Duplicity
By Divamercury
So sorry for the long delay, but what with vacations and a killer case of writer's block (which isn't fully cured yet but is on the road to recovery), I didn't have much to write. Hopefully it's relatively good. Hope you enjoy and don't forget to review, whatever you do. Love you guys!
~DM
Chapter 3
As I had predicted, my night with Ian was far from restful, and yet I awoke feeling—surprisingly—rather relaxed. For the time being, the weight of the case I was working on had lifted off of my shoulders and for the first time in as long as I could remember, I feltfree. I grinned at Ian's unconscious form; he apparently had accomplished his goal last night.
I propped myself up on one elbow and watched him sleep. He seemed so innocent, angelic even. You never would have been able to guess, looking at him at that moment, that he was—or used to be— one of the best assassins on the planet.
Even now, after we had stepped up our relationship, it was rare for me to catch him in moments like this. He was so determined to protect me and to always be alert and ready for danger. So when I actually did have the privilege of watching him sleep, I made sure to enjoy it, not knowing when the chance would come again.
I gently brushed back a lock of his long, wavy dark hair from his face. He stirred slightly but didn't wake, although a slow smile of recognition spread across his face.
Yeah, it's me, babe,' I thought, grinning again. Not surprising that you're wiped out after all we were up to. Yeah, "restful" would definitely be the worst word to use to describe last night.'
I glanced across the room at my alarm clock and groaned softly. If I didn't get out of bed immediately, I would be late for work and Laredo would hardly be lenient after giving me plenty of time off. I tried to get up but Ian's arms still held me securely and pulled me back down. He was awake nowor something close to it, at least.
"Good morning, my love," he said, smiling sleepily, his eyes still at half-mast.
God, he was sexy when he looked at me like that.
"Good morning to you, too. Now, please let go of me, Ian. I've got to get to work. And don't even think about giving me one of those looks," I said, getting as close to begging as I ever got.
"What looks?"
"You know. The pitiful, lost-puppy looks. I hate it when you do. Now come on. I've got to go."
He complied but pouted, looking exactly like an unhappy ten-year-old. I couldn't help laughing.
"Now, that will get you absolutely nowhere." I left him in bed and went to take a shower.
I showered off quickly and dressed, heading out to the main room of my apartment. Ian had dressed in my absence and I picked up my gear. "So, what are you planning to do today?" I asked him.
"I'm probably going to plunge into the unemployment office. See if I can find a job that makes use of my skills in a legal way. Not sure what occupation could use me, though," he replied with a smile.
I smiled. He was determined not to be a freeloader. "Have you thought about teaching martial arts? You know every possible way to defend yourself, that's for sure."
He tilted his head to one side, thinking it over. "That's a good idea. I'll see if I can find an opening in that field."
We walked out together. "Have a good day," he said.
"Anything will be better than yesterday."
"If you need anything, call me."
"I will. Everything should be fine today. Just hope that Vicki has the results on the victim. See you tonight."
"Until then, my love," he said, and he kissed me goodbye. I climbed on my Buell and, after a final wave, set out to face the horrors of early morning traffic.
I arrived just a few minutes late, having made up for some time in my apartment with some rather risky moves on my bike. Nonetheless I got there in one piece. Connor was in our office, his face buried in a folder.
"Hey, Pez," he said when he looked up. "Vicki asked us to go talk to her when you got here. Says she got the results back on our latest victim."
"Thank God. I was afraid it would take weeks to get them at the rate we were going. Come on, I want to get this casestarted." We left our office and headed for the morgue, and I was so anxious to find out what was going on that the thought of coffee completely slipped my mind.
"So, what's going on, Vic?" I asked as we entered the morgue.
"Oh, good, Pez, Connor, you're finally here."
"Someone was late," Connor said pointedly.
"Oh, don't give me that. It's not like you're Mr. Punctuality," I retorted.
"Well, I think it's time to get back to the point nowand you're not going to like it."
"When do we ever? That won't stop us from beating it out of you if you don't spill," I said.
"Okay, okay, relax. The victim's name was Maria Thompson, we gathered from dental records. She was a CPA that worked freelance but was currently employed for a law firm downtown that seemed to be having some tax trouble."
I winced at the name Maria. It brought back some painful memories of my murdered best friend by the same name.
"Evidently the killer was really pissed off at her for some reason or another," Vicki continued, beckoning us to the examining table.
Connor and I approached. Ms. Thompson was lying on the table, her skin so pale it was almost transparent. Vicki had placed the head with its body and for the sake of the stomachs of those around her, she had draped a cloth over the separation between head and neck.
"Why do you say that, Vic?"
"There were some deep indentations in her wrists here—" she said, showing them to us by holding up one of the body's wrists, "—which says to me that her killer restrained her and she struggled, trying to break free. Looks like some kind of rope or cord because of the burns. There's some like it on her ankles, too."
"What do you think the cause of death was?" Connor wanted to know. "So far this isn't the weirdest murder case ever reported."
"I wasn't finished, yet, Connor," Vicki said, glaring at him and then looking at me. Her look so clearly said "Rookie" that I could barely stifle a laugh.
"What? What aren't you saying, Vic?" Connor asked, frowning. "And what's with the head?"
"That's the thing. This woman wasn't killed before her head was cut off, like most of the other headless corpses I've had to deal with."
"Meaning" Connor made the "move-it-along" motion.
"Meaning—"
"—Decapitation was the cause of death," I interrupted softly.
"Correct as usual, King Friday," Vicki quipped, then became serious again. "I'd say he used some kind of knife or blade—probably a razorblade— and was very persistent. Christ! I mean, the killer severed the spinal cord, all the nerves, the muscles, everything, but not all at oncejust a little at a time," she continued in the solemn tone that only medical examiners can use convincingly.
"Why do you think it was a he?" Connor inquired.
"Well, even with the amount of cuts used, there was clearly strength in them. I don't think a woman could do something like thisbut I guess anything's possible. Hell, I'd even call this typical because it's one of Pez's cases we're talking about."
Connor eyed me nervously. "What does that have to with anything?"
"Oh, right," Vicki said, smacking herself in the forehead. "You're a rookie. Well, let me just go ahead and warn you. Pez has a habit of justattracting the most bizarre cases out thereand this one is definitely no exception."