For Tonight
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Head slanted downward, she rubbed the back of her neck, her steps slowing at sight of the rumpled bed.
How had she gotten in this deep so quickly? One night was now two, and if he came to the door tomorrow, it'd be three. She was addicted, to the rush, to him … which didn't make it right. In fact, saying no when everything in her wanted to say yes proved harder and harder to do.
The biggest serial killer in town history walked out the precinct doors, and Detective Irina Faussett has his attorney, her father, to thank. What she needs is a night out on the town to blow off some steam.
But a handsome unknown male and a lot of body heat generate a fateful decision, which, six weeks later, brings huge consequences. Her life has just become much more complicated, even more so when her one-night stand, attorney, Brady Cheswick, walks back into her life in spectacular fashion.
Caught up in a love affair she isn't sure she wants to end, chasing a serial killer now making death threats, one final, horrible secret then turns her already disorganized world upside down.
An intriguing romantic suspense by best-selling author, SUZANNE D. WILLIAMS. 24,000 words.
Suzanne D. Williams
Best-selling author, Suzanne D. Williams, is a native Floridian, wife, mother, and photographer. She is the author of both nonfiction and fiction books. She writes a monthly column for Steves-Digicams.com on the subject of digital photography, as well as devotionals and instructional articles for various blogs. She also does graphic design for self-publishing authors. She is co-founder of THE EDGE. To learn more about what she’s doing and check out her extensive catalogue of stories, visit http://suzanne-williams-photography.blogspot.com/ or link with her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/suzannedwilliamsauthor.
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For Tonight - Suzanne D. Williams
SUZANNE D. WILLIAMS
www.feelgoodromance.com
© 2014 For Tonight by Suzanne D. Williams
www.feelgoodromance.com
www.suzannedwilliams.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Scenes in this story may contain graphic and/or sexual situations not suitable for young or sensitive readers but are framed by Christian morals and solutions.
Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool. (Is 1:18)
CHAPTER 1
Of all the gin joints in all the world ...
Detective Irina Faussett let the rest of the quote go and willed herself to not react, though Damon Levin’s smirk on his way out of the precinct made it hard. He met her steely gaze with a single wave, and her hand shifted to the badge clipped to her waist.
Her partner, Carlos Diaz, curled his broad palm over her sleeve. We’ll get him.
She nodded without looking his way. They’d said that last time, but how many women did he have to murder before that happened?
It’s a technicality. That’s all,
he continued.
She switched her gaze. A lousy one. And I have my father to thank.
He gazed at her, apologetic.
The great Frank Faussett, criminal attorney, successfully releases another scum bag onto the street.
She spat the words, her insides seething.
A third detective swept into the room, Ada Alvarez. Her angry face said she felt the same as the rest of them. Dirt bag.
That reference to Levin or my dad?
she asked.
This brought a short laugh. Family meals at your house must be great.
Irina looked down at her cluttered desk. You have no idea.
The weight of her lousy afternoon settled on her shoulders, and she shrugged, as if in the motion she could remove the pressure. But it remained. I gotta get out of here,
she said. No offense.
Carlos tossed up his hands. None taken. I’m going home to the little woman and snuggle.
She smiled at him for that. It was nice to be reminded that happiness still existed outside of these walls. Kiss that new baby for me.
Opening a desk drawer, he removed his gun. Will do.
Confident footsteps took him from the room.
Irina followed suit, Ada dropping in at her side.
Going home to mope?
Ada asked.
Irina blew out a breath. Probably. Nothing else for a single girl to do. At least, you’ve got Handsome to look at.
Ada wrapped her arms around herself and squeezed. That, I do. I am a lucky woman. You need to get you one.
She tossed this remark at her with the tip of her finger.
Irina grunted. Right. So I’m told, over and over again. But I seem to attract the wrong types.
They pushed through the double doors into the parking lot, and a wave of heat hit them in the face. August and it was every bit of one hundred degrees. That only made her want to stay inside, eat ice cream, and grow fat. Another great way to pick up a guy.
She made a face.
On second thought, maybe I’ll go out tonight, blow off some steam. A little flirting never hurt anyone.
Wrong type or no, if an attractive male would look her way for an hour, maybe she could forget all this.
Sounds like a plan ... I’ll see you tomorrow.
Ada took two steps to the right. I had to park in the back.
That sucks, and okay. Tomorrow.
They parted and moved in opposite directions.
Irina sank into the driver’s seat and cranked. Her eyes on the road but her mind back at the precinct, she rehearsed the information ingrained in her head — three female college students, all brunettes, with their throats slashed and bodies abandoned on the same stretch of highway. Damon Levin had no alibi. Plus, he was the right height and strength to fit the kills. He’d been seen in the area previous to each murder. They even had video of him speaking with the last girl.
Despite all that, her dad had swept in and made it look like nothing.
She banged one hand on the steering wheel in frustration.
She loved her dad but hated his profession. He was good at his job, the best, but he worked for the wrong side. He was the reason she’d gone into law enforcement. She wanted to rectify all the mistakes he’d made.
That’s not your job, her mother always said. What he’s done is between him and God.
He’d never acknowledge that. Her dad operated outside of God, as if God were in his way. That attitude had brought on her parents’ divorce. Thirty years of marriage and, just like that, it was over. Love, for them, hadn’t been enough.
Love, for herself, obviously didn’t exist. No decent, hard-working man wanted a lady cop in his life. She was too intimidating.
You’re more like your father than you believe.
Her mother’s voice spoke in her head again, and Irina knew the words were true but didn’t acknowledge them. She wouldn’t grow old and look back on her life knowing she’d set criminals free. Her conscience would be pristine on that account, and someday soon, she’d add Damon Levin to the list of lousy human beings she’d helped lock up.
It’s gonna happen,
she mumbled beneath her breath. She just hoped it wouldn’t take the death of another woman. Please, God, enough’s enough. Help me get this guy.
Pulling into the parking garage of her apartment complex, Irina shut off her mind. Last thing she needed tonight was to dwell on police work. No, like she’d said, she could do with some time out of the house. A little dancing, maybe find a good-looking guy to admire, and let her mind go other places for a few hours.
Sounds perfect.
She’d deal with Levin tomorrow, and, for tonight, not be a cop.
The volume of the music drowned out Irina’s thoughts. Shoving her way through the dancing throng, she sat at a small, round table, the skin-tight dress she’d chosen pulling yet tighter on her frame.
She hung this outfit on the do-not-wear-to-church side of her closet. There weren’t actually a lot of things hanging there—this dress, a particularly revealing blouse, and a mini skirt—nor did she wear any of them very often. In fact, going out to clubs was out of her character. Her Christian upbringing combined with the cop side of her tended to outweigh it. Having a particularly rotten day, however, changed her mind.
Not going to think about my day,
she mouthed, unable to hear herself speak. That was a positive. Even if she tried to recall Damon Levin, she couldn’t for long. The beat of the music and press of bodies served as great distractions.
Irina rose and made her way onto the dance floor. Her arms above her head, she swayed to the beat, her thin frame undulating with the fast pace, and soon, she found herself face-to-face with a rather tubby male in a pair of too-tight black