Page 28 of Feel Me

I rest my head against my hand, hoping I don’t look as nauseous as I feel. Someone knocks on my door. I’m ready to lie and yell that I’m in a meeting. But I know it’s Mel and that we need to talk.

“Come in.” I realize I’m muttering and that she probably can’t hear me. “Come in,” I call louder.

She walks in slowly, takes one good look at me, and sighs. I don’t say anything, waiting for her to speak. Fuck. Me. Tricia Helmsley belongs in an institution. Marketing executive or not, the woman is bat-shit crazy.

The door clicks shut as Melissa rests her back against it. “You okay?” she asks.

When I don’t answer, she takes a seat in front of me. It’s only been a few weeks, but Mel already knows how to read me. She knows when I need space, and better yet when I need her. But given the amount of hours we spend each day, trained counselor or not, I suppose she would have figured me out eventually.

I rub my face. This job sucks, though I won’t complain about what it’s done for me and Mel. Do we always agree on things? Hell, no. But the hostile tension between us has been replaced with a different kind of tension, one that involves her knees on either side of my head.

She’s wearing a sleeveless coral dress today. It’s simple, professional, and sexy as hell on her. When she walked in this morning to meet with me about the new smart phones she secured for my detectives, and handed me the large cup of coffee she bought me, “just because”, I couldn’t stop picturing what it would be like to pull the zipper all the way down until her dress fell in a wrinkled mess at her feet.

But that was before Tricia Helmsley.

“Declan,” Mel pleads. “I know Tricia is a challenging witness and somewhat hard to like.”

“Hard to like?” I repeat. “She asked me if I’ve ever taken it up the ass when I asked her to explain what happened when Morris entered her apartment.” I look up at the ceiling as I recall the ninety hellish minutes I’ll never get back in my life. “You heard that, right? And when I tried to redirect her she told me how she’d have fun shaving my boys.”

“She wasn’t in a good place today,” Mel offers.

“I don’t know about that. She offered to buy me my first butt plug.”

“Declan . . .”

“That was nice of her, don’t you think? Oh, but the real treat was when she told me she’d get one with my birthstone on it.”

“I realize—”

“My fucking birthstone, Mel. I didn’t even know they bedazzled that shit. Did you?” I huff. “If that doesn’t say welcome to SACU, I don’t know what does.”

Mel clasps her hands in front of her. “I’m going to work with her. Next time, I’m sure the prep for trial will go better.”

I meet her square in the eye. “There isn’t going to be a trial. I have to plead this case out.”

“You can’t. He assaulted her, Declan.” She throws her hands out when I don’t budge. “Please tell me you believe her.”

“It’s not that I don’t believeher, I don’t believeinher as a reliable witness. Look at what I’m dealing with here, she’s a submissive at Club Hurt. She and Morris went out on a date. She invited him back to her place where he tied her up and assaulted her. The defense is going to build it up as foreplay and consensual sex that comes with the lifestyle she actively participates in. Did you see the witness list? One of the men on it is a Dom?or whatever the hell they’re called?from that same damn club. Throw in the fact that she’s unstable, and attempting to sabotage her own case . . .” I swipe at my face. “You can see I don’t have a lot to work with here.”

“She’s only acting this way because she’s traumatized after what he did to her. The experience has brought up deep-seeded abuse from her past.”

“I hear what you’re saying, Mel. But putting her on the stand is going to make everything worse for her. This case will go public no matter how quiet we try to keep it, ruining Morris’s reputation sure, but also hers once the BDSM comes out. And if she can’t even get through testimony with me?if she’s asking me questions about my sex life, telling me what she wants to do to me because she can’t handle my questions, what the hell is she going to sound like in front of the jury?”

Mel tugs her skirt over her crossed leg. She does that, fusses with her clothes when she’s frustrated. I suppose it beats tearing her hair out which is what I’m ready to do. “I’ve been urging her to go to counseling,” she says. “It’s what she most needs.”

“No,” I bite out. “She needs shock therapy and a shit ton of meds.” I stand and face the window. I’m not trying to be an insensitive asshole, but that meeting was among one of the worst of my life. Is it a wonder people burn out in SACU? You don’t forget the shit you see and hear, and there’s no way to undo any of it. And the victims? Christ. No matter what, they’ll always have that memory. Like Finnie, and Wren.

Goddamnit.

“Are you all right?” Mel asks, well-aware that I’m not.

“Fine,” I answer, making no effort to fool her.

She gives me a moment. It’s what I need more than anything right now. But like I said, Mel recognizes my needs better than most.

“You hear what I’m saying, don’t you?” I ask when I can finally think straight. “I know you want to help her. I do, too. But making her testify isn’t the way.”

I cross my arms, taking in the city I love, whose residents I’d kill to protect, at the same time I wonder how many crazies are out there. Crazies like Tricia born of predators like Morris. Damn. Seriously, damn.

---