Page 2 of Daddy's Justice

Chapter One

Morrigan

I needed a drink. My back hurt from bending at the odd angle I was in, trying to get a better view of the screen. DNA took entirely too long to process. I liked lab days. The swirling and clicking sounds surrounding me were normally soothing. It was like coming home. My workplace changed frequently as a forensic science technician, or as my nephew liked to say, “My aunt is a CSI superhero!” Half of the time, I was on-call. On my on-call, or field days, I was on the scene of many gruesome crimes. Crime scenes are chaotic, messy and exciting. The other half of my work week usually consisted of dividing my time between paperwork, testimonies and the lab. My office, while comfortable, was my least favorite place to be. The piles upon piles of paperwork were daunting and monotonous.

My lab, however, was the best of all three worlds. There was something incredibly satisfying about lifting a fingerprint, running a strand of hair or processing saliva, and coming out with a definite suspect. Bringing justice to victims was something I truly loved to do. But, this case… this damned case… I had been working on it for months, spinning my wheels and getting nowhere. Glaring at the whirling machine, I willed it to find a match.

I wanted to go to the Irish Pub down the road and order a Malibu and Sprite. It was way too early in the day for that, but I had been craving a S’mores Frappuccino from Starbucks for weeks now, ever since I had seen the advertisement on TV for the chocolatey, marshmallowy, coffee drink from heaven. The machine in front of me swirled and whirled, swirled and whirled. A red light. No DNA results. Damn it. I inserted the next piece of evidence and stood, stretching. Time for that drink. And a break.

I left the lab and went to my locker. Punching in the numbers, I grabbed out my phone and walked outside into the bright sunshine. There was a Starbucks right around the corner from my lab, and I got there quickly. After standing in line for what felt like forever, I finally had my Frappuccino in hand. Scanning the park for an empty bench, with the least amount of people nearby, I spotted the perfect spot under a large shade tree with no one, not a single soul, nearby. Score!

Sitting down, I smoothed my skirt over my legs. Today was Friday which meant that for a five-dollar donation to the Fallen Officers’ Family Fund I could wear something other than my normal work attire of khaki pants and black polo with my department logo on it. Forcing myself to clear my mind of all things work, I took a deep, cleansing breath and slipped into my civilian self. For my own sanity, I had two very distinctive personalities. My thirty-year-old, serious, professional side, in which I had to put on my work hat, contrasted mightily with my giddy, relaxed, almost childlike side, who loved the simpler things in life. I summoned the latter and sighed happily, slurping away at my dessert in a cup. It was finally summer. The drink confirmed it, or maybe it was the eighty-five-degree, full-sun day and the sundress I was wearing. Either way, it was finally warm enough to spend more time in nature. I dipped my finger into the whipped cream and popped it into my mouth, smiling. Nothing could ruin this moment. The warm breeze coming off of Lake Michigan was caressing my bare legs. The Chicago skyline behind me and the sweet drink in my hand changed my mood for the better.

This case had been driving me crazy. We were chasing an international serial killer. A monster who was being incredibly careful. Too careful. We hadn’t found a single shred of physical evidence at any of the crime scenes. No witnesses, nothing. It was maddening. No one was this careful. The murders themselves were bizarre.

The eleven victims, all women, had no connection to one another. The only similarity was that they all fit a very specific physical profile. Each was just under six-foot-tall, had hair so blonde it was white and piercing blue eyes. Their eyes seemed to contain more pigment than the average human’s, making them an incredible shade of blue.

What’s more, the killer had committed murder across the globe. It was as if he, or she, was trying to eliminate all the women on the planet who fit that profile. The most unnerving piece of this puzzle was that I fit into the physical profile. It was at the first murder scene that my coworker, a homicide detective, pointed out the similarities between the victim and me, laughing nervously at his discovery.

After the third murder, the FBI Agent assigned to the case, taking a look at the photos of the victims lining his board, looked at me and made me promise to keep a gun on me at all times. At the time, I laughed at his statement, but now, despite the fact that I had been well-trained in martial arts, I was starting to get a little nervous. I work out regularly, box for fun and study Krav Maga. I could defend myself better without a weapon. I was authorized to carry one and on crime scene days, I did. Days like today, when I would be at the lab, I disobeyed orders and relaxed my guard.

I wasn’t in a hurry to get back to the lab, and I knew the results would take a while. Pulling my phone from my purse, I opened my reading app, and started reading a chapter from my 2:00 a.m. Amazon impulse buy.

Ambien and I really need to have a talk about our relationship; he wasn’t holding up his end of the bargain.

My favorite authors had a new release and I couldn’t wait to dig deep into the story line. Alpha males and feisty females butting heads. My favorite kind of read. He would put her over his knee for a spanking and then they would have mind-blowing, orgasm-inducing sex. I found myself wishing for the hundredth time that the men in these books were real. But, alas, they were nothing but fictional characters, made up by women like me. A woman who longed for a dominant man to sweep her off her feet, take her in hand for her naughtiness, and spoil her rotten.

My phone ringing pulled me, begrudgingly, from the story. “You plan on coming back to work today?” Monica asked. I glanced down at my watch; my thirty-minute break had turned into two hours!

“Shit!”

“Is it a good book, at least?” Monica laughed. It wasn’t the first time I had gotten distracted by reading and lost track of time lusting after sexy, dominant Daddy-type book boyfriends. I needed to make a new rule for myself: no reading during work hours.

“That it is. I’ll be right back.” Hanging up the phone, I tucked it into my back pocket and sighed. I wished I could sit on the bench for the rest of the afternoon, it would sure beat being stuck in the lab. Standing to head back to the lab, a loud thudding sound caught my attention. Turning toward the loud noise, I noticed three very odd, very large people standing in a semi-circle looking at me.

“So much for being stealthy,” a woman with purple streaks in her black hair, the shortest of the three, announced. I looked at them a bit closer. The man had to be seven feet tall, at minimum. Part of my training was to be extremely observant of everything around me. I took in their features, memorizing them, just in case I needed to give a description later. The man reminded me of the actor who played Thor, combined with the height of a professional basketball player and the build of a professional weight lifter. To his immediate left, was the shorter of the women, the one who had just spoken. On his other side was a woman who bore such a striking resemblance to me that we could be sisters. That was alarming enough in and of itself, but to add to the unease, the group began walking quickly in my direction.

Damnit!

Why had I decided to wear a sundress today? I had neither my badge nor my gun on my waist.

Taking calming breaths, I reminded myself of my self-defense skills.

I’m a trained level-six Krav Maga black belt.

Besides, they might not be threatening. Just because they are giants doesn’t mean they are dangerous.

That might have been easier to believe if the women walking toward me weren’t covered in leather armor. I couldn’t keep my eyes off the lone man in the center. He reminded me of a Viking. A very large Viking. His muscles were rippling under his clothing.

Maybe they are actors filming a movie or a TV show. That has to be it. There must be a movie being filmed in the city. Why else would they be dressed like that?

“Are you Morrigan?” The Thor-vikingesq man spoke in a deep, rumbly voice, interrupting my inner dialogue.

God, he even sounds like Thor.

Wait. What? Dude, Morrigan, he just said your name. He knows who you are. Why does he know who you are?

I looked from him to the two large, armored women standing in front of me. My gut told me to run.

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