There was a remarkably long silence, and like Madame Tussaud's waxworks, not one person moved.
Kelly's mother had initially been white as paper, as the blood had drained from her face. But now her countenance was becoming quite red. Kelly wouldn’t have been surprised to find that her mother's heart had stopped with shock, and then her mother's pulse had picked up again. Was she angry? Embarrassed? Just what was she feeling now?
Kelly had absolutely no intention of interfering. This was 'Father John' at his best. Stern and domineering, John, the man she loved, wasn't going to take crap from anyone. Kelly wondered how her mother would deal with the social faux pas. John was handsome, and clearly rich: Husband material. Kelly's mom wouldn’t want to make him leave.
Mrs. Marguerite Flynn finally said, "I'm sorry, John. I meant no insult. None at all."
"Thank you," John said, giving her a curt nod.
Kelly was glad that John's fiery gaze was on her mother, and not her. Honestly, she had to give it to her mother – mom was meeting John's eyes – she hadn’t looked away. That took guts. Kelly had encountered John's heated disapproval before, and she never wanted to endure it again.
"However," John said in that deceptively mild voice that indicated further discipline was on the way, "I believe that it is Kelly who deserves your apology, Mrs. Flynn."
Jesus, Kelly thought, uncertain if she wanted to sing 'Halleluiah,' or cheer John on, or hide her face with shock and mortification. Kelly's brother, Richard had wanted to say those things to their mom a million times, but he never had. It probably wouldn’t have helped anyway. Even her dad didn't have the courage to make their mother back down, at least not in Kelly's presence.
"Kelly," her mom said after a long moment. "Please forgive me. You are a good daughter. I didn’t realize that I was coming across so negatively."
All in all, Kelly thought, it's not a bad apology.
"Apology accepted, Mom. And I really appreciate it. I admit that for some time now I've been feeling like you weren't pleased or proud of me."
"Oh, darling," Mrs. Flynn said looking genuinely contrite.
11. Kelly's Happiness
John drove Kelly home late that evening, and both of them were tranquil and companionably quiet together.
My family loves John, Kelly thought dreamily, while riding home in the car. And so do I. And John made mom stop and think about what she was saying for a change. And apologize! Could anyone be happier than I am right now?
Of course if it wasn't obvious that John had piles of cash, it may have gone differently. Mother had this thing about 'financial security.' She had been pretty impressed with the expensive ring John had given her, too. Taking everything into account – nothing could have turned out better.
Strangely, the rest of the family night had gone really well. With the event of her mom's misbehavior, John had clearly discovered his social persona. It had been an amazing experience for him, and Kelly knew that he was still on a high. While he hadn’t fully relaxed in the presence of her family, John had felt much more himself.
Richard had given Kelly the thumbs up as they left, when John wasn't looking. He would call and have LOTS to say later to her. Tackling their mother had made John a hero in a weird sort of way. Mom had been getting a bit out of hand, and to think that the dragon could be braved had been a revelation for everyone.
For the rest of the evening Kelly's mom had been actually a lot of fun. It made an impressive change, and Kelly hoped it would last.
"I have a list of what is important in my life, Kelly," John said, breaking the silence and giving her that beautiful smile of his, "and you're right at the top."
Kelly laughed and patted his hand. "Man, you were terrific tonight, John. I'm so happy for you. You were great! The things you said about me. I guess we have a mutual admiration society going on here. The fact that you think I am so incredible and talented, makes me think so, too. You make me believe in myself. Oh my God, when you said: 'Kelly is perfect exactly as she is, or exactly as she chooses to be.' Wow. Someday, when I sit down to remember every nice thing people have said to me over the years – it will be a long time before anything beats what you said about me tonight."
"Thank you, Kelly," he said in that sexy, well-mannered way of his.
Kelly's mind went off into a mental reverie of pleasure then, as John quietly drove for awhile. John always said such amazing things. No one could sweet talk like he could. He didn’t say much, but everything he did say was so heartfelt.
The words he had spoken just this morning came back to her: I want to dominate you, and protect you, and feed you, and keep you, and discipline you. I want to worship your body, and be first in your heart. I want to own you, Kelly.
Pretty comprehensive indeed.
John pulled up to a stop light. With his foot on the brake, he reached over and took Kelly's hand, and began nibbling on her knuckles, biting softly with his teeth and licking. Kelly swallowed. Man, John's every touch was like a brand, marking her as his.
How did it come to this? she thought awed by the way she felt. Right or wrong, for good or bad, there is no escaping the truth. John Taylor owns me, body and soul.
She had known of her submissive tendencies for years, but with John it was totally different. Kelly craved him with a powerful, overwhelming need. She longed to obey his every command, to comply with his every order, and to do anything, and everything he asked of her. Kelly needed to please him more than she needed to eat, or sleep or breathe. Heat burned her face and body, and her clit began to throb simply with the thought of making him happy.
"You kind of have an oral thing going on, don’t you, John?" Kelly said, trying to minimize her instant powerful lust with a casual comment.
He gave her an intent knowing look and said seductively, "What do you think?"
Kelly's hips almost bucked as she remembered the last time he had been between her legs, licking her, fingering her and sucking her to completion. "Oh yeah," Kelly sighed contentedly. "You really do. But so do I," she said, raising her eyebrows, looking toward his penis and attempting to make him as hot as she was.
"Hummm," John said, staring at her mouth. "I noticed that, too."
Kelly almost squirmed his interest was so flagrant. The way that man looked at her mouth was shameless, and utterly X rated. John loved her going down on him, which was just fine because she loved that, too.
The light changed and John returned his attention to the road. "What are you doing tomorrow?" he asked.
"I need to wash some clothes, and do some other household chores, but then I'm going to work in the afternoon."
"Good," he said. "I'm taking you home tonight, getting some sleep and then I'll get some study done. I'm running late on an assignment. We can afford to not see each other for some of the day tomorrow. But how about I come and visit you at work at the speed dating site? Would that be good or bad for you?"
"Oh I'd love it," Kelly said. "Yes, by all means, break my night up. Come any time after 9 p.m. People are pretty organized and it runs itself after that." Kelly went on to explain where she was located, as it was a different venue each day of the week.
As John dropped her off and gave her a hungry, demanding kiss good bye, Kelly reflected that sadly, she would have to wait hours and hours to see him again.
As it turned out she was wrong.
12. Homicide Division
Monday morning, April 15th, Detective Lorenzo Martin of the Portland Police Bureau felt incredibly irritated, and was doing his best not to show it.
As he sat at his desk, he stared for a moment at his new partner who was absorbed in some paperwork. The woman was smart, and she was also keen. Lorenzo had to give her that. Lucille Irwin was about five-foot eight, a slim woman with a stern face, and thirty-five years old. Her hair was brown, short and really curly. Lorenzo figured it was permed that way, because it didn't look natural. It made him wonder, was the woman trying to look less attractive? She wore little make up and her
brown eyes were piercing, somewhat like a predatory bird.
So far so good – no problem.
So what was it about her that got on his nerves? Because she irritated the hell out of him, that was for sure. Lorenzo felt it was some constant impression that the woman unconsciously projected. Her manner toward him almost seemed accusatory. Lorenzo felt off balance with her, as if he had to justify his actions all the time, when he was the senior officer and far more experienced detective.
Upon being introduced, Lorenzo had disliked his new partner instantly, and didn't that just irritate the shit out of him? He had been working though his natural antipathy ever since. Lucille had held her role as a detective for four months in Burglary but with the retirement of Lorenzo's partner six weeks ago, she had been moved to become his replacement. The woman was new to Homicide, but acted as if she knew everything already.
God I miss my partner Gelly, he thought. I wonder if he misses me? Lorenzo gave an internal snort and went back to work. Gelly was probably out fishing, enjoying some peace and his own company for a change.
Lorenzo had planned to pay his chief suspect, John Taylor a visit on Sunday, but there had been a murder Sunday morning at 1 a.m. and he and Lucille had been called in. Tommy Kinsley a 28 year old white male had been shot to death on the corner of NE 22nd and Washington. Five eye witnesses saw the murder and heard numerous gunshots. Police had apprehended the suspect with so much evidence against him that his defense attorney's only chance would be to get on his knees to the prosecutor and beg.
The killer, another under thirty white male, had a spotless record and was still living at home.
With no discernible connection to the victim, the perp had been diagnosed with drug induced psychosis, substance currently unknown. The blood test would sort it out. How he got a-hold of his father's revolver was anyone's guess, and that wasn't necessary for Lorenzo's part of the investigation. Right now he was going to hand this file over to the assistant DA with a second degree murder charge.
The stupid idiot would regain his addled senses in Maximum Security with probably no memory of the event, wondering where he went wrong. Well. He would have years to try to figure it out. With diminished capacity and no priors he would probably be found guilty of the lesser charge of manslaughter.
Lorenzo signed off on the last of his notes, shut the case file and stood up.
"How ya doing there, Lucille? Ready to go see the twisted, sadistic, nutjob? I'm thinking Taylor will enlarge both your experience, and mine. He looks like a real piece of work."
"I thought we were going to wait for the search warrant?"
"Nope." Lorenzo checked his watch. "I figure we have probably two hours before the paperwork comes through. Meanwhile I want to go rattle his cage and see if I can get some answers."
Lucille leaned back in her chair, pressed her lips together and frowned. "Are you sure? Wouldn't it be better if we waited?"
Lorenzo took a deep, steadying breath, getting a firm hold of his rising temper. "I'm not waiting. You coming or not?"
Standing up, she said, "But what if the search warrant arrives?"
"Then our forensic team members will turn up with it, and start searching. But we'll already be on site, scoping the guy out. C'mon. It'll be fun." He said coaxingly, not wanting to field any of her shit just then. "Let's go."
The drive to John Taylor's bungalow in Aloha took very little time, and Lorenzo briefly went over the details of the murder, and the game plan with his partner.
"Now look, Lucille, this is your first serious case here, where the bastard can wriggle out of this. We have to do things properly, you get me? Right now we have all our little ducks lined up in a row. So when we are with this guy, you let me ask the questions, okay? Just listen to how I work things. Everyone does it differently, and that's okay, but while you're new I want to you just watch and learn, right?"
Jesus, Lorenzo thought. She's making that face again, the tight mouth with prune lips of disapproval. Christ this woman sends me nuts.
"Fine," Lucille said, looking somewhat mutinous. "I'll take notes."
13. John's House
Around 10a.m. Monday morning, John's doorbell rang.
John had been sitting in front of the computer working on his assignment, so he stood up and looked out the window. A man and woman were outside, and he could tell immediately that they were cops. John never used the front door, because it opened directly into his bedroom, so he went through the side door kitchen area, and walked around to the front porch.
"Can I help you officers?" he said.
"Mr. John Taylor?" A crisp tenor voice sounded from the man.
"Yes."
"I'm Detective Lorenzo Martin of the Portland Police Bureau, and this is my partner, Detective Lucille Irwin." Both pulled out their badges to show John, and he nodded.
"How can I help you?"
"Can we come inside?" Detective Martin asked. When John stiffened with his normal resistance to having anyone in his home, Martin must have picked it up immediately because he added, "We need to talk, and it would be better not to speak out here."
John nodded once more, turned and walked back through the kitchen and into his home. The detectives followed.
"Have a seat," John said. "Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Pop?"
"No, thanks," Martin said, as he and Detective Irwin sat at his small, square, four chair, wooden table.
John sat down too, and studied the obviously senior Detective, Martin.
The man was a couple inches shy of six feet, and thirtyish, the same age as John would guess his partner to be. Detective Martin was well built and wore the comfortable, commanding appearance of a seasoned cop. There was a Hispanic heritage somewhere in the man's background. Martin looked street-wise and dangerous with his strong no-nonsense expression, and his dark intelligent eyes that raked the room.
John recognized and instantly related to the Dom tendencies of the detective, the predatory aspect of his manner, the desire to hunt, to seek and take down a criminal. John liked him for it.
It was subtle in his body language, but John was well aware that Detective Martin clearly didn't like him. Now why was that?
With her lips pressed firmly together, the woman appeared annoyed. She was thin and her features seemed severe. John wondered if the two detectives had been quarreling, because she appeared to be in disagreement about something. She wore dark blue slacks over dark flats, a light blue uniform shirt. Her lightweight Portland Police jacket didn’t hide the gun clipped to her belt. Detective Martin was dressed in a similar fashion.
John managed to maintain his customary impassive expression when Detective Irwin met his eyes, but damn. The woman really didn’t like him. Hummm. This didn't look good at all.
"I understand that you have been the victim of some recent attacks?" Detective Martin asked.
"Yes," John said. "Twice in the last two months my car has been vandalized."
"And your garbage bin was strewn over your lawn last week?"
"Yes."
"And three months ago someone used red spray paint to write, 'Bad Seed' on your home. That was the first in this series of attacks?"
"Yes."
John had reported every incident, detailing and taking photos of each event. Even though he hated his father, one aspect had been impressed upon him as a child that he actually agreed with: Stay on the right side of the law. John faithfully reported any occurrence because of that. Also his father was a judge, and it was plausible that one of his father's disgruntled clients had it in for him.
"Do you have any idea why someone would want to do any of these things, Mr. Taylor?"
"No." John studied Detective Martin with slightly narrowed eyes. The man had his reports, and he knew who his father was. So why was he here? What was he looking for?
"Mr. Taylor, can you confirm for us that you are a client of Professor Maria Christina Lopez?"
"Yes." Now this is an unexpected and disturbing line of inqui
ry.
"When did you last see her? And when did you last speak to her?"
"I last saw Professor Lopez on Tuesday the 19th of March," John said, noticing that Detective Irwin was taking notes. "I last spoke to her around 3 p.m. on Friday the 5th of April."
"Did anything unusual happen when you saw her? Did she seem the same to you? What did you talk about?"
John gave Detective Martin a considering look. "You know that I see Professor Lopez in a professional capacity? She is my psychologist. I have been seeing her twice a month for four years, something you must also be aware of. Nothing unusual happened on either date. May I ask what this is about?" John asked calmly.
Sitting perfectly motionless, John wanted to kiss Kelly again for teaching him how to manage people. He was a Dom, and these detectives were his naked subs and his responsibility. It made everything so much easier to imagine that he was the one in control, observing them, and noting their every thought or action. Already he had been analyzing both of these police officers, but what he discovered so far didn't bode well. Not for him, and not for Maria.
God, I hope Maria is alright, John thought. With my all encompassing love affair with Kelly, seeing my psychologist hadn’t seemed as critical as it had been previously. I should have gone over there to find out why she didn't return any of my calls.
Detective Martin rubbed his chin and then straightened, looking directly at John. "On Sunday morning, the 7th of April, between the hours of midnight to five a.m., Professor Maria Christina Lopez was murdered in her home."
John Taylor blinked, and remained utterly still and quiet. He found himself falling into that detached state of unreality he fell into whenever he received a severe shock. It was a protective survival mechanism, and he knew this, too. His psychologist, Maria Lopez, had helped him to discover and be aware of the unconscious tools he used.