Swallowing, he reached for the phone and called the office, hoping this was some sick joke.
Twenty minutes later, he was standing in Carrie Forrest’s house, over the bloodied remains of her body. It was no joke.
This was as real as it got, and about as bloody.
He hadn’t seen this much hatred in a long while.
Somebody had a powerful lot of rage built up inside of them, and whoever it was, had let it all loose on Carrie last night.
Beth Morris was downstairs wailing on Peggy Ralley’s shoulder and Kim Samuel was sitting on the couch, sipping coffee and staring into the distance, as though she wasn’t really there.
Carrie had been beaten to death.
The murder weapon was still in the house. Carrie’s cane. The victim’s face was hardly recognizable. The cane had broken by the time the perp was done.
Damn it. He felt pity move through him as he knelt beside her body and studied the pitiful mess that had been made of it.
She had wreaked a lot of hell, on a lot of lives.
But nobody deserved to die like this.
“Ms. Morris, you can’t- Damn it, this is the scene of a crime-”
“Take your hands off of me, unless you’d like to be talking to me and my lawyer in court,” Beth Morris said coldly.
Almost everybody in town had heard that line before. Beth loved to throw it around. Mostly, it was an empty threat, but enough people had actually received papers that most didn’t want to push it. The judges at the small county courthouse had tired of seeing her face and had thrown many cases out, so Beth had taken several of her cases to the next level.
It was still a threat powerful enough to evoke fear in some people’s hearts.
But Deputy David Morelli wasn’t about to let her intrude on a crime scene.
“I don’t care if the Almighty Himself summons me to appear in court. I’m not going to let you intrude on a crime scene,” Morelli snapped, placing himself between Beth and the studio when the other officer let her go. “Now if you don’t take yourself back downstairs, I will. We’ve already asked you several times. Please don’t make us go through this again.”
Beth started to sniffle. “How can you talk to me this way? I’ve lost my best friend.”
“And I’d think you’d want us to do what we can to make sure her killer is caught. Including not damaging possible clues,” Morelli said levelly.
“I just want to speak with the Sheriff,” she said, her voice high-pitched and whining.
From where Kellan crouched, he could almost hear the sigh in Morelli’s voice and he figured he owed the man a drink or ten.
“He just got here. He hasn’t been on the scene for more than five minutes. Give him some time, Ms. Morris. Now go back downstairs and let us work,” he said firmly.
“She did it! I know she did! Everybody loves Carrie but her,” Beth sobbed, burying her face in her hands. “Arrest that bitch. You can’t let her walk the streets while Carrie lies dead in the ground.”
Kellan lifted his head and stared out into the hall as Beth shrieked out, “You put Darci in jail, damn it. She threatened Carrie, just yesterday. Make her pay!”
Kellan left the house some time later, tension settling inside his gut like a leaden fist.
“What’s your next step?” Morelli asked quietly.
Turning, Kellan met the older man’s dark eyes, scowling. “I’m going to go question Darci Law.” And the thought ate at him, like acid in his belly.
Morelli sighed, rubbing his thumb across his lip. “She didn’t do it, Sheriff. You know that. Question her, get it out of the way…and when this is over, you really ought to quit mooning over her and just ask her out.”
Kellan felt the blood rush to his cheeks. Turning away, he thought sourly,
Unable to think of a damn thing to say to that, he just scowled at Morelli and stomped away.
This, he decided, just downright sucked.
Darci rolled onto her back, her hand between her legs, a sigh tripping out of her as she dreamed. Oh, she suspected damn good and well it was a dream, but still…
If his hands felt as good in reality as they felt in the dream-shoot, even half as good-she’d climax before he even touched her breasts.
In the dream, his lips were fixed firmly around her nipple, drawing deeply, as his hands palmed her butt, lifting her up against his cock. His hair had fallen free of that short, stubby tail he kept it confined in and it teased her shoulders, her neck. She locked her hands in it, smiling with delight as it turned out to be every bit as silky as it looked. It was the color of mahogany, deep dark brownish-red, shot through with streaks of pure bright red- women would kill to have hair like his.
Damn, a lot of women just might kill to be where she was, spread out underneath that long, sleekly muscled body, that clever mouth moving over her hungrily, that hair wrapped around her fists.
Kellan kissed his way down her belly, pushing her thighs apart. He rose to his knees, reaching up to untangle her hands from his hair before he stroked his finger down her slit, from her clit on down, opening her thoroughly. He moved past the tender patch of flesh between her vagina and her anus to tease the tight pucker of her ass before he lowered his head and placed a full openmouthed kiss against her wet flesh.
“Damn, you’re sweet,” he murmured, lifting up to blow on her before turning his head to the side and plunging his tongue inside of her.
“Sweet, sweet, sweet…”
Those words were echoing inside her head as she was jerked out of sleep by the persistent knocking on her door.
Darci sat up, her chest heaving, her nipples burning, a throbbing, lingering ache in her pussy…while she played with herself. Her face flushed as she pulled her hand away from her aching cleft and whispered, “Now that was one hell of a wet dream.”
She rolled out of the bed and stumbled to the bathroom, washing her hands and then splashing water on her face before she went downstairs, flicking a glance at the clock. Ten o’clock. Damn, what in the hell had Clive put into that drink?
She
But she felt-good.
Very good, actually. Of course, that could be the wet dream she had just had. A wicked smile lifted up the corners of her mouth as she opened the door. But heat suffused her face when the open door revealed Kellan Grant. The object of her wet dream.
Slowly, she slid a hand through her hair.
The dream echoed through her head as she met his eyes and her cheeks heated.
“Good morning, Sheriff,” she said slowly. Trying to shove the dream aside, she nibbled on her lower lip as she prayed to God that Kellan couldn’t tell what thoughts were running through her head.
“Morning, ma’am,” he said, nodding at her. Behind him stood one of his deputies, and the younger man also nodded politely, his eyes moving away from her face.
