“You are right,” I say with a sigh, “I don’t know what possessed me to say something like that. That was very unprofessional of me, and I have no excuse for that, I will apologize.”
She looks at me quizzically before saying, “Are you interested in her?”
“What? No. I just don’t like the idea of someone coming in here, taking over our case, but expecting us to do the work for them,” I tell her adamantly.
“Yeah, sure,” she says before walking toward me. “I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself, plus, they didn’t ask to come, we had them called in. As you heard, they have a missing colleague that they could be spending their time looking for, and instead, they are here to help us.”
“Maybe we don’t need her help,” I say, frustrated.
“Her? So, you are interested,” Nora says with a smirk.
“What? Huh? No, I already told you that,” I say defensively, but Nora walks out of the conference room with a smirk.
A part of me had hoped the Agents went back to Maine, I was not prepared to hear they went to my crime scene, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Agent Morgan looks like someone who needs to prove a point. I’m sure my comment about her looks didn’t help.
Right now, I’m pissed that I forgot all about the toxicology reports from the last four victims, and it was Agent Morgan that reminded me in her sweet voice that has my cock rock hard right now.
I sigh again as I sit back in my chair, looking across my desk to Nora’s empty one. I sent Nora home about thirty minutes ago. She looked exhausted and was still a little pissed off at me, though hopefully after some sleep, she won’t be so upset with me tomorrow, especially since she’s right.
I am interested in Agent Morgan, and I don’t want to be interested in her. She’s FBI, and she lives in Maine. Long distance anything never works, but there is something about her that calls to me and has me thinking about the feel of her pussy around my cock.
I squirm slightly in my seat to discreetly adjust myself as I try to rid my thoughts of the beautiful, petite Agent who makes my body hum and reach for my phone to call Max.
“Detective Maguire, what can I do for you this evening?” Max asks as he answers the phone.
“Hey, Max, do you have the toxicology reports for the first four victims? I know it would be too soon to have anything on the two bodies we found this morning,” I tell him.
“I just received them this afternoon and will email them over to you shortly,” he tells me.
“Thank you, I would appreciate that. Anything I should be aware of?” I ask.
“Both males were injected with a neuromuscular blocking agent. This would explain why they didn’t fight back,” Max tells me.
“A neuromuscular drug? What is that for, and who would normally be able to obtain that?” I ask him.
“NMBA’s as we like to call it for short, are used to prevent muscle movement, specifically during surgical procedures or when a person needs to be placed on a ventilator. It’s a powerful muscle relaxant, and the effects are normally temporary to the individual once the medication is stopped. Any anesthesiologist would have access to these drugs, as it’s something that must be given to the patient with a doctor’s approval,” he tells me.
“So this isn’t something someone could get off the streets?” I ask.
“Normally, no, but you know as well as I do, some things that shouldn’t be on the streets are,” he says with a sigh, and I know he’s right.
“Thanks, Max. I appreciate the insight. I’ll go by Boston General tomorrow and talk with their directorate to see if they are missing any of this drug,” I tell him.
“That’s a good place to start. Let me know if you need any help,” he offers.
“Thanks again, Max. Have a good night,” I tell him before hanging up.
I place the phone on my desk, taking in the new information that the coroner just informed me of. I never thought about what the hospitals give patients when they go for surgery. I mean, I knew they gave them something to sleep, but I never realized they give you something that causes your muscles to become paralyzed.
My email chimes, letting me know Max sent over the reports as he said he would. I open up the documents and print out three copies, ensuring there is a copy for the Agents, when they come by in the morning.
I shut down my computer, grab my keys, and head home for the night. I pull up to my house and sit in the driveway allowing my thoughts to calm down.
I take in my childhood home, it’s a white cape-style home, just thirty minutes from the precinct. The yard is small and manageable with a white picket fence separating the yard from the sidewalk. It has stone stairs leading to the front door flanked by wrought iron rails on both sides.
It has a detached garage that my father converted to his workshop. It has also become a place for additional storage for me since I inherited the property after my parents passed away five years ago. The paved driveway provides room for two cars, so I see no need to change the garage.
I get out of my car and walk up the stairs to the front door. Once inside, I’m met with the stairs that lead up to the second floor. I drop my keys and wallet in the dish sitting on the console table, before walking into the living area on my right. I haven’t changed much since my parents passed, but I did paint the walls in the living room to a light gray, since the windows allow for so much light, I felt a darker color wouldn’t hurt.
The floors are the original hardwood floors throughout the home that I had refinished. I turn on the TV, then walk past the front door on the other side to the dining room. Everything in here is original, from the built-ins to the crown molding. Though this room hardly ever gets used anymore except as a walk-thru to the kitchen.
Walking into the kitchen, it is set up in a U shape with the gas range along the back wall, the sink under the window, and a dishwasher on the side wall, while the refrigerator and pantry is along the other side wall. There is a side door that leads outside to the deck with a grill, and small backyard surrounded by trees.
The main living level has a bedroom and an updated full bathroom just off the hall from the kitchen. That was the room my parents had used all my life. Upstairs are two more bedrooms, one of which is mine. I was able to fit a king bed in there and I currently use the other as an office. There is also a bathroom up here, then a finished basement downstairs with a full bathroom, wet bar, and laundry.
The house overall, including the basement, is almost two thousand square feet. It’s not much, but it’s home, and I’m happy.
I grab sandwich meat, lettuce, and condiments out of the refrigerator, placing everything on the counter to make a sandwich for dinner.
I can hear the news reporter on the TV talking about the bodies found murdered on the train. I also hear Commander Doyle give his briefing to the public. “Practice caution and be aware of your surroundings. The investigation is still ongoing, and when we have something more definite, I will inform the public.”
I shake my head but am glad he said nothing about the FBI Agents.
I finish making my sandwich, putting all the stuff away, then grabbing a beer out of the refrigerator before grabbing my plate and walking back through the dining room to the living room.
I sit down on the couch, picking up the remote to change the channel. I have no desire to hear any more news tonight. I find a movie and settle in with my sandwich and beer. Once I’m done eating, I turn the TV off, clean up and make my way upstairs to the shower, before I call it a night and head to bed. This is the first time in a while that I will be in bed before midnight, and I know I need the sleep.
My dreams are plagued with sky-blue eyes and luscious pink lips. She’s on her knees, looking up at me, before wrapping her warm, silky mouth around my throbbing cock. One lick of her soft tongue, and I almost come immediately.
