12

The floorboards creaked under my weight as I reached the third floor landing. I looked around, wondering if I’d misread the sign at the bottom of the stairs, but then I saw it. Off to my right stood a door of frosted glass, and to its side, a placard that read ‘Fletcher Investments.’

The door opened at my touch, and I pushed into a small lobby, one furnished with a few glossy vases, a pair of leather sofa chairs, and a coffee table laden with books on architecture and contemporary art.

“Pardon me. Can I help you?”

I turned in the direction of the voice, and my jaw dropped. A woman stood behind the desk on the far side of the lobby, but not any woman. The perfect woman. Maybe five-feet ten inches tall, with olive skin and wavy, full-bodied brown hair that fell to her breasts. Her eyes were smoky, her lips rich and full and red. A white blouse with elbow-length sleeves hugged her seductively, as did a black skirt that ended several inches above her knees. She couldn’t have resembled an hourglass any more if she’d been filled with sand.

I stared for a while, eventually realizing I should talk. “Uh…hi. Is this Fletcher Investments?”

The woman arched an eyebrow. “It is… You are?”

“Detective Dake Jaggers. I mean, Jake Daggers. NWPD. Is Mr. Fletcher in?”

“He ran out about an hour and a half ago,” said the woman. “Said he’d be right back. Honestly, I’d started to wonder where he’d gone.”

“Uh huh.” I approached the desk. Try as I might, I couldn’t take my eyes off the woman. Actually, scratch that. I wasn’t trying very hard.

“Can I ask what this is about?” she said. “I assure you, Mr. Fletcher follows all the appropriate rules and regulations required of him by law in tending his investor’s finances. We have copies of all the certificates on file if you need them.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” I said. “In fact, you might want to have a seat.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

I waved halfheartedly toward her chair, but the secretary didn’t take the hint. Not that I was particularly upset about that. It kept more of her assets at eye level.

“There was a fire at Mr. Fletcher’s apartment,” I said. “His personal belongings were all lost, and there was a…body recovered at the scene.”

The secretary gasped a little, and her face lost some of its color. “A body?”

“That’s right,” I said. “The fire consumed it completely. Now, I can’t be sure if it was Mr. Fletcher or not. It—”

The secretary’s eyes started to roll, and she wobbled. I barely had time to mutter a curse and lunge forward before she crumpled.

I slammed my thigh into the corner of her desk in my haste, sending sharp pains shooting into my muscle, but I managed to get an arm around her before she hit the ground. Her momentum dragged me down, pushing her body into me, but at least I kept her from hitting her head on the floor.

I held her there, an arm wrapped around her midsection. I could feel her ribs through the thin weave of her blouse, and the swell of her bosom pressed against the side of my chest. “Gosh, darn it. I told you to sit down. Miss? Miss?” I snapped my fingers.

Her eyelids fluttered, then opened. She looked at me, her lips slightly parted. “I…I’m sorry. I don’t feel so good.”

“Don’t sweat it,” I said. “Happens more often that you might think. You should lie down. Maybe get a drink of water. If you think you’re up to it, I could help you to one of those sofa chairs.”

She shook her head weakly, snaking an arm over my shoulders. “No. The meeting room. There’s a full couch there. It’s…it’s not far.”

“We’ll stand slowly, okay?”

She nodded. I counted to three and helped her up. She cut loose with a soft sigh, breathy and vulnerable. Her body pressed even further into mine.

“Uh…that’s it,” I said. “Just down this hall?”

“Yes. That’s right. It’s…oh, my.” She wobbled again. “I’m a little dizzy. And hot. Are you hot?”

“Don’t worry about me, Miss. Here we are.” I pushed through the door she’d indicated, into a room with numerous windows, an oval table with a dozen chairs underneath it, and a long, leather couch matching the sofa chairs in front pushed against the inside wall.

“There we go. Easy now.” I helped the woman down, laying her head upon the armrest at the end.

“I… I can’t believe it,” she said. “Mr. Fletcher? In a fire? Gods… I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“It’s okay. Try to relax.” I’d spotted a tray with a pitcher of water and some empty glasses on the conference table. I filled a tumbler and offered it to the woman. “Here.”

She batted my hand away. “I don’t want water. I need air. Gods…”

She ripped at her blouse, pulling open the top few buttons, and snaked a hand into the gap, massaging her breastbone. I got a healthy glimpse of far more than I should’ve and felt myself grow warmer. Goodness, was she even wearing a brassiere?

A sent a silent prayer for strength to my deities of choice, took a long draw from the water, and set the half-empty glass back on the table. I stripped off my jacket, tossed it over the back of a chair, wiped my forehead on my sleeve—gods, it was hot—and sat down on the edge of the couch next to the woman.

“Look, Miss,” I said. “You might be having a panic attack. It’s nothing to be concerned about. We just need to get your mind out of the dark place it’s in right now. What’s your name?”

She looked baffled. “My name?”

“Yes. You have one right?”

She gasped a little, taking a ragged breath. Her breasts swelled. “Magdalena.”

“Where are you from?”

“What?”

“This won’t work if you don’t play along. Answer the questions. Where are you from?”

“Here. New Welwic. Uptown.”

“Been working here long?”

“About a year. Ever since…since Mr. Fletcher started his own practice.” Magdalena gasped and clenched her teeth.

That had been a poorly posed question on my part, but I forged onward. “Tell me about yourself.”

This time I caught her off guard, in a good way. “What do you mean?”

“What do you like to do in your free time? You enjoy music?”

“Sure, I guess,” she said, her breathing quick. “Anything with a nice rhythm. Slower songs, with saxophone and guitar, piano and bass. Soft drums.”

“That’s great. What about dancing?”

“Of course. Rumba, especially. It makes me feel…alive, in a way. It’s so fluid. So fiery.”

I nodded. “It’s a fantastic dance. One of my favorites.” Which was a lie, of course. I hated dancing, and I didn’t have the faintest idea what was involved in a rumba, but anything to keep her talking.

Magdalena locked eyes with me, and I felt my throat tighten. Gods, she was gorgeous. If not for Nicole and Tommy…

She sat up suddenly. “Thank you, Detective. I’m…feeling better. I think you were right. I just had to shift my thoughts a little.”

She trailed her hand across my leg as she stood. It was all I could do not to sigh. “Uh… Anything to help.”

With her back to me, Magdalena approached the table. She moved her hands to her blouse, presumably to button it back up. “My goodness, though, I still feel fuzzy. And warm. Are you warm, detective?”

“A little.” I stared at the curves revealed by her tight skirt, feeling sweat bead at the center of my chest. “But I’ll be fine. Now if perhaps we could move on to—”

Magdalena turned, and I just about had a heart attack. Her shirt hung open to her skirt, exposing her perfect breasts—the right shade of tan, big enough to fill the hand but not so ponderous as to sag.

Before I could so much as squeak, she was on top of me, pressing her mouth into mine. My lips parted, and her tongue darted in, confident and fierce. Her body pressed hard against mine, her breasts soft but firm, her legs straddling me.

I couldn’t help it. I kissed her back. Her scent filled my lungs, a mixture of cinnamon and spice and a raw, sexual musk. My hands gripped her hips, moving of their own accord to her round rump. My inner Daggers expressed itself enthusiastically, forcing my manhood tightly against the crotch of my pants. Magdalena moaned, her hands fumbling with my belt, and gods, I wanted it. I wanted it so bad. I couldn’t remember the last time Nicole had attacked me so, that she’d not just taken part but desired me. Craved me. It felt so good.

I gripped Magdalena’s hips hard—and I pushed her back.

“Stop,” I said, my breath coming in gasps and my heart beating harder than it had after my post-lunch run. “I can’t. I just…can’t.”

Magdalena’s eyes narrowed, her mouth hanging open slightly. “I don’t understand. I thought, given the way you were looking at me… I saw the hunger in your eyes. I felt it. The heat. That was us. I was sure you wanted me.”

“I… I do. Gods, I do. But I can’t. I’m married.”

“You’re…married?” She glanced at my left hand.

I glanced down myself, noticing my bare ring finger. “Oh. Shit. I’m sorry. I, uh…took it off earlier. Last night. It was…nothing.”

My explanation only emboldened her. Magdalena leaned forward, running a hand over my chest as she tightened the grip of her legs. “But you do want me. I can tell. I can feel it.”

Sweat soaked my armpits and wicked my shirt to my chest. My pants felt as though they might split down the middle under the force of my desire. “I do. I do want you. But I can’t. I won’t. Not to Nicole. Not like this…”

Magdalena lifted a finger and trailed it across my cheek, undeterred. “No. I can see that now. You might be lustful, but that’s not what drives you. But you failed to put that ring on for a reason. Too much pride, perhaps?”

Sweat dripped across my temples. My face was on fire. It couldn’t just be the half-naked beauty atop me, could it? “What are you talking about?”

Magdalena’s voice deepened, becoming sultrier, sexier. “We all have our faults, Detective. Gluttony. Wrath. Greed. You’re no different. You drink too much. I can smell it on your breath, but I don’t need one of those. I already snared one. When I caught you staring at me, I felt your heat, and I was sure this was what drove you.”

She reached down and stroked me through my pants. I moaned.

She released me as quickly as she’d gripped me. “Apparently not, though. No matter. You’re a much tougher fish to hook. Tell me, detective, when you came home last night, ready to sleep, what did you do? Tell your wife you loved her? What about when she confronted you?”

I blinked, befuddled. “What the— What do you know about that? Have you been spying on me?”

Magdalena pricked my cheek as she fondled me, her fingernails longer and sharper than I remembered. “I don’t have to. It’s written all over you. The pain. The anguish. The internal struggle. Your faults? They’re never yours, are they? Always someone else’s? Yes. That’s how you see it, isn’t it?”

She leaned back in, pressing her half-naked body against me. My head swirled, and desire coursed through me. Heat poured off her body, flowing into me, scorching me. It hurt.

Gritting my teeth, I planted both hands against Magdalena’s ribs and pushed as hard as I could, sending her reeling into the table. I stumbled to my feet, nearly falling to my face as black spots filled my vision. Sweat poured off me, and the air seemed to ripple.

“Who are you?” I said. “What are you?”

Magdalena pushed herself off the table, her clothing smoldering, charring, and falling to the floor under my gaze. My knees weakened at the sight of her. I wanted to throw myself at her, to let my clothes catch fire and fall the floor, too. To do horrible, unspeakable things to her.

She took a step toward me, her skin starting to brighten and glow. “Come, Jake. There’s no need to deny your pride. I can feel it, burning within you. It draws me. Give in. You might as well enjoy this.”

Flames flickered at the edges of the room, but I couldn’t tell if they were real or not. My mind swam. My vision blurred. I could barely think.

I lunged forward, grabbing the pitcher of water and tossing the contents over Magdalena. The water sizzled as it touched her, turning into mist.

“Trust me, Jake,” she said. “I’ll enjoy this just as much the hard way, too.”

With superhuman speed, she reached out and slammed a palm into my chest. I flew, crashing into the windows behind me. I heard them crack—either them, or my ribs. I fell, bouncing off the couch before crashing to the floor face first. The room crackled, Magdalena sizzled, and something tinkled and rang.

My wedding ring. It rolled from my pocket, spinning and gyrating before coming to a rest inches from my nose.

I felt Magdalena approach, the heat from her body turning the sweat that slicked me into a searing cloud of steam. I felt the edge of my pants catch fire, and I knew I was about to die.

With my arm slippery and aching from the fall, I reached out and grabbed the ring. I tried to speak as I slipped it back on, but my throat failed me, resulting in a pathetic croak.

I’m sorry, Nicole, I thought as Magdalena descended upon me. It’s all my fault. You and Tommy deserve better. I’m so, so sorry…

Magdalena reached an arm of flame into me. Pain lanced through me, but so did something else. Magdalena’s screams.

She screeched, as loud as an entire building aflame but high-pitched and angry. A scream of rage and fear.

And then she exploded.