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“Take your clothes off,” he said.
She sat on the edge of the bed, unzipped her boots, and set them by her purse. She must have learned the hard way to lay out her clothes and plan for a quick exit.
His dick grew hard as she reached for the edge of her top and pulled it over her head, exposing big floppy tits with big pink areolae that conjured images of a milk cow. Not Hadley.
She wiggled her hips and pushed off her short skirt, leaving her only in a black thong, which she also removed. Again, the clothes were piled neatly with her other belongings.
She rose, reached for the comb in her hair. “How do you want it?”
“Leave your hair up. Lie on the bed,” he said.
“On my back?”
“Yes. I want to see your face.”
She hesitated a moment, as if something in his tone bothered her. A girl like her would have to be smart if she wanted to survive on the street. “And then what?”
“Stretch your arms out,” he said.
As she got on the bed and lay down, slowly extending her arms to either edge of the headboard, he straddled her. His dick was hard, but it was not throbbing, and he feared if he kept looking at that damn face of hers, he would lose it altogether.
He closed his eyes, pictured Hadley, and ran his fingers over her belly and up to the breasts. When his fingers skimmed the pink, large tits, he squeezed hard. She whimpered and squirmed under him.
He pinched again, this time taking a big handful of each breast in his hands and clamping down hard.
“Fuck me,” she whispered.
Her words were not an invitation but an acceptance that this job was not going to be as easy as she had first thought. He was hurting her. And his dick got a little harder.
His hands moved up her chest to her neck, and he wrapped his fingers around it. He tightened his hold, remembering the times when he’d had Hadley under him. This woman felt different. Tauter. Sinewy. Pissed that this woman was not Hadley, he tightened his hold.
“Not so rough, baby,” she whispered. “We have over two hours to go.”
The sound of her voice broke the moment, and something inside of him clicked. No matter how much he pretended, there was no bringing back Hadley. She was gone forever.
But that did not mean the night was going to be a complete loss.
He released her neck, now marred by the red impression of his fingers. “Sorry.”
Worry skimmed her gaze. “It’s okay, baby. Why don’t you lay down and let Kiki do her magic on you?”
“I bet you’ve got some moves,” he said.
“I do, baby. Kiki is one of the best. I have a five-star rating.” She rubbed her fingers over his thighs. “Take these pants off, and let me show you how I got those five stars.”
He rose up off the bed, but instead of reaching for his belt buckle, he opened the nightstand. Beside the Bible was a gag, a set of handcuffs, and a knife.
Kiki glanced toward the drawer, and when she saw the toys, she started rolling toward her clothes and the door, gripping the hair comb in her hand. In seconds, she was on her feet and running toward the door, snatching her clothes from the chair as she passed.
He raced after her and grabbed her by the wrist. He tightened his grip and yanked her back. She stumbled, righted herself, and, in a swift move, brought the hair comb around and jabbed the sharp edges into the front of his chest. The pain stunned him, and he released her hand.
She twisted the door handle and opened it a fraction before he lunged again. But she was ready for him, and this time, she drove the sharp comb up under his arm. She twisted, forcing him to stumble back.
Before he could right himself, she opened the door and dashed into the night, naked and with her clothes bundled in her arms.
He took a step outside, ready to chase her, when he saw a cop car drive by the motel. There were several hookers standing outside who ran toward the naked girl and surrounded her.
With no choice but to retreat, he slammed the door. Blood streamed down the front and sides of his chest. It stained his pants and the tops of his feet. He dashed to the bathroom, grabbing a small towel and pressing it into his wounds.
Heart hammering in his chest, he shifted into damage control as he slid on his shoes and grabbed the handcuffs and gag. He opened the door, saw that the lot was clear for the moment, and started running.
“Fuck you, Hadley.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Thursday, August 15, 8:00 a.m.
Alexandria, Virginia
Forty-Nine Hours after the 911 Call
As soon as Vaughan and Spencer left her townhome, he was on the phone with the hospital to check on Skylar’s physical state. He wanted to interview her again about what had happened at her home two days ago.
The hospital’s receptionist put him in touch with the nurse on Skylar’s floor, who informed him that Mrs. Bradford had picked up Skylar and taken her to her home. He unlocked the car, and the two slid in as he dialed Mrs. Bradford’s number.
The call went to voicemail. “Mrs. Bradford, this is Detective Vaughan. I’ll be by later today. Remember, no media. And the girl does not see her father without a social worker or me present.”
He hung up and pulled into traffic. “I want to talk to the forensic department first. At this point, I need to have as many facts in hand as possible before I talk to Skylar or her father again.”
“Neither one of them has given us the full story. If he truly killed her mother, why is she protecting him?”
“He’s the only parent she has left.”
The two had time for a quick breakfast in a King Street bakery, and then they drove to the lab just as Bud was laying out two jackets on the light table. He recognized the clothes as belonging to the Foster family. Bud stood over the light table and clipped off a small piece of fabric from a blood-soaked exercise top.
The first set of clothes belonged to Hadley. They included jogging shorts, an exercise top, socks, and shoes. The second set were Skylar’s, and to his surprise, they were jeans, a black shirt, a dark hoodie, and running shoes. And then at the end were Mark Foster’s dress shirt, slacks, tie, socks, and shoes. Paramedic and emergency room personnel had cut Foster’s clothes off him.
All the clothes were doused in blood. Hadley’s were the worst by far, followed by Skylar’s and finally Foster’s. It would take weeks of testing to determine whose blood was on whom.
“All my testing is preliminary at this point,” Bud said. “We’re talking Quick-DNA, and I still have a mountain of evidence that’ll require more testing before I can finalize my reports.”
“The quick-and-dirty version will work for now,” Vaughan countered.
Bud adjusted the glasses perched on his nose. “The blood on Hadley Foster’s body so far belongs predominantly to Hadley Foster,” Bud said. “Considering the medical examiner estimated Hadley lost over fifty percent of her blood volume, this makes sense. Hadley’s injury was such that she would have drenched anyone or anything that came in close contact with her as she was dying.”
“Skylar had a cut on her hand,” Vaughan said.
“Like I said, it will take time to sort the blood on Hadley’s clothes. For now, I can’t differentiate between the two.”
“That conclusion also includes the back seat of the Lexus?” Spencer asked.
