Criminal Affair Pt. 03

I wake up when the sun hits my eyes, the light bleeding through the blinds, forming stripes on the covers. Looking over my shoulder, I see that Derek has vacated the bed and is no longer next to me. Hopefully he isn't a morning person, because I definitely am not.

What a weird feeling. I can't even think of the last time I woke up in a bed that wasn't mine. Don't get me wrong, I've been in a lot of beds, but this is new. My usual night is getting fucked at a stranger's house, then going home to masturbate because I didn't orgasm, but I never do anyway. Until Derek that is. Half of me hopes the fact he makes me cum isn't the reason I stayed. The other half knows it's true.

Pulling the sheet from the bed, I drape it around my body, the excess dragging behind me like a cape. This is the second time I've been here, but this is first time I've truly been here. Derek's room is very tidy, much like my own apartment. I bet he rolls his shirts and socks in the drawers. Sliding one open and I confirm my theory. There are a few framed photos on his walls, so I pull my blanket with me to examine them.

The first picture is a photo of a group of soldiers posing for a picture. There are roughly twenty of them, the first row taking a knee, the second row standing. All of them are armed with rifles, one soldier holding a flag of some sort. I recognize Derek in the middle of the group in the back standing. He's so young in this picture relative to himself now, and he was at least eighteen when it was taken. How old is he?

"That's my platoon from my first deployment to Iraq," Derek says from the doorway, holding coffee mugs in both hands, fresh warm steam billowing in spirals.

"You were in the army?" I ask, Derek nods as he closes the gap, handing me one of the cups.

"Wasn't sure on cream and sugar, so I left it black. If you need either I have it in the kitchen," Derek says. I take the cup, explaining I prefer it black and thank him.

"First deployment?" I ask.

"I did seven combat tours. Three in Iraq, four in Afghanistan," Derek says, gesturing me over to another picture.

"Infantry?" I ask.

"Ten years of my life. I joined up right out of high school, spent almost all of it as a Ranger," Derek says, as if I know what the means. It sounds fancy though.

"Ever get hurt?" I ask.

"Shot twice, blown up once," Derek answers. Blown up? "My truck got hit by an IED," He explains, as if he knew I needed that to be explained.

"That when you got out?"

"I walked away from the IED pretty unscathed. My buddy Douglas, not so much. Lost both legs, the IED was on his side, he took the brunt of it."

"Fuck," I say, mostly from an absence of anything else to say. What do you say to that?

"I got out, because my ex-wife couldn't handle the deployments anymore. Divorced a year later anyway," Derek says. He's divorced too. What am I walking into with him? Why am I framing it as if it's actually a relationship? I don't date.

"Any kids with her?" I ask.

"I have a son. He's six," Derek says, showing me a picture on his nightstand. He takes after his mother more, but Derek is present in the shape of his face and charm. I can see his charm even through a picture.

"What about you? Any ex-husbands or kids?"

"Barely any ex-boyfriends. I haven't dated since high school. I fuck, but I don't date."

"That's about where I'm at," Derek says, taking another sip of coffee. I finally noticed he's not even in pajamas, he's just dressed. Shirt and slacks with matching shoes and belt. God dammit, he is a morning person.

"You seem up and about already."

"I'm already working on a new case. Looking like it's probably a teen runaway, but investigation regardless. I'm about to go interview his parents," Derek explains, finishing his coffee without a final slurp.

"Thankfully it's my day off, unless I get called in of course," I say. Time to go home and sleep more. I work, I get fucked, and I sleep. That's my life.

"Want me to leave you a key so you can lock up, or should I wait?" Derek says.

"I'd rather not be seen swapping keys at the station, give me a few minutes," I say, dropping the sheet on the floor so I can begin the process of getting dressed.

"Not a smart idea to drop the sheet in front of me," Derek says, and I turned and smile.

"Your move," I say to provoke him. As if that takes much. Derek immediately throws me to the edge of his bed, me legs hanging off the edge. He lifts my legs up at my thighs and begins licking my slit and clit. Maybe I can get used to this.

Derek let's one leg fall so he can finger me, while flicking my clit with his tongue. I moan and grab his hair, gripping harder as I feel myself get closer and closer. If having a boyfriend for the first time in years means I have to put up with a guy who takes pride in making his woman climax, I can live with that.

The ecstasy climbs until it peaks. I mumble his name, the words becoming distorted as he slides his fingers in faster. I lose my breath as it take me over, my body tingling from the sensation.

"Fuck me," I beg more than say.

"I got to get to work, slip it to me at the station later," Derek says, dropping a key on his nightstand and leaving the room. What the fuck?

I gasp for air on his bed, leaning up to see the key on the table. If making me want more is his strategy, he's brilliant. I hear the door shut a minute later. Derek doesn't turn around as he walks away, making him even more desirable.

"You dick," I say to myself, laughing a little. I'm going to be so wet all day, I know it.

I get dressed a few minutes after he leaves. After locking the door behind me, I lean down and slide the key under his door. Not falling for that one.

When I arrive at my apartment I fall onto my bed after sliding my jeans and panties off. They're drenched. Reaching into the small box I keep on the shelf below my nightstand, I pull out my vibrator just to relieve some pressure. Reaching under my leg with my opposite hand, I finger myself while keeping the vibrator on my clit until I burst, but it's not as satisfying anymore. He literally ruined my ability to enjoy this part of my day.

When you know you can get the real thing, this loses its potency.

What can I do to get back at him? Suck his dick and stop when he says he's close? Not exactly in character for me, but that's why he wouldn't expect it. Am I really planning on sleeping with him again. Would that be considered a date? Why am I lying to myself? Of course I'm going to.

Looking at my phone, I grin and pick it up. Readying the camera, I pull my shirt up to reveal my breasts, then slide the vibrator in, snapping the picture with my eyes rolled back to show how much I'm enjoying it. I send it to him and wait.

'Someone seems to be thinking about me.' Is his reply.

'Not at all, just showing you what you missed this morning.' I type back. This is fun. I'm actually eager for his reply.

'That's what you missed this morning. You couldn't handle the wait.'

I'm not the girl who could hold sex at ransom to get my way, that's for sure. Worse, he knows that. He could hold sex at ransom. What is this relationship going to be like?

--

Derek solves the case, his initial assumption of it merely being a runaway confirmed as correct. I'm back at work, filling out some paperwork on a drunk and disorderly dickhead I arrested earlier today. I hear a light tap on my door and look up to see Derek holding the key to his apartment in his hand.

"Well played, took away my reason to find you to get it back," Derek says, me looking at him like he was playing with fire for having this conversation in the office. Oil and water, keep this divided please.

"If you're going to talk like that with me, close the door," I say, Derek shaking his head.

"You really don't want me to do that," Derek says, and he's right. No I do not. Just the optics of us alone with the door closed would arouse interest even if nothing happened. "Horizontal surface and all."

"Anything you need? Detective?" I ask, very cordial and professionally.

"Why aren't you a detective?" He asks. "You have all of the right instincts."

"Not interested."

"It's all street work for the most part. You noticed Monica's room was clean, so figured she probably didn't leave the softballs on the field intentionally."

"It wasn't just clean," I start, him smiling. "It was meticulous. I reviewed pictures, her text books were on the shelf of her desk, in alphabetical order. Who does that? Her clothes were all folded the exact same way. The shirts on hangers, were all exactly the same distance apart, which I think she measured with three fingers. Her bed was made, which means she didn't go to sleep that night. Even with that, she wouldn't wake up, struggling to sleep, then make her bed before going to the field to hit some balls in the outfield."

"That's what I'm talking about. A position in property crimes, is about to open in a few months. Take the detectives exam, you wouldn't even have to transfer to another precinct."

"Here is the reason I never have," I start, walking over to the door to see if anyone was close, then closed it. "This uniform is a cock blocker. If I literally let my hair down, some people may notice I'm a chick. I have an unfuckable façade, my work persona is asexual. I like it that way, because then it removes the temptation during work, when no one is trying to fuck me at work."

"It's career progression. Try making captain as a uniform. You'll be lucky to pin lieutenant by fifteen years."

"I've denied lieutenant twice," I reply, and Derek looks surprised.

"Damn, why?"

"Because I don't like that desk, and that would be more of my time than I like. I love the street, I like the danger."

"Then be a detective," Derek countered, and I groan and open the door. "I have the record for most on the job shootings at my last position."

"I wouldn't brag about that," I say.

"Test is on Thursday," Derek says and walks away. He framed that like an order, and I want to punch his face through the back of his head. You're talking to Sergeant Simpson, not Jill. Watch it.

--

Derek fucks me silly, giving me the thing only he seems to be able to give me twice. He finishes balls deep, his dick pulsating inside me before he pulls out. A moment later I feel hot jizz slithering out of my slit, and I don't bother to immediately clean up. I'm immobilized.

"Can't get that with a vibrator," I say with giggle.

"I don't know which version of you, I want to fuck more? One day I will get you in full uniform on your desk," Derek says, and I laugh a little. He's probably right.

"I have four days to study for this exam," I say, him looking at me. "If I choose to do it, not saying that yet."

"I still have my old study book," Derek offers, and I shrug.

"I guess I can borrow that."

"Forewarning, I have Jesse tomorrow, and he's getting dropped off at about nine in the morning," Derek says. Who's Jesse? "My son by the way."

"Oh. Yeah don't think I'm ready to meet the kid," I admit, and he understands.

"I'd rather not explain it either. His mom is looking for a reason. If she assumes my apartment is a revolving door for my escapades, she'll go to the judge," Derek says, and I know what he means. His home is not a conducive environment for children is what she'll claim.

"I'll be gone," I say. Fuck, now I have to either leave now, or be a morning person and leave early. "I should probably leave now then."

"You and mornings don't get along," Derek says with a laugh as I start getting dressed.

"What crime is an example of a crime that the Hierarchy Rule doesn't apply to?" Derek asks.

"Arson," I reply as I pull my bra behind my back and clasp it.

"What time period of no criteria added to a file on the Gang database passes before the file will be purged from the system?" Derek asks. Maybe every correct answer allows me to get another article of clothing on. I'll play.

"Five years," I say, sliding my panties up my legs.

"You arrive at the scene of a shooting and hold a group of males for questioning, who match the description of the shooter by witnesses. A community leader approaches and asks why these men are detained. Your response?"

"I tell him the investigation is lawful and to allow me to finish my questioning. I will then ask to interview him once I have finished with the other men," I answer, sliding my shorts to my waist.

"In public speech ordinances, when are you not required to have a permit?"

"When you have less than twenty people, are not blocking public access, or using speakers or bullhorns," I say, my shirt returning to my torso.

"Most of the questions are situational based. Three to four multiple choice answers, the answers graded on a scale of two to zero points. You pull a man over and he talks rudely to you, and an answer is shoot the mother fucker, probably the zero point answer. Seriously, you'll say out loud, 'no shit' at least fifteen times."

"I know most of this, and I haven't even borrowed your book yet..." I say, then stop. Why am I suddenly on board with becoming a detective? Granted rank progression is faster, but I'm not hurting on rank. I'm Lieutenant damn near guaranteed already. In fact, I start the rank climb all over again. It'll be a few years before I'm a Sergeant again. Pay is better I guess.

"If you don't want to, then don't," Derek says.

"I'm comfortable where I am. Maybe too comfortable. I have the hard charging woman thing going on and everything. Not like it stops fitting if I did," I say, admitting it kind of is the next step. Detective Jill Simpson. Solving crime during the day, sucking dick at night.

"You'll get it if you do," Derek says, and I turn away from him to smile. You supportive asshole. I look too much like a girl when I smile, I hate it. That girl who twirls her hair with her finger and bites her lip in movies, that's what I look like right now and I roll my eyes when it see it on screen. Now I'm doing it myself, and I want to punch my own reflection.

"I need to get going, hope you have a good time with your son," I say before finally committing to leaving. I don't even kiss him as I do, that's what a girlfriend does.

--

I exit the exam room, being one of the first to leave with nearly forty minutes of time remaining. I feel like I over studied because that was easy. Some of the officers in there were really freaking out and nervous, others were calm, but I was focused. Easy. It was just easy. They announce the results in two days.

I go to my desk and begin typing the reports my officers have sent me to add them to our system. Slowly the pile of folders on my right stack up complete on my left, before I hear a knock and see Derek.

"You undersold the easy part," I say to start off.

"If I said it was easy, you wouldn't study so hard," Derek says, and I smile. Dammit. "Feel good about it I take it?"

"Feel pretty good," I say, and see the folder under his arm. "What do you have there?"

"Eighteen year old girl, recent high school graduate leaves to go to her friend's graduation party, never arrives. We're thirty hours in."

"Which means they couldn't report until twenty four, which means you're at six hours," I say, and he nods. "Leads?"

"She leaves her house at five on foot, friend's house is two blocks away, so why bother driving? If we're assuming it is an abduction, we have a ten to twenty minute window, over a distance of about a quarter mile."

"That's narrow."

"I need bodies to canvas and knock on doors. No businesses between the two points, but there might be a private security camera that caught something. That's a big if though," Derek says, and I hold off on the current work I have to gather my guys to start this case.

"That a copy?" I ask, pointing at his folder. He nods and places it on my desk.

I open the file and quickly look over the known information. Natalie Hawthorn, age eighteen like Derek said. Recently graduated high school, honor student and National Honor Society and will be attending University of Arizona in the fall on full academic scholarship. The picture we have for the file is her senior yearbook picture, over presented in a blouse with a white smile, white tanned skin, and black hair with a single stripe around two inches wide dyed pink.

One hundred and seventy pounds, heavy for her height at five feet and four inches. Her face isn't an accurate representation of her body though, it makes her look ten to twenty pounds lighter. That could be a problem if someone is trying to recognize her and call a hotline. My first recommendation would be to cycle in a full body shot.

"Have we ruled out another run away?" I ask.

"I never rule it out, but she exhibited none of the characteristics. Family life is stable, no relationships that anyone knew about, wasn't bullied at school, no antisocial behavior," Derek explains.

"This picture is bad, makes her look thinner," I say, holding up her yearbook photo.

"She's heavier than that looks I agree, her family is sending me a recent picture with her full form." Damn he's good.

"Any reports to police of suspicious persons in the neighborhood? Loitering vehicles?" I ask.

"None. Some of the techs are going though her social media, looking for any cyber stalking, nothing yet. All of her privacy settings are turned on too, so she's careful. Very open with her parents, even about sex and drugs. Smoked weed but doesn't anymore, asked her mother for a doctors appointment for birth control at age sixteen."

"Very open with parents, I was too scared to have that conversation with my mother. Past relationships?" I ask.

"One ex-boyfriend, his alibi checks out."

"Any chance she stopped somewhere else before she was going to her friends?"

"No stores within three miles she could have stopped at. A few more friends in the neighborhood, but they were going to the same party," Derek says, sitting on the chair in front of my desk.

"Facebook check in?"

"Location is turned off on her phone app, unless it's running google maps. No need when she's walking two blocks. Tried find my phone with another device, her phone was off. Her parents said she was charging it on the kitchen table before she left for the party. She or someone else turned it off. According to her parents, she updates her status religiously, but is also very careful to omit where, when, and with who. She'd be very difficult to cyber stalk."

Talk about disappearing into thin air. Can't find her, because she's too careful with social media. Never imagined that would be a double-edged sword.

"Ideas?" Derek asked.

"She's careful, and I doubt someone snatched her in broad daylight off a residential street. There is some willingness on her part. Someone might have seen her walking, and she was offered a ride. Someone she knew."

"Good theory, flesh it out," Derek says. I lean back and think.

"Going to a party, so probable under aged drinking. They were going to a store to get drinks, she went with them," I say and quickly type in her address and look for the nearest liqueur store within a radius fan. "I'll send my guys to these stores, ask for tape if they got it, show them her picture."

"Better than what I have right now, let's do it," Derek says, and we leave my office together.

--

There are six stores that sell alcohol within three miles of her house, and my officers and I interview the staff, especially asking for the person who was on shift during the estimated window of disappearance. The second store I go to, the girl working the counter wasn't on shift that day, but pulls me to the side to watch the tape from the estimated time period.

They record it on disc and they don't overwrite the footage until it's a month old. They don't overwrite it at all if it shows shoplifting or a robbery. Not a bad policy, and very helpful for me.