Stalked

was facing her, grabbed her with his left hand, stabbed her with his right. He withdrew the weapon, let her fall to the ground after she was already dead. Confirmed everything the prelim had said, with some added details about the possible weapon. Tox reports showed Weber had a BAC of.03, well under the legal limit, and confirmed her sister’s report that she’d had wine before leaving for Citi Field.

“So we’re looking for a medic of sorts, someone with training-EMT, paramedic, pre-med maybe. Nothing we didn’t already know. You didn’t need to bring me this.”

Joe walked over to her kitchen table and spread out the crime scene photos.

“Make yourself at home,” she said sarcastically. She look at the photos.

“Thanks.” He opened her refrigerator and grabbed two beers, handing her one. “See anything?”

“Other than an annoying ex-boyfriend?”

Joe looked over his shoulder. “Where?”

She hit him in the arm and stared at the crime scene photos. She used the findings in the autopsy report to re-create the scene in her head. The victim was found between her car and the vehicle next to her-owned by the people who found her body.

“She was dragged from here”-Suzanne pointed to the blood pool in front of Weber’s car-“approximately four feet to here.”

“Correct, we knew that-but what does that tell you?”

“That she’d just left her car and was meeting someone.”

“That’s what I thought as well, but her prints were on the hood of her car, so-”

“-so you think she was leaning against her car while she was waiting for someone.”

“Bingo.”

“She knew her killer. We’ve been over this, Joe.”

“Or thought she did. What else?”

“No trail.”

“And no weapon found at the scene. The M.E. said the killer’s hand would have been drenched in blood, up to his wrist. He wore gloves-powder common in latex gloves was found on the victim.”

“He came prepared.” Good detail. She glanced down at the autopsy report again. She’d missed it the first time because Joe was making her nervous. She could just see what was going to happen. She’d get involved again, his ex-wife would threaten to take him to court for full custody, and she’d be waiting and waiting and waiting. She didn’t want to go through that again.

“Could have bundled up the blade, the gloves, maybe even external clothing, and dumped it anywhere.”

“Did you canvass?”

He glared at her. “I’ve been on the job five years longer than you, babe.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’m going with you on the bundling, but I don’t think he dumped it at Citi Field. Too much chance of us finding it. More likely he took it with him, or he dumped it in the Bay.”

They looked at each other. “Bay,” they said together.

“Except the stiletto,” Suzanne said.

“Why?”

“Because it can be traced. At least, in theory. He planned this-gloves, location, the element of surprise, no defensive wounds, no blood trail. He isn’t going to be stupid and dump anything that could lead back to him. I’ll bet if we recover the clothing it’ll be generic from a major store. Salt water would destroy any forensic evidence.”

“I have uniforms looking along the shoreline, going with the tide, to see if anything washed up. But he could have weighted it down and tossed it anywhere.”

“That’s what I would do,” Suzanne said.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“You’re already there.”

Joe stared at her. “Why can’t you forgive me?”

“Who says I haven’t?”

He looked into his beer bottle. “I’m not seeing anyone else.”

“Of course not. Stephanie won’t allow it.”

“Why do you always have to bring her up?”

“Because your ex-wife is part of any relationship you have. It’s a threesome, and not the fun kind.”

“Fuck.” Joe ran a hand through his brown hair, leaving it messy and sexy, just the way she liked to see him. She turned away. She couldn’t give in to temptation, because it would only lead to where it led before: heartbreak.

“Joe-look, I don’t want to fight with you. I don’t blame you. Hell, there’s no one to blame. Tyler is your son. He’s eight years old and he needs his dad. I get that. I like the kid; he’s going to grow up and be just like you. But the games that Stephanie plays to keep you from being happy, I can’t do that. And I can’t stand between you and Tyler. I won’t.” Her chest heaved and she wished they hadn’t had this conversation. Damn, she cared about Joe and she liked his son. But she wanted something that wasn’t possible.

Joe put his empty beer bottle down and stared at her. His dark Italian eyes read her, and she forced herself to withstand the visual assault. She stared back, kept her expression blank, kept her mouth closed.

Do not give in. Do not give in.

He leaned forward and kissed her. She should have turned her head. She’d planned to.

But she didn’t.

As soon as his lips touched her, the slow boil that had been simmering since she’d seen Joe yesterday morning bubbled over. She grabbed him and held on as he pushed her against the counter, his mouth open on hers, one hand tangled in her hair, the other on her back, under her shirt, clutching her. Flashes of hot, fast, hard sex ripped through her thoughts and she gasped as his mouth moved down her neck and his hands moved everywhere. Joe’s thigh pressed between her legs, and she returned the favor, rubbing his dick as it pushed to escape.

She pulled his shirt from his slacks and kneaded his hard chest. Joe was all man, all cop, lean and ripped.

He unholstered his gun and dropped it on the counter, then pushed her onto the kitchen table, her copy of the crime photos flying. Her shirt flew in another direction, and when his mouth found her breasts she moaned. He nibbled at her, hard enough for her to feel his teeth but not hard enough to hurt. He pushed his hand down the front of her jeans and found her wet spot. He grinned at her as he slipped in one finger, then another, a promise for what would come as soon as she stripped. She kneaded her fingers over the heavy bulge in his pants and his cat-ate- canary smile disappeared. He fought with her jeans. “God, Suzi.”

She pulled his head to hers and bit his ear, then licked it, his muscles tensing under her moving hands. He unzipped her jeans.

Her phone rang.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled in her ear, pinning her to the table.

She closed her eyes and reached for the button of his pants.

Her phone kept singing to her. AFI’s “Miss Murder.” Headquarters.

She pushed Joe off and grabbed her phone.

“Madeaux.”

“This is Ray Jordan from the night desk. I have Assistant Director Hans Vigo from national headquarters on the line for you.”

“I’ll take it.”

Joe walked across the room and stared out the window, all sweaty and sexy. She turned her back to him.

Two clicks later and Dr. Hans Vigo said, “I’m sorry to bother you this late at night, but it’s important.”

“What can I do for you Assistant Director?”

“You worked with SSA Tony Presidio today, correct?”

“Yes.” Suzanne knew immediately something was up. Not just because of a call from an assistant director but also because of his tone. “The murder of Rosemary Weber, which I’m working with NYPD.”

“I need all your reports and a detailed list of every place Tony went while he was in New York. Anything you can remember about what he said and did.”