Fatal Frenzy: Book 9 of the Fatal Series Page 9

  They dried off quickly and went into the bedroom where the sunshine peeked in through the drawn blinds. It felt decadent to be getting busy in the middle of what should’ve been a workday for both of them, but Freddie was determined to enjoy this break from reality. Who knew when they’d get another one?

  “I can’t believe I get to keep you forever,” he whispered. “The whole time…”

  “What?”

  “I’ve just been waiting for you to tell me you’ve found someone you like better. You could have anyone—”

  “I want you. I’ve wanted you since the first time I met you when you were so adorable and bumbling as you asked me what kind of sex I had with John O’Connor.”

  “I’d prefer to forget that.” That interview made up twenty of the most mortifying minutes of his life.

  “I’ll never forget it.” With her fingertip, she traced the outline of his lips. “You were so cute and so sexy and soooo embarrassed—and pissed with Sam because she refused to rescue you. And when you came back to find me, I was so happy to see you.”

  “I could barely speak when I saw you again. I still remember the light blue vest you were wearing and how blue your eyes were. I was glad I had worn a trench coat because I was hard from the second I spotted you on the sidewalk coming toward me carrying a tray of coffees.”

  Her warm soft hand encircled his erection. “You were hard under your coat?”

  Groaning from what she was doing to him, he said, “So hard. You should’ve seen me trying to hide the hard-on you gave me during that first interview from Sam. She never would’ve let me live it down.”

  Elin laughed and began to stroke him the way only she had ever done.

  “I was afraid to touch you.” He cupped her breast and teased the pierced nipple with his thumb. “I was afraid you’d know I’d never done it before. That I’d come the second you touched me because I wanted you so badly.”

  She ran her finger over the tip of his cock, making him jolt from the almost-painful desire. “You held up admirably. I had no idea it was your first time until you told me.”

  “And you stayed with me anyway.”

  “What choice did I have after I got you shot?”

  “You didn’t get me shot. You got me in trouble by shutting off my phone and my alarm. I got myself shot.”

  “I’m thankful every day that you survived that. I would’ve been so sad to lose you right after I found you.” She went up on her knees and straddled him.

  He’d never seen anything sexier in his life than the way she looked on top of him with full breasts and the incredibly sexy pierced nipples, the toned body, the white-blond hair and those eyes, damn those eyes.

  “You shouldn’t be up there doing all the work, baby. You should be lying passively, letting me worship you.”

  “When have I ever been passive in bed?”

  “True, but you’ve been hurt—”

  She bent over to kiss him as she took him in, coming down on him slowly but insistently until he was fully embedded and trying to hold back the orgasm that wanted out right this second.

  He bit his lip and groaned. “Gimme a second.” His hands on her hips kept her from moving until he managed to get things under control—for the moment anyway. It was always a battle when she was naked and sexy in his bed. He had to remind himself it wasn’t about instant gratification, but rather making it last as long as he could to make sure she got everything she needed.

  After weeks of dying for her, he wanted that more than ever this time. So when she began to move, he bit his lip and let her take over, her hips moving faster and faster as her breasts rubbed against his chest.

  “God, Elin.”

  “So good, so, so good.”

  It was always so good—not that he had anything to compare it to. But he was wise enough to know he could sleep with a hundred other women and never find what he had with her. Not that he wanted any other woman. She was everything he needed and then some.

  When he felt her internal muscles contract, he knew she was close so he held her hips in place and thrust into her.

  She cried out and hit the peak a few seconds before he did and then slumped down on top of him.

  Freddie put his arms around her, thankful to know he had forever to spend with her. “Love you,” he whispered.

  “Love you too.”

  Under normal circumstances, Freddie would be freaking out over having been suspended from the job he loved. But under these circumstances, he decided the suspension was worth knowing the guy who’d hurt her would never come near his fiancée again.

  Chapter Eight

  The offices of Griffen + Smoltz Design were located on M Street in Georgetown. Gonzo and Arnold trudged up the stairs to the second floor where the offices were situated above several high-end boutiques. They pushed through monogrammed, frosted double doors to enter a wide open space that bustled with activity and young people wearing mostly denim and hoodies and other casual attire.

  At the reception desk, Gonzo asked to speak to the managing partner, Simon Griffen.

  “Whom shall I say is calling?”

  They flashed their badges. “Sergeant Gonzales and Detective Arnold, Metro PD.”

  “Is this about Mr. Enright?”

  “Could we see Mr. Griffen, please?” Gonzo asked. He was the one asking the questions, not her.

  “I’ll see if he’s available.”

  “Make him available.”

  She scurried off into the fray of the large room where the entire team worked except, it seemed, for those who occupied offices along a far wall. The receptionist ducked into one those rooms and shut the door behind her. Gonzo noticed that everyone else was looking at them and probably wondering what was up now.

  The sort of thing that had happened to Enright changed the people around him as much as it changed the victim. It took some of their innocence, messed with their sense of safety and left them edgier, warier, on guard. Gonzo had seen it often during his career and sympathized with what they were going through after one of their own had been brutally attacked.

  The receptionist returned with a handsome young guy in jeans and a dress shirt that he wore with the sleeves rolled up. He had light blond hair and an athletic build. “I’m Simon Griffen.” He shook both their hands. “What can I do for you?”

  “Sergeant Gonzales, Detective Arnold. Could we have a minute of your time, preferably in private?”

  “Of course. Right this way.” He led them through the maze of workstations. Each desk had at least one huge computer screen. Many had two or more.

  The workers stopped what they were doing to watch the cops follow Simon into his office.

  “Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No, we’re fine, thanks,” Gonzo said, answering before Arnold could accept. “We’ve just come from seeing Mr. Enright in the hospital.”

  “How is he today? I’m planning to get over there after work.”

  “He’s weak but improving.”

  “Thank God. What a shock it’s been for all of us. Will is such a nice guy. Everyone loves him. We can’t imagine anyone would want to harm him.”

  “He mentioned some difficulties with a client named Giuseppe Besozzi. What can you tell us about that?”

  “He told you about that?” Griffen asked, visibly rattled.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “We’re all about client privacy and confidentiality. If it gets out that a client’s personal business was being discussed with the police, that could put us out of business.”

  “What if one of your clients was the one who attacked your employee?” Gonzo asked.

  “You don’t honestly think it was him, do you? These attacks have been so random.”

  “They’
ve seemed random. Our job is to find out whether or not they really are and to apprehend the person or persons responsible. What can you tell us about Besozzi?”

  Griffen took a deep breath and seemed to sag some under the weight of the circumstances. “He came to us through a referral from another client. He was interested in a website for his retail T-shirt business. We met with him, took him on as a client and Will worked closely with him on the design of the site. They were getting close to finished when Will came to me with concerns about some add-ons that Besozzi was suddenly interested in.”

  “What kind of add-ons?” Gonzo asked though he already knew.

  “Webcams and chat rooms. That kind of stuff.”

  “What would a guy in the T-shirt business want with such things?” Arnold asked.

  “That’s what Will wanted to know too. It sounded bizarre to him and he thought it was possible that Besozzi might be involved in something illegal. He did the right thing coming to me. We don’t want to be part of anything questionable. I consulted with my partner and we agreed to terminate the relationship. We met with Besozzi, returned his deposit and told him we were ending the relationship.”

  “And how did that go over?” Gonzo asked.

  “Not well. He was furious, but I could understand why. He’d spent months working with us and was close to launching his site. He ranted about the time he’d lost and what kind of business were we running. We anticipated that, but he was angrier than we’d expected.”

  “Did he threaten any retribution of any kind?” Arnold asked.

  “Not specifically, no.”

  “But?” Gonzo asked, sensing there was more to it.

  “He was kinda scary mad, you know? Yelling and screaming and knocking things over on the way out. You heard all the chatter out there,” he said, gesturing to the big room. “After he left, you couldn’t hear a pin drop for a full minute. My partner and I brought in security for a couple of days, just to be safe. You hear about people coming back with guns to settle a score.”

  “Did you think he would do something like that?”

  “We didn’t know, so we acted with an abundance of caution.”

  “Did you ever see him here again?” Arnold asked.

  Griffen shook his head. “Thankfully, no. We haven’t heard from him since that day.”

  “Was this an unusual occurrence? To have things go bad with a client?”

  “Very unusual. We’ve been in business ten years and have had our issues with clients. Design is a very subjective thing. What one person loves, another hates. So at times we’ve been unable to satisfy a client and parted company as a result. That’s an unfortunate outcome that we work hard to avoid to the best of our ability. But the thing with Besozzi was different.”

  “Do you have a local address for him?” Gonzo asked.

  “I can get it, but you won’t tell him we gave it to you, will you?”

  “We won’t mention where we got it.”

  He got on the computer and clicked around for a minute. Then he wrote down the address and handed the piece of paper to Gonzo. “You really think he might be behind the knife attack?”

  “Truthfully, it’s the best lead we’ve had yet.”

  “Wow,” Griffen said. “I can’t believe he’d do something like that.”

  “Well, we don’t know that he did,” Gonzo said. “All we know is he had a beef with someone who was attacked. We’ll be talking to other victims to see if there are any tie-ins. This has been very helpful. If you think of anything else we should know, here’s my card. Please call me, night or day.”

  “I will. I hope you catch whoever hurt Will.”

  “I hope so too. We can see ourselves out.” As they pushed through the double doors, Gonzo handed the paper with Besozzi’s address to Arnold. “Call Dispatch and let them know we’re going to need some subtle backup. No charging in with lights and sirens, and tell them to stay a block or so away until they hear from us.”

  While Arnold called Dispatch, Gonzo called Malone.

  “What’ve you got, Sergeant?”

  “A hot lead in the knife attacks.” He updated the captain on what they’d learned about Besozzi. “We’re heading there now, and we’ve called for backup.”

  “Are you thinking this is our guy?”

  “I’m thinking he had a beef with Enright. That’s all I know right now. I’m going to send McBride and Tyrone over to talk with our other surviving vic to see if there’s any connection, but I don’t want to wait on Besozzi until we know that. He may be a flight risk if he thinks we’re on to him.”

  “Agreed. I’ll update McBride and Tyrone and give them their orders.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  “Good work, Sergeant. Keep me posted.”

  “Will do.”

  “Patrol is set to provide subtle backup,” Arnold said.

  “Great. Let’s go pick this guy up.”

  * * *

  Sam felt claustrophobic the second the door clicked shut behind Trulo. She took the visitor’s seat while he returned to his desk and packed up his lunch. He again wiped his mouth with a napkin that he discarded before he turned to her, his expression expectant.

  As usual, he wasn’t going to make this easy for her.

  “Since that day,” she said, haltingly, “I’m afraid pretty much all the time. I relive it, over and over, looking for signs that I missed, signs that I shouldn’t have gone back into Marissa’s house, especially alone. I go through every minute of that day, from when I left my house until SWAT got me out of there.” She placed her hand on her belly. “I can almost always trust my gut. If there’s some instinct telling me to watch out, I feel it here. I always feel it. But this time, there was nothing. That’s the part I can’t get past. How could there be nothing when that was about to happen?”

  “So you think there’s something wrong with you because you didn’t see it coming?”

  “It makes me wonder if I’ve lost that instinct and how effective I’ll be on the job without it.”

  “Talk to me about Stahl.”

  Well okay then. Guess we aren’t talking about my instincts anymore… “What about him?”

  “You’ve had a difficult relationship with him.”

  “To say the least.”

  “Why do you suppose that is?”

  “There’s bad blood between him and my dad from before I was on the job that carried over onto me. He resented everything about me, from my last name to the fact that I was female to the way I rose through the ranks much too quickly for his liking. The two years I answered to him directly were a living hell. I swore he sabotaged some of my cases to make me look bad, but I could never prove it. Everything got worse when they gave me command of his squad and moved him to the rat squad.”

  “When you say it got worse, how do you mean?”

  “He was always up in my grill, skulking around the pit after hours like he was looking for something he could use against me. He brought me before IAB a couple of times for everything from getting involved with my husband during the O’Connor investigation to failing to invite someone from my squad to my wedding. He was always on me, like white on rice. And I won’t deny that I enjoyed antagonizing him, pushing his buttons. His face turns this glorious shade of purple when he’s pissed. I loved making that happen.”

  “Did your difficulties with him continue to escalate?”

  Why did he ask her that when he already knew the answer? “We caught him making phone calls to the media from HQ, tipping off the media about ongoing cases. That was the first time he got in serious trouble for the games he liked to play with me.”

  “Who caught him?”

  “Myself and Lieutenant Archelotta put together the evidence and presented it to the chief. Stahl got arrested for interfering wi
th the investigation, suspended without pay, the whole nine yards. He blamed me for the whole thing, screaming that I’d set him up. The attack on my doorstep happened shortly after that. I stepped out to get the paper and he grabbed me by the throat. I managed to knee him in the balls and kick him in the knee, but not until he’d made me wonder if I was going to die right there on my own doorstep with my son in the house.”

  Her hands still trembled whenever she relived that incident, which she had often in the days that followed his most recent stunt.

  “When you think of Stahl from before the two times he attacked you, how would you have described him?”

  “I’ve always thought of him as a bully. He liked to throw his weight around, and I don’t mean that as a fat thing. He never missed a chance to remind junior officers that he outranked them. Pulling rank was one of his favorite things to do when I reported to him. If I was on to something in a case, he’d find out and insert himself somehow to derail my progress and then take credit for whatever it was that I’d uncovered.”

  “Were you the only one he had difficulties with?”

  “Oh hell no. No one liked him. My dad would tell you that he was never well liked within the department.”

  “So he was antisocial?”

  “You could say that. Definitely not one to be asked out for a beer after a tour ends.”

  “How about mentally? Did you ever suspect he had some form of mental illness?”

  “I once heard him described as ‘off.’ Like you couldn’t really say what was up with him, but you knew something was up. Does that make sense?”

  “It does. Did you get the sense that he took seriously the responsibilities that came with the job and the badge?”

  “Not really. It seemed more like he was about advancing his own personal agenda, whatever that might’ve been.”

  “Do you know what type of person you’ve just described?”

  Sam could think of a lot of words to describe Leonard Stahl, but she suspected that none of her words would be the one he was looking for. She shook her head.