Pretty Stolen Dolls (7 page)

I reply by grinding my pussy against him and biting down on his lip, and he rewards me with orgasms that make me forget my guilt.

Dillon hovers near my desk with his mug of black coffee that makes his breath smell like a barista threw up in his mouth after eating coffee beans straight from the plant. Looking at his watch and giving me the evil eye with a shake of his head, he says, “You’re late.”

“Eat another doughnut and stop stalking my timesheet,” I quip, giving him a faux smile and double salute with both hands.

“Real mature, and stereotypical,” he complains. “Seriously?”

The fucking sugar is still on the side of his mouth. Reaching out, I swipe the dust from the corner of his bottom lip and hold it up for him to see. His posture is rigid. Boundary issues are a problem for me. “Don’t be a girl,” I pfft, and then suck the sugar from my finger. It’s not often I allow myself sugary treats. I shove away the box of half-eaten doughnuts I didn’t put on my desk and quirk a brow. Pointing back to his face and shaking my head, I say, “No one needs to be a detective to solve this mystery.”

He swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and then places his mug on my file, leaving a dirty amber ring. I move it and shove it back at him.
Dick.

“Any news on the missing girl?” I ask, hoping some new evidence came to light while we were sleeping.

He nods and points to a board that has all the cases pinned to it behind me. “The girl’s mother came forward and said they had an argument before she went to the mall. We could be looking at a runaway.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell us this before?” I demand.

He shrugs and reaches for another doughnut. “She didn’t want us not to look for her.”

Of course we would look for her.

“Phillips, Scott, get in here,” Lieutenant Wallis barks, signaling us with a hand wave before disappearing into his office.

“What have you done now?” I growl, knocking his last bite of doughnut from his hand.

“Bitch,” he hisses to my retreating form before bending down and picking the dough blob up. “Five second rule,” he barks.
Gross.

“Close the door, Scott,” Wallis orders, collapsing into his leather chair behind the desk. “I have a homicide that just came in. Chief wants you
both
on it.”

“What about the missing person?” I say, a little too much need in my tone, gaining me a narrowed glare from Wallis. “Jones and Henderson will take over that case. She’s more than likely a runaway who will be getting hungry and remorseful and return before the day is out. I need you two to work this case.” He shoves a folder across the desk and gestures toward the office door. Grabbing the file before my partner can, I march from his office and mumble under my breath, “This is bullshit.” I didn’t mind taking lead on a homicide, but that girl was still out there, by choice or not. What if she was waiting to be found and rescued, but no one came looking for her?

“Let’s go,” Dillon orders, walking to my desk and reaching for the last doughnut. Jogging to keep up with his wide strides, I smack the fried goody from his grasp and grab it up for myself. He swipes up his jacket and smirks over his shoulder at me.

“We’re heading out,” he says, stating the obvious into the room at no one in particular.

Getting there before uniform officers trample all over the crime scene is paramount, so I follow Dillon out, taking one last glance at the photo of fourteen-year-old Alena Stevens tacked to the board before indulging in the doughnut, just to stop him from enjoying it.
Bitch.

As we pull up to the location where a shop owner has been murdered in her store, my insides quake and my movements slow. It’s almost like dirt inside my veins has solidified into concrete and I’m fighting to breathe.

Porcelain dolls decorate the shop window, all neat in a symmetrical space, glorifying their beauty.
Thud
,
thud
,
thud
.

Pretty little dolls…

“Phillips?”

A shudder threatens to ripple through me, but I somehow manage to keep it at bay. Jerking my eyes to his, I nod a little too quickly. “I’m fine, I’m okay…I’m good,” I stutter, and his brows crash together as he studies me with dark, intense eyes. They’re not Benny dark, though. They swirl with caramel and behind the asshole I know on the outside, his eyes tell me there’s a gentler version inside.

He’s still staring at me and I realize I’m locked in his gaze, staring right back.

“I swear.” I hold my hands up, breaking the spell.

He scrutinizes me for another long moment. “I was going to tell you to hurry the fuck up, not ask how the hell you’re doing. Who do I look like, your damn boyfriend?”

A tiny
o
forms at my lips as I realize I just lost my shit in front of my partner. I’ve got to get a handle on my nerves or Dillon’s going to have a heyday ripping me apart until he finds what’s messing with my head. I shake the tension in my muscles away and glare at the asshole I’m grateful for right now. He smirks at my narrowed eyes aiming right at his.

“Come on,” he says in a sugary-sweet sarcastic tone, “Big D’ll hold your hand, pretty little thang.” When I shudder, this time at his words, he laughs. “Don’t worry,” he says, his tone turning serious, “these things creep me the hell out as well.”

“They don’t creep me out,” I counter.

It’s what they represent that has my blood running cold.

He watches me and I squirm in my seat.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he says in a smug tone before getting out of the car.

“Eat shit,” I retort, exiting the vehicle with him.

He rubs his stomach and there’s no evidence of his sweet tooth showing on his trim waist and narrow hips. “I’m actually quite full.”

“You ate nearly an entire box of baked goods,” I huff, “I’m not surprised. You’ll probably have a heart attack any minute.”

The smirk on his face remains. “Then you’ll have to give me mouth to mouth.”

“Spit in your mouth is more like it.”

“Stop flirting with me, Phillips,” he says with a chuckle. “I don’t want to share your bodily fluids right now. We have a homicide, show some respect.”

My mouth drops as the urge to punch that smug grin right off his face takes over and I have to ignore the buzzing in my gut at his choice of words. He strides toward the shop with purpose and I dip my head to hide my own slight smile. I’ve never really looked at him before; never delved beyond the prickly surface. He’s not bad looking, I suppose—when he’s acting like a normal human being.
Liar
. Lying to myself is impossible. Dillon is hot, raw, and alpha in every way, but all that hotness is eclipsed with his snotty attitude toward me.

“Are you checking me out?” Stopping at the entrance of the shop, he looks back at me, ignoring the flurry of activity. A crowd had formed beyond the taped off area and despite being told to stay out of the crime scene every damn time a homicide happens, a uniformed officer is staring out at us from the store with a body by his feet.
Freaking idiots.

“I was, actually,” I mutter before stalking toward my crime scene. “I was checking out the best angle of your ass to kick you up.”

“Ass play? Now that surprises me.” He shrugs and leaves me open-mouthed once more, staring after his retreating form.

He momentarily distracted me from the horrors this place holds and it’s unclear whether that was on purpose or not. But now, without his playful taunting, it crashes down around me like a ton of bricks.

Everyone knows what happened to you, dirty little doll.

My lungs burn and beg for air as I hold my breath and enter the shop. They’re everywhere, glaring at me from the shelves, from the cabinets. Pale skin, ruby red lips, wide eyes staring right through to my marrow.

“Jade?”

My eyes snap up to his.
Dillon said my name
. My first name. Eight months I’ve worked cases with him, sat beside him in the car, ate at the same table, and not once has he used my first name. I hold his gaze, allowing it to keep me anchored.

“You should go talk to the witness outside in the patrol car.” My eyes travel down to the woman slain and discarded on the floor, blood pooled around her. She didn’t see it coming. The blood spray on the counter shows he came up behind her. There’s nothing broken or any signs of struggle.

Crash!

Startled, my whole body jolts from the sound of porcelain hitting the wooden floor and shattering. My heart thunders as blood rushes through my veins and pounds in my ears. I track the sound with my eyes to the now broken doll lying next to the shop owner.

The officer who shouldn’t be here in the first place stares down at the mess. His nose scrunched, he brings a fist to his mouth and bites down before folding his arms. “Err, it slipped,” he says, turning his head to the shelving unit behind him.
Idiot.

Her dismantled face in shards stares up at me and my memories swallow me.

The thunder growling from the sky and the hissing of the rain hitting the wall outside is soothing.

I imagine the water building and flooding into my cell, drowning me, releasing me from this burden of a life.

Macy is sniffling and every time the lightening crackles in the air, she screeches.

I wish I could see the color of the bolt, smell the scent of the rain, and experience the night air on my skin. Time passes, but I stopped keeping track of the notches I made on the wall when my fingernail ripped off while trying to etch a line for day thirteen.

That was so long ago now.

My hair is longer and my chest finally filled out. If only Bo could see me now, he wouldn’t make fun of me for being flat-chested.

Momma used to say boys who were mean just liked you and didn’t know how to express it, and I suppose in a way she was right. Benny is cruel, but he claims he loves us.

Crackle…boom. “Argh.”

Smash!

A gasp rings out from beyond the wooden panels of my cell door as a stampede of horses rattle in my ribcage.

“Look what you made me do!” Benny—Benjamin roars. Tiny bumps break out over my skin as an icy quiver snakes up my spine and over my shoulders, rooting itself within my chest.

“She’s ruined.” His voice drops low, almost childlike. A clanking sounds out and I rush to the latch in my door left open for me to view him outside working on his dolls.

“It’s my fault,” I declare, trying to sway him into unlocking my door and giving me Macy’s punishment. My voice finds only silence in return, and it’s earsplitting. There’s nothing but the anger of the storm raging outside.

Until the screams from Macy’s lips fire into me like bullets made of venom, poisoning my once innocent heart.

Placing my hands on the battered wood of the door, splinters dig into my fingernails, causing blood to bubble on the tips. Air rushes out of me like someone pushed through my stomach and squeezed my lungs into dust.

Hard, chiseled muscle flexes under a mist of sweat on his bare back as he leans over a huddled form caught in his grasp by her hair.

Layers of thick, brown hair curtain around her face.