The Cop and the Killer Ch. 02

When Amy Styles eyes opened, they were surprisingly clear considering how badly her head throbbed. Her bedroom was filled with daylight and she could hear a gentle sprinkling rain tapping softly against the window panes and on the roof. Lifting her head off the deep crater imbedded in her pillow, she focused her emerald green eyes at the digital clock on the bedside table; it read 3:02 pm. For a brief second, her mind and body flooded with panic: she was late for work again! But then the runners of her memory burst through the dreary hang over fog and reminded her that she had been suspended. Rolling over on her back, Amy stared at the ceiling and rubbed her temples. It was then that she realized her arms were still covered with sleeves. Glancing down over her body, she found that she was still completely dressed, right down to her cowboy boots, in the clothes she'd worn all day yesterday and last night. Resting the back of her hand on her forehead, Amy shut her eyes and her mind swirled. She had no idea how she had gotten home. The last thing she could recall was Erin, the knockout bartender at O'Malley's, standing over her and two other figures lifting her up. She could hear Erin's voice and smell her perfume, and then nothing. Suddenly Amy's memory fired another message through the fog and it whispered one word:

Miranda.

Amy's heart skipped a beat, her breath caught in her throat and a weak smile filled her lips as images of the mysterious and gorgeous brunette who had captivated her mind and had left her body in a pile of spent sexual putty on O'Malley's bathroom floor flooded into her mind. Amy swung herself out of bed and let her legs drop to the floor. Her boots clicked on the hardwood. Though she felt physically weak and drained, the standard morning ache of her body was far less brutal than she had anticipated. Instead, she felt her body tingling from top to bottom and the only thing that was truly aching, other than her head, was her pussy. The little girl had gotten herself one hell of a long overdue workout. Amy sat motionless for a moment and let herself stabilize; her stomach was queasy, as per usual, and the room spun. Still, Amy had to admit that she didn't feel near as bad as she should considering how much she'd drank. Perhaps after the release of so many dormant sexual hormones and the orgasm that tore through her like a category five hurricane, her body was somewhat empowered to fend off the effects of heavy alcohol consumption. Perhaps great sex was the answer to her drinking problem. Still, she felt like hammered whale shit and once she teetered into the bathroom and surveyed the external in the mirror, she looked like it too.

Amy stripped out of her clothes and sat down for her morning call of nature, which was somewhat difficult considering her memory was now bombarding her with sizzling hot recollections of her passionate sexual ravaging at the hands of mysterious Miranda. Amy's body was flooding with a wave of lustful heat and she eyed the shower stall with an intense, wanting stare. Suddenly her mind turned into an episode of Deadliest Catch and the awful realization washed over her like the pounding, frigid waves of the Bering Sea; Miranda had vanished almost as mystically as she had appeared and left Amy no way of contacting her. As her body instantly went cold, Amy felt her heart plunge like a muddy cinder block into the pit of her stomach and she half expected to hear it splash into the toilet bowl as it fell out of her body. Before she even truly realized it, Amy's throat tightened like a vice grip and tears were streaming down her cheeks. Amy had had countless one night stands with more women than she cared to admit in her lifetime, but had never been left feeling so lost and broken like this. The only time she had felt this much despair and hopelessness was when Susan had left her. Amy's bladder instantly opened like a valve on Hoover Dam and she pissed like a race horse while she cried like a baby.

Amy finished her call to nature then stuck her head under the shower, dousing her scraggly long auburn hair. The icy cold water helped to clear her head but did little to help her understand why she was so distraught. Amy half-ass dried her hair with a damp towel and slipped on the robe that hung behind the bathroom door. The robe was light silk, dark purple in color and fell several inches above her knee; a long ago birthday gift from Susan. Amy shuffled slowly to the kitchen, dragging her suddenly very heavy bare feet across the floor. Amy opened the fridge and took out two of the three contents inside - a gallon of orange juice and a half full bottle of Absolut Mandarin; the third content was a bottle of Absolut Citron. Taking a plastic Seattle Seahawks tumbler from the top of the towering stack of rank dishes in the sink, Amy filled it a third with orange juice and the rest with the orange flavored vodka. Fuck it, she thought to herself and guzzled it down in a few gulps.

Amy's body spasmed and she lurched reflexively forward, dropping the tumbler and she seized the edge of the counter, driving her fingernails deep into the finish. Hacking and gagging on double spent phlegm and straining every responsive muscle with all her might against her body's objection, Amy clinched her watering eyes closed and clamped her mouth tightly shut as she battled to keep her breakfast of champions down. Her body shuddered violently and chills raced up her spine. Finally, it passed and Amy exhaled a deep, vomit flavored breath.

"Jesus Christ!" She muttered.

Amy shook her head and eased herself back up into an erect position, cautiously releasing her grip on the counter. Steadying herself now, she exhaled again and took a slug directly from the bottle of Mandarin. Amy cringed slightly as the vodka rushed down her raw throat. She rubbed her hand over her eyes, taking quick and shallow breaths. Now what the fuck am I supposed to do? She wondered. I got suspended yesterday. Wait, let's get real okay? I got fucking fired! The next natural step was to get shitfaced drunk, which I did. Now that has passed and here I am the day after. Now I've got to figure out what to do with the rest of my fucking life. Oh, who the fuck cares? Amy swallowed more vodka and cringed as it went down. Shuffling now toward the kitchen table which was cluttered with empty pizza boxes, half eaten cartons of Chinese takeout, empty beer cans, liquor bottles, soda cans, newspapers, magazines, unopened mail and numerous pieces of other garbage, Amy looked beyond it and gazed out the bay window into her next door neighbor's backyard. Two small children, a little boy of about two and a little girl of four or five, were chasing a gray Scottish terrier around the lush green yard. A weak smile filled Amy's lips and tears welled in her eyes. Amy adored children and had always wanted at least six or seven of her own. She wanted a family; a real family. A family like the Bradford's from the 70s TV series Eight is Enough. Fuck the Brady Bunch though. At least a family like the Bradford's was plausible and could handle a lesbian mother and stepmother. The Brady's were fucking aliens who would probably have her burned at the stake. Amy stared aimlessly at the children and the dog for what seemed like days and her heart ached the entire time. Her musing was suddenly interrupted by the doorbell. Amy set the bottle down and trudged begrudgingly to the front door.

The view out Amy's front door and off her tiny square front porch was one that most people would kill for; especially those who were fans of Frasier. Amy's one story, two bedroom, 1300 square foot house sat on a hill, probably not two full miles from the downtown skyline and just a hair over a mile from Seattle Center where the Space Needle and several other popular tourist attractions of the emerald city were located. She had bought the house thirteen years ago and for the first four years, would start her day seated on her small front porch with a cup of coffee and a cigarette. Since she'd quit smoking nine years ago, Amy now sat on the inside window sill of the front bay window in the mornings to drink her coffee. As Amy swung the front door open, she was nearly shocked out of her skin as forty-eight breathtaking, long-stemmed roses: twelve red, twelve yellow, twelve white and twelve pink, arranged beautifully in an enormous crystal vase, where staring Amy in the glazed and dazed face. The arrangement was so large that Amy could only see the tips of the deliveryman's fingers clutching the sides of the vase and he seemed to be struggling under the weight. Amy gasped, slapped her hand over her mouth and her eyes bulged as she beheld the gorgeous flowers.

"Ms. Amy Styles?" A shaky male voice strained from behind the flowers.

"Uh-huh." Amy replied, her voice muffled by her hand.

"I'm Kevin from Emerald City Florist. These are for you." He said, thrusting the arrangement toward her.

"For me?" She asked.

Amy dropped her hand from over her mouth to her chest and patted it just above her thundering heart as she stared in bewilderment with watery eyes.

"Yes, ma'am." He replied, straining.

"Who in the world would be sending me flowers?" Amy mumbled loud enough for Kevin to hear.

"I don't know, ma'am. I just deliver them. Could you help me with these before I drop them, please?" Kevin asked desperately.

Amy took the enormous vase in her hands and lifted it with ease out of Kevin's faltering grip. She ran her eyes over them in child-like wonder and her nose was instinctively sniffing the immaculate blooms. Her smile grew.

"Thank you." Kevin said, seemingly impressed by the woman's strength. "I need to get your signature of receipt."

Amy swung the immense floral arrangement to the side and ran a passing glance over Kevin as she stepped over to the coffee table just to the right of the foyer in the living room. Kevin was in his late teens to twenty at the most and he was at least three inches shorter than her with extremely wiry limbs and a rail thin body. His hair was black and thinning, gawky complexion and he wore copper rimmed glasses that were two sizes too big for his narrow face. Amy used her foot to shove a couple of empty pizza boxes and a few empty beer cans off the coffee table and set the vase down in the center. Brushing her hand gently over the magnificent blooms with a most innocent and humble smile, Kevin quietly noted, Amy's hand bumped the greeting card protruding out from the gorgeous floras; her name was scrolled in elegant, handwritten cursive on the bright green envelope. Not the usual business card size, but a hallmark greeting card. Amy was completely overwhelmed, her eyes were watery, her cheeks were flush and moist, her lips were trembling and her whole body was shaking; Kevin noted these observations quietly and with a soft smile as he scanned the invoices on his clipboard. He saw these kinds of reactions almost daily with hundreds of other women and it always made him feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. He liked his job.

"Deliver to Ms. Amy Styles; 1457 Fifth Avenue North - Seattle, Washington." Kevin read off. "That's you, correct?"

"Uh-huh." Amy stammered.

"Sign here please." Kevin said, holding his clipboard and pen toward her.

Amy's hands were trembling as she took the clipboard and scratched out her signature. Her stomach was fluttering with what felt like a thousand butterflies as her heart thumped. She had a sinking suspicion as to who the flowers might be from, but she was almost afraid to let her mind dwell on it. Amy was so preoccupied and anxious that she practically threw the clipboard and pen back at Kevin as her hands furiously tore open the envelope of the card and yanked it free. It was a musical card that resembled a classic wedding invitation, pure white with emerald green calligraphy that read simply: "For you." Amy's excitement was seething and swelling just below her skin, her veins were pulsing and she was on the verge of jumping up and down as she opened the card and the soothing voice of Marvin Gaye singing his hit song Sexual Healing played. The calligraphy inside the card read "From me" and just below, written in the same cursive hand as on the envelope:

Your Turn!

(206) 390-2278

Miranda

Amy squealed under her breath like a high school nerd who'd just been asked to the senior prom by the captain of the football team. She pranced and danced around the small foyer as Kevin stared dumbfounded at her.

"Is there anything else we can do for you, Ms. Styles?" He asked.

Amy stopped suddenly and stared at him, panting like a marathon runner. Kevin smiled coyly and dropped his eyes toward his hand.

"Oh! Oh! A tip!" Amy snapped as she patted at the pockets of her skimpy robe. "Oh! Oh! Oh shit! Honey, I know you probably hear excuses like this a lot, but I just got fired yesterday and I don't have any cash on me."

"I understand. Well, you have a nice evening." He said and turned to go.

Amy glanced quickly over herself and then back at Kevin.

"Wait!" He turned back to face her. "Are you gay or straight?" Amy asked matter of factly.

"Pardon me?" Kevin stammered.

"Are you gay or straight?" Amy repeated.

"I'm straight." Kevin said, as a slight smirk came across his lips.

"Great!" Amy chirped as she took a couple of steps backward into the house, untied the belt of her robe and jerked it open, flashing him her lean naked body.

Kevin's jaw dropped practically to his chest and his face flushed beet red. His eyeballs nearly slipped out of their sockets.

"Cash may be King, but a fine naked ass is definitely Queen." She said as she turned her back to him and let the robe slide down her arms and off, bearing her bare back and bottom. She lifted and stretched out her leg and caught the edge of the door with her toes. Amy slowly ran her hand over her shaven pussy, slipped her index and middle finger into her slit and spread her folds slowly. The last thing she heard as she pushed the front door shut in Kevin's face was him sucking in a deep gasp and the clipboard and pen hitting the floor. The front door slammed in his face and Kevin promptly joined his clipboard and pen on the floor of the porch when he fainted.

Amy sprinted to her bedroom with the card in hand, her heart pounding relentlessly. For a brief instant, she couldn't believe what she had just done – flaunting her body at that kid like a stripper on stage. She was a mature woman and a police officer for God's sake. But she was too exhilarated right now to even care. He had brought her such a wonderful gift and she wanted him to feel at least half the exuberance and stimulation she felt. And Amy hadn't been this excited or hopeful in years and over such a brief acquaintance nonetheless; but she was too exuberant to even care about that right now. Miranda had done something to her. Amy didn't know what exactly and it was certainly more than just having eaten her pussy. The thought came in a word and Amy shoved it from her mind. But still it came and Amy's heart pounded even harder. Her body tingled and felt very warm. But it wasn't just lustful heat. This warmth was coming from some place deeper within her. It wasn't of her flesh; it was of her soul. The thought came again in that word and again, Amy wouldn't let herself think it. But it was so hard not to. Amy raced through her bedroom door and snatched up her cell phone. She was still completely naked.

***

Miranda Wagner's lips filled with her gorgeous smile and her face radiated a glow of absolute joy. Miranda's respiration rocketed, her stomach fluttered and somersaulted, her heart leapt into her throat and her pulse raced when she felt her recently purchased cell phone begin to vibrate in the pocket of her snug fitting jeans. She knew exactly who it was and her hand trembled with excitement, along with the rest of her body as she reached for her phone. She was walking on air through the gloomy and cool Seattle afternoon.

There was nothing more she had wanted to do last night than to stay with Amy; the woman had clearly done something to her. Captured her in a way Miranda had never truly known before; everything about the woman lassoed Miranda's mind, captivated her heart and touched her soul. Detective-Sergeant Amy Styles! The most beautiful cop in the world, Miranda thought, with that silky, long auburn hair, that lean and slender, perfectly curved body, that beautiful and alluring face, those big and firm breasts, those strong and sensual hands, that delicious mouth, those sweet and luscious lips. Not to mention her delectably succulent, tight little pussy; and those eyes!! Those big, warm, inviting, gorgeous emerald eyes!

As Miranda floated through the streets of Seattle after their passionate rendezvous in the ladies room, a fierce battle between hard reality and longing romance raged in her mind. This couldn't happen right now. She was in no position whatsoever to start a serious relationship. She had no job, no real place to live yet, no car and there were no guarantees that she was totally free and clear of her previous life and profession. Her employers were the best of the best in the world at what they did. They wouldn't have recruited her otherwise. And Amy was a police officer. Despite the fact that she was on suspension, a cop was a cop. You could take the cop off the job, but you could never take the job out of the cop. Amy was a brave, intelligent and honorable peace officer who took her job of protecting the innocent and serving the cause of liberty and justice to her deepest heart and soul. That would be apparent to anyone. Just from their brief acquaintance, Miranda knew that the phrase "Seattle's finest" was modeled after Detective Amy Styles. Regardless of what her bosses and the rat squad said, Amy was a good cop. The citizens of Seattle should be honored to have a courageous and noble woman like Amy on their police force and sleep all the more peacefully because of it.

So why does she have to be so damn beautiful? Miranda wondered. And why does she have to be such a deep and passionate lover? Even though I've barely sampled the honey, the woman is clearly a sex goddess. And those eyes! Those warm, compassionate and inviting eyes! Miranda was torturing herself now. Sex was one thing, but love was another. Miranda couldn't believe that word was even coming into her mind. But it was. If Amy's eyes said anything at all, they told Miranda that she could and would love her with all her heart, mind, body and soul for as long as they both shall live. Miranda had felt her throat tighten, her heart race and her stomach spasm while her eyes had welled with gentle tears. After her slow, floating walk back to her room at the Extended Stay America, Miranda had drifted off into the most peaceful and restful night sleep she'd had in over twelve years with the beautiful Seattle detective starring in her dreams.

Miranda woke early, feeling more rested and refreshed than she ever had in her thirty-nine years of life. She showered, dressed then ate breakfast at the nearest IHOP, scanning the classifieds in the morning paper while she sipped her coffee and munched on some lightly buttered toast. She would have much preferred a venti cinnamon dolce latte' and a fresh, moist oatmeal muffin from Starbucks, but she had to exercise vigilant discipline and change her routine. Her plan was to acquire a cheap and sensible used car, find a low profile job and her own apartment. She had a mere sixty-five hundred dollars in cash and wanted to simply blend in to the Seattle populous and prayed that she would eventually fade into obscurity and live out her life peacefully and semi- normally. Disregarded and eventually forgotten by the powers that be. Extravagance was to be avoided like the plague and she had no problem with that. And at the moment she even considered her usual morning Starbucks leaning too much on the side of extravagance. Having been born and raised on the streets of West Chicago, the daughter of a German descended factory worker and an Irish descended school teacher, extravagance was not something she was accustomed to anyway. The nearest she'd ever come to it was at her grandfather's pub and based upon the general rule of thumb, O'Malley's Irish Pub was modest at best. Miranda had certainly had tremendous exposure to overwhelming extravagance through her work, but that in itself had tainted it severely. In her mind, extravagance seemed to be the root of all evil in the world, because the reality was that at the heart of extravagance was money and money was indeed the root of all evil. So its absence in her life from now on was perhaps a small price she'd have to pay for her horrendous and heinous sins.