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As I lower myself into the beaten-up faux leather seat, I glance at her. Her expression is tense. She’s right back in the middle of the defiled church in front of the altar.
“I assume it was safe for you to go in,” he growls as his eyes slide to glare at me.
I suppress the overwhelming urge to flip him right the fuck off.
“I’m sure it would be beneath you to consider that any of us in the fire department would put Detective Chavelle in harms way.” I can’t resist telling him to go fuck himself with words, diplomatically of course. “Therefore, to answer your question, yes, it was safe.”
I can see his jaw flex from here. “Of course not.” His gaze slides back to Dominique. “Was going in before everyone else helpful?”
Dominique’s gaze drops to her lap, and something inside me twists viciously. “I’m not sure, Sergeant. Initially, it was a shock.”
It was so fucking horrible, she had to run out and throw up.
“The fire chief,” his eyes snap to meet mine again, “said it was definitely our perp. I bet it was a shit-show.”
That’s putting it mildly.I snort.
Dominique’s head twists so she’s glaring at me.
“It was,” I reply to her look.
She rolls her eyes and faces her sergeant again. “I wanted to discuss a probable premise to the crimes with you. This is something Ignatius and I both agree on.”
“So now he’s a cop,” the sergeant grunts.
What is it with this guy? I haven’t done a damn thing to him and he’s acting as if I fucked his daughter.
“Sergeant, he was one of the first on the scene emergency responders for each of the crimes, and he’s a descendant of one of New Orleans’ founding families. He knows everything there is to know about New Orleans,” Dominique defends me. And it pisses me off she even has to.
“I’m aware,” the sergeant remarks.
What in the actual fuck?
“Not only are you being rude, but you’re acting like an ass,” she tells him. The woman has balls. He opens his mouth to bark at her, but she cuts him off. “We believe the perp is using these women as sacrifices for each of The Seven Deadly Sins. We’re not sure why he chose them. Maybe the who doesn’t matter.”
The sergeant appears to be intrigued. “What makes you say that?”
“Let’s look at the first crime. It happened in what used to be an OBGYN clinic, and the victim had suffered what could have been called a hysterectomy.”
The sergeant nods. “All correct. Go on.”
“Ignatius and I believe the crime represented Lust.”
The sergeant furrows his brows, and seems to be considering our conclusion. “Okay, what about the next two?”
Dominique dives in, full speed ahead. “The second one was found in a residence, restrained in a kitchen, with her tongue cut out.” She lifts her hand and raises two fingers. “That one represented Gluttony.” She takes a deep breath. “The third victim was found in what was known to be a betting and racketeering establishment. Her eyeballs had been removed and were found lodged in her throat.” Jesus fucking Christ. “That was probably Greed.” Her raised hand shows three fingers, indicating crime number three. She lifts a fourth finger. “Last night’s crime was in a Catholic church. The victim was tied to the altar, and her hands had been chopped off.” I actually see Dominique tremble. She turns to me, and I can tell recalling the crimes, especially the most recent, really disturbs her. “Which do you think this one was?” She poses the question to me.
I fucking hate this. Really fucking hate this. But I’m here, with her, and frankly I’m not sure there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for Dominique.
I look out the window in the sergeant’s office. It overlooks the street. Out there, thousands of people are going about their lives, at home with their families, walking their dogs, whatever it is they do, all the little things that fill our lives. And somewhere amongst those unsuspecting regular people a killer is planning, most likely stalking, his next victim. He’s very likely got his next murder already planned right down to the last detail. He might even have his next sacrifice. So, as much as I hate everything about this shit, I will do whatever the fuck Dominique wants me to.
For her.
“My mother used to drag me to church every Sunday when I was a kid. I hated it. She used to drag me to a lot of places,” I turn to face Dominique again. Her gaze is fixed on me, there’s a sense of longing and nostalgia in her expression, of places long gone. I smile at her. “She used to drag me along when she went to see Hattie, too. I thought I was going to marry her.” Dominique laughs. Knowing I can do that in the middle of this shit-show makes me feel good. “Anyhow, I remember this one service, I don’t know why, but I do.” I turn my attention to the window again, my gaze fixed on things you can’t see. “The priest was talking about The Seven Deadly Sins, telling us to beware. Especially of Sloth. He’d said that we’d gotten lazy in our religious practices, that people don’t go to church anymore like they used to. He said that’s what’s wrong with the world.”
I turn my head, my gaze landing on the sergeant first. I can’t make out his expression, could be he hates the fact I’m in his office, or he might hate that I’m making complete sense. Then I meet Dominique’s eyes. “I think it’s Sloth.”
Our eyes stay locked on each other, and something passes between us, something strengthening the bond that links us. I don’t know what it is, it’s much more than sex and circumstance. It’s powerful, and it keeps getting stronger.
