I wrote this story based upon a prompt from a follower, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
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Detective Jessica Benson was hunting a serial killer. She knew who he was, she knew it in her gut, but her sergeant disagreed. Copeland was a numbers man, it had to be by the book, the effort to go after someone had to make sense in the numbers, time and effort equalling level of suspicion. But Benson; she was a gut-feeling type of detective, and she knew who the killer was.
They were dealing with a serial killer who went through the streets of Miami slaying homeless men and women. His sick idea was that he was cleaning up the streets. He’d even left some notes:
“If you people in law enforcement had done your jobs cleaning up these streets, there’d be no need for a guardian angel like me.”
The Guardian Angel – that’s what the press called him. He was violent, sadistic. The Behavioural Science division of the FBI had written up a profile – they described him as a man in his early 40’s, with a stable job, but a marriage that may be crumbling or financial difficulties adding strain to his perfect life. They believed that his slayings were an expression of his crumbling manhood, and that he would believe without a shadow of a doubt that he was doing the right thing.
Gil Ashbury was their man, she knew it; he fit the profile to a tee. She’d found him in the comment section of the Herald’s website. Every time a story broke about the Guardian Angel, there he was. The FBI said he’d be following the case closely as a way of keeping tabs because his manhood and self-worth depended heavily on his kills.
The only problem was, Gil had no record; had never been in the system, this meant the DNA that he’d left at the site of the second murder was useless to them unless they could get a warrant to compare against his. No judge in their right mind would sign a warrant based only on some comments on a seedy news site.
The moment Benson had seen his words, with the subtext behind them being almost victorious at our ineptitude, it had triggered something within her. It was that gut feeling that every detective says they have; she wasn’t always a believer in it, it seemed to mystic, but when she saw his name and his words, she felt a wave flow over her.
She’d looked him up on social media, and tried to get a feel for who he was, but he didn’t post any pictures. In truth, she didn’t even know if Gil was his real name, but if Copeland had trusted her, we’d be able to subpoena the account information from the Herald. She looked at his posts, he talked about the homeless a lot, and her also talked about his job.
She should just pick him up and interview him anyway, rattle his cage, see if something shakes out, test his manhood. But, if Copeland ever found out about it, she’d be shit-canned and she knew it, it’s one thing to do your best for the case, but it’s an entirely other thing to disobey a direct order from Copeland. Benson was often described by her colleagues as a bloodhound; once she gets a scent, she doesn’t let go. This case was no different, so she knew she had to go rogue.
Gil apparently worked as a manager in a local coffee shop, and so within Benson’s fearless brain, a plan began to form. He mentioned on his social media he was on his way to start a big double-shift today and that he was already over it, so she knew where he’d be today.
She had two objectives, she needed his DNA, which was simple especially if he worked in a coffee shop – she could just lift a disposed cup and test it; but for irrefutable proof, she also needed a bite impression. You see, the second murder had been against a homeless man who had evidently put up quite the struggle. The killer was savage with his attack, and at some point during the altercation, he’d bitten the victim. They had an impression built of his bite pattern, and they’d collected his DNA from saliva in and around the victim’s bite wound.
She planned to take these things to Copeland as proof of who he was, which would certainly get her permission from above to recentre their investigation around him, to hopefully get those things legitimately this time – Copeland needed extra convincing. So this whole plan that she was baking, wasn’t to put him behind bars, but was instead to convince Copeland that he was the right guy.
But how would she get the bite? An idea began to form, a heinous idea, but one she was confident would work. She wasn’t sure she had the gumption to do it, but if she didn’t this sicko would go on killing. Her hands were tied.
At around eleven A.M, Benson told her colleagues that she had an appointment – a decent cover story, they wouldn’t ask for details – and that she’d see them the following morning, then got in her car to hit the road.
Arriving at her apartment was easier than she expected, though she is not often in this area during working hours, her life largely revolved around the precinct. She walked up the stairs to her apartment door, aimless, lost in her world escort mecidiyeköy of planning.
Two objectives: DNA, and a bite pattern.
She showered and dressed herself in a sexy tight black dress. Her sister-in-law had left this in her apartment when her brother had visited a few weeks back. Benson would never have bought anything like this herself, her days and evenings were spent with a simple tight white tank top, and maybe a leather jacket if she was feeling it – an outfit that would look fine in the office but also on the streets chasing down leads.
She brushed her shoulder-length blonde hair; she’d have straightened it too if she’d had one lying around, then she put on some basic make-up. It was probably the best she’d ever looked; she’d never cared about that sort of thing, but she had to admire what she’d managed to put together with her limited tools.
She got back into her car and drove downtown to a coffee shop called “The Killing Grounds” – honestly, you couldn’t make it up. Where else might you find a serial killer? She ordered a flat white and when the barista handed it to her, she put on her best mad-white-lady voice.
“I asked for a black coffee! What the hell have you made me?” The barista was dumfounded, mouth agape. “What kind of establishment is this?”
Scrambling to fix the situation, he stammered, “I’m sorry ma’am, it’s our mistake, let me remake it for you.”
You’ve got to love our beautiful home-grown tip culture for making the customer so goddamn right all the time.
“No, I don’t think so,” she yelled, “I would like to speak to your manager.”
The barista scurried off into the back, and Gil emerged.
She’d imagined a ‘man in his 40’s named Gil’ as a short, bespectacled man, but the Gil that stood before her was exceptionally rugged and masculine. He stood at around six feet tall, with brown hair swept back and the shaved sides of an undercut. He wore a five ‘o clock shadow that you could tell he’d groomed meticulously to look exactly how he wanted it. He was stylish, the white shirt he was wearing fit his toned figure well, and he had a belt buckle fashioned with a wolf’s head.
“What seems to be the problem, ma’am.”
She turned on her charm. She didn’t know how to flirt, but she knew how to get men to spill their secrets in the interrogation room, how different could it be?
“Ummm..,” she swept her blonde hair behind her ear and smiled slightly in his direction, “maybe I overreacted, I should apologise to the barista. I’m sorry, it’s been a tough morning.”
“Unfortunately the baristas here tend to take the brunt of the cities stresses and woes. Let’s remake that drink for you.” He threw a towel over his shoulder and grabbed an apron hanging nearby to tie around his waist.
“A Black Coffee was it?”
“Yes, please,” she gulped. Being in the room with him didn’t trigger her gut. It had led her here, but now faced with this gorgeous man she suddenly felt like she’d made a big mistake. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”
“Nonsense. It’s the least we can do to keep our customers happy. We have a reputation to uphold.”
He wore a ring on his finger, so the behavioural profile rang true so far. That being said, as cliche as it sounds, he didn’t seem like a serial killer.
Benson wondered if the ring would prevent her plan from working, but she was here now and had to try.
“I’m sorry, I’d like to apologise properly,” she said. he raised an eyebrow, “are you free for dinner?”
He smiled softly in her direction, and in the silence she couldn’t help but continue talking like some lovestruck teenager.
“I mean I would ask you for coffee, but y’know” she said, gesturing to her surroundings.
“I’m not free, no,” he said, “not tonight, but I have a shift break between two and five-thirty, and I’d certainly like to take you out.”
That was in thirty minutes – that worked for her.
“I’d love that, thank you.”
“We can take a walk,” he said, “just let me finish up here, and I’ll be ready for you.”
He handed her the black coffee, and she made herself comfortable in the corner whilst she waited.
It was tough for her to stay on track, because he didn’t look or feel like she was expecting. Are there two Gil Ashburys in Miami? She must have the wrong man – not that killers can’t be hot, I mean look at Ted Bundy, his attractiveness was what made him so effective. Then again, he targeted college-aged women where he could use his attractiveness to his advantage. The Guardian Angel needed no such advantage when targeting the homeless and the most vulnerable members of the city.
She decided to stick to the plan anyway, perhaps on their walk she might be able to see how he views the homeless, maybe he’ll throw up some red flags.
When he closed out his shift, he walked over to her, wedding ring conspicuously absent.
“I’m Chris,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Jessica,” she said, standing to take it. A fake name, she felt it in her bones, but a part of her did think that perhaps he was right, taksim escort bayan or perhaps Chris was his real name and his fake name was Gil. She had no way to tell, so she steeled herself to continue on the mission.
He led her out of the cafe and onto the street, they headed in the direction of Bayfront park, which was only a block away.
“So tell me about this tough morning,” he asked kindly.
“Oh it seems like nothing now, there was a homeless man walking down the highway, causing tailbacks, making me unbelievably late for work,” the story had been made-up, but wasn’t unheard-of in a city like Miami, “so much so that my boss told me to head home and do better tomorrow. We had an important meeting this morning, that I unfortunately missed so my boss was pissed.”
“They are a problem around here, that’s for sure.”
“Bosses?” She enquired, laughing.
“I mean yeah,” he chuckled, “but I meant the homeless.”
Her ears perked as they crossed the road right in front of the Torch of Friendship monument near the park’s entrance.
“I just wish someone would do something about it,” he said. Her heart rate increased.
“Well, someone is, I saw it on the news, not sure how I feel about it all to be honest,” she said.
“I don’t mean like that,” he said, sympathetically, “this city has had a drug problem since the 80’s, and it effects the most vulnerable in the city the hardest. Don’t you think we should do more to care for our homeless? Many of them fought for our country.”
She breathed a sigh of relief, he was kind. He cared. He could be lying, but why would he have reason to? To him, she’s just a random citizen. The metronome of her detective instincts that she’d held within her began to flip back to innocent.
“I definitely agree with that,” she smiled, and now she felt like she was able to take him on a date without the worrying suspicions hanging over them, they’d walk, have a chat, then leave, no harm done.
“What I don’t like though,” he said, “are those who actively make the situation worse.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are a group of customers in the cafe who come in regularly, they work for Camillus House, you know, the homeless shelter around the corner.”
“I know it”, she confirmed.
“They tell me about these dealers who come from out of town. The homeless population here is tight, they look after each other, so to get ‘in’ to sell dope, these dealers make themselves appear homeless. They get taken in by some of the communities, make themselves known to the right people, then they reach out to their connections to get the product to push.”
Holy shit, her heart dropped into her stomach.
“I think these dealers are the real problem here,” he said, “they make the work of the charities and shelters so much harder.”
The suspicion was back.
How could they have missed this? Homeless people are often nomadic so if the victim wasn’t in the system, he could be considered legitimately homeless, or could just be from out of town. Could The Guardian Angel’s victims just be the dealers? We’d have no way of verifying it since the homeless population are naturally anti-police. They wouldn’t talk, so the detective would have no way to know.
She tried to keep her cool.
“Wow, I had no idea,” she stalled whilst she regained her composure.
“Yeah, nobody cares about them, so it’s easy to brush under the rug,” then his face altered from concern to comfort as he changed the subject.
“So, Jessica with the shitty boss, how does a girl like you end up single and in my café?”
Smooth.
“A series of unfortunate events. They could write a book about my love-life, and it wouldn’t have a happy ending,” she laughed. She knew now that she had to continue with her plan, there were too many unanswered questions and even if Gil wasn’t her guy, she’d still want to do this, for her own sake.
“Oh?” He said, “I guess many men must be intimidated by you.”
“Maybe that’s it,” she said, “I’m not intimidating you, I hope.”
“Not at all,” he smiled, “I can hold my own.”
“That’s something I’ve heard before,” she said with a sparkle in her eye. “I’ve yet to find someone who can handle me.”
He raised his eyebrows whilst smiled, “oh is that how it is? Took much of a handful in the sack?”
She had to admit, his charm was almost overwhelming, she had to stop herself from biting her lip in desire.
“You could say that,” she needed to cool herself down and stick to the plan, “I could ask the same about you, how come you’re single?”
“Well, legally I’m not,” he admitted. “My wife and I have been separated for some time, and in the next month or so, we’ve papers to sign to free me forever.”
He paused.
“That doesn’t put you off, I hope,” his smile was inviting, and she found herself making decisions in her mind as if this flirting was real. She wanted him to herself. Is this how psychopaths pull people in?
“Not at all, unless you’re planning on marrying me within the next month or so,” she laughed heartily escort şişli and he shared it with her.
“So when you say you’re a handful,” he said softly, “what does that mean?”
Now she was the one to raise an eyebrow, but he continued speaking before she was able to answer.
“Because, if we’re going to do this, I want to rock your world.”
She felt her cheeks flush, and had to stop herself from dramatically fanning herself with her hand.
“Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure,” she squeezed his biceps playfully and bit her lip. “I just like to be a little hurt sometimes.”
“How hurt are we talking,” he said, stopping their walk, he ran his hand up her back, into her hair behind her head.
“Like this?” He grabbed a handful of her blonde hair tightly in his fist, and pulled her close, controlling her body.
She let out a moan involuntarily – it was so hot, giving him control over her like that. How quickly her fake sexual history about how rough she enjoys it, had become reality.
“Yeah, that’s it isn’t it,” he released her. Then smiled. “Good to know that I’ll be able to handle you.”
“Do you have a room close by,” she asked. “I think I might need to do something about this now.”
Her mind ping ponged back and forth between serial killer and sexual fantasy more times than she could count, it reminded her of a game of tennis, back and forth, back and forth. Every time he spoke, each sentence both convinced her of his guilt, but also endeared him to her so much to make him feel innocent in her eyes. He was an enigma. At this point she was in two minds, he was both Gil Ashbury, The Guardian Angel, and Gil Ashbury, the hot barista who she wanted more than anything to fuck.
He led her out of the park, keeping his hands gently on her body. The anticipation of it began to stir within her core, now the gut feeling she had as a detective was indistinguishable from the dampness of her nethers. She had this feeling, and this feeling made her want to both arrest him, and fuck him.
She could do both. She knew it. In order to arrest him, she had to fuck him. But she also wanted to fuck him.
He let her into his apartment, and before she even crossed the threshold, he put his arm around her waist and pulled her in. The front door stayed open as he pressed her against the wall alongside it.
It slowly closed as his soft lips made their way to hers.
“Oh God,” she cried, the stirring in her loins gaining in intensity.
“DNA and bite, keep it in mind”, she told herself, not allowing her to be fully lost in the experience for fear of losing sight of her goal.
It was hard to do, since he was so alluring. She placed her tongue in his mouth and placed her hands on either side of his face, running them up through the shaved head on the side into the thicket of locks at its top.
He backed off, and took a few steps backwards before grabbing her once more, leading her to the bedroom.
He grabbed her tight black dress, and in a show of his strength tore it down the middle, ripping it apart at the seam. Beneath it, she wore black lace panties, but her breasts were on show. His eyes ran up and down her body, and she’d never felt more wanted.
This is for the case. DNA and bite.
She dropped to her knees and undid his wolf’s head buckle, then pulled his buttons open revealing a growing mass behind them. With his underwear pulled down, his cock entered her mouth with such ease. He tasted incredible. It had been too long for her without tasting a dick, and it was every bit as intoxicating as she remembered.
This is for the case.
She moaned with her sucking, putting it right to the back of her throat as far as her gag reflex allowed and then back out again. She teased his head with her tongue, and then pulled back, gently running her teeth across it as if threatening to bite, playfully. She was putting on a show for her conquest, and he was enjoying every minute of it.
He stood her up and tore her panties off her; they were her most expensive pair, but in the moment the act had been so intensely hot that her wetness smeared across her inner thigh as the lace drew past them.
She pushed him onto the bed and climbed onto him, mounting his face. She put her full weight upon him, forcing his tongue into her hot silky folds, she let him breathe after a few seconds before resuming her place upon him, she wanted to control his breathing and have full dominion over him. His lips and tongue made a mess of her, and she could feel her juices dripping all over him as he moved his bristled jaw around beneath her.
DNA and Bite.
He gasped for air as she sat up.
“Now I’m starting to understand how others struggled to handle you,” he said whilst catching his breath.
“I’m sorry, was that too much?”
“No, it was perfect.” He wiped his mouth, stood and then commanded, “on your hands and knees.”
He entered her. His long, hard cock reached deeply inside of her; he was too big for her tight pussy, and she eeked out a small whimper. He took that as a sign that he was doing the right thing and so he grasped a handful of her hair across her back and pulled up, arching her back; her ass and head at the same height, whilst her breasts and stomach bent down to the bed. The position allowed him even more depth, and she cried out, “deeper.”