8 comments/ 11093 views/ 7 favorites Rialto Fatale Ch. 01 By: FinalStand Thank you to Frontma for her diligence with my editing. *If you love your work, is there room enough to love someone else* (This is not a story about murder or detective work; it is a story of loving what you do and what that leads to.) I've been with the FBI for six years but this is my first time being lead on a case. I am in Seattle working on a case of a serial killer known as the Rialto Fatale for her attacks in Denver two years ago. She showed up, killed four married women and one married man in a five-month time span, and then vanished. Three weeks ago, a thirty-three year old wife was murdered the same way here in a new city, Seattle. This afternoon a second body has been discovered in the Cascades. My partner, Special Agent Greta Larson, and I have come to the mountain crime scene to take a look. The MO is the same; non-fatal stab wounds then strangled to death with what we believe was a narrow belt. The body has been left half naked with small statements written in marker left on the body. In this case it said; 'you will never hurt anyone again.' The difficult part about this assignment is, we are sure the killer is a woman. All but one of the victims had last been seen in the company of an unidentified woman with mid-shoulder-length blonde, black, or brunette hair. She is also pretty, and pretty damn bright because not only did she seduce her victims, but she lured them away even when they knew the risk. My predecessor had been unable to track her down and since he retired six months ago, it is now my case. Greta stayed at the scene to work with the Seattle CSI while I headed down to the city to start reviewing every bit of old data yet again. I know I have to be missing something. I am thinking so hard about it, I almost miss the broken section of railing by the road. Something about the damage looks new so I pull over, get out, and take a look down the steep hillside. About twenty meters down I see a car sitting on the edge of a huge drop-off. I pull out my phone but get zip reception so I pocket it and scramble down the slope. For the last bit I have to grab onto a small tree and slide down to the driver's side door. The woman inside looks terrified. Even as she turns to look at me the car shifts slightly and inches toward the cliff. "Can you open the door?" I say softly. She shakes her head. "Every time I do something the car slips," she gulps nervously. "Does it slip even when you are still?" I ask. She nods. I look up at the sky and can tell rain is going to fall and soon. "Miss, when the rains come, this slope will become mud and then you will go over the edge for sure. I'm not sure we have time for me to go and get help. You have to try," I urge her. The woman looks anguished and then the predicted rain begins to fall. "Let me open the door," I beg. She swallows deeply and nods. Thankfully, the door comes open and I put a hand in to reach her. She looks at me, almost out of her mind with fear but is focused on my outstretched hand, not on going over the cliff. "Take my hand," I plead. The car slips and she squeezes her eyes shut. I can't grab her because any struggle might kill us both. "Listen, what's your name?" "Art...Artie," she gulps, "Artie Caruso." "Artie, if you don't grab my hand we are both going to die," I tell her sincerely. She doesn't seem to understand. "Artie, I'm not going to leave you so if this car goes, I go with it. Now, take my hand," I repeat. "I really don't want to die today." That seems to affect her and she tentatively takes hold of my hand. Once I've gotten a solid grip I start pulling her out. The car slips again, she yelps, and I whisper a few prayers. I roll her into a one-armed hug as the car breaks free and slides out of view; seconds later we hear it crashing on the way down the ravine. "Okay, now, Artie, I want you to crawl over me and climb up the slope. I'll catch you if you slip," I instruct her. She puts her purse in her mouth and claws her way up me until I can get her hand on the vines and climbing head of me. A few times I have to push her ass ahead of me but we finally get back to the road. In retrospect, Artie recovers remarkably fast and proves very athletic getting herself to safety. When we get into the car and out of the rain, we are breathing heavily, more from relief than actual fatigue. She turns to me with this quizzical look on her face. "You have a gun," she comments. I reach into my coat and hold up my FBI identification for her to see. "Wow, an honest to God FBI agent," she grins. "I never thought I would meet one this way but I'm glad I did. To what do I owe my salvation?" "I really can't talk about it but it was official business," I inform her. "Oh," she breaths deeply, "that sounds very mysterious. So what do we do now, Mr. FBI Man?" "Special Agent Mark MacKinnon," I answer her. "And I think I take you down to the closest service station, we call the wreck in, and we see about getting you to a hospital." "I don't need a hospital," Artie responds. "You were in a wreck; I highly recommend it," I push. She sets her jaw and locks gazes with me. "How about this; you drop me off and I'll take care of my car, then you can check up on me this evening over dinner?" Artie suggests with a certain aura of elegance and self-confidence that I find intriguing. I feel myself rubbing my ring finger and the band that has been on it for the better part of a decade. "Oh, you are married?" she asks speculatively. I look at the ring. "I was," I reply. "She was killed by a drunk driver two years ago." "Yet you still keep the ring on...how odd," she observes. "Have you ever been in love, Artie?" I counter. "No, I don't think I have," she admits. "Well, when you do, you will understand how there is this ache when they are not around and how much it hurts when you know you will never see them again. I keep the ring because that is all that I have left of her," I relate to Artie, who seems mystified by my little speech. "Oh. I've never felt that way about anyone," she smiles. "Somehow that story doesn't fit the macho image I envisioned every male FBI agent having." "Didn't mean to disappoint," I shrug. I start the car and begin heading down the mountain. "I'm not disappointed," she states. "Are we still on for dinner?" "Not unless I pick you up from the hospital," I persist. "Fine," she concedes but she clearly finds me amusing and I find myself thinking about a woman like I haven't felt since college. Though muddy, frazzled, and soaked, I can tell Artie is an attractive woman around five-ten, black hair that barely reaches past her shoulders, and facial features that remind me of a certain French model I once met. The rest of her features are somewhat obscured by her damp, muddy clothing but I can tell she's probably a nice B-cup, a decent waistline, and nice, if somewhat slender hips. Her ass is a little small but very firm as my hands can attest to, and her legs are testaments of a love of physical training. For her part, I can see she is checking me out on the way down as well. I'm just over six foot with brown hair and a runner's build, which is good because I love to run 10K's. I take good care of myself but I know I'm sexually repressed. I've only had sex with one woman in the past twelve years and no sex in the past two. Quite frankly, until today, I've found the attention women have been showing me a bit irritating because I've been at war over my own growing sexual appetites and my longing for my lost love. I have reacted to this stress by pouring myself into my work, doing an excellent job at it, and that has led me to Seattle. In the back of my mind I know nothing can come of any relationship here. I'd do my job, put the killer behind bars, and fly back to DC. I might come back for the trial but that is it. Still, I decide I'd like the company, someone to talk to. Every minute or so Artie checks for reception and when we finally get some she starts making calls. I have to remind her to call the Highway Patrol as well as her insurance. We catch up with the HP officer at the closest hospital where it is revealed that Artie has a few bruises from the air bag and seat belts but is otherwise okay. I check in with Greta but the rain hasn't helped gathering evidence, so I relay my little tale to her and agree to meet her at the local PD. I tell Artie it is going to be another long night but take a rain check for tomorrow. The first forty-eight hours after a crime are the most crucial so I ask her to make it for two nights instead. (Two days later) I keep telling myself that crime solving is based on persistence as much as luck. You have to keep coming at these cases until something breaks. Somehow the killer has made a mistake and all I have to do is sift through the evidence until I find it. I'm doing that once again when I have a phone call directed my way. "Hello, Special Agent McKinnon; it is Artie Caruso. Are we still on for this evening?" the confident female voice inquires. Oh, crap. I've totally forgotten about my promise. "Um...sure. There is this little Italian place down the street from the station," I struggle to plan. "How about I pick you up at seven?" "Mark, it is already six-thirty and I think I know the place you are talking about and the food is dreadful. How about you meet me at Trent's downtown in an hour instead?" she suggests. "Sounds good; I'll see you then," I answer while wondering how expensive this place is going to be. "I'll see you there, Mark," she says pleasantly, then hangs up. I catch Greta's eye. "I'm calling it a night and come at this with a fresh mind tomorrow morning," I tell her. "So is that the lady you pulled off the cliff?" she smirks. "Yes, but it is only a thank you thing. Don't make anything of it," I respond. "Mark," she chuckles, "go by the motel and clean up. You need a shave and you look like you've been sleeping in that suit for the past two days." Great, I think, now I'm going to be late. I make as graceful an exit from the room as possible and hope to God traffic is light. As it is, I'm five minutes late and race into the place so fast I nearly bowl over the elderly couple that came in before me. The maitre d' gave me a once-over because I'm not exactly their preferred clientele. "Is Ms. Caruso here?" I request. He nods and a hostess escorts me to the back where Artie sits at a secluded, darkened table for two. "Good evening, Ms. Caruso," I greet her as I sit down. "Call me Artie, Mark. I think you've earned the right," she tells me as she flashes me a smile full of sensuality and promise. "You look really beautiful tonight," I compliment her. "Not that you weren't beautiful the last time we met but...well, you know what I mean." She smiles even more. "I'm not going to stop you if you want to say I'm beautiful a few more times," she laughs. I blush slightly. I really am rusty at this. "So, Artie, what do you do?" I feel is safe to ask. "I'm a foreign investment consultant," she informs me. "I tell businesses and wealthy individuals how to invest in foreign markets, primarily the Asia/Pacific region." "Do you like the work?" It is easier to ask that than how much does it pay. "It allows me to travel and the hours are good," she shrugs. "What is it like being an FBI agent? Is it anything like TV?" "Sadly, it is not solving a homicide once a week in a one-hour time span," I grin back at her. "In reality, it is studying, research, interviewing people, and walking over crime scenes a dozen times," I confide in her. "Sounds fun," she replies sarcastically. "Why do you do it?" "Bad people need to be stopped," I answer. "It may sound simple but that's pretty much it. Someone has to put criminals away so why not me?" "Well I should have figured you weren't a very practical man when you said what you told me in the car," she seemed amused. "What was that?" "You said you wouldn't leave me, that you would go over the cliff with me rather than leave me alone to die. That was one of the stupidest things I've ever heard," she expresses to me. "I didn't want to die, Artie, but I wanted you to live more. It was a judgment call and I think I made the right one. Otherwise, I wouldn't have the joy of your company now," I point out. "I would have let you die," Artie responds. "Most people would have," I say, "but I'd like to think I live beyond the normal conventions of the crowd and do my own thing." I get the feeling Artie thinks I'm lying. "Well, speaking of saving lives, how goes the case? I hear on the news that you are going after the Rialto Fatale," she changes the subject. "I can only tell you what we've told to the press. Caucasian female, five-nine to six feet, medium build, black or brunette hair, aged thirty-two to thirty-seven, and with a limited social network," I relate. "How do you come up with all that?" she asks as she leans across the table, resting on her elbows and putting her chin in her hands. "Surveillance shows she's white; likewise, we can put the height and build together from footage. She's a methodical killer, acting out a deep-seated revenge fantasy, and she's very bright," I continue. "Deep-seated revenge fantasy?" she murmurs. "Child abuse most likely; I'm thinking a lesbian relative that had extensive access to her as a child. She sees that person in her mind when she confronts her victims," I answer. "The perpetrator of that crime is dead now, more is the pity. They should be put into a deep dark hole for what they put her through." "You sound sympathetic toward her," she comments. "Sympathetic? She's got to be stopped. That's my top priority. Once that's done, I hope she will get the help she needs," I say. "Would you shoot her if you had to?" she inquires. "Absolutely," I admit. "That isn't the outcome I'd look for but I accept that she is very smart and dangerous." "Aren't you smarter than she is? I hope so," she grins. "I'm not so sure about that," I answer. "She's committed seven murders in two cities; she's obviously scouted the areas yet made her selection over several nights and left the bodies to be discovered with no physical evidence." "Wow. You seem to have your work cut out for you," she whistles. "Don't I know it," I sigh. "Could I be your killer?" she teases me. "How old are you?" I inquire. "Twenty-seven," she tells me. "You are a little too young to be a prime suspect," I inform her. "Why is the age so important?" she asks. "It is a rough measure of someone's wealth and social acumen. Our perpetrator dresses at a certain income level that is appropriate for someone in that age range. Likewise, they are able to move through certain social levels. That implies a certain level of independence which gives the FBI an age range to work with." "Besides, have you ever been to Denver?" I inquire. "No, I can't say that I have," she smiles. She takes a sip of her wine glass and seems to drink me in with her eyes. The rest of dinner is pretty much a blur. We agree to cover our own bills, which leaves me thankful because this place is expensive. "Would you like to come back to my place?" Artie asks me as we exit the restaurant. She clearly looks like she's expecting a positive response. "Thank you, but, no," I respond. "Oh," she whispers. "Artie, I really like you but I'm not rushing into anything," I confess. "I would like to see you again if that's okay." She reaches out for my hand and gently pulls it to her. She rolls my hand palm up and rubs the finger with my wedding band. "Is this the reason?" she says softly. "Pretty much, yeah," I tell her. "In that case, I will see you again, Special Agent McKinnon," she graces me with a seductive glance. "I'll walk you to your car," I offer. "That's not necessary," she replies. "There is a killer on the loose," I remind her. "Point taken," she grins. She intertwines her fingers into mine and leads me down the street. We kiss briefly at her car and I watch her drive away. (Two Months Later) "Hey, Artie," Greta calls out as Artie comes to the edge of the task force room. Artie was slowly becoming a fixture at the Rialto Task Force. You can almost set your clock by her. "Mark, it is six o'clock; your lady-friend is here," Greta jokes to me. I am already getting my coat on. As I walk up to Artie and kiss her on the cheek, I take her hand and we make our way to the elevator. As we were going down Artie turns to me and yanks on my hand. "What's wrong, Mark?" she asks. She's become very adept at reading me. "They are going to pull us in a week," I sigh. "I don't know what I will hate more, not catching the Rialto Fatale or not spending any more time with you." Artie hugs my arm and puts her head on my shoulder. I am sure everyone thinks we have steamy passionate sex together but we haven't gone beyond some heavy kissing. We spend most of our time dancing, walking, running and, most often, talking. Artie is an exceptional woman; both well-educated and incredibly bright, and she appreciates those qualities in me. There is no sense of competition between us and after the first date, sex hasn't come up. "Maybe I could come visit you in DC?" Artie asks hopefully. "I have a spare bedroom so you could save on hotel money," I respond. That makes her chuckle. "You'd let me stay with you?" she smirks. "That's a definite advancement in our relationship." "I really like you, Artie, and I'm glad you are taking it slowly with me. Besides, after a few months I could get transferred back here to the regional office." "Mark, I've had plenty of dates but you are the only boyfriend I've ever had. I like it. I don't think you can understand how much I've enjoyed our time together," Artie confesses. "I still find it impossible to believe you didn't date heavily in college, Artie. You are a really beautiful, fascinating woman," I compliment her. "I was waiting for a guy like you," she flatters me. I've gotten the impression that Artie has some very strong trust issues but somehow, I've broken past that. She can't wait to get me into her car and drive us to whatever entertainment she's chosen for the evening. It is never boring. We stay up into the wee hours walking down town and talking about politics, economics, and world events. It has become our pattern. "Mark, I don't want you to leave Seattle," she states with determination. "I'm afraid I don't have control over that. Neither option I have is good; either Criminal Division decides to put me on another assignment or there is another murder." "I'm out of town for the next four days, to Seoul for work, but will be back on Sunday," she tells me. Artie remained upbeat and we made plans for the Monday after her return. (4 Days Later) "This is definitely our girl," Greta comments, as she looks at the body. Victim No.9 is a forty two year old mother of three children with suspected bisexual tendencies. Everyone is so surprised this could happen to her except a few of us who normally fear the worst. I'm walking around trying to make sense of it all but the thing that grabs me the most is the message left for us on the body this time: I am not done yet. Usually the message is denigrating to the victim in some way. This one is different; it is aimed at us, her pursuers. Greta catches me kneeling over the body studying the comment and nudges me with her knee. "What are you thinking?" she asks. "This isn't an impulse kill, Larson; this was deliberate," I respond. "She's in cycle, though. I figure we have one more month before she kills again and disappears," Greta says with a shake of the head. "No. Something has broken her cycle – it has been two months. This isn't her having a psychotic break. Or more appropriately, her psychotic break isn't being caused by the normal stimuli. I've missed something," I confess. Rialto Fatale Ch. 01 "Huh?" "The wounds to the abdomen are not frenzied and there is not scaring around the fingertips," I point out. "Oh, crap," Greta mumbles. All the other victims were conscious when they were strangled and their fingers were scraped up when they tried to pry the strangling belt off but not this victim; No.9 was already unconscious when she was strangled. "Copycat, maybe?" she wonders. I look at her dubiously. "Okay," she admits, "not a copycat. What does this mean, then?" "I wish I knew," I growl. "I wish I knew. I'm willing to wager that the next victim will be male, though." "So you are still holding to the pattern of four seduced married women, then one man seduced in a long-term relationship," Greta suggests. "Yes. We have to run with the profile we have; highly educated professional, aged twenty-five to thirty-five, and married," I say. "Well," she sighs, "when you figure who that is let the rest of us know. Right now, let's see what the crime scene and the body can tell us," Greta says to me. She's right; it is time for old fashioned police work. I get up and walk the scene one more time, knowing the clue I'm searching for is dancing just beyond my grasp, taunting me. It is late in the afternoon when Artie gives me a call. She wants to know if we can make the most of my last few days in town. When I tell her the news about the latest murder she admits to being conflicted. I tell her we'll catch up in two days, baring a break in the case. She lets me get back to work and I'm secretly relieved to have something to take my mind off of this bizarre twist in the case. (Three weeks later) Artie picks me up from work still dressed in her gym clothes. The last four nights we've been getting closer to the point of actually making love. Last night as we were dancing and my hands grazed her ass, she took wicked pleasure in telling me the reason she had no panty lines and we kissed goodnight for what seemed like forever in her car. After she parked in the driveway in front of her two-car garage, Artie dropped me in the living room and ran to the back of her ranch style house. I can see she is doing very well for herself as I wander the front part of the house while holding a loud conversation with her back to the bedroom. I toy with the idea of accidentally entering her bedroom but decide against it; we've got time. I walk around the living room while Artie finishes up. I note she mostly has landscape paintings and photos with a tiny number of personal photos thrown in. One catches my attention. There are three women in a Denver bar in the picture; one being Artie, another was the first victim of the Rialto Fatale, and the third is a friend and co-worker of the first victim and apparently familiar with Artie. The picture can't be more than three years old. Three...years. I go for my gun and start to turn around. "Don't," says Artie softly. She has a pistol aimed at me and is looking very agitated. I slowly take my hand away from my pistol grip. "Take it out and put it on the table, Mark," she tells me. "Put it on the end table and step away." I take my gun out and do as she commands; all the while she keeps her weapon aimed at me. When we get back to our starting points she starts looking truly upset. "That damn picture...that damn picture...why couldn't I get rid of it? Damn it!" she yells. "It was a trophy, Artie. You can't give those up," I explain. Keeping the gun pointed at me, she rushes up to the photo, rips it off the wall, and stomps on it several times. When she finishes she is close to tears. "Mark?" "Yes, Artie?" I say evenly. She walks right up to me, shoving the gun into my liver and presses herself against me. "I love you, Mark," she whispers. "I really think I love you." "I love you too, Artie," I respond. I can see her searching my eyes for betrayal and fear. She has to believe that I'm saying things to save my life. "I'm still going to put you away. There is no changing that." Artie leans against me and presses her lips against mine. After a moment I return the kiss and we stay that way for several seconds. "Artemis...my name is Artemis," she breaths into my chest. Artie – Artemis – of course, damn it! She steps back while keeping the gun on me. "I'm not going into a hole ever again, Mark. I couldn't stand it," she pleads. "Why can't you ignore the picture and let us go back to our lives? We could be so happy together." "You murdered nine people, Artemis. You have to answer for that," I explain. She responds by cocking the hammer back, hands trembling. "Tell me you will stop chasing me and I'll let you go," she bargains hopefully. "Not going to happen," I answer. "Would give me an hour's head start?" she asks. "I'm sorry, Artemis, but I can't do that either," I say patiently. "I love your honesty, Mark, and I really mean that I love your honesty. Everyone lies to me except you. You've been the best friend I've ever had," she confesses. "I'm still your friend, Artemis," I tell her. "We could have been lovers too," she says wistfully. "I thought we had time," I admit. That makes her smile and nod. "We should have had time," she responds. "We were supposed to have more time." I step up and she sticks her gun into my stomach while I stroke her cheek and kiss her again. "We were supposed to have sex tonight, weren't we?" she sighs. "Yes," I reply, which brings a light to the sorrow in her face. "Very well, then," she hiccups. "I'm going to have to tie you up now while I make my getaway." I don't like the way this is going but I guess it beats getting shot. "And if I say no?" I ask. "Mark, I'm an emotionally unstable woman who has already killed nine people and I have a gun pointed at you. Do you really want to say 'no' to me?" she says in a superior tone tinged with sadness. "Okay, lead the way," I suggest. Artemis shakes her head slightly and sighs. She motions me to move ahead of her with the gun. We move to her bedroom where she has a nice queen-sized bed. "Take your clothes off," she directs me. I turn and give her a quizzical look. I'm not going to annoy her by saying 'no' or asking 'why'; I start stripping. I hesitate at my underwear but she motions me to continue with the gun. "Mark," Artemis sighs, "we really should have had more time together. You have a wonderful body. Now get on the bed." Again, I don't see many options. I know I have to keep my wits about me if I am going to stop her. Artie backs over to a dresser while keeping the gun on me. She opens a drawer and pulls out three sets of handcuffs, then drops one back in. "You aren't going to cause me any problems, now, are you, Mark?" she inquires. "I guess not," I grumble. "So is it your plan to leave me chained to your bed naked?" "Yes," she admits. "Now put these cuffs on and extend your arms to each corner." I do as instructed, dreading the metallic click of each handcuff. Artemis settles onto the bed beside me and runs the gun from my Adam's apple down to my belly button before resting it on my chest. She takes up the right-side handcuff and attaches it to the headboard. Straddling my chest, she locks up the left side next. Artemis sits there looking down at me for a minute, her gaze going from longing to lust. "Make love to me, Mark, just this once," she begs. "Let me have once what should have always been mine; make me feel whole." I struggle with my response; this is so wrong, but right at the same time. "I'd like that," I confess to her, "but are you sure this won't set you off?" "Are you going hurt me, Mark?" she says with haunted eyes. "No," I assure her. Artemis doesn't respond with words. She gets off me, puts the gun on the dresser, and begins to undress. She starts off fast but when she notices me studying her intently, she shyly grins and slows down. "Yes? Do you see something you like?" she teases me. "Take your shirt off," I respond. Artemis nods her acceptance of our game and slowly strips out of her shirt, letting it slip off her shoulders, cascade down her arms, and finally fall to the floor. "Your necklace," I direct next. She finds that choice curious but obliges me. "Shoes." Artemis bends over facing me to take the first one off, letting her cleavage push against her simple yet elegant white bra. For the second one, she turns and gives me a side view. She smiles up at me and I can tell her mind is thinking something besides murder. "Skirt, please," I continue. She turns her back to me and slowly unzips the skirt, revealing the small of her back and her ass to me before letting it slide to the ground and stepping out of it. She's down to her stockings, garter, panties and bra so I have her sit on the bed and roll the stockings off while I look at her. I study her and her reactions, looking for anything that might help me now or in the future. I have to assume I have a future. Artemis rests a foot upon my arm with her hip brushing mine then rolls down the first stocking, tickling my bicep with her toes as she does so. At last she rubs the fabric along my arm, shoulder and chest before tossing it to the floor. She swings that leg over my chest before repeating the process with the other. Once she's completed that, she crawls up to me and starts kissing my face with small teasing bites before drowning me in a kiss full of longing and lust that I can't help but return. It has been so long, she looks so good right now, and I have to admit I want her like no one since my wife. I know I'm doomed to heartache for wanting this. "Garter belt." She pops it off, perhaps too quickly, then cups her bra and looks at me expectantly. All I have to do is nod and she unclasps it and lets it fall forward until only her hands hold the cups in place. She looks at me, waiting for something. "Please," I request. "I'd really like to see them." A devilish smile crosses her face and the bra falls free. She can tell I'm not disappointed. Artemis then hooks her thumbs in the top of her panties but waits on me. I take a few more seconds to drink her in before I tell her "Panties," She wiggles out of them very slowly, occasionally hiking them back up before going down again. When she finally reveals her hidden treasure to me, she hastily finishes getting them off and then covers herself. Panties in hand, she comes beside me once more and begins rubbing the damp silky material over my thighs. Slowly she works her way up to my balls, then cock, and finally up to my stomach, moving her hand in slow circles. I can't help but moan in lust. Artemis crawls on her belly up to my face and looks into my eyes. "I love you, Mark," she acknowledges somewhat painfully. "I love you too, Artemis," with my own brand of sadness. "I really want to make love with you, even if it is just this once," she murmurs. "I want to do this too," I say, before leaning up and kissing her. Our tongues meet, tease, and twist against each other. I can feel her panty-covered hand beginning to stroke my cock. She moves down slightly so that she can lay her head on my chest while she continues to excite me. I feel her other hand wander its way along my body but then deviate toward her own groin. Through the tensions in that arm I figure out she is pleasuring herself. She goes down and kisses me right below my belly button, circling around it, leaving a cool damp ring that sends chills throughout my body. She straddles my thigh, pushing her body up mine until she starts teasing my nipples with her teeth. I know she has this problem inflicting pain on people; she doesn't mind inflicting it yet she is incredibly gentle with me. Kisses travel up my sternum, crisscross across my pecs to each shoulder, then around to the neck where her moans are driving me nuts. All the while she keeps gently stroking me with her panties wrapped around her hand. Artemis bites my chin, then nibbles her way to my lips before she slips her tongue between them. Now that I am relaxing more, I can taste her cherry lip balm. "We should have done this sooner," she breathed into my face. "I have the feeling that every time with you is special," I respond hungrily. Her eyes brimming with tears, she runs her hand...which is covered with her own juices...over my lips and I obligingly lick them clean. "Is there anything you won't do for me...except let me go?" she whispers. "Anything but that," I confirm for her. Artemis takes a deep breath and starts to push her way down my body while aiming my penis at her slit. "Let met taste your tits first, Artemis," I request. She has to let go of my cock as she positions her breasts over my face. She taunts me a few times with her firm, fully engorged nipple, thick pebbles haloed by large areolas. I take the proffered gift into my mouth and I flick it with my tongue before starting a slow, gentle campaign of licking and suckling. Soon Artemis is pressing down on me, her hands grasping the headboard, and dangling her treasures into my face. "Remove a handcuff from one hand," I pant between drawing each nipple in. She doesn't even hesitate. "Thank you," I tell her as she frees one of my two hands. I have to think about it for a second. I'm not sure if I can control her with one hand and failure would most certainly be fatal. Now when I suckle on one breast, I coax and caress the other, playing with the whole thing, not just the nipple. This seems to be terribly arousing for her. "Go back to pleasuring yourself," I suggest. One arm reaches down and starts stroking the very bottom of her thinly shaved pussy. We enshrouded her in attention until Artemis cried out in a strangled song of arousal. She collapsed briefly against me, pushing up and inadvertently rubbing her fluids across my chest. "I want you inside of me," Artie pants. I nod eagerly and sensing it, she gives me a greedy smile. "What do you say, Mark?" "I want you, Artemis; I want your body, your mind, and your desire. I want all of you," I whisper. Tears well up in her eyes and she presses down and smothers me with kisses. After a tender moment, Artemis pushes herself up, splaying both hands on my chest while she raises her hips up before sliding her body down toward my cock. Our mixed sweat gives a magical sensation only exceeded by the first touch of the silky wet folds of her pussy as they engulf my cockhead. Artemis closes her eyes and holds still for that moment, prizing it as a bond we both can't walk away from. I reach up with my free hand, cup her cheek, and rub my fingers along her neck. Artie looks down at me and tears start making lone tracks down to her jawline. I doubt there are any words that would enhance the moment. Finally, eyes locked with mine, Artemis incrementally lowers herself down, savoring every second intensely. I wait for her to slowly raise and lower herself three times before tracing a line from her jaw, down her neck, to her breast. I circle the breast with a single finger in smaller and smaller arcs until I'm rubbing the nipple. "Aaahhh," she murmurs, by way of approval. "Oh, you like having your nipples toyed with?" I tease her. I get a rapid nod of the head. She bends her body farther back, stretching her stomach taut and forcing me to reach for her retreating breast. In short order I'm straining against my other handcuff, forcing me to switch tactics. Artemis appears to be unaware of the consequences of my actions because she gives a little whimper when my hand departs from her nipple but she then responds favorably as my hand traces its way down. She's grinding against me, leaning farther back to the point where her nipples are pointing skyward. I enjoy the view as I slide my finger along her pubic strip which leads me to her clit. "Mark..." she purrs as I start playing around. Artemis' breathing picks up the pace and her gyrations take on a new urgency when I decide to stretch my arm to the limit. As she flexes up I slip a finger next to my cock along her clit so that when she lowers down, it stretches her even more. "Too much," Artemis exclaims. I wiggle my finger harder up in response and Artemis starts moaning loudly. "Too much," she mouths again but in a smaller voice. I wiggle up to my second knuckle and she gasps. Again she settles down as she adjusts to my added pressure on the walls of her vagina. She takes it easy when she pumps up, groans, then slides back down. "Still too much?" I ask softly. "Mmmm...feels good," she exhales happily. When I push the finger against her clit she becomes even happier. We remain like this through several ecstatic minutes, me stretching her to her limits and reveling in that sensation in addition to the feel of her around me and on me. "Oh, Mark," she sobs, "Oh, Mark, I'm...cumming!" Her voice, barely above a whisper, is full of want and desire. I twist my hand and pinch her clit with my thumb. Artemis rockets up my cock and vaginal fluid flows down my hand and shaft. I keep twisting my whole hand around her as her body rocks back and forth. It is with a boneless thump that Artemis comes crashing down on me. For a second I toy with the idea of trying to overpower her but then I'm left with the reality of "what's next?" Instead, I slide my arm out from between us and reach around to cup her ass, squeezing it gently. "Mark, I love you," she breaths into my face – peppermint now that I think of it. "I've never been with a man that I wanted to be with twice," she confesses, "until you." I have to think that this is a little weird, but then she's totally insane. "We are not going to do this again this side of a prison," I tell her. "I know," she smiles sadly, "but I'm okay with that." I know she's lying but I don't know what about. "Who taught you that trick with the finger? Your wife?" Artemis inquires. "Yes...well, we figured it out together," I respond. "So I'm only the second woman you've done that for. I can live with that," she tells me as she rests her nose on mine. "Happily content?" I ask her. "Yes, Mark, very much so. Thank you for that," she grins. "Are you going to let me up now?" I press her. "No, Mark. I would very much like to have sex with you again so I have to secure your other hand once more," she says graciously and with longing. I've only had one other woman want me so much and she's dead. Artemis pushes my arm back up and secures it with the handcuff before hoping up and leaving the room. I hear her moving around and some water running before she pads back to me and washes me down with a hot cloth. Without a word she departs to the bathroom, showers, and comes back to me still naked. She crawls on top of me, props her elbows on my chest, and places her chin on the bridge formed by her fingers. "Do you mind if I sleep here for a bit?" she asks coyly. "Not really," I respond. She smiles and nestles onto me and promptly falls asleep, leaving me to figure out what has happened. I wake up with the bedroom alarm going off. Artemis props up on all fours over me with that tragic little smile of hers. For a second I'm wondering if I'm about to die. Instead, she kisses me passionately. "I have to get going now, Mark. Thank you for a wonderful night," Artie tells me. She maneuvers her body off of me and starts getting dressed. Occasionally she looks over at me as I watch her body slowly disappear behind her clothing. Without a word she comes back to me and slides my underwear on. I start to thank her but she hushes me. She proceeds to dress me with my pants and socks, then lays out my shirt, tie, and jacket on the dresser. For nearly an hour I hear Artemis moving around her house, packing up small things and taking them out to her car. When she finishes, she comes back to me with a bowl and a large cube of ice. Rialto Fatale Ch. 01 "The key is in the middle of this ice cube, Mark," she instructs me as she places it by my left hand. "When it melts you can free yourself and get back to hunting me." "You aren't going to kill me now?" I inquire. She looks, blinks, then smiles in appreciation. "You figured that last one out, didn't you?" she nods. "Married man, cheating on his wife, and killed with an unidentified sharp object with no one knowing who the other woman was," I related to her. "You figured all that out yet I didn't kill him in the same way as the others. How?" she wondered. "What gave it away was, you were too careful and left no clues; identified by lack of evidence, just like the Rialto Fatale," I pointed out. "Damn it," she shrugged playfully as only someone with a casual disregard for human life could. "Next time I'll remember to set somebody up for a murder-suicide." Seeing the pained expression on my face, she sighed. "I'll try, Mark; for you, I'll try to be good. Of course, if I'm good I won't see you anymore, which I really don't like." "That isn't going to happen, Artemis," I tell her. "After I tell them what happened, I'm off the case. It's back to DC for me; I'll probably lose my job." "That's not fair," Artemis pouts. "I had you in the same room and you escaped," I explain. "Hell, I slept with you after knowing who you were." "That's not your fault," she complains. "I outsmarted you." "Which is another reason for me to be put off the case; you are smarter than I am. You fooled me for months," I continue. "That wasn't my intention," Artemis related. "I genuinely liked your company. I came to love you and I didn't expect that. In a way, you are the best thing to ever happen to me and in a way, you've hurt me worse than anyone has too." "I apologize for that," I promise her. "I know, Mark, and I apologize for bringing back memories of you wife," she responds. "Until tonight I had a great time, Artie." "Was tonight so bad?" she asks. "Except learning that my girlfriend was the woman I've been trying to put I jail, having a gun pointed at me, and being handcuffed to your bed, tonight was everything I wanted it to be," I recite bitterly. "We'll meet again," Artemis insists as she stands up to leave. I don't know if I like that or not. The second the door closes I grab the ice cube and squeeze with all my might. Despite the pain caused by the cold, I don't let up until my fingernails can pry the key loose, I pop the lock and get to the phone. I move as fast as humanly possible getting every agency I can think of moving on the case. It isn't enough. It is impossible for me to believe that she hasn't had an exit strategy all along. My bet is on her sneaking out in a boat. It stops being my problem when my initial report crosses my boss's desk. I'm on the next flight to DC with my apology to Greta as I walk out the door. To their credit, most of my former teammates are sympathetic, but then, they all were within spitting distance of Artie as well. (Two weeks later) I'm under administrative review, which is that null area between employed and out on my ass. I'm sort of a pariah in my unit; after all, I slept with our unsub, the subject of my hunt. "Hello?" I say as I answer the phone, sitting alone in my house after a light dinner. "Hey, Mark," Artemis replies. Somehow I'm not surprised. "Where are you?" I ask. "Please don't," she begs. She isn't going to let me do my job. "How are you doing, Artie?" "I miss you, Mark, a lot" she sighs. "I'm sorry about that," I respond. "You fucked me over good, Mark. You got under my skin and I don't know how you did it," she murmurs. There is a long pause because I feel there is something else she wants to say. "Are you seeing someone new?" she asks. "Have you moved on?" "What? Artie, it has been two weeks. It is going to take much longer than that to get you out of my system," I point out. "Do you want to get me out of your system, Mark?" she says sadly. "Artie, you are a serial killer and I'm a cop. Our relationship isn't going to work," I explain. "Oh..." she whispers. "But I don't think that is what you asked. Yes, Artemis, I still love you and I probably always will, and it is going to kill me to see you put away. I don't see any happy endings for us," I groan. "Thank you for being honest with me, Mark," she relates before hanging up. I'm in contact with the FBI within ten seconds and they start the process of tracing the call while I start the process of being dragged through the grinder once more, which I have no doubt was her intention all along. I need to figure out why before she strikes again. The next day I figure it out but they don't believe me. The Rialto Fatale is still a psychopathic killer but her focus has been altered. I should have seen it with victim No. 10 in Seattle. She is no longer cruising bars looking to exact her revenge on the woman who molested her. She's found love and she wants to keep it; she's hunting me.