Brian Freeman - Immoral

"Quickly," she whispered.

He reached for her panties and pushed his thumbs inside. She rose up from the beach, and he slid them off and tossed them away. Her hands grabbed for him and pulled him over her. He licked her breasts, but she took his face in her palms and brought him up to kiss her. He kissed her lips. Her cheeks. Her eyes.

Her legs spread and wrapped around him. He felt his penis brushing against her mound and sinking lower.

"We're not-" he murmured. Not safe. Not protected.

"Yes, we are," she told him, and there was a sadness in her voice, and he wondered if he had killed the moment.

But his penis found its way inside her in the next second, and she was wet and waiting. He gasped with pleasure. She did, too, and her legs held him tightly, and her fingers rippled against his neck. He began to thrust inside her, so deep they could have been one person. The stars watched them. The waves roared in his ears.

She watched him make love to her with her eyes wide open. He had never felt more naked, or connected, than having her see him like that. She kept them open until, finally, her head tilted back, and a smile and a cry escaped from her mouth at the same moment, and her body quivered in his hands. And he closed his own eyes and let himself go.

She had put her T-shirt back on, but she was nude below, and he stroked her legs and her mound gently as they lay on the beach. Sand streaked her skin. She was propped on both elbows, watching the sky.

"Feel guilty?" she asked.

"I should, but I don't."

"Good."

"Can I ask you something?" he said.

He watched her lips draw into a tighter line. She already knew the question. "The abortion," she explained. "I waited too long. It didn't go well. I can't have kids."

"Does that bother you?" he asked, thinking of Andrea.

"You go through phases. At that age, with what I'd been through, I couldn't imagine why anyone would want kids. Then mere was a point in my twenties where I felt very sorry for myself, and I cried a lot, and I drank a lot I almost drank my way off the force. Like mother, like daughter, you know? Addictive personalities. But I found a good shrink, and she helped me through it. Today, it comes and goes. But I haven't lived my life like I missed something by not having kids."

"Same here," he said.

"Tell me something," Serena said. "I know this sounds weird. Was I good?"

"What?"

"Making love. Was I good? In the past, it wasn't like this, and I knew it was because of me. All my baggage. It got in the way."

"You don't really need me to answer that, do you?" Stride asked.

She smiled, laughing at herself, but she looked relieved. "No, I guess not."

His caresses on her upper thighs became more directed, and he let his hand slip between her legs. Her hips thrust against his fingers. "Make me come again," she told him.

But he had hardly begun when muffled electronic music began playing in Serena's discarded jeans. She groaned, and they both laughed. Stride found her cell phone in a rear pocket and handed it to her.

"This is Serena." Then, a moment later, "Cordy, your timing sucks."

He heard a voice on the phone talking at a rapid clip.

"Slow down, Cordy," Serena said. "What the hell are you saying?"

Although he couldn't make out the words, he saw Serena's eyes, as she listened, light up with intense interest.

"Are you sure it's him?" Serena said into the phone. "If you're wrong, we're going to look like fools."

Stride heard the pitch of her partner's voice rise. Cordy was sure.

"I'll be damned," Serena said. "All right, get someone to watch the place, but don't roust him. See what he does. I'll fly back tomorrow."

Stride felt his breath leave his chest, leaving only a tight ache behind.

"Good work, Cordy," Serena said. "I'm sure you and Lavender will find a way to celebrate."

Serena flipped down the phone.

"We may have been searching in the wrong city after all," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"It turns out that Christi-Rachel-had a boyfriend. Cordy found a photograph from the club where she worked. The guy was in the background. He recognized him."

"How?"

"We know the guy," Serena explained. "Except now he looks more like Howard Hughes. It's the same old drunk desert rat who owns the trailer where Christi's body was found. And that sure puts a new spin on the ball."

"He kills her and simply dumps the body behind his own place?" Stride asked.

"This guy doesn't exactly have all his cereal in one bowl, at least when he's been drinking. If he was dating Christi, and she dumped him, it could have sent him over the edge."

"So he goes to her apartment to try to convince her to take him back," Stride speculated. "She tells him to take a hike, and he drops a vase on her head. He brings the body home, dumps it, and then ties one on."

"It's possible," Serena said.

Stride shook his head. "But what about the ATM receipt? The connection to Duluth?"

"Maybe I was wrong," Serena said, trying to put the pieces together. "Maybe Duluth is a red herring."

"You weren't wrong," Stride insisted. "There's something else going on."

Serena leaned over and kissed him with cool lips. "Come with me."

"What?"

"You were in at the beginning, Jonny. You deserve to be there when it all ends. Even if it turns out this guy didn't kill her, he must know something. Let's go see him together."

Stride got up out of the sand and began gathering their clothes. "All right," he said. "But there's something I have to do first."

She knew. "Talk to your wife?"

He nodded.

"I feel responsible," Serena said.

"You're not I am."

He didn't dread the idea of divorce the way he had for so long. Andrea had already opened the door. Now he would walkthrough.

"We may find the answer tomorrow," Serena said.

Stride wasn't so sure. He knew there was a mystery in Las Vegas, but he didn't believe for a minute he would find the truth there. The truth would still be here in Duluth. Waiting for him to come back and find it.

During the three years of their marriage, Stride and Andrea had carved out Saturday mornings for themselves. They had remained faithful to that except for the few weekends a year when Andrea visited her sister, Denise, in Miami. Even when he was in the middle of an investigation, Stride tried to keep Saturday morning free. Usually, they drove to Canal Park for breakfast overlooking the lake and brought along the paper to read over coffee. Or they jogged a few times around the high school track and rewarded themselves with pastries at the Scandinavian bakery. Those times, more than any other, he felt like they were husband and wife.

But here he was, on Saturday morning, packing for a flight to Minneapolis and then on to Las Vegas. It was like broadcasting an alarm. Andrea got the message. She stood in a corner of the bedroom, her arms folded, her jaw set in a pinched, unhappy line. Much of the anger she had first sent his way, upon learning of his trip, had dissolved already into bitterness and hurt. She didn't want to hear his explanations, and he had few to offer.

"Don't do this," she murmured, not for the first time. "Don't walk away from me, Jon."

Stride shoved a few pairs of socks into the end pocket of his duffel bag. "I have to do this."

"Oh, come on," she snapped. "This isn't your problem anymore. Why can't you just let it go?"

What could he say? He owed it to Rachel to uncover the truth. She had haunted him for years, and he wanted to unravel her mystery once and for all. But there was no denying to himself that he had another motive left unspoken. He also needed to know where his relationship with Serena was going. Because his marriage was over.