Brian Freeman - Stripped

“She’s hot, and she turns me on.” Serena laughed.

She pulled back, and he heard a strange plastic sound, like a cap being popped, and then he quivered as a stream of cool liquid dripped down his shaft. Her hands were back, both of them, and suddenly he was slippery, and her hands rubbed up and down as if gliding over soapy skin.

“It’s your fault,” she told him. “You turned me into a damn sex addict”

He tried to speak, but he wasn’t sure he knew how anymore. His body seemed to lift off the bed. The pain evaporated.

“Feel better?” she asked, and he knew without seeing her that she was grinning.

When the spasms began coursing through his body, he found himself holding his breath, and the lack of oxygen spun images into his head. Cindy, his first wife, in bed, making love. Maggie, his partner. Amanda. Serena. He thought about being homeless and about being, at that instant, disconnected from his body, rising above it, looking down into the darkness.

He wasn’t sure how long had passed before she went into the bathroom and then came back with a warm, damp towel that she used to clean him off. She slid into bed next to him and was asleep almost immediately, her head lying on his arm, her breath blowing on his face. He thought he would sleep, too, but he didn’t. His mind was too full of her, and of Minnesota, and of what it meant to be home. Long minutes later, he finally felt himself slipping away, but he thought, or maybe he dreamed, that he heard Claire’s footsteps in the hall, and he wondered if she had been there the whole time, listening to them.

Sawhill put down the phone. His face was purple. The lieutenant who kept an iron lock on his emotions was losing control, and Stride thought the man was ready to stroke out right there in front of them.

“That was Governor Durand,” Sawhill said, his voice pinched. “He’s wondering why this perpetrator is still alive, when one of my detectives had him in his gun sights last night. He’s wondering why it took half a dozen squad cars to surround a honeymoon couple from Nebraska while a serial killer was able to walk away from a crime scene where he murdered a police officer without so much as someone asking for identification.”

Stride was reminded of why he hated politicians. “No offense to die governor, but he wasn’t there. This guy is shrewd. He used a ruse to draw Claire out into the open, and he had all of us in a situation where we needed to be concerned about citizen casualties. It’s not like we could fire randomly.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve read the report. He outdueled you, Stride. You had the drop on him, and he turned it back on you.”

“That’s true enough,” Stride admitted. “He’s a trained mercenary.”

“Well, I’m sorry if we have a more sophisticated criminal than you’re used to dealing with in Minnesota,” Sawhill shot back. He reached for the stress ball on his desk and began squeezing it furiously. “But I expect my detectives to be better trained than the people they’re trying to collar. All you managed to do was shoot up an Escalade, which, by the way, happened to be owned by a senior vice president at Harrah’s who is a good friend of my father. My rule of thumb is, if you’ve got the shot, you take the shot, and you make the shot”

Stride wondered if Sawhill had read that in The Seven Habits of Highly Effective Detectives. “Agreed,” he said.

“Then the perp pulls a simple switch and manages to fool all of you,” Sawhill continued. “This couple owns a Subway franchise in Lincoln Falls, and we nearly blew the husband’s head off, because you told a team of squad cars the man was a serial killer who had just killed a cop.”

“It was the perp’s car,” Stride said, but he was loath to make excuses. He knew he had screwed up.

“And once again he proved he was smarter than the people I’ve got trying to catch him. Tell me at least we got something from the car.”

Stride shook his head. “Fingerprints, but we already had those. He bought the car for cash three months ago. Fake name and address. There’s not a scrap of paper inside to suggest where he might be living. We’re doing a forensic examination to see if there’s dirt or other trace evidence that might give us a clue, but that’s going to take time.”

“We don’t have time,” Sawhill said. “Is Claire under wraps?”

Stride nodded. “Serena’s babysitting her:”

“So what do we do to find this guy?”

Amanda, who had been quietly watching the Ping-Pong game between Stride and Sawhill, spoke up. “We could set a trap. Put Claire back in the game in a setting we control.”

Sawhill snorted “We do not use Boni Fisso’s daughter as bait. Period, end of discussion. Serena’s on top of her, and the perp doesn’t know where she is. Let’s keep it that way.”

“We’ve been checking libraries all over the city,” Amanda added. “Nothing so fat”

“Half the force is working on this, and they’re hot to catch him,” Stride said. “He killed a cop, and he killed a kid. Everybody wants him.”

“So do I. So does the governor. This is bad news for the city. What do we think this guy is going to try next?”

“I think he’s going to go after Claire again,” Stride said. “We need to catch him before he does. We’ve also redoubled security around other people who might be on his hit list, but the fact that he tried for Claire last night makes me think he’s at the end of his list.”

“Do you think he might go after Boni directly?” Sawhill asked.

Amanda nodded. “It’s not his pattern, but he might.”

“Boni’s not an easy target,” Stride said. “But the Sheherezade comes down next week. That’s the link to Amira.”

“Great. Just great. The implosion is going to be televised nationally, you know.”

“Maybe he’ll take out Boni at the ceremony,” Stride said. “Good for ratings. Tourism will climb.”

Sawhill leaned forward. “Is this a joke to you?”

“You don’t need to tell me how this place works,” Stride said. “In six months, we’ll have a daily bus tour of the murder sites and a new ad campaign. ‘We’ve Put Sin Back in Sin City.’”

“You’ve been here a few months, Detective. I’ve lived here nearly my whole life. My father has devoted decades of his life to this town. This is our home. You serve this city, so treat it with respect.”

Amanda stood up and dragged Stride’s arm until he was standing, too. She nodded to Sawhill. “We’re both tired, sir. Don’t worry, we take this perp very seriously.”

She began pulling Stride out of the office. Sawhill stood up and laid his hands flat on his desk. “See that you do,” he called after them. He and Stride exchanged icy glares, and then Amanda had them back in the corridor, with the door closed behind her.

Amanda leaned back against the wall and wiped her brow. The air-conditioning was back on, and the office air was frigid, but she was sweating. She gave Stride a smile and a low whistle. “That wasn’t too tactful.”

“I know. Sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in the middle of it.”

“This is a corporate town,” Amanda pointed out. “Image matters to these guys.”

Stride shook his head. “Money matters.”

“You’re not going to change the city, Stride.”

He nodded. “I know.” Before he could stop himself, he added, “I’m not sure I’m going to stay.”

Amanda looked shocked. “What?”

“They want me back in Minnesota,” he explained. “I’m thinking seriously about it”

“What about Serena?” she asked.

Stride didn’t say anything. That was the question, he knew. The one on which his life hung. What about Serena?