Scarlet Rain Part 8

Bridget shrugged. "I have no idea. I'm not her keeper. I'm just her best friend."

"But you did say she's in Tartarus."

"Well, yeah. But only because I don't know where else she'd be able to magically disappear to."

James wandered to the large picture window overlooking the Arkansas River. The steady summer rainfall had lifted the shallow, murky water, attracting kayaks and canoes.

"You came here for answers, and I'm giving them to you. Against my better judgment, I might add. You could totally lock me up in some mental hospital for this, but I'm ignoring that and trying to help you. I even kissed you and let you drink my alcohol. The least you could do is sit the f.u.c.k down and not be all huffy," Bridget chided.

James ran his tongue along his lips, collecting the last traces of orange and Bridget's sticky lip gloss before conceding.

"Thank you" she said, removing a few strands of golden hair from her s.h.i.+rt. "So, Eva can't go to her mom's, because Ms. K will totally call you guys and let you know where Eva is. Not to rat on her, but just out of that justice-for-my-daughter thing moms get. And she's obviously not here. Unlike the last time you came looking for her, when I said she wasn't and she really was."

"Wait, you lied to me and my partner?"

"Yeah. She and Alek were hiding in that closet." She pointed to the coat closet by the front door.

"But we're the police."

"Please, like that was the first time someone's lied to the police? But that's totally not the point. The point is she's not here this time, and she has absolutely nowhere else to go. Plus, she definitely would have called me by now if she was still in this hemisphere or realm or whatever."

"And that's why you think she's in Tartarus?"

"That and the whole poof-she-vanished thing."

"Okay, fine. I can't believe I'm saying this, but until I figure out something that makes more sense, I'm on board."

"Hooray!" Bridget squealed and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her warm b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his chest. "Welcome to our little gang." Too quickly, she let go and sat back down in her chair. "None of us really know what the f.u.c.k we're doing, but we're all extremely good-looking. That has to count for something." She smiled and took another drink.

"Speaking of not knowing what the f.u.c.k is going on-and again I can't believe I'm about to do this, because if anyone finds out I'll probably get fired-will you take a look at something for me?" James pulled out his phone and scrolled through his inbox.

"Ew, maybe." She wrinkled her nose.

He found the e-mail he'd sent himself and clicked on it before looking up. "How do you know it's going to be gross?"

"It's an automatic response. I've been ambushed by too many d.i.c.k pics. No one wants that." She pulled the hair tie from her hair and tucked a blonde curl behind her ear. "Sorry, what do I need to look at?"

"Just a short video. It is from an active crime scene, so it might be a little disturbing."

"Oh goody." She clapped her hands together enthusiastically. "I'll be your young, s.e.xy, confidential informant, and you'll be the older, handsome, emotionally damaged detective."

"Emotionally damaged?" He paused for a moment. "How old do you think I am?"

"I don't know, like, thirty-five? But a hot thirty-five. Like, look at him in his SUV, too bad he's on his way to drop his kids off at soccer practice. Maybe I'll be their s.l.u.tty nanny. You know, that kind of thirty-five."

"I'm not even thirty yet."

"Oh. Well that explains why you don't look old. I just thought all detectives had to be at least thirty-five for, like, insurance purposes or something."

"No, but I did get the job as a sort of severance package, so I'm younger than most."

"I'd say being younger is a win for you and me. It makes you way more appealing." She flashed him a s.e.xy half smile and leaned forward. Awkwardly, he s.h.i.+fted in his chair, his cheeks warming under Bridget's inviting gaze.

"So, you ever going to show me what's on your phone?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah." He retrieved it from his lap and scrolled toward the end of the video before placing the phone on the table. "Press play, and let me know what you see."

"Can do." Bridget picked up the phone and rested back against her chair. "Okay, I see a bird. It's blue. Is this really what you wanted to show me?" She lifted her eyes from the screen.

"Just keep watching. It's about to happen."

"Fine," she mumbled. "The bird is still there, and-oh my G.o.d! Someone just fell and splatted on the ground. I think he's having a seizure or something. He's shaking all over the place. Gross, why am I watching this? Holy s.h.i.+t." Her eyes widened and she lifted the phone closer to her face. "What the f.u.c.k is that?"

"What is it?" James leaned in. "What do you see?"

Bridget paused the clip and turned the screen to James. "That." She pointed to the crimson cloud hovering above the body. "What the f.u.c.k is that thing? I swear to G.o.d it just shot out of that guy's mouth and started floating over him." She dropped the phone on the table. "That was way brutal. Is this some kind of sick joke?"

"Why would I make this up and come show it to you? That doesn't make any sense."

"I don't know. I did plow into one of your coworkers' cars and walk away with just a slap on the wrist."

"This isn't high school, Bridget. This is my career, which I'm risking just by showing you this."

"True. So, what did your medical people say? I've seen a lot of real-life crime shows, and none of them have ever mentioned swirling puffs of blood leaving a body. It's just so icky."

He picked up his phone and slipped it into his pocket. "You're the only person who's watched it besides me."

"Doesn't that go against the police rulebook or something?"

"Yeah, hence the comment about me maybe getting fired. But none of what's going on in that video or with your friend is in the rulebook."

"Oh, so you think this is connected to what's happening with Eva?" Bridget asked.

"I don't know that, but I do know it's unlike anything I've ever seen before. Which tells me you and your friend might have some insight as to what's going on."

"She might, but, other than that it's disgusting and crazy, I definitely have no idea what it is. I can't believe that person is really dead. Like, I really just watched him die." She finished what vodka was left in her gla.s.s and let it fall heavily against the table. "You seem pretty okay with it though. Well, the death part at least. Have you seen a lot of people die?"

"What?" The question took him by surprise.

"Well, you're a detective. I just figured that seeing a lot of dead people was part of your job."

Chalky bitterness rested on his tongue as pale-faced, dead-eyed images rattled behind his eyes. Each case came alive in his mind. And Mel. Salty ocean air invaded his nostrils as the memory of her empty expression flooded his vision. James blinked away the images. He didn't want to remember her that way.

"Sorry. You don't have to answer that. It was a stupid question." Bridget s.h.i.+fted in her seat and drummed her fingernails on the table. "How about you send me a copy of the video, and I'll get it to Eva as soon as she's back. Maybe it's like you said, and she'll know something about it."

"How about-no. Like I said, I'm already breaking too many rules just showing it to you."

"Fine, but I think you're making a mistake. Another one." She upended the vodka bottle, and about a tablespoon of the lukewarm liquid splashed into her empty gla.s.s. Bridget frowned. "That's tragic. Hang on, we need more sustenance."

James watched her hop up and pad into the kitchen. She did a little impromptu dance as she searched through the freezer, and he found himself mesmerized by the roundness of her gyrating a.s.s. She turned from the fridge, full, frosty bottle in hand, just before his eyes snapped up from her a.s.s to her face.

Her smile reminded him of a cat. He couldn't figure out if he was a mouse or a bowl of cream, but he was semi-disturbed to realize that both had him feeling turned on.

G.o.d, how long has it been since I've been laid?

"Two things, Mr. Detective. One: I've decided you're going to send me that video. Eva will want to see it, and I'll be seeing Eva before you will. Two: I'm going to get that video by getting you drunk and f.u.c.king your brains out. And I mean a serious f.u.c.king. One that will make you hand me your phone after you give me the pa.s.sword to get into it and beg me to send the video to myself." She started walking towards him, licking her full, pink lips and smiling her Ches.h.i.+re smile. When she got to the table, she opened the bottle and leaned forward. Really, really far forward. She poured cold, orange-infused vodka into his gla.s.s.

He couldn't stop staring at her b.o.o.bs.

"Drink the vodka, Detective," she said. "Now."

He did as she ordered.

"That's a good boy. My turn." She lifted the gla.s.s to her soft, pink lips and gulped the entire shot. Then she turned the gla.s.s over and, with a finality that somehow reminded him of that bar scene in the first Indiana Jones movie, Bridget smacked the gla.s.s down on the table. "Take off your s.h.i.+rt."

Somehow, Vodka James was beginning to think that doing everything Bridget ordered him to do was an excellent idea. He pulled off his s.h.i.+rt and tossed it behind him.

"That's a very good boy," she said. "My turn."

Slowly, Bridget hooked her thumbs into the bottom of her s.h.i.+rt and, with a s.e.xy little s.h.i.+mmy, lifted it over her head.

She looked down at herself. "You're part nakie. It's only polite that I am, too." With that, she reached behind her and, with a flick of her fingers, unsnapped her bra. She shrugged one smooth shoulder, then the other, and the leopard print bra slithered from her body.

"Wow!" he said, feeling suddenly light-headed as his d.i.c.k began to throb.

"Wow?" Bridget put a hand on her hip. "Seriously? Just wow? Are you sure you're not thirty-five?"

James opened his mouth to try to add some adjectives to the wow, but Bridget began unzipping her jeans, peeling them down to pool around her slim ankles so that she stood there wearing only a leopard print thong and that d.a.m.n s.e.xy smile.

"Jesus, you're the hottest thing I've ever seen."

"That's better, but let's keep Jesus out of it. I expect you to cry out to G.o.d sometime during the next, oh," she paused, glancing down at his lap and the erection that was throbbing insistently against his pants, "three minutes or so. But stick with the generic G.o.d. The Jesus part always makes me think of the baby Jesus, which is definitely not a turn on." Then she frowned and nibbled on the tip of one of her pink fingernails. "Enough of this silly talking. Brace yourself. As they'd say down at First Baptist, we are going to fornicate." With a flick of her wrist and a delicate step forward, Bridget stepped out of her miniscule thong.

James's mouth was so dry he couldn't speak, so when she kissed him, he took her sweet tongue as if he was dying of thirst. Too soon her warm, wet mouth was moving down his neck, sending little sparks of electricity all over his skin. When she reached his nipple, she paused. She didn't kiss him there. Instead her little pink tongue snaked out, flicking his puckered flesh until he couldn't stop himself from groaning, "Please! Suck it. Please, Bridge."

She paused for only a moment to lean back and look into his eyes. "Oh, I'm going to suck it, don't worry. Just relax and put yourself in my capable hands and mouth and magical vajay. I promise you won't regret it."

Her mouth closed around his nipple as her hands unbuckled his belt. He released a long, low moan of pleasure.

He started to stand, trying to hold her close to him and take his pants off at the same time, but she giggled and pushed him back into the chair.

"You're not going anywhere." She teasingly nipped at his neck. "But let's get you out of these khakis."

He lifted his b.u.t.t and kicked off his pants.

"Well, h.e.l.lo! Look who is coming out to play!" Bridget pressed her naked body against his and slowly, ever so slowly, began to slide down between his legs.

"Shouldn't we move to your bedroom?" He managed to growl out the words, barely recognizing his own voice.

She looked up at him. His d.i.c.k was pressed between her full b.r.e.a.s.t.s and she was moving languidly, up and down. "We will. For round two, when it's my turn to be satisfied. For now, just close your eyes and prepare to call on G.o.d."

Her mouth closed over the slick tip of his d.i.c.k and she sucked him into the warm, wet heat of her. Vodka James decided that he should always do exactly as Bridget commanded.

Then the wet, hot pressure of her mouth was gone, and she was straddling him.

"Change of plan," she said. "I've decided that I need to be satisfied during round one and two. Okay with you?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah. Sure. Of course." There was so much blood being diverted from his brain that he was having a hard time forming thoughts, let alone complete, intelligible sentences.

"Good." She reached down between them as her teeth found his lower lip. She nibbled on it and then sucked it gently into her mouth, keeping the slow, sweet rhythm with her hand, too, as she stroked the hard length of him.

James thought he was going to explode.

"Five two nine three!" he gasped when she released his lip.

"What in the h.e.l.l does that mean?" She frowned at him, but he was happy to hear that she sounded more than a little out of breath.

"It's the pa.s.scode to my phone."

"How sweet of you! Sadly, my hands are a little busy right now, so it'd kinda be like texting and driving if I tried to write those numbers down. So, let's make a deal. I'll keep doing what I'm doing, and you keep focusing on those numbers for me. It's not as depressing as taxes or as boring as baseball, but it should work. Deal?"

"Whatever you say."

Her s.e.xy smile was back. "Now that is a turn on." Still smiling into his eyes, she guided his d.i.c.k so that the tip of it rested against the soft wetness between her legs. As she slowly, slowly impaled herself on him, she bent and took his tongue into her sweet mouth, sucking it in time with her lazy up-and-down motion.

He tried to last. Really, he did. Five two nine three, five two nine three, played through his mind for approximately 5.293 seconds. Then he couldn't bear it any longer. He grabbed her curvy hips and took over their rhythm, lifting her and impaling her, over and over, faster and faster, as he devoured her mouth.

Just when he thought he couldn't last any longer, Bridget leaned back. "Open your eyes. You need to see this."

He did as she commanded. As he continued to thrust himself into her heat, she lifted one well-manicured finger to her mouth. She sucked it, getting it wet, and then her damp finger went to her nipple, where she teased it so that it stood up, hard and pink and so f.u.c.king s.e.xy he thought he was going to have a f.u.c.king aneurysm.

"Almost ready?" she whispered huskily into his ear.

"G.o.d yes!"

"Well, then I'll join you." Her hand moved from her nipple to guide one of his hands from her hip to her p.u.s.s.y. She took his thumb and showed him how to stroke it over her c.l.i.t, fast and hard. "Ooh, yes. I was wrong about you. You are a fast learner. Just like that! Yeah, just like that, baby!"

He felt her body begin to spasm with waves of release, tightening erotically around him as her head fell back and her hands found her b.r.e.a.s.t.s again. And then James knew nothing but the inescapable tide of sensation that was so fierce, so overwhelming, that it hung deliciously between pain and pleasure as he exploded into her.

Bridget melted into him, resting her head on his shoulder as their breathing evened out. He was almost asleep-right there on her zebra-striped dining room chair-when she lifted her head, smoothed back some damp, escaping blond hairs, and grinned at him.

"Now you can carry me into my boudoir for round two."

He grinned back at her, and repeated the magic words: "Whatever you say."

"And that single sentence," Bridget said, "is why I like men better than vibrators. Don't forget the bottle of vodka. No need for a gla.s.s. Consider me your shot gla.s.s."

James carried Bridget and the vodka into the bedroom, thinking, briefly, that he should have had more protein with his lunch.