Spirit of Murder
Katia N. Ruiz
Copyright 2002-2004
Disclaimer: this story is a work of fiction. It is extremely violent, about a woman who is a killer-for-hire. There is also HOT sex, as this is an erotic story also, so… If this bothers you, no problem, just click on the X and leave. This is the sequel to Murder For Sale.
Like what you’re reading so far?? PLEASE let me know, J . I won’t accept meanness, though, so be nice.
"Guess what?" Tolstoy sped into Rhiannon’s office, clutching a folder in her hand.
Rhiannon looked up from her file and removed her glasses, briefly rubbing tired gray eyes. "Must be good," She said dryly, eyeing her assistant. The normally shy Tolstoy was practically bouncing out of her shoes.
"Well?" Rhiannon snapped, making the younger agent jump slightly.
"Well, um," Tolstoy hesitated, clearing her throat. "The mother got a call," Rhiannon’s surprise registered in the slight raise of dark eyebrows. Tolstoy continued. "The local agents in Portland decided to tap the phone lines of D’Agostino’s immediate family. You know, with the Patriot Act, they can get away with that now."
Rhiannon rolled her eyes and motioned for Tolstoy to move along with the story.
"Well, D’Agostino called her mother at a cousin’s house today at one forty-five from a payphone Greenwich Village, West Ninth Street and Sixth Avenue." Tolstoy finally sat down. "At least we have an area to check out."
Rhiannon was impressed. "Yes, we do." She narrowed her eyes as she thought. "I don’t want to get the local police involved. I know it could cause problems," She said before Tolstoy could protest. "But think about this: we tell the cops, they put pictures out, it gets on the news, and D’Agostino gets wind that we’re close. She would disappear. This is the closest we’ve been to her. We’re going to drive around, find out what we can. Discreetly show her picture around."
Tolstoy nodded in agreement.
"Good," Rhiannon said with a sigh. "How about we get started now."
"Sounds good, Agent Marlowe, but give me a couple of minutes. I have to go the ladies’ room."
Sighing again, Rhiannon nodded. The girl could sometimes get on her nerves. Either she was too quiet, or she gave too much information. Sighing once more, Rhiannon picked up the phone.
¨ ¨ ¨ ¨ ¨
"We’re close." The disembodied voice filled the dark office from the speakerphone.
The man behind the large desk nodded and smiled to himself slowly, cold dark eyes glinting satisfactorily. He flicked a stray silver strand of hair off a high forehead with a toss of his head. "Great," He said in a deep bass voice. "As soon as you find out where she is, let me know and I’ll send some people out. She can be a great asset to us."
The voice chuckled in agreement. "As soon as I get the information we need, I’ll pass it right along to you, sir."
"Great," The man said. "I expect no disappointments." He leaned forward slightly and depressed the speaker button with a manicured finger, hanging up.
¨ ¨ ¨ ¨ ¨ ¨
It took them a month, with no more murders, to hit pay dirt in The Village. Tolstoy had been impatient and ready to try something different, but the more experienced Marlowe wanted to continue their search. They came across a hostel owned by a very old widow. After much consideration of the enlarged picture, she recognized the person as her tenant of two months, Devin Bordeaux.
"…Very observant," She was bragging triumphantly, thumbing herself on the chest. "She is out every night, that girl. I don’t know what a girl does going out at all hours of the night, unless she’s one of those ladies of the night." She leaned forward onto the counter, whispering conspiratorially: "She doesn’t seem like the type, though. Too scary to attract any men."
Marlowe and Tolstoy glanced at each other with eyebrows raised in amusement, then returned their gaze to the energetic old lady. "Is she around now?" Marlowe asked evenly, not betraying her excitement at getting close to a lead.
"Oh no," The old woman said. "She went out early this morning. Hardly sleeps, that one." She shook her head in lament.
"Well, thank you, Ms. Donnelly," Marlowe said in a low voice. "We’d appreciate if you didn’t let your tenant know that you gave out any information about her. She wouldn’t appreciate it, I’m sure." She slipped the old lady two hundred dollars.
Ms. Donnelly snatched the money up quickly, shaking her head quickly; she could feel a shiver move up her spine at the thought. She was sure Ms. Bordeaux would not like it one bit.
¨ ¨ ¨ ¨ ¨
To anyone looking, Ixtchel sitting outside a café on Christopher Street, leaning back relaxed in her chair with her legs crossed at the ankles. She was occasionally sipping from a cup of tea and staring at the seat on the other side of her table. What was going on inside her head would scare the most fearless.
"What’s wrong? Surprised to see me?" Julia said, crossing her legs at the knees and caressing her exposed thigh languorously.
"What-" Ixtchel finally managed.
"Do I want?" Julia purred. "Ask me something else, Ixtchel. I’m getting tired of the same questions."
Ixtchel felt paralyzed. Julia and her father had been visiting more and more, mostly when she tried to sleep, and occasionally interfering with her daily routines. She felt trapped by Julia’s blue eyes, which contrasted her sexy and inviting pose with their internal hellfire.
"No questions?" Julia said, leaning forward until all Ixtchel could see were her eyes. "I’ll tell you what I want then," Her voice hardened. "I want you dead!"
"You’re not real." Ixtchel whispered, struggling to close her eyes, but she couldn’t.
Julia sneered as she leaned back, any beauty she once possessed marred by her expression. "Want anything else?" She suddenly asked.
"What?" Ixtchel exclaimed, frowning.
"Are you alright?" The waitress asked, touching Ixtchel on the shoulder gently.
Ixtchel snapped out of the trancelike state with a shiver she’d been in, turning her head to look at the waitress.
The waitress immediately removed her hand, the look in the white-green eyes scaring the shit out of her. She’d seen the young woman plenty of times for the past few months, but she’d never built up the courage to ask her for anything but her order. God, she’s gorgeous! All I need is one time, one time! She sighed audibly.
Ixtchel knew the woman liked her, and she’d usually ignored her. Today, though, as was becoming the habit after any vision of Julia, Ixtchel decided not to. She studied the waitress with an appreciative eye. She looked young, no more than twenty-three or twenty-four years old, with very curly red hair framing a pale freckled face. "Do you have a back room?"
"What?" The waitress exclaimed, not sure she heard right.
"A back room, somewhere private." Ixtchel said evenly, her eyes never wavering from their hold on the women.
The waitress felt a chill move down her spine at the predatory look she was receiving. She felt like a meal waiting to be devoured, and she didn’t mind one bit. She knew exactly what the cold-eyed woman had in mind. "Come on," She said softly, turning to walk away.
Ixtchel’s lips curved into a smile. "I’m glad we’re on the same page." She said as she followed.
"I’ll be back in a few," The waitress told her co-worker, who stared after them in surprise.
In the storage room, as soon as the door was closed, Ixtchel grasped the woman firmly by the hair and placed her with her front against the door. "I won’t hurt you-" She tilted her head. "What’s your name?"
"Beckett!" The waitress gasped, the side of her face and her hands flat against the door. The stranger’s grasp on her hair, though firm and strong, wasn’t painful, and she relaxed. She could feel herself getting wet between the legs as the sound of the stranger’s harsh breathing reached her ears. She gasped when a rough hand reached around her waist to unbutton and push down her jeans.
"Stay just like this, Beckett." Ixtchel said huskily, removing her hand when Beckett nodded.
Beckett listened as the woman of her deepest fantasies undid her own jeans and the faint sound of tearing plastic filled the room. She felt the stranger grasp her hair again and moaned when she felt the body press tight against hers.
"Are you ready for me, Beckett?"
Beckett groaned as she felt a shaft-like object slide easily between her soaking thighs. "Yes…" She whispered, and cried out when she was entered with one deep thrust. She felt her face press against the wall with every continuing thrust.
Ixtchel threw her head back and groaned as she began to thrust rhythmically into Beckett, the young woman’s cries of pleasure spurring her on.
Beckett came almost instantly the first time, and she groaned again and again when the other woman’s thrusts grew frantic. She came again, with Ixtchel this time, and sagged back against the stronger woman with a sigh. After a few moments of recovery, Beckett felt the woman begin to withdraw from her.
She turned around, weakly leaning against the wall as she gazed at the stranger with glazed eyes. The white haired woman was already buttoning up her jeans, her face expressionless as she looked up at Beckett. The look in her scary eyes kept Beckett from moving forward and trying to wrap her arms around the taller woman’s neck. Instead, she bent down and pulled her pants up, buttoning them up with shaking hands.
Ixtchel took a deep breath, uncharacteristically pausing and taking a good look at Beckett. "Thank you," She finally said. "I needed that."
Beckett nodded, releasing a breath. "Glad to oblige." She said softly, making the other woman smirk. "Will I see you again?"
"Maybe." Ixtchel replied simply, and without another word, left Beckett to think about what had just happened.
¨ ¨ ¨ ¨
"There she is." Tolstoy breathed, bringing Rhiannon out of her thoughts.
Rhiannon’s eyes instantly tracked to their quarry. She took in everything about Ixtchel D’Agostino as the woman walked down McDougal Avenue to her hostel. The short white-blonde hair was a mess, falling over her face and eyes. Rhiannon couldn’t see the eyes from where they sat in their unmarked car, but she knew that they were the same scary eyes she’d seen the photograph; she wanted to see them up close. The agent was almost amused at how people moved out of D’Agostino’s way when she passed, looking fearful of her. Ixtchel D’Agostino stood out amongst the "normal" humans.
"Pick her up now?" Tolstoy asked, her eyes as glued to D’Agostino as Rhiannon’s.
Rhiannon frowned slightly. Tolstoy was too eager to confront a possibly deadly suspect. "Not a good idea." She replied softly, glancing over at the young agent. Mary Tolstoy didn’t seem like the brave kind, Rhiannon mused as she studied her, too mousy for her own good. "She’s been able to overpower men three times her size, successfully brutally torturing them before murdering them. What do you think she could do to us?"
Tolstoy’s eager smile faded. "We’re well trained agents with guns." She pointed out with a little doubt in her voice. She hadn't thought about that.
"Sure, but we were also trained to be cautious, Tolstoy." Rhiannon said sternly, adjusting her glasses on her nose. "We can’t just fly into a situation by the seat of our pants. Okay? We think this out."
Tolstoy nodded, her eyes returning to their suspect and following her until she slipped into her building. She seemed to come out of her trance with the disappearance of their suspect. "What do you have in mind?"