Breaking Bad (4 page)

“It’s not about convenience, Detective, we have support staff—”

“So do we. Plus my staff is up to speed. Including the hot little blonde you were dawdling with earlier today. I don’t want to waste any time briefing anyone but you and your immediate men. We need penetration, now, in the form of warrants and a man inside that apartment as well as Spoltori’s dungeon before that prick kills again.”

“Dungeon? Man inside?”

Stevie nodded. She had been wrestling with her idea for two weeks, but didn’t have the confidence in her team to back her play. Now the feds were involved, Jack specifically, who she knew would not allow anything to happen to her, despite his indifference.

“I’m getting close to setting up a meet with Spoltori via the chat rooms—”

“Are you suggesting that you go in undercover as a—what?”

“A player.”

Jack scowled. “A player as in you allow him to put his whips and chains on you?”

“Not that extreme, but along those lines. Under the pretense of being a player, I can get into his world and gain his confidence.”

“The guy’s a sadist. He gets a hold of you and we can’t get to you, you’re going to get hurt or worse.”

Stevie smiled and readjusted the video camera on the tripod. “And that will break your widdle heart, will it?”

“No one likes to lose a man on their watch.”

As she sat down in the chair and put her eye to the camera, she focused in on the apartment, and scowled. The blinds were closed. “I’m not a man, and this is my watch, not yours.”

“I don’t like it.”

Stevie sat back; half turned in her chair, and faced him. “Of course you don’t. But I sure as hell am not walking into his dungeon and asking for a confession.”

“You can’t go in, it’s too risky and he’ll recognize you.”

“I didn’t interview him, Oliveras did. He has no idea who I am or what I look like.”

Jack’s scowl deepened. “If that’s an option we choose, I’ll request a female agent from violent crimes as the bait.”

Stevie wanted to punch him. This was not negotiable. “My case, my terms, Special Agent.” Considering the topic closed, Stevie pulled out her cellphone and texted Oliveras, who had not returned her call but should be down at the Starbucks across from the entry of Spoltori’s building watching for him.

Any sign of the subject?

A firm. He headed south on Broadway about thirty minutes ago.

Is he in sight?

Negative.

And you didn’t notify me of his movement why?

Figured you watched him exit.

What did that have to do with keeping tabs on him now?
Hard to do when the blinds are closed.

My bad.

“Idiot,” she, mumbled under her breath.

I left a voice mail a half hour ago,
Stevie irately texted.

Phone’s on the fritz.

Get a new one asap, and keep me posted on the subject.

Will do to both.

Thorn held up his cellphone and showed her the texts he had received from one of his men with detailed updates on Spoltori, who was currently shopping the produce section of the corner market. She didn’t bother updating Oliveras. Let him chase his tail for a while.

“Thanks for rubbing it in,
Jack.
”

Feeling deflated, Stevie stood and gave Thorn a long dry look. She needed to get out of here. Away from him. Away from the case, even for just a few hours. “Since you have this covered, I need to take care of a few housekeeping items back at the PD.”

When he didn’t object, she pulled a laptop from her backpack, set it down on the table, and pointed to the inserted flash drive. “My notes on the case. Detective Sidel, my relief, is on his way in. He’ll bring you up to speed.”

Feeling cornered with no control, she moved past him.

“I thought we had a deal, Detective?”

Stevie nodded. “We do, I just need to get out of here for a while.”

She wasn’t taking her toys and going home, she just needed time to herself to regroup. Jack’s unexpected and unwelcome coup had her second-guessing her skills. The woman part of her had been thrown for a complete loop. She needed to wrangle her pheromones into submission, and to do that she needed to get zen with herself.

She nodded to Deavers, then saw herself out despite Jack’s deep voice demanding she return.

CHAPTER SIX

“S
tevie!” Jack called. He was damn frustrated. She was running from him. Again.

He got it; he’d left her in the middle of the night. He said he was sorry, now she needed to get over it.

The clock was ticking on this case. There was no time for female drama.

The elevator doors opened and closed before he could get to her. He took the stairs three at a time, and when the elevator doors opened, he was waiting for her. But the car was empty.

What the hell?

Where the hell are you?
He texted.

He heard the wolf whistle of her cellphone. He followed it around the corner and found her standing against the concrete wall next to the service elevator.

“Stop running from me,” he said quietly, walking up to her.

She stared straight ahead. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He watched the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, unable to stop the vision of the last time he’d seen them. Glistening with a soft sheen of sweat, the rose-colored nipples hard and wet from his relentless tongue. She had great tits. He pushed away the thoughts and the heat they inspired. She was hands-off. Not because she wanted it that way, but because he knew if he touched her once, it wouldn’t be enough. And when it fizzled out for him? How did he walk away a second time and not hurt her?

Leaning against the wall next to her, Jack slipped his hands into his trouser pockets where they would behave. Taking the hard road with Stevie worked most of the time when her pride got in the way of what was right. Or, as he learned what she wanted but was afraid to ask for. In this case, though, he knew he would get nowhere by rendering her helpless. So he softened his approach. “I remember a beautiful young woman who came into my classroom and thought she could take on the world with one hand tied behind her back. I had no doubt then that she could, I have no doubt now that she has. That isn’t going to change the fact that your top cop called my boss and asked for help.” He leaned into her. “Stop fighting me, Stevie.”

He felt the tremble shimmer through her body more than he saw it. Her vulnerability touched him in a way he least expected. The urge to take her into his arms and comfort her swept through him. He stepped back and slowly drank her in. Just like she had in the academy, she wore her long brunette hair in a thick braid. The highlighted copper and dark blond strands wove into a complicated swirl. Her skin was silky smooth and as unblemished as cream, her chin small but firm. Her lips were plump, sensuous, and parted like they were at the moment, highly kissable. High cheekbones set off her huge blue eyes with lashes so long and black he could see why someone might think they were fake. He knew they weren’t. There was nothing fake about the woman standing defiantly before him. Every curve and valley of her body was natural, and highly responsive to his touch.

“You’ve lost weight since the academy,” he said. “You look better with a little meat on your bones.”

Slowly she turned her head and glared at him. He tensed for the verbal punch that was coming.

“And you’d look better if you disappeared.”

He nodded. “I will after we make an arrest.” Then added, “If that’s what you want.”

Pushing off the wall she said, “Yeah, that’s what I want.”

“I’m sure it is.” He glanced at his watch. “In the meantime, you have ten minutes to collect yourself and return to the surveillance room.”

He turned on his heels and left.

Clutching the car key, Stevie sat in the Crown Vic for a solid twenty minutes staring out the windshield. She knew she would work with the devil if it meant locking up Spoltori. Looked like that was exactly with whom she would be working. But it didn’t mean that she had to like it, or that it would be easy.

Her father’s voice droned in her ears. “Emotions have no place in police work, Stevie. They weaken your objectivity.”

“Get a grip, Cavanaugh,” she said out loud to herself. She was a big girl, a big girl who knew how to use her gun and possessed the self-control of a Tibetan monk. She had this.

Determined, she opened the door, exited, then locked it. She wasn’t going back because Jack told her to; she was going back because it was what she wanted. To work tirelessly for the victims and their families until she made an arrest.

Staring straight ahead she marched back to the stuffy hellhole. Deavers was gone. Jack looked at his watch, “You’re fifteen minutes late, Detective. You’re going to pay for it.”

“Promises, promises,” she quipped as she glanced at the open bathroom door. It was empty. “Where’s Sidel?” she asked. It wasn’t like him to be late.

“Russo just informed me that he called in sick,” Jack answered.

“Where’s your man?” Stevie asked, tossing the backpack onto the small desk in front of the storyboard, and noticed a second video camera set up next to hers.

“Relieving Oliveras.” Jack scowled at her. “I know he’s your partner, but he’s inept. I have no use for ineptitude. He’s off the task force.”

Stevie opened her mouth to protest just because it was Jack making that call when it should have been hers. But it was the right call. Oliveras
was
inept and held back the case. “The city is cash-strapped. We’re over one hundred officers down from our minimum contract with the city. I had no choice but to work with him.”

“I don’t want to hear excuses, Cavanaugh, I want to hear how we’re going to crack this case wide open.”

“Then roll up your damn sleeves and let’s get to it.”

Stevie could see by the files pulled up on the laptop that Jack had been reading through them.

“I’ve made a copy of the case files that I can read over later tonight, but for now, I’d like you to bring me up to speed.”

Stevie nodded. “This is what I have so far.” Pointing to the picture of Spoltori up on the storyboard she said, “Mario Vittorio Spoltori is an independent stockbroker, his firm is called The Edge Fund. He thinks he’s a smart-ass, because his Master name is ‘The Edge,’ identifying his penchant for edge play.”

“Edge play?”

“BDSM lingo for beyond spanking. Edge play is all about hard-core pain, including cutting.”

Stevie pointed to the enhanced photos of each victim’s shaved pubis. “And let’s make no mistake about Spoltori’s place in the BDSM world, where there are levels of dominance. He is clearly and widely known as a Master. Not a Top or even a Dom but a Master.
The
master of edge play.” Jack nodded for her to continue. “All three victims were cut with the same sharp edge; forensics thinks it was an exacto knife. Each vic had the same symbol carved into them.” She moved in and looked closer at it. “The cuts are deep and premortem.” Stevie shivered. “Bastard likes to watch them bleed.”

“What is the symbol?”

“The mark of Cain.”

“I didn’t think there was a specific mark.”

“There isn’t, but if you research the term, this particular symbol pops up fairly regularly in underworld and fantasy cultures. The killer is using it as his calling card. It’s also Spoltori’s underground dungeon symbol, that’s how I made the initial connection. Then I dug deeper and discovered he’s Mayor Dyer’s war chest manager and connected each of his vics as being married to a heavy campaign contributor of the mayor’s.” She cocked a brow at Jack. “As you can see, a little more than a hunch.”

“That’s good police work connecting the symbol, Detective.”

“Thanks.”

“So let’s delve into what makes our killer tick.”

Stevie nodded. “Spoltori was born Raymond Justin Arnold, an only child. Both parents deceased, murder-suicide when he was five.” Stevie pointed to a picture of two women to the far right of the board, but with lines connecting them to Spoltori, one in her early twenties and the other her forties. “His paternal aunt took him in. Ten years later, her daughter Jessica was kidnapped, tortured, and killed.” Stevie shivered. “I think she was his first kill.”

“Why do you think that?”

“It makes progressive sense.” Stevie moved to the lap top on the desk. Bending over she clicked through a few pages in her docs, then clicked on a link to an article in the
Baltimore Sun
. “It says here that Jessica Chambers disappeared on her way home from work, and the next day she was found naked, tortured, raped, and dead on the front porch of her house.” Stevie scrolled through the rest of the article. “But they made an arrest. Jerome Sikes, a coworker she had dated. He’s doing a life sentence.” She shook her head. “My gut is screaming they convicted the wrong guy. It was Spoltori.”

“Jessica doesn’t fit the MO of our three.”

“That’s because he either didn’t intend to kill Jessica or, if he did, because it was his inaugural kill and he was just beginning to perfect it.” She pointed to the article. “The foundation is there: kidnap, torture, rape, body laid out for public admiration.”

Jack typed something into his iPhone. “I just told Deavers to locate the detectives who worked the case in Baltimore. We’ll follow up with BPD tomorrow. How old was Spoltori when the cousin was killed?”

“Sixteen. He emancipated himself a year later, moved from Baltimore to Chicago and managed to scholarship himself through Northwestern, where he completely reinvented himself. From Chicago he moved to Denver, then to Oakland two years ago.”

Jack looked pointedly at her. “Before we go further on Spoltori’s profile, did you check with the PDs in his former places of residence for any missing persons or unsolved murders that could be linked to him?”

“Yes, and while there were no murders in Baltimore or Chicago, there were several assaults at Northwestern that began with his enrollment and ended when he graduated.” Stevie brought those images up on her computer. “But they weren’t coeds, they were middle-aged wives of faculty. Our three victims are middle-aged wives of high-profile campaign contributors.”

Jack moved in close behind her. Stevie stood stock-still, afraid of touching him. When he leaned past her and grasped the mouse and slowly rolled his index finger back and forth scrolling through the pictures, she squeezed her eyes shut. Carefully she inhaled, then ever so slowly exhaled.

“And Denver?” he asked, moving back, his right hand brushing against her right elbow as he did.

“One,” she rasped, sliding sideways and away from him. “I think after he killed his cousin it took him some time to settle down. Once he had, he started trolling in Chicago. Each subsequent attack was more advanced than the previous. When the heat got too hot he took off for Denver and there he made his second kill.” Stevie moved back toward him to bring that victim’s face up. When Jack refused to move, she nudged him with her elbow, then grasped the mouse. “Erica Strauss—”

“Wife of Leon Strauss, reviled pastor of Glad Tidings Mission.”

“Yes.” Stevie brought up the crime scene and flinched. As many times as she saw it, it still elicited a visceral reaction from her. “She was brutally murdered. Not with the finesse of our three victims. This was more personal in that it was so violent, but she bled out and he staged her the same.”

“For all that Strauss spewed his homophobic rhetoric, he lived the life.”

Wide-eyed Stevie asked, “Are you saying the pastor was gay?”

Jack nodded. “I was working violent crimes out of our Denver Bureau at the time. Because of their extreme ideology that lent itself to extreme violence, we’d been watching Glad Tidings for a while. Strauss was training haters like al-Qaida trains terrorists, all while he was trolling the Denver gay underground.”

“When I contacted the pastor he refused to discuss his wife’s murder with me. I requested the case files from Denver PD last month. ”

Jack sent another text. “We’ll have them tomorrow morning.”

“Can you get surveillance footage of the pastor and his hanky-panky travels?”

“That will be included in the file.”

Stevie pursed her lips. Apparently there were advantages to working with a fed.

“I’ll bet you a Val’s burger, that footage will out more than a few high profile faces.”

Jack grinned. “I haven’t had a Val’s burger since that day you introduced me to them.”

His eyes darkened. “That was a good day, Stevie.”

She swallowed. Up to the end of that day, it had been the best of her life. It was the day Jack—

“I don’t know who was more surprised when I kissed you,” he said. “You, me, or the recruits.”

Her breasts thickened as her nipples hardened and the memory came flooding back. It had been pouring rain. They’d just come off a long grueling day of PT out at the Santa Rita facility. Soaked and mud covered, she’d raced Jack the last fifty yards of the long-distance course. Just as he was about to pass her for the win, she grabbed his arm to knock him off balance, but he grabbed hers and they both went down, Jack twisting his body to absorb the impact, her on top of him, both sliding several yards in the mud and pouring rain, laughing their asses off. When they came to a stop, she was sprawled on top of him. He’d grabbed her braid, wound it around his fist and forced her lips to his. He’d done it with no regard to the rest of the recruits stomping past them.