Obsessed (23 page)

Authors: Devon Scott

BOOK: Obsessed

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Chapter 56

Joe walks into his office holding his cell in hand. He can hear the shower running, knows that Tara will be in there for close to a half hour as is customary.

Which is fine with him.

Joe closes the door.

Places the phone to his ear and listens to the voice mail.

Sheriff’s office returning his call.

Joe hits redial. A moment later the call goes through.

“Sheriff’s Office, Deputy Radcliff.”

“Deputy, this is Detective Joe Goodman from the Metropolitan Police Department. Sorry to be calling late, but I’m returning your call.”

“Yes, Detective. I just left you a message. You had called here earlier?”

“Yes, I did. Inquiring about a Lindsey Rein of Mango, Florida. Was wondering if you got a jacket on her.”

“What’s the nature of the inquiry?”

Joe replies, “Running leads on a case I’m working here in D.C. involving felony stalking, computer fraud, and larceny. I was hoping to get some background on her—whatever you’ve got, any priors, run-ins with the law. You know, the drill.”

“Hmm,” Radcliff responds. “Felony stalking, you say?”

“Yup.” Joe wonders if this guy will be helpful at all. He was hoping for a break tonight.

“Well, we’ve got nothing on her. No priors. I pulled her up on the computer. Not even a speeding ticket. Your girl’s clean.”

“Really? Okay. I put a call in to her residence. Haven’t heard back as of yet, but I just left the message earlier tonight.”

“Let us know when you hear from her,” the deputy commands.

“Why is that?” Joe asks.

“Because as of three days ago, your girl’s a missing person.”

That catches his attention.

“What did you just say?”

The deputy responds, “Missing person. As of three days ago.”

“You’re shitting me.”

Joe can’t contain himself.

“Let’s back up,” he says, reaching for a pen and paper. “Who reported her missing?”

Joe hears papers rustling in the background.

“Let me see,” Radcliff says. “Hold on a second.” More papers rustling. “Dang, can’t hardly read this chicken scratch. Okay. Here we go. Looks like her mother. One Jean Daniels. Said she hadn’t heard from her daughter in four days. Usually speaks to her every other day.”

Joe is writing feverishly.

“Did you check it out?”

“Not me personally, but yeah, one of the deputies went by the house. No signs of a break-in. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Significant other?”

“Yup. According to the mother, Lindsey just got out of a marriage. Pretty nasty, the way she tells it. But the ex checks out. Let me see here. Yup, he checked out.”

“What’s the husband’s name?” Joe asks.

“He’s an ex, but let’s see. Here it is. Damian Rein of Clearwater, Florida.”

“Thanks. You got an address and phone number for him? Oh, and can I get the mother’s contact info, too?”

“Hold on. Here it is.”

Joe scribbles on his pad. “You say the husband checks out. What did you mean?”

“Looks like we went out yesterday or the day before and spoke to him. Says he hasn’t seen or heard from Lindsey in close to six months. Doesn’t even know where she lives.”

“And you believe him?” Joe asks, the feeling in the pit of his stomach rising. There’s something here, just below the surface. He can sense it.

“Well, Detective, we may not be a fancy police department like what you got up there in the nation’s capital, but we do okay for ourselves. Manage to keep the peace around here. So, yeah, if one of our deputies says he checks out, then he checks out.”

Joe counts to three slowly.

“Fair enough. Anything else you can give me?”

“Nope. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do. Plenty of bad guys to round up, if you know what I mean.”

The line goes dead.

Joe grunts.

One step closer.

Chapter 57

It is cold in the trailer at night.

Metal siding rattles from the wind. The mobile home smells of cigarettes and cheap whiskey. Clothes are strewn around haphazardly. On the stove, bacon fat hardens in an old-fashioned cast-iron skillet while day-old coffee languishes in a stained pot.

The phone rings, jarring her from an uneven sleep. A callused hand, one that looks as if it has labored in the sun far too long, sneaks out from beneath the covers and reaches for the corded phone, its base nailed to a square of plywood, which in turn is affixed to the wall.

She grabs the receiver, knocking it from its base. She coughs while following its twisted cord.

“Who’s this?” she exclaims, followed by a violent cough.

Joe squints, as if in pain.

“Ms. Jean Daniels? My name is Joe Goodman, and I’m a detective—”

“Oh!” she squeals, suddenly wide awake. “Is this about my Dawn?”

Joe’s eyes narrow.

“Ma’am? Is your daughter Lindsey Rein?”

“Yes, yes. Oh my God, have you found her?” Jean Daniels is now sitting up in her twin bed. Her head is covered in a scarf of blue medallions, making her look like some long-lost Egyptian queen.

“No, ma’am, I’m a detective from Washington, D.C. I need to ask you a few questions about your daughter.”

Jean Daniels reaches for her cigarettes. She lights one and inhales a quick drag, blowing smoke into the receiver.

“Did you say Washington? What do you all want with my Dawn?”

Her hands are shaking. Eyes dart from left to right swiftly, searching the cramped interior as if she does not belong.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m investigating a case here in D.C. and would like to ask you a few questions.”

Joe is sitting in his office, back to the window, staring at the computer screen. In the next room, Tara is fast asleep. The hum emanating from the computer is soft and almost therapeutic. He gazes at the images before him, photos he’s copied and hidden from Tara’s view, feeling the passion that seems to radiate from the screen. He tries to imagine what it felt to be there, actually being there, immersed in such pleasures of the flesh instead of a voyeur, as he is now.

Dawn.

Thin-framed, killer body. Butterscotch complexion. Weave halfway down her back.

Kennedy.

Sweet like mocha chocolate.

Full inviting breasts, dark erect nipples.

Smile beckoning him like he’s the only one she needs.

Bodies pressed against one other as their lips make contact. Eyes shut and expressions saying it all—this is rapture. He feels himself stiffen.

Dawn astride sexy Kennedy.

Her legs are almost closed. But not quite. He can see her labia peeking out from between her legs.

Jesus.

Then Michael atop Dawn, sinewy brown back muscles shining. The photograph has caught him reaching for her ankles. There on her ankle sits a tattoo, the spot of red ink visible between fingers—the spider, clearly seen.

Black widow.

Dawn is staring up at Michael, and her expression says what Joe feels radiating out at him—the heat—this is rapture.

“Ms. Daniels—”

“Please, call me Jean,” she instructs.

“Jean, then. Your daughter is named Lindsey Rein, yet you call her Dawn?”

“Yes, she’s the reason I get up every morning. Lindsey is why I’m willing to meet the dawn each day.”

Joe processes that.

“Does your daughter have any identifying marks on her, such as any tattoos?”

“A spider. Black-widow spider. On her ankle. Why?” she asks, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “Have you found her? Oh God, you’ve found my baby!”

“No, ma’am, we haven’t. May I ask if she ever mentioned to you a couple by the name of Michael and Kennedy Handley?”

“Who?”

“Michael and Kennedy Handley.”

Jean shakes her head although there is no one there to witness it.

“Can’t say I’ve ever heard of them.”

“Okay,” Joe says. “Can you tell me about her husband? I understand he’s been questioned in your daughter’s disappearance.”

“The divorce was extremely hard on Damian. He didn’t take it well. Didn’t want the divorce. That was Dawn’s idea.”

“Why?”

“Because she had outgrown him. They wanted different things. Damian wanted a family. He wanted a traditional wife. In the beginning, when they first were married, she was everything he wanted and more. But time changes people. It changed my Dawn. During the last few years that they were a married couple, she began to spread her wings. I don’t think Damian liked who she had become.”

“Go on,” Joe instructs.

“She moved out about a year ago. Six months later they were divorced. No children, so it wasn’t difficult from a legal perspective. She wanted it that way—wanted to get on with her life as quickly as possible. Moved away from Clearwater, took an apartment in Tampa, then moved again so he couldn’t find her.”

Joe sits up. He tries to ask the next question as delicately as he can.

“Was Dawn afraid of Damian? Did she fear him?”

Jean ponders the question while taking a long drag.

“I don’t think it was fear. She
distrusted
him. After they separated, Dawn began to distrust Damian.”

“Can you give me specifics?”

“Dawn never shared any details with me. She told me she didn’t want me worrying. But I suspected something was going on. I mean, she changed jobs, then a few months later moved to Mango. Told me not to give out her new address or phone number to anyone, especially her ex-husband. I don’t know if she was afraid of him, but it was clear she didn’t want to be found.”

Joe makes some notes.

“What does her ex-husband, Damian, do for a living?” Joe asks.

“He runs a security consulting company out of Tampa.”

Joe writes that down.

“And the name of this company?”

Jean Daniels stubs out her cigarette.

“That’s easy. Rein Security. Just like their last name.”

“One more question, Ms. Daniels, I mean, Jean. Was Dawn involved with anyone that you know of, either while she was married or during her separation and subsequent divorce?”

Jean reaches for another cigarette. The flame from the lighter shivers in the near darkness. She fills her lungs, then exhales slowly, eyes unfocused as she considers the question.

“If she was, sir, she kept it a secret from me. And it would have had to be. Because that is one thing Damian would never have been able to handle. Believe you me. . . .”

Chapter 58

Michael stares at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep. He’s thinking about his wife and the e-mail she sent him.

It’s been a long time since he’s slept alone.

Can’t get used to the feeling.

And yet every time he thinks about her and what she did to him, his blood begins to boil.

So he tries not to think about it.

During the day, at work, or on the days when he has Zack, he’s fine. He’s good.

Work and his son keep his mind active, keep him busy.

They stop Michael from thinking about Kennedy and his situation.

But at night, when there’s no work, and Zack’s not around, the thoughts come calling.

They invade his psyche without consent.

Fill his head, regardless of how hard he puts up a fight.

So he forces his brain to switch gears.

Replays the e-mail in his mind instead, thinking about those happier times.

The e-mail declared that Dawn, the woman they met years ago in Miami, may be at the center of everything that’s happened to them.

Michael is suddenly whisked away to that time in South Beach.

The Tides hotel.

Kennedy and Dawn lounging by the pool, deep in conversation.

Splashing around in the blue water as Michael records them.

Kennedy taking Dawn by the hand, water dripping from their succulent bodies as they head up to their room, alone.

Dawn pivoting on the balls of her feet, still holding Kennedy’s hand, smiling for Michael and the camera.

Blowing him a kiss.

He remembers watching them go.

Knowing what was to come.

He had ordered a drink, sipped at the mojito as the sun beat down, baking his skin a rich golden brown like the oven-roasted chicken his momma makes. And when the hour had passed, Michael had gathered his things and gone to the room.

Opened the door and saw them.

Witnessed Dawn feeding on Kennedy.

His wife opened her eyes when he came in.

He dropped his things quietly where he stood.

Dawn glanced back momentarily before returning her mouth to Kennedy’s glistening sex.

Kennedy met the gaze of her husband. Held it for a moment. Then raised Dawn’s head in her hands.

Stared into her eyes.

Said her husband wanted to fuck her.

Dawn responded by moving onto her haunches, lifting her ass high.

Her head descended back into Kennedy’s lap.

Wordlessly Michael removed his swim trunks. When they fell to the carpet, he was already engorged and hard.

It took him a moment to sheath himself in latex.

Words were not needed.

His heart was pounding in his chest.

His stare zeroed in on that sweet spot between her sugary thighs.

That slice of butterscotch heaven that sang to him.

He rubbed a thumb along its length and was immediately rewarded with wetness and warmth.

Michael slid into her effortlessly, amazed at the way she seized him.

Petite, tight body.

Moving her ass around, meeting his slow, purposeful thrusts with a sensuous drive of her own.

Telling him without words she could handle all of him. Shaking her ass on his pole, taking him all the way inside her to her very core, then back out as fast as it came, the head of his swollen cock tickling her clit in a way that drove them both wild.

Michael recalls that lazy afternoon with a sudden clarity that surprises him.

Recalls how he placed his hands on Dawn’s ass and pummeled her into oblivion.

Remembers how good it felt to be inside of Kennedy’s lover, watching her watching him.

Experiencing the feeling of losing himself in the velvet folds of a woman who was not his wife.

Remembering what rapture felt like.

Drinking it in until he was intoxicated with its potency.

Rapture.

Wrapping yourself around the warmth of your partner’s lover. . . .