The Iceman: Book 2 of the Procurator Fiscal Series

By Viktoria King

With Marcus and Grace helping close the bodies in the barrels case, Detective Superintendent Declan Macdonald offers Grace continuing development in the detective ranks, but her declaration of interest in Marcus sees her teamed up with Detective Adam McAddam and front line on the sexual assault and torture pack investigation.

Lieb, the Iceman, tries to hold it all together as more pieces of the puzzle come before him. The next piece, a photo, a Polaroid singed around the edges and curled from heat but with the majority of the image unharmed and very clear: a beautiful sky-blue yacht. His Roses left breast was the canvas, and she had intended for him to find it when he unwrapped her after her time with sister Heather, his birthday gift. He makes a vow to himself, he will catch these monstersand woe betide them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Feb 2, 2016
• ISBN: 9781514445129

Viktoria King

Viktoria King comes from another Perth, the one in Australia, but with a family connection to Scotland. Well-bitten by the travel bug, she's been travelling since 1988, and an opportunity to live and work in Singapore then the UK and Canada gave her every chance to travel regularly. Six years living in England provided her the opportunity to explore and connect to her Scottish homeland, so she feels it right to base her fictional characters there. Her husband is her travel companion, and their son James is the photo on the covers.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

T he late-August morning glow was a promise of another glorious day, and it matched Marcus’s mood perfectly. Ophelia and Fuzzbutt had greeted him enthusiastically, and Marcus had stroked them affectionately, using the time to reflect on his change in lifestyle and the fount of utter joy that had found a home deep in his belly. The fount fed him a constant stream of glee, an enthusiasm for life that at times tempted to overwhelm him. If anyone had suggested he would find this passion even six months ago he would have laughed at them. But in his bed right now slumbered a goddess. Grace had changed his world, spun it like a top, and it consumed him.

Marcus thought back over his life and bemusedly asked himself how the path had taken such a dramatic turn. He was the middle of three boys—four if you counted Guy. And his sister always insisted you should. She could wrestle any boy who claimed she wasn’t tough enough and once split Cavvy’s lip for suggesting she ran like a girl.

George was Marcus’s baby brother and the one he was closest to. Arthur was the eldest, and somehow his mum had managed to squeeze the three of them out in twenty-five months. Then there was Casey, who got the nickname Guy when she insisted, hands on hips, she was as much a guy as any of them. And after a few wrestling matches to prove it, she was begrudgingly allowed to hang around. Then after splitting Cavvy’s lip, no one made comment again.

And hang around they did; they walked to and from school together, ate lunch together, shared birthdays and summer holidays. They even shared tragedy and trauma together, like when Bernard’s dad was killed at the rail yard on the docks and his devastated mother took the children south to Devon or when Cavvy fell from the top bunk of the bed he shared with his brother and broke his arm. He was a hero in his plaster cast at first, but no one offered to sit on the bank with him whilst everyone else swam that hot summer away.

Casey was in the south now, in Essex, working as a paramedic in Southend station. She always sent gifts on birthdays and Xmas, but it had been an age since he’d actually sat down for a conversation with her.

George was a very successful carpenter living in a loft conversion on the banks of the river Clyde in Glasgow, his workshop and display centre taking up the ground floor. His success never amazed Marcus as George has always shown lots of early talent; he’d even built their clubhouse when he was barely nine years old. Now he was twenty-nine, married to Elena, and with two daughters, Helen and Margaret.

George and Marcus made a point of catching up at least three times each year on both birthdays and Xmas. Usually, Marcus drove to Glasgow as there was then only one to uproot, plus it meant Marcus wouldn’t be close enough to get called back from leave if the fancy took Detective Superintendent Declan Macdonald.

Arthur had immigrated to Australia—to Perth in Western Australia actually. It was a standing joke that they were both in Perthshire, just 14,675 kilometres apart.

Marcus wondered how he could get Grace to meet them all.

He placed a bowl of food down for the girls as the coffee finished brewing; Marcus carried two mugs to the bedroom. The sun had crept in and was spilling over the bed, basking Grace in its soft glow. She lay naked, stretched out before him with a cotton sheet tumbled over her hips and lower legs. Marcus gazed at the goddess on the bed. She wasn’t reed thin or waif-like; there was a substance about her. But whilst she was shapely, she was sculptured—full round breasts, strong and long shapely legs, and full hips but with a small waist, which gave her a true hourglass figure.

Marcus felt the passion within him build as he drank in her loveliness, and his erection stretched his shorts. He placed the mugs of coffee on the dresser and bent over and began nibbling affectionately on the cleft of Grace’s neck; she moaned softly. Marcus continued nibbling affectionately as he drifted his lips down to Grace’s nipple, and here his lips tugged and sucked ever so gently. Grace responded, her moans increasing and her hips slowly rising and falling in rhythm to Marcus’s rhythm on her nipple.

Marcus let go of her nipple and skipped kisses across the skin of her belly, his nose connecting with the line of the sheet. He continued his trajectory south, pushing the sheet before him. Grace started panting and rolled on to her back, letting her upper leg fall from the hip on to the bed, exposing her womanhood. Marcus accepted the invitation and skipped his lips on to her labia, his nose parting the labial folds and exposing her clitoris. He used his tongue to lick her labia in a soft stroking fashion; Grace’s moans became sonorous, and she arched her back and rolled her pelvis as if his tongue had her tied to it. Marcus shifted his attention to her clitoris and started sucking; Grace writhed underneath him, her hands clenching the sheet as she tried desperately to not lose the connection. Marcus continued to suck and tease until Grace was grunting and writhing as if gripped by a grand mal seizure; then he released her clitoris and plunged his tongue into her vagina, flicking rhythmically until she climaxed and sprayed him with her juices.

Marcus walked around the bed, pulling his shorts off as he went; his erection was huge, and his desire humungous. He climbed on to the bed and rolled Grace on to her belly, then slipped an arm around her waist, hauling her on to her knees but with her head and shoulders draped on the bed. He dragged her fanny on to his erection, and taking hold of her hips in his bear-like hands, he pumped her hard and rhythmically until they both climaxed, Marcus managing to maintain his control until Grace lost hers—again.

Spent, Marcus flopped on to the bed, still holding Grace around her middle, and pulling her close into him, they lay there, spooning whilst their pulses settled and their hearts stopped hammering. Marcus felt overjoyed and overwhelmed. That fount of joy bubbled over, and he found himself pondering how addicted he’d become to having Grace in his life. He realised he couldn’t imagine life without her in it, that his soul was inextricably entwined in hers, and that efforts to separate their souls would not only be extremely painful but would probably kill him. He had to tell her so.

He nibbled Grace’s ear to make sure she was listening, and he said softly but clearly, ‘I love you, Grace.’

Grace held herself still for perhaps four seconds, and then she shifted, turning her upper body enough so she could look at Marcus. For another long pause, she looked deep into his face, swam in the depths of his gaze, and then she smiled that happy huge dog smile she kept for special occasions and said, ‘Why, Detective Marcus sir, I do believe I love you too.’

Marcus scooped her into his embrace, and they sealed their declarations with a deep, passionate kiss.

Ophelia called loudly from the doorway, and Fuzzbutt bounded on to the bed. Marcus laughed. ‘It seems the girls feel the same.’

They rolled apart and sat propped in bed, drinking the cooling coffee and discussing what their revelations would change in their lives.

‘Well, it seems a shame to lose the apartment in Dundee. It’s close to work, so it makes a great crash pad when we’ve only got a couple of hours to take a break. But the girls can’t go there,’ Grace said.

‘Agreed, so how about for now we keep both? If one of us needs a short stay, we’ll stop there, and if we have a nearly full day, we’ll come back here.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ Grace paused thoughtfully, then added, ‘There is one other item to consider—working together. I have that appointment this afternoon with Mac to see about my moving into the major crime support division and continuing my education as a detective. I guess there’s a rule about partners being bed buddies?’ Grace enquired.

Marcus groaned. Grace was right, but