TnT Ch. 06

"Some interesting reading," June said, pulling out the chair on her side of the simple metal table and sitting down. "I haven't gotten to the end yet, but it's a pretty interesting story so far."

Thorne glared beneath the thick dark bangs of his hair. "That's private," he growled. "That belongs to me and my brother."

"And it used to belong to your mother," June said. "After she was raped by the Rattlesnake Man. Interesting that you two both have rattlesnake tattoos on your arms. I think psychologists call that projection of identity or something like that. When we get the shrink on the stand, he'll describe it better."

"So, what, you arrested us for being born?" he snapped.

Her gaze was unwavering. "No, we arrested you because you and your brother have murdered three people," she replied, her tone more than condescending. "That's a very bad thing, Thorne, honey. There are laws against that."

"Don't talk to me like I'm a fucking kid," he snarled.

June shrugged. "Okay, sweetie," she quipped, pushing the diary aside. She peripherally watched the way the young man bristled. "So let's talk about where you were last night."

"We were at home," Thorne said through gritted teeth. His eye bore into June with malevolence.

She nodded casually. "Sure, before you and Talon went out, stole a car . . ." she trailed off for a moment, chuckling.

"What the fuck is so funny?"

She forced away the mirth. "Sorry. I was just imagining you wearing that big fake mustache. Reminded me of the old Pink Panther movies."

Thorne suddenly shot up. "Don't fucking laugh at me!" he roared.

To her credit, June matched his ferocity, also jumping to her feet. "And you watch your fucking language in my house!" she barked. "Now sit down! Sit!"

Countenance twitching with rage, Thorne contemplated his options. His face was mere inches from the dyke detective's. It would be so easy to grab her head and twist it all the way around . . . he could just imagine the sound of snapping vertebrae and tendons.

But a glance to the large mirrored surface on the wall behind the detective made him pause. He forced himself to put aside his anger, and returned his evil gaze to June's face. "We'll save this for later, sweetie," he whispered, then sat.

June swallowed thickly, trying not to reveal her fear. She stepped back and turned to the mirrored window, knowing the Captain was watching from the other side. The fact that uniforms had not come running into the room was testament to his faith in her, and she tried to show her gratitude with a smile.

* * * *

"What do you think, doc?" Riaz asked as he and the psychologist stood in the booth on the other side of the one-way mirror.

Dr. Scudder shook his head slowly as he watched Talon in the interrogation room. "I'd have to do a full study to really provide an accurate diagnosis, but--"

"Doc. Please."

Scudder cocked a brow as he looked to Riaz. "He's a sociopath, no doubt about that. But his mannerisms and reactions aren't classic. I'd say his psychosis goes deeper than simple sociopathy. He feels a deep connection with his brother, and evidenced a little – not much, but a little – emotion when you mentioned the dog. So he's not without the ability for emotional attachment. But it appears to be strictly confined."

"So, he loves his brother but couldn't give two cents for anyone else," Riaz commented.

"Good way to put it," the psychologist agreed. "You've got a tough nut in this one, detective. He's smart and defiant. He's going to make you work."

Riaz sighed. "Already has," he said tiredly. He drew a hand down his face. "Let me ask you something."

"Certainly."

"What do you know about twins?"

"You mean, about the supposed 'psychic bond' between them?"

Riaz shrugged.

"A lot of research has been done regarding twins. They are an excellent resource for determining innate traits versus learned behaviors. There's a classic example of two twins, separated at birth, both of whom married redheaded women with the same first name, both bought the same car, work the same job, even watch the same TV shows."

"So, whatever one does, the other is likely to do, too?"

"I wouldn't say that on the stand, but . . . there's some truth to that in the research."

"Similar thought patterns, at least," Riaz offered.

Scudder nodded carefully. "Better to say . . . similar lines of reasoning."

The door opened abruptly, revealing a very haggard-looking Captain with a pair of well-dressed men in tow. "Get anything useful?" the Captain asked. His expression was redolent with cynicism.

Riaz recognized the first of the two men as Tom Lyttle, the district attorney. "Not yet," he grumbled.

Lyttle spoke up. "Well, I'm afraid your time's up," he said sharply. "At least for now."

The detective bristled. "I can book these kids on possession of stolen property, vandalism, destruction of property--"

"None of which means shit in a murder investigation," the DA interrupted. "I wanted you to get me a couple of murderers, not joy-riders!"

Riaz faced the shorter man, holding back his emotions as he glared. "We can find the evidence, if you just let us--"

"Or manufacture it?" piped up the other man with an annoyingly smug grin.

Riaz glanced to the other man. He recognized the face from numerous late-night commercials. "Mr. Bainwright," he said wryly. "Isn't there an ambulance you should be running after?"

The white-haired man stepped into the room, casting a look through the window. "My legs won't let me do that anymore," he said, then gave an oily smile. "I have assistants who do that for me now."

"Of course you do."

"Unless you can give me more than a set of fingerprints on a stolen car," Lyttle said, sounding haggard. "This interrogation is over."

Riaz ground his teeth after a quick look to his captain, who merely nodded. "Whatever you say."

"Release my clients, please," Bainwright requested, holding up a folded letter. "Oh, and, to be thorough, I've made sure to get the full names and badge numbers of both you and your partner. My people will be checking your reports."

Riaz matched the mirthless smile. "I'll be sure to put in a special memo just for you."

"I'm sure I will enjoy what you have to say." He turned and started from the room.

"Counselor," Riaz called. "You might want to make sure these two don't know where you live."

Bainwright hesitated, but only for a moment before continuing out.

Riaz soured. "Damn lawyers." He shot a look to the district attorney. "What the hell is going on? You know as well as I do that we need any break we can get in this case!"

Lyttle glared back, unimpressed with Riaz's ferocity. "There are a lot of people watching this case," he explained. "People who will be up for re-election in November."

Riaz rolled his eyes. "Give me a fucking break--"

"Not only that," the DA continued. "But this case, if you haven't noticed, has become front page news. I don't wanna give Bainwright and his multi-million-dollar firm any back doors to barge through on appeal. So, unless you can conclusively tie both of these fucking brats to at least one crime scene, I don't wanna hear about it!"

"And what if they kill again?" Riaz snapped back.

Lyttle did not hesitate to respond. "Then you'll have another crime scene to investigate, and maybe you'll get better evidence!"

Riaz simmered as the district attorney stormed out. "Fucking lawyers," he growled again.

* * * *

They watched from the third-floor window as Talon and Thorne, protected from the mob of reporters by their lawyer and a bevy of bodyguards, made their way to a waiting limousine parked at the curb. The boys kept their heads down and looked indistinguishable from one another, until Thorne briefly lashed out at one of the cameramen who got too close.

"Another fifteen minutes, I swear," June breathed, then turned away from the window in disgust. "Just fifteen more minutes, and I bet he would have slipped up, told me something."

"We'll get them," Riaz reassured her. Then he gave a warm smile. "Hey, according to Lutz, you stood up to that little prick like a champ."

She smiled sheepishly. "It wasn't easy. Talking to him was like talking to a pit bull on a fraying leash. Just a matter of time before it snaps and he goes for your throat."

"Trust me, that'll work against them."

"I just hope when that happens, I'm not right next to him," she mused, then took in a deep breath. "So, what now?"

"Now it's a waiting game. Forensics is going through everything they can, including their financial records. At least, until their golden boy lawyer stops the process. Maybe we can find out where they bought the hammer and hatchet, or if they used a credit card at the bar where they picked up Kaylee Mills. They can't have thought of everything. They're amateurs; they screwed up somewhere, and we'll find out where."

June's quivered a moment. "I hope we find it soon."

* * * *

Thorne stormed into the apartment, venting his anger on one of the stools at the breakfast bar, sending it toppling across the laminated floor. "Fucking cunt!" he roared.

Talon stayed quiet, giving a cautionary look to their lawyer as the older man frowned at Thorne's outburst. "Please, don't say anything to him," Talon urged softly. "He'll calm down."

Bainwright grimaced. "He better not act like this in court," he commented.

Talon smiled. "He won't," he assured.

"The way thatskinny fucking dyke cunt bitchlooked at me!" Thorne continued as he stomped toward the exercise room. He slammed the door closed, making the walls rattle. Within moments, the faint squeaks of oiled machinery could be heard.

Talon smiled sheepishly at their lawyer. "He'll be in there for a while," he stated, and stepped into the kitchen. "Would you like a drink, Mr. Bainwright? We've got beer, wine, a couple bottles of gin and vodka."

The white-haired attorney returned the smile as he placed his hat on the end of the breakfast counter. Facing the young man across the marble surface, he asked, "What kind of beer?"

"The kind with alcohol in it," Talon responded dryly, before opening the refrigerator door and peering within. "Looks like your choices are Red Stripe, Yuengling or Black Butte."

Bainwright frowned. "No Bud?"

Talon straightened, having taken up two bottles of Red Stripe. "No Bud," he responded, twisting off the caps. He set one on the bar for the lawyer, then took a sip from the other. "So, what's their case against us?"

The attorney took up the beer, considered the label. "I've seen stronger cases," he drawled. He sipped, contemplated the flavor, then shrugged and drank more. "They don't even have enough circumstantial evidence to put you at the scene of that he-she's murder. But unless they find more, I'm pretty sure I can browbeat that down. You might have to plead to a lesser felony charge of grand theft auto, however. But I can probably get you a suspended sentence on that, even with your record."

Talon studied the man's face. "What if they do find more evidence?" he asked.

Bainwright stared back. "Could they?"

Talon's eyes wavered. The attorney only chuckled.

"Son, I've been defending people like you for thirty years. One thing I learned pretty damn quick was to not ask if my client has committed a crime. Because, if I think you have committed a crime, I am bound by law and honor to report anything I know or suspect to the authorities."

The sarcasm in the man's voice was clear to Talon, as was the message:don't tell me more than I should take to the jury.

"Well," Talon said at last. "Not that my brother and I are guilty of anything – "

"Never crossed my mind for a moment."

" – but, about a week ago, we picked up a girl in a club and took her back to a hotel room. We all had some fun, it was completely consensual, but, well, she was kind of a, uh, wild spirit. I think she might have been on drugs or something. Anyway, we let her keep the room, and – "

"What was her name?"

Talon met the attorney's eyes. "Kaylee."

The older man sipped his beer. "Ah. Kaylee Anne Mills. So, you and your brother had consensual sex with her, but then you left, and she stayed behind, is that it?"

Talon nodded. "Right. That's exactly it."

"So, she could have conceivably gone back out and picked up someone else afterward," the attorney said with a theatrical note of speculation. "Who then killed her."

"Right. That must have been how it happened," Talon said. "But, see, I paid for that room with my credit card, and, well, I guess the police can look that up."

Bainwright took another sip, swallowing slowly. His eyes danced with just a touch of nervousness. "Well, yes, since I'm certain they've subpoenaed your financial records by now."

"It could look bad for us," Talon said meaningfully.

Bainwright set his beer on the counter. "It could, Mr. Tolomeo," he agreed. "But now that you've told me about this, I can be prepared for it. Obviously, you and your brother are the victims of bad timing, and the police are taking advantage of that."

"Yes. Obviously."

The attorney winked. "Well, try not to worry," he told Talon. "You have all the resources of my firm at your disposal."

Talon effected a smile that was as grateful as it was malevolent. "My brother and I are glad to have called you."

* * * *

With a weary hand, June pushed open the door of the house. She had prepared an apologetic speech on the drive home, ready to face Sophie's disappointed face when she eventually entered the domicile they shared. But upon opening the door, June saw her lover – her wife, if only in spirit – seated sublimely upon a blanket on the floor of the living room, clad in sheer white lingerie. She looked up from her laptop with a genuine smile decorating her perfect soft lips.

"Hey, baby," Sophie said cheerily.

June's shoulders slumped. "Sophie, I'm sorry. I wanted to get home sooner, but this case is – "

Sophie interrupted her with a grin. "I saw you on TV," she said.

June dropped her shoulder bag to the floor. "We were on TV?"

"Yeah, I DVR'd it," Sopie responded, then patted the blanket. "Wanna see it?"

June approached her, then stopped a few feet away, a look of wonder upon her face. "You're something else."

Sophie frowned. "What do you mean?"

June laughed awkwardly. "I mean . . . I come home late, and you're just smiling, like it's no big deal. Most wives would be pissed off."

Sophie blinked and sat up, assessing her lover with wide, sweet eyes. "I'm not pissed off," she said simply.

June sank down before the woman she loved and reached for Sophie's hand. "And that's why I think you're something else."

Sophie smiled back. "Look, baby, I know your job isn't like the normal nine-to-five. Iknowthat, and what's more, Iacceptit. Believe me, if you worked twelve hours a day at a restaurant, or Office Depot, or some other place like that, then I might get a little miffed when you come home late. But you have an important job. You're adetective, for Christ's sake. If I can't give you some leeway for that, then what kind of wife would I be?"

June pursed her lips, stemming back affectionate tears. She squeezed Sophie's hand. "I just keep feeling like it's not fair," she said. "You spend so much time waiting for me – "

Sophie squeezed back. "Well, believe it or not, I manage to get a lot of work done when you aren't here," she declared. "And when I'm done with all that, I get the time to think about how I'm going to seduce you when you get home."

June blushed, feeling admonished. "You don't have to do anything to seduce me," she said. "I think about you all day."

"Well, then," Sophie said with a devilish smile. "Now that you're home, why don't you show me what you've been thinking about?"

June caressed her lover's face, kissed her lovingly. "God, how I love you."

Sophie whispered back, running her hands through June's short, soft hair. "I love you too."

The fingers of June's hand traveled along Sophie's arm to the shoulder, and pulled the silky strap of the slip down. The fabric fell, but was caught on one of the redhead's stiffened nipples. "I want to make love to you."

Sophie pressed her lips to June's neck and sucked tenderly. "Then do it," she whispered.

* * * *

The small room was rife with the aroma of sweat when Talon entered. The harsh central light glowing from the ceiling outlined his twin's body as Thorne performed butterfly presses. He had stripped to the waist, and his hairless chest glistened with the efforts of his exertions. Thorne grimaced angrily with each movement he made against the resistance of the machine, as if trying to work out some inner demon.

"The lawyer's gone," Talon stated simply.

Thorne finished his rep, then let the weights clamor back noisily. "Is he gonna get us out of this shit, or what?"

"Probably," Talon said, licking his lips as he all but drooled over the sight of his brother. Every muscle upon Thorne's torso and arms seemed to swell and ripple. "Least for now."

Thorne breathed out heavily. "So, we're cool?"

Talon smiled slowly, stepping closer as libido took control of his mind. He reached out and touched one of his brother's biceps. "Yeah. We're cool . . . ." He trailed off, his tone and expression belying obvious arousal.

Thorne smiled suddenly and leaned back against the machine. He was already hardening, his erection snaking beneath the fabric of the pants along his thigh. "So, what're you thinking about now?"

Talon responded readily. "How hot you would look sitting naked on that thing."

With a grin, Thorne pushed himself from the machine, then casually shucked off his pants, revealing his semi-erect phallus. He sat back down, letting his lean legs splay apart. His cock engorged quickly as it lay upon the black padded seat of the apparatus. "Like this?" he asked.

Talon's eyes glazed. "Yeah," he breathed, descending to his knees. "Just like that."

Thorne watched through progressively hazy eyes as his twin reached for the thick tube of flesh between his thighs, taking it in his hands and stroking slowly. His lips parted as he breathed out, watching Talon's actions, voicelessly bidding him to continue. He did not have to speak a word.

Gripping the shaft of Thorne's penis with his hand, Talon leaned in and swiped his tongue with slow, languid movements all around the glans, making his brother twitch with pleasure. A clear droplet of fluid oozed from the pink slit, and Talon licked it away, savoring the sweetness. Automatically, Thorne shifted forward, until his heavy testicles dangled off the end of the narrow padded seat.

"I love your cock," Talon whispered heatedly, before submerging nearly the entire length of Thorne's penis into his mouth and throat with a guttural growl. He loved the musky scent, the flavor of the cock that filled his mouth, and sucked eagerly to draw it all out. The head of Thorne's penis prodded into his throat with ease, and Talon pushed down to take every last inch.

"Oh, fuck," Thorne sighed, gripping the handles of the weight machine. He could feel the way his brother's throat rippled and sucked and pulled. The heat and pressure were maddening.

Talon eased back slowly, sucking off his own saliva. Just when the crown of Thorne's cock was about to leave his lips, he slid back down, again to the root. Thorne squirmed and cringed with pleasure, jutting his hips out even more. His brother braced his hands upon Thorne's thighs and rhythmically plunged up and down, back and forth.

"Keep going," Thorne hissed through his teeth, muscles tensing throughout his body. "Keep going . . . ."

But just as he felt the tell-tale twitches through his twin's shaft, Talon suddenly eased off, slipping his mouth free. The cool air wafted over the shimmering, slick cock for just a moment as Thorne protested with gasps and groans. Talon wrapped his hands around the base, pressing in his thumbs to stem the eruption of fluid. Yet still, a single thick bubble of milky essence oozed to the tip, which Talon swiped away with his tongue.