noticed that the bags were sealed just below his purple wrists. He had been bound very tightly by his killer.
"This poor bastard was one Jonathon Bale." Jeff said behind the mask. "We got I.D. from the wallet we found in his pants over there." The slacks were lying next to the body turned inside out with the underwear exposed as if they had been pulled off of him quickly.
Hernandez continued. "Fifty two year old from Scottsdale, married with two adult sons. Wealthy business owner, he's got a prior arrest for a D.U.I. two years ago."
They both stood and moved from the stinking body. Hernandez yanked the sweltering mask from his face and tossed it into the van. He took a deep breath of the slightly cooler air.
"Who found him?" Erin asked putting her shades back on. It was two in the afternoon and the sun pierced her light eyes.
"Fourteen year old kid was out this morning riding his dirt bike. He nearly ran it over when he came around that Palo Verde over there. We got here soon after his mom called it in. By the patrolman's description we suspected it was number three."
Erin eyed her friend carefully. She was absorbing everything he said and everything around her. She knew this case was of vital importance.
"You do know what he means by "number three" don't you?" Stewart asked in a not so friendly tone.
Erin turned towards the man, immediately crossing her arms over her chest in defense.
He spoke again quickly not willing to wait for her response. "You do know about the serial killings don't you? This guy makes numero tres." He held up three stubby freckled fingers as if she needed to count them in order to understand.
She took a breath in through her nose trying to control her flaring temper. She hated assholes like this that spoke to her as if she were merely a little girl. "Yes, I am aware of the recent killings."
Stewart puffed out his chest in defiance. "Well, then I guess you know that Hernandez and I are assigned to those cases and to this one as well."
She didn't hesitate. "Yes, I'm aware of that." She wasn't going to back down.
Stewart crossed his arms above his belly. It was like a stand off at high noon. Erin almost waited for a tumbleweed to roll slowly by to add to the effect.
"So I guess I'm wondering what you're doing here."
Aha. So there it was. Territory. He might as well lift his leg and pee on the dead body.
Erin turned slightly to face both of the detectives. They obviously had not been informed of her new assignment. Although the way Jeff was smiling at her, she thought he may have some idea. Either that or he was merely enjoying the banter between the two. She decided to lay her cards on the table for the both of them. "As of today gentlemen, I have been assigned to the serial killings as well."
"No fucking way." Stewart let out for the second time today. He began pacing like a mad dog and mumbling to himself.
She looked at Jeff and continued. "I'm in on this case so I can learn all there is to know about these killings and what all was entailed."
"Well no shit! We're all doing that Miss Fancy Pants. You think we're out here for the fun of it?" Stewart was angry and the throbbing vein on his forehead pulsed at her.
Erin briefly glanced down at her pants. Fancy Pants? They were nice pants but she wouldn't call them fancy. Jeff laughed at her, knowing she was mocking the clueless Stewart.
"I've been told I'm going undercover on this case. That's all I know at this point."
Stewart stopped pacing and looked from her to Hernandez, the slow creaking wheels of his brain were working loudly.
"Adams?" He muttered to Hernandez.
Erin turned to Jeff and saw the blood drain from his Hispanic face. He shifted his feet and wouldn't meet her eyes. "No way." He said quietly in response.
Erin looked at both men, desperate for answers. "Who's Adams?"
Stewart laughed. "Holy shit. She'll eat this little tart alive." He walked away toward an approaching black coroner van. "Bout fucking time," he mumbled as he walked by.
Jeff stood, staring off into the distance in silence.
"Jeff, who's Adams?" She asked him softly, pleading with her friend to come clean with her.
He sighed. "She's our main suspect in these killings."
Erin was slightly shocked. "A woman?" She looked back over at the mutilated body. A body that was killed in an angry, violent and very personal manner. "A woman did that?"
"Yeah, we're pretty sure. And she's pretty much flaunting it in our face too. Only we can't get anything to stick to her."
"Well, I have to admit that going in after a woman doesn't sound so bad." Her mind eased a little at the thought. At least she wouldn't be throwing herself at some horrible man who would try to screw her while she tried to get information out of him.
Jeff laughed a little. It was a nervous laugh. Erin braced herself for what he was about to say. "Listen Mac, this is no ordinary woman. She's cunning, calculating and I'm betting she doesn't have a conscious bone in her fantastic body."
She scoffed a little at his reference to her body. She had never heard him talk like that about a woman.
Seeing the confusion on her face he quickly continued. "Yeah, she's good looking. Hell, she's gorgeous. But she uses that to her full advantage." He stroked his mustache with a look of anguish on his face. "Underneath that hot package beats a cold, lifeless heart."
Erin's heart pounded at his words. She glanced back at the horrible crime scene.
Who the hell was this woman? "Sounds like this is going to be tougher than I thought." She muttered aloud.
He shook his head silently in agreement. "If I'm right," he paused with a sigh, "the team is going to send you in to bait her."
Erin recoiled at the statement, completely thrown. "Bait her?" She shoved her hands nervously in her pockets. "How the hell do you bait a woman?"
Jeff grinned a little at her clueless ness. "She's a lesbian."
Erin shook her head defiantly. Here she had thought she wouldn't have to prostitute herself on this undercover assignment. Why did one always have to seduce someone in order to get information out of them?
"Jesus, Jeff I can't do that! I don't have a clue how to seduce a woman, or "bait her" as you say." She was completely thrown by the idea. Bait her? What in the world did they expect her to do?
Hernandez grinned into the fierce summer sun and then eyed his friend carefully. He noted her athletic figure, her toned arms and beautiful face. "Trust me Mac, what you got, she's gonna want."