Lawyer Trap by R. J. Jagger

sleep when someone straddled him. He opened his eyes to a dim room and found Davica on top, wearing only a thong. “Come on, sleepyhead,” she said. He stretched, remembering their conversation last night about getting up early for a jog. It had seemed like a good idea then; now, not so much. Davica bounced up and down.
    â€œCome on. You can do it.”
    He rolled her over and lay on top, pretending to fall back asleep while she struggled under his weight. He almost took her right then and there, but knew he couldn’t.
    Not quite yet.
    Five minutes later, a yellow ochre sun rose as they headed out the front door. The grass smelled like dew and a mild chill hung in the air. They ran in the street, with Davica setting a faster pace than Teffinger was used to.
    â€œNo problem,” he said. “We’ll go slow if you want.”
    She sped up.
    â€œNo, that’s okay,” she said. “We can go faster.”
    He struggled to keep up, concentrating on his breathing.
    â€œThat’s better,” he said.
    She took him on a three-mile course and hardly broke a sweat. When they got back, he showered, inhaled coffee, slapped her on the ass, and headed for the door.
    She caught up with him, slapped his ass back, and said, “Don’t forget, you’re coming over tonight.”
    He raised an eyebrow.
    â€œI am?”
    â€œYep. I’m going to cook for you.”
    Teffinger smiled.
    â€œYou know how to cook?”
    She laughed.
    â€œI have talents in more than just one room of the house, Teffinger.”
    He turned out to be the first one to work, as usual, and got the coffee pot gurgling. One of the fluorescent lights over his desk hummed like a madman, so he took it out and swapped it with one from the chief’s office.
    That was much better.
    He dumped a cold half-cup of yesterday’s coffee in the snake plant, filled the cup with fresh stuff without rinsing, and then sipped it as he listened to his voice mails. One of them was from CNN, who wanted to interview him today on the four-body case. That was fine. The public had a right to know what was going on. He just needed to be careful to not give any secrets away.
    Plus, Davica would be impressed, seeing him on the news.
    Sydney showed up around 7:30, wearing a dark-blue skirt with a matching jacket, and walked to the coffee pot. Teffinger met her there and held out his cup while she still had the pot in her hand. She filled him up.
    â€œI checked my messages driving in,” she said. “If we received any tips on who the 911 caller is, they didn’t come to me.”
    â€œMe either,” Teffinger said.
    â€œWe got her face in the paper this morning,” she added. “Someone will call with her name today, guaranteed. I just hope she doesn’t play hide-and-seek.”
    They ended up at his desk, he with his feet propped up but pointed away from her so she wouldn’t have to look at the bottom of his shoes.
    â€œOkay,” he said, thinking out loud. “Let’s see where we’re at on this. The biggest thing we need to do is find out who victim number four is. She’s been haunting me because she’s so young, that and the fact that she had her eyes gouged out.”
    Sydney frowned.
    â€œAny word yet on whether that happened pre or post-mortem?”
    He shook his head.
    â€œNothing yet,” he said. “But if it was pre, I’m going to personally rip the guy’s head off and pee in the hole.” He wove a pencil in his fingers and snapped it in two. “Same thing goes for Rachel Ringer’s killer. If he took her head off while she was still alive, he’s going to wish he hadn’t.”
    She studied him.
    â€œSo you’re thinking we’re dealing with different killers.”
    That was true.
    â€œThree of the killings are violent,” he said, “but in different ways. As to the fourth woman—the one with no obvious signs of