Three to tango, p.1
Three to Tango, page 1
Three To Tango
Raven J. Spencer
Copyright © 2019 by Raven J. Spencer
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are purely coincidental.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Chapter One
Yesterday, I felt safe. Today, my world is falling apart.
The week ends on a high note. There’s no warning sign, nothing to help me anticipate the new turn of events. I’m almost three years into the marriage with the woman I love.
About that high note: Adrianne surprises me with a romantic dinner on Sunday night. Usually she spends a part of the weekend at her office, catching up on her week, preparing meetings with new clients. Both of our jobs can be unpredictable, but there’s less of a structure to hers.
This weekend, we take some time for ourselves and spend all Saturday out by the sea. We come home so tired that we simply fall asleep between the cool sheets, but the possibilities for the remaining off time create a delightful tension.
Sunday is set to melt into an amazing release.
Oysters for appetizers, Filet Mignon, chocolate covered strawberries and champagne for dessert, Adrianne has spared no expenses or effort.
“You have any special plans?” I ask, and she smiles.
“Am I that transparent?”
“I think I know you pretty well by now.” Perhaps I am too cocky, but all through the meal, rational thought is quickly escaping me. Tonight is going to be special.
Adrianne runs a hot bath for me while she is stacking the dishwasher, but instead of joining me when she’s done, she takes a quick shower in the guest bath, waiting for me in the master.
Clad in only the fluffy bathrobe she laid out for me, I step into the bedroom, catching my breath at the bold seduction scene—dimmed lights, glasses and more champagne in an ice bucket on the bedside table, and…I can’t help it, I blush. After all this time, I still blush, even though she knows me inside out, all my needs, and has always been fine with them. More than that. I’m tongue-tied all of a sudden, breathless as I take her in, wearing dark blue lingerie as she sits back against the headboard, relaxed, inviting. My gaze wanders to the items on the nightstand, my heart rate accelerating, intensifying the warm pulse between my legs.
“You’ve been planning this all day?” I finally manage, my voice dark and warm with anticipation and lust. She has noticed it too.
“I thought you might like it.”
“I do.” The words come out in a heated whisper.
“Good. Then take that off and come over here.”
It sounds more like a suggestion than a command, but I’m triggered into a reaction all the same. I let the robe fall from my shoulders, walking closer to the bed as she’s watching my every move. I’m exposed, vulnerable, and I love it. Only with her I’m this assured, feeling this desirable. I join her on the bed, and we share deep hungry kisses before I take off her bra and panties. Adrianne is warm and pliant underneath me, leaning back to give me more access as I kiss her neck, my hand caressing her thigh, wandering higher until my fingers touch warm wetness. It’s me who can’t hold back the moan. Adrianne can show incredible discipline when it’s about driving me crazy, and she knows it.
“I love you.” The words are not only affirmation of the truth, they are also an incredible turn-on. I was doing all right before I met her. I never knew how much I needed her, how much I needed what she can give me. When I brush my tongue over her nipple, sucking gently, she draws a sharp breath, pressing against my hand. Maybe she will let me…but a moment later, she gives my hair a light tug.
“Not yet.”
I know what that means. My face is burning, the rest of my body shivering, clenching, pulsing in anticipation. I’d come if she touched me right now—but Adrianne has no such intentions.
“Lie down,” she instructs. “Relax.”
“Easy for you to say.” I scowl, making her laugh.
“Don’t worry. Have I ever promised you too much?”
I can’t argue with that, so I obey, let her blindfold me, tie my wrists together with the soft scarf, and above my head. It took me almost one year into our relationship to admit the fantasy to her, something I’d never shared with anyone before. In my job, it’s important to maintain control, every day. With Adrianne, it was safe to discover that every once in a while, I needed to lay control into someone else’s hands, her hands. She has taught me that it’s safe.
“You know you can trust me,” she whispers. “Always.”
“Always.”
I love the way her hands feel on my body. Being restrained and robbed of one sense, the intensity is magnified beyond imagination. I can’t lie still, or keep silent. Adrianne puts a finger on my lips, traces them, then lets me suck the tip into my mouth. My hips rise.
“Take your time,” she says, her voice soft as is the touch of her fingertips, exploring my breasts, running down my side, wandering over the inside of my thighs. I whimper, in a hurry to get to that incredible high I’m promised. This will be over soon. I don’t care.
“Did you hear what I just said?” She sounds amused. I am not when she takes away her hands a moment later.
“Oh, come on.”
“You’ll thank me later.”
I know she’s right. This exchange has become familiar between us. Adrianne doesn’t keep me waiting for long. Her fingertips are back, teasing and testing only for a moment before two fingers glide into me. My whole body stiffens with the sheer pleasure. I try to calm my breathing enough to enjoy the moment. She maintains a slow, torturous rhythm, and bit by bit, I give in, let her determine the pace while I slip into a state that’s almost transcendent.
When she gives me a break to catch my breath, I know it’s also to prepare the items on the nightstand. Finally, it’s the feel of cool, smooth silicone against my heated skin, a gentle push and we embark on the last part of the journey.
It doesn’t take long for me to see stars behind the soft blindfold. After the gentle, slow climb, the climax is forceful and deep, a glorious finish. I keep my eyes closed, as Adrianne untangles the knots with quiet, confident movements, taking care of everything as usual. When she comes back to me, embracing me from behind, I’m barely conscious. That is to be expected, too.
I’ll thank her in the morning.
However, when I wake up on Monday morning, Adrianne has already left the bed, humming to herself in the kitchen while preparing breakfast. I stretch lazily, a smile on my face, even though we both have to be back in a reality with murderers and cheating husbands soon enough.
Adrianne landed a corporate job early on, and hated it. With enough money in the bank to start her own venture, she got her PI license, rented an office, and she’s worked in the field ever since. We met during a case, four years ago, fireworks, love at first sight. I never imagined I could be so lucky, but here we are, sharing a home, married. Sharing married sex that’s out of this world.
“You could have woken me,” I say when I walk into the kitchen. She’s sitting at the table set for two, a mug with steaming coffee in front of her. It says “Blondes have more fun.” I’ll contest that statement, but now is not the time.
“You needed the rest. Besides, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”
She sounds serious now, her gaze on me, searching…I get the feeling this won’t be a fun topic.
“You didn’t do anything illegal.” I try to lighten the mood.
“No. You know I always play by the rules,” that’s an exaggeration and she knows it, “but this is about us.”
The cold hand of fear shatters the cozy morning-after feeling, reaching right to my heart and squeezing it.
“What do you mean? What happened between last night and now?”
“Nothing. Nothing happened, not in that time. I’m going to tell you something…and please know, this is not easy for me. I’m still figuring this out myself, and I hope you’ll hear me out.”
“I’m scared.” I’m not joking anymore.
“You need to know that I love you, more than anything. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
“Same here.”
“…and…I met someone.”
She could have just as well punched me in the gut, as her words knock the breath out of me. Adrianne is cheating on me. She knew this was coming, knew it the whole time while she was preparing a candlelight dinner. That other person might have been on her mind when she…
“Oh God.” That’s the only thing I can say, sitting across from her in only my robe. I cross my legs, the pleasant, now highly inappropriate twinge an unwelcome reminder of last night’s activities.
“This sounds so much worse than it is, you have to believe me.”
“You’re telling me you’re cheating on me, and I’m supposed to think it’s no big deal? I’m sorry, that’s not going to happen.”
“Colby. I love you. And nothing happened.”
That is somewhat of a relief, but by far not enough.
“Yet.” I shake my head. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you went to all the trouble to…You couldn’t have told me yesterday?” My eyes are stinging with angry tears. Never before have I made myself this vulnerable to another person, given myself completely. I thought this was it. I thought we’
“Let me explain,” she pleads. “I don’t want to cheat on you.”
“Then don’t. Problem solved.”
“I’m in love with you. I always will be. I’m in love with her also.”
“Goddamnit, I can’t listen to any more of this. I need to go to work.”
It’s apparently not enough to get the message across.
“Have you ever heard about people who are…poly?” She says the word as if she’s trying it out on her tongue for the first time. “I’ve been doing some research, lots of reading in the past days, and I believe that’s what I am. This is new to me too! I never imagined I could have feelings for someone else, at the same time, but it is real. Nothing has changed between us.”
She’s gone too far there. Everything has changed in the blink of a heartbeat.
I push back my chair and get up, head for the bathroom.
“Colby, don’t leave me like this…”
I slam the door behind me and lock it, turn on the water.
I cry.
* * * *
Yesterday, I felt safe. Today, my world is falling apart.
“You’re late. You’re okay?” Hadley, my partner, asks when I join him at the crime scene later that morning, pale and tight-lipped. I have to be careful. If someone looks at me the wrong way today, I might have a meltdown, do something seriously ill-considered.
No, I’m not okay.
I was hiding out in the bathroom, hoping Adrianne would have to leave before me, but obviously she’s starting late.
“Colby. We need to talk,” she said, sounding desperate, but I couldn’t sympathize much. I fled the apartment as soon as I could, realizing only then that Hadley had tried to call me.
We are at a suburban home after an anonymous caller reported a dead body at the address. A call too short to trace. A woman in her early thirties is dead, stabbed several times, her body left in a deliberately arranged position on the living room couch.
“Son of a bitch,” Hadley mutters under his breath, and I can only agree.
Far away from my own personal troubles, I straighten and look at the family pictures on the mantel. The woman is dark-haired, the middle-aged couple in the photos, their kids and grandkids all blonde and strawberry blonde.
“The owners are in for a bad surprise. Unless they were the ones living out a sick murder fantasy,” I say the moment we hear anxious voices from the front door. Mr. and Mrs. Gilmore. I nod to Hadley and join the uniformed officers trying to explain to the couple that no, they can’t go into their house at the moment, because there’s a dead body on the couch, Jane Doe at this moment. She has nothing on her except the bloodied tank top and panties.
Son of a bitch indeed.
“Mr. and Mrs. Gilmore, I assume? I’m Detective Jackson. Why don’t we step aside for a moment, let my colleagues do their work?”
“What work?” he asks, his tone bordering on angry. “We did nothing wrong. We left to run some errands, came back to this…”
His wife is quiet, looking frightened. I hate to tell them they have every reason to be concerned.
“Do you have a woman working for you, early thirties, dark hair…” There’s not much more to go on. “As a housekeeper, or from a cleaning service?”
Mrs. Gilmore gives me a disbelieving laugh. “It’s not a mansion, what makes you think that we employ a housekeeper? We do the cleaning ourselves.” So Mr. Gilmore lends a hand. Lucky her.
“Is it true that there’s a body in there? The woman you’re asking about?”
“I’m afraid so. I need to ask you a few questions. Is there someone you could call when we’re done?”
“You mean, like a lawyer? You don’t think we killed anyone?”
“No,” I assure him. “I meant friends or family members to stay with for a while until the crew is finished. I’d also like you to come to the station later so we can get your prints and rule them out.”
They share an anxious look, then Mrs. Gilmore speaks. “I guess we could go to my daughter’s house, she doesn’t live far away…” She shudders. “Oh God. We were just going for some groceries. We never thought…”
It occurs to me that I used the same expression earlier today. We both got bad surprises this day. It’s not Friday the 13th. Full Moon?
“When did you leave the house?”
“Around seven-forty-five. We went out for breakfast, the restaurant opens at eight. We did our errands and just came back…I can’t believe this! You think someone murdered her in our home? Who would do something like that?”
“We don’t know yet,” I say vaguely. “I promise you we’ll give you back your home as soon as possible.”
He shakes his head. “How are we ever supposed to feel at home there anymore?”
I have no answer for him, but I see Hadley motioning for me to come over.
“I’ll be right there!” I tell him. To the Gilmores I say, “Did you notice anything, or anyone out of place in the neighborhood, a car, a person?”
“No,” they both say in unison. I take a look around the neighborhood. I’d be surprised if there wasn’t anyone watching behind curtains, and not just now that police cars are parked in front of the house.
That anonymous caller will have a lot to answer for.
I go back inside where the coroner is getting ready to leave with the body.
“Look at this,” Hadley says. With all the dried blood, it was barely visible at first, but now, I can see the tattoo on the inside of her thigh, a rather crude shape, two intertwined circles.
“That’s something.”
Chapter Two
By the late afternoon, I have listened to the 911 caller so many times the voice is haunting me. Officers are canvassing the neighborhood and visiting tattoo parlors to inquire about the pattern. Nothing new yet, but we do know a lot about the Gilmores. They bought the house seventeen years ago, downsizing after all the kids had moved out. It will be paid off in a year or so, but I doubt that they will want to stay there.
“It will be hard to get a good price for it now,” Hadley says, almost reading my thoughts as he looks over my shoulder at the couple’s financial information.
“You never know. Some people might get a kick out of the murder house.”
According to the Gilmores, they don’t see a lot of people at their home, mostly their family. One of the daughters, the one close by, and her two children, come by every weekend, so that’s one part of what we’re going to see in terms of DNA. There’s nothing that jumps off the page.
For now, we have to assume that the killer found a way to get himself and his victim into the house unseen, murdered Jane Doe and left.
I have the photos in front of me, the blood spatter concentrated in the area around the couch. There’s blood on the area rug as well, but no footprints, and no blood in the wider radius except for a few drops.
He must have had time to clean up somewhat, and made precautions so he wouldn’t be caught afterwards with blood on his clothes.
Stabbing, that’s intimate, extremely violent. Based on statistics and the condition of the body, it’s fairly safe to assume a male perpetrator.
“How did he get out of the house without anyone seeing him? That’s not possible.”
“Most of the families living here still work. He knew how to pick the right time,” Hadley theorizes.
“Or he’s somebody who’s not out of place around here. Someone’s brother, son.”
“Nice prospect.”
“It’s plausible.”
“I’m not saying it’s not, but I’m more curious about what the lab will have for us.”
I stare at the photos, willing them to give up the secrets hidden in them. Careful preparation. Rage boiling over. Why the Gilmore’s house?
The murder weapon has not yet been found, but it’s certain that this wasn’t an average household knife. Long, wide, serrated blade. It might have meaning for the killer. He wouldn’t just leave it behind?
There are many open questions, but that’s what it is at the beginning of a case. The smoke will clear, the puzzle will come together—it always does.
I have a tougher case to solve at home, and frankly, I’m not looking forward to going there.
