Candace Sutton stood in front of the mirror and checked her reflection carefully. For years, she hid her femininity under her uniform, behind a badge that equated her with all of those who would victimize her in the name of that femininity. And that was okay. She moved within the circles of the department, seemingly oblivious to the whispers that followed her when she entered the squad room but always painfully aware that no matter how hard she tried, she would always be seen as a bit of reddish fluff with huge knockers.
The step up to detective had been an obsession. She worked her ass off, reading and studying when the guys were out carousing or playing poker and the hard work paid off. She got to leave the dregs of the office, ascending to the dregs of the detectives. Her innate ability to sniff out evidence kept her head and shoulders above the crowd and pretty soon, she was being singled out for her extraordinary abilities. Now, she could command her own way and had been lucky to hook up with Fusco as her partner. He was still one of the population that hated the influx of women into the detective ranks but he kept his mouth shut and did his work.
She didn't recognize herself. This person, standing before the mirror ... this had been the person that she had been all those years ago. Christianna's mother. A woman who enjoyed being a woman. A woman who enjoyed being touched and kissed. A woman who enjoyed a man's body next to hers, becoming one under the whisper of cotton sheets. Just seeing her own curvaceous body in the dress made her suddenly miss the intimacy of another's touch and she found herself questioning why she was really doing this. Did she want to catch the killer or experience the sex?
The hall clock chimed midnight and she stood transfixed in front of the board, her heart pounding in her ears. Her eyes roamed over the faces, pausing for a few seconds to properly pay homage to them. She was doing this for them, for each one of those poor souls who had lost their lives to people like the Englishman. In apprehending him, she would be granting them a measure of peace and maybe to herself as well. It was time to go.
Give me strength.
She locked the door, checking that her badge and gun were in her handbag and slid into the unmarked that she'd brought home. Her hackles rose immediately but she didn't have any time to fish the gun out of her purse. Calmly, collectedly, she inserted the key in the ignition and said, "Hello, Jack."
"Hello, Detective Sutton." He sat up in the back seat, keeping the barrel of the gun pressed to the back of her head and making sure to stay in the shadows. "You look lovely this evening."
Her eyes connected with his in the rear-view mirror. "I dressed this way for you."
