Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Leather and Lace ❯ Focus ( Chapter 5 )

Chapter 5

Focus

 

A soft gasp escaped her lips, body arching upwards as the gentle caress of his hands trailed down her body. His fingers teased her nipples tenderly, tugging them into twin, rosy peaks, before trailing down the curves of her ample, creamy breasts.

 

His breath was hot and arousing, soft and sensual against the curve of her throat, quiet, growl-like whispers of sexual desires escaping his lips. Her own breath mingled with his as the whispers drew away, and his lips met hers in a heated, passionate kiss. Their tongues battled for dominance, his hands finding the curve of her buttocks and pulling her towards him.

 

The fiery, hard length of his arousal met the wet, moist heat between her thighs, their clothing dissipating, simply fading away as their arousal grew.

 

Her nails dug into his back, his mouth finding her breasts and nipples, teasing the pierced points into aching, needful peaks of desire. His fingers dug into her buttocks, his touch roughening as their passion grew. His teeth became harsher, causing electrical pulses of pain to mingle with the waves of pleasure, her body igniting with the heat.

 

The whispered words grew coarse and rough, his voice deepening, darkening as delightful, painful lust consumed their bodies His words became more explicit, far more detailed and needful, telling, demanding just what he wanted.

 

Their bodies shifted, and she reveled in the loud groan that escaped his lips as her warm mouth tightened around his arousal. It was what he had wanted, what he had commanded her to do. She would take great pleasure in obeying him.

 

His hands traveled along as much of her body as he could grasp, tugging roughly on her hair, pushing her further along his length as her tongue swirled and teeth nibbled. Her mouth was so hot and moist, such a close imitation of what he wanted to fuck senseless.

 

He found her nipples, teased and tormented them, gaining humming moans in response that sent electrical waves of pleasure pulsing through his body. His hands grasped her shoulders, tugging her up along his body, earning a gasp of surprise from her full, plump and bruised lips.

 

He pulled her head down, crushing her mouth to his as the need to kiss her became far too overwhelming, and the simple desire yearned to be satiated lest he suffer for eternity.

 

Take me.

 

Her body screamed in response to his crushing lips.

 

Use me.

 

Her womb tightened, unleashing a wave of molten pleasure to seep down her thighs.

 

Fuck me.

 

Her body jerked, tensing in anticipation as he eased towards her entrance.

 

Love me.

 

She woke.

 

 

******************************

 

 

Her breathing had grown erratic and ragged, sharp, gasping breaths that escaped her tired, aching lungs that yearned for that delightful thing called oxygen. Her heart palpated dangerously fast against her ribs, her mind racing with fearful thoughts, anxiety causing her to wonder if a rib would pierce her heart.

 

But, the rapid pace of her heart and gasping of air were not caused by the anticipation of fear.

 

No. The tightening of her body, the sweat coating her skin, and the heat she felt radiating from the moist center of her thighs told her otherwise.

 

Her breath gasped in pleasurable anticipation, and her heart raced with desire.

 

Never before had she felt such a strong, powerful desire. Never, not once in her life, had she felt a yearning so great, so strong, that she actually felt the need to release some of the tension by her own hand in a public place.

 

Her eyes fell on him, sleeping soundlessly at his desk, dark lashes dusting his cheeks, thin, yet soft mouth turned slightly, as though he, too, dreamed of a pleasurable fantasy that he ached to bring to life.

 

But the dream had felt so real. She could still feel his hands on her body, his lips teasing her into a peak of arousal, and his hard length beginning to ease into her wet entrance.

 

How she had wanted to beg, to plead for him to hurry, for him to take her and show her just what pleasure was. How she still wanted to do that, to fall on her knees in front of him, to pull him out in all his glory, tease him with her tongue while begging for him to show her how she should be treated.

 

He could take her on the desk, rough and powerful, using his rugged muscles to pin her down, his large, slightly callused hands spreading her legs, allowing him access to her aching core. Or he could push her up against the couch, forcing her breasts to rub against the material of the back, his hands grasping her buttocks, smacking it, as he thrust into her from behind. Taking her hard and deep.

 

Or perhaps against the door or wall…

 

She couldn't help but slap at her right hand, cursing herself for allowing her reveries to take such control of her mind that she no longer had control over her body parts. Her hand had slowly drifted down and had been resting against her inner thigh when she had punished it, and herself, for the lack of attention paid to the surroundings.

 

But it was so strange; never before had she felt so hot, so aware of her body. She felt her womb clench tightly before relaxing, allowing a wave of moisture to flood her underwear. She could swear that it not only soaked her panties, but the pants she wore, as well.

 

She needed to think about something else.

 

Sitting up, she brushed her hair back from her face, trying her hardest to fall back into her routine state of mind. She attempted profusely to qualm her body tremors and ease her overactive imagination. She tried her hardest to focus on something, anything, other than the sensual Adonis before her, sleeping and begging for a good fucking.

 

“Lieutenant Ishida? Can I come in?”

 

Luck, perhaps, was on her side in her quest to be rid of her arousal.

 

A woman's voice filtered from the other side of the foggy-glassed door.

 

“Yamato? I'm going to come in, all right? I have coffee.”

 

The door slowly opened and a woman stuck her head in. Her long, purple hair fell over her shoulders, falling along the side of the door, shifting as her head tilted in search for the sleeping beauty.

 

A pair doe eyes met Mimi's gaze from behind a small, round pair of glasses. They blinked once; a second time, and a third before the woman's unpainted lips curled into a bright, teasing smile. Her chocolate eyes gleaned in joy and curiosity, and the woman slipped into the office, quietly shutting the door behind her, before making a beeline to the unsuspecting brunette on the couch.

 

A faintly tanned hand was thrust into Mimi's face, and the brunette gazed at the appendage for a moment before making a quiet `oh' sound, and grasping it in response.

 

“Uh … hi?”

 

“Good day!” The woman's voice was loud, yet, apparently not loud enough to wake Yamato. “I'm Inoue Miyako, policewoman extraordinaire. Actually, I'm more along the lines of a simple Detective on the case, but you know, policewoman sounds pretty hot.” She winked.

 

Mimi couldn't help but gape at the woman standing before her. She was tall, definitely much taller than Mimi, and in such good shape that her body was lean, muscled, and bore barely any signs of fatty tissue. The woman was definitely lucky.

 

As the woman frowned at the brunette, Mimi slapped her mouth shut and, as she lifted her hand to grasp Miyako's, her face burned a bright vermilion.

 

“Ta…Tachikawa Mimi.” She let go of Miyako's hand. “I'm, uh, sort of, I guess you could say…hired help.”

 

Laughing, Miyako turned her back to the brunette to place a tray on the dresser, which served as a filing cabinet and table for sugar dispensers, straws, and an assortment of condiments and utensils used for food and beverages. Mimi had barely noticed the tray, a small, metal sheet holding a single mug of coffee, and instantly felt her mouth water at the scent of the bitter caffeine.

 

“I'm sorry I only brought in one.” Mimi turned her attention to the woman. “Yamato didn't tell us that he had a, uh, `guest'. Then again…” she glanced towards the sleeping male, “he rarely falls asleep in his office, either.”

 

“It's very possible she wore him out.”

 

Her head spun in the direction of the chuckling male voice, finding a grinning, obviously entertained Taichi leaning against the doorframe.

 

“Tai! Oh, you're just horrible, aren't you?” Miyako giggled.

 

“Well, this does look suspicious, doesn't it? Our Lieutenant is asleep in his office for the first time, as well as a young woman. It does seem very suspicious.” Taichi winked.

 

“She did call herself the `hired help'.”

 

“Leave the poor girl alone, she's had a rough night.”

 

The dark, husky voice came from the mop of blonde hair that was slowly being lifted from the desk top, exposing the faintly tanned, masculine planes of Ishida Yamato's face.

 

“Ohayo gozaimasu, Lieutenant!”

 

“Good morning to you too, Miyako.” Yamato rubbed his face with his hands. “Now, somebody quickly explain why you and Taichi are in my office, and make it good. I haven't had coffee yet, and don't like being woken up by loud noises.”

 

“I don't think anyone likes being woken up by loud noises,” Taichi pointed out.

 

Miyako cut in before Yamato could make a sarcastic retort. “I came into your office to bring you your daily coffee and update you on the latest cases.” She gestured to the coffee and flashed a few sheets of paper lying beside it, easily missed by Mimi since the tray possessed a thick edge, which blocked her view to the papers. “When I came in, you were sleeping, and Tachikawa-san had most likely just woken up. We introduced ourselves, and then Tai barged in, like always.”

 

Taking a deep swig of his coffee, he let the bitter beverage swirl around his mouth, reveling in the awakening powers of caffeine, before thinking about some sort of reply.

 

“Very well, so I assume that you will respect my request to not let anyone know I was sleeping in my office. Especially Ken?”

 

When the two nodded, Yamato leaned back in his seat, glancing towards the file Miyako had left on the tray.

 

“Please, update me on everything you know. I'm guessing that file is just on last night's murders?”

 

“Your assumptions are correct, Lieutenant.” Miyako instantly changed roles, switching from the jovial, free spirited girl to a serious, determined woman focusing intently on her job. She reached over, grabbed the file and handed it to Yamato.

 

“It was made quite obvious last night that the attack was far different from the previous ones. Not only were the bodies found indoor, unlike the others, which were found in outdoor, public areas, but the attacker was far more vicious, mostly towards the female.”

 

Taichi continued to lean on the doorframe, and yet, added his input. “The female was sexually assaulted.”

 

“How so?”

 

Mimi sat up and listened fervently to the discussion. She needed to know every little detail about the crimes in order to make a proper profile. Furthermore, it was an excellent way of distracting her from her pulsating, yearning pussy. Oh, how she ached to be alone with that blond haired Lieutenant. Maybe he could show her a thing or two.

 

Focus, Mimi.

 

“Well, although there were signs that the victims engaged in sexual activity, which was made quite obvious due to their location, it was discovered that the woman's body was, in fact, penetrated postmortem (after death).”

 

“You're bullshitting.”

 

“We're not.” Miyako gestured to the file. “If you turn to page four, the coroner left a detailed description of the evidence that indicated the woman's body was raped.”

 

“Any chance that there are seminal fluids left behind in her body?”

 

“No, sir. The only seminal fluids we found were matched to her partner. However, we did find some latex residue. Obviously, our killer is a little to smart to just go in without protection.”

 

“I assume it was done after the victim was assaulted? It would have been impossible that it was done after; there was far too much blood.”

 

“Most definitely. However, what's strange is that,” Miyako paused briefly, “he, now we know for sure that it's a he, left her vagina more intact that the other victims'. It's almost as though he wanted us to know that she was assaulted. Maybe he wanted us to think that she wanted him to rape her. We know this because his attack was focused solely on the area surrounding her vagina. He barely came close to touching her labia or entrance.”

 

Taichi continued, “Which means all of the blood and so forth came from her thighs.”

 

“Her cause of death?”

 

“Well, I suppose that would be the obvious blood loss; he did manage to cut her femoral artery.” Miyako chewed her lower lip. “But the cut, although it was an artery, wasn't deep enough to kill her within seconds. It was almost like a graze. No, for some reason he decided to hit her on the back of the head with a blunt object.”

 

“Small pieces of plastic and iron were found embedded in her scalp. We can assume that it could have been a hammer, or something from the room. But we can't identify the item; he repeatedly hit her to any indentation that would help us identify the object has been destroyed. All we have are the iron and plastic residues, and those residues are very common and found in thousands of household items.”

 

“We're not sure why he killed her in a different manner, but …”

 

“He went after her brain. Her mind.” Mimi stood up, brushing her hands on her pants. She walked over to the bulletin board, glancing at the photos of the previous crimes that were placed there. “She knew him, she said something to him, made a choice, and he wanted to get back at her for it. He killed the man, and then tied her up, removed all of her free will. He abused her, tortured her, but couldn't bear to see pain in her eyes when he would take her. But he wanted to make her pay for making those decisions.”

 

She glanced towards the others. “It was his way of telling the world that she was his. He took away her free will, he took away her mind, he took away her life, and he took away her modesty. He wanted to tell the world that he was in control, and that she was his.”

 

She paced slightly. “But why her? Out of all of them, why did she cause so much anger? Such hate?”

 

The policemen and policewoman watched in silence as the brunette paced fervently, nearly burning a hole into Yamato's office floor, listening to her quiet mutterings and questions, her incessant why's. They knew, deep down, that they were not supposed to interrupt; she was thinking, deep in thought, and the slightest interruption could disrupt all of the thoughts swirling through her mind.

 

Yamato watched her expressions with a gleeful passion. Her brows knitted together, eyes hardening, yet shinning brilliantly as emotions flittered in the whiskey orbs. Her full lips pursed before moving quickly as she muttered quiet words. How he enjoyed watching her face change with each thought and emotion. He could spend all day, sitting there and watching her think.

 

There was just something about him that unearthed this lustful passion, and, eventually, he intended to find out what it was.

 

Her tongue darted out, quickly moistening her lips as she paused, running a hand through her slightly disheveled hair.

 

His groin tightened in response, his mind racing with images of that very tongue teasing him, of those plump lips brining him to the peak of desire. His eyes followed the length of her hair, focusing intently on the slight curve of her buttocks. Kami, those pants were so perfect on her ass, so tight that it made his own pants tighten as his arousal increased.

 

How he wanted to just go over there and tap that ass, to grab it as he crushed his mouth to hers.

 

“She denied him something he valued. She was supposed to be under his control, but she denied him. She controlled the situation, her choices, and he couldn't.”

 

Her melodic voice broke through his thoughts, and he strained to drag his mind away from the lustful images to the present tense. However, he couldn't help but wonder how her voice would sound in the midst of a passionate encounter? Would it thicken, deepen with desire? Or would it become breathy, higher-pitched as he brought her closer to the peak?

 

Focus, Yamato.

 

“He's a Dom, and she's a Sub. She's supposed to obey his very command. At least, in his book she is.”

 

Miyako couldn't help but break into her monologue, knowing fully well that the waiting period was over, and whatever Mimi needed to think about was thought of and developed in her mind.

 

“So, you're saying that he's a different type of Dom? How so?”

 

“Don't you get it? He follows the stereotypes to a T. If the stereotype says that the Subs have no free will, then he believes that the Subs will not be allowed free will. If it says that Doms are not to be questioned, and so forth, then they are not supposed to be questioned. The stereotype he follows is that the Dom possesses all of the power; if the Dom wants a Sub, then she or he cannot deny him or her. He believes that the Subs are not humans with free will, but simple puppets used for pleasurable acts.

 

“Certainly, a lot of Subs love that idea and sex life, but he's taking this too far. He wants to just use them as tools, like how a woman uses a vibrator. She uses it until she's satisfied, then cleans it and puts it away. That's how he will treat his Subs.” She rubbed her hands over her face. “No wonder they all denied him. This man isn't a Dom, he's just some sicko.”

 

She turned to face the group, obviously appalled and disgusted at the idea of such a being existing. “Subs are supposed to have a free will, both in the real world, and in the bedroom. It's the rules on the contracts, as well as simple courtesy and respect for them as human beings. Subs are allowed to say no to whomever they want to, and they are allowed to say yes. In the end, they choose their partners, not the other way around. This man obviously has no respect for anybody.”

 

Yamato stood up. “So this plays into the idea that he was abused as a child? Most likely sexually? That his controlling urges are enforced by the fact that he was controlled as a kid? Is that what you were trying to describe last night?”

 

“Exactly!”

 

Taichi crossed his arms, never once moving from the doorframe. “So, what we have on our hands is one smart, controlling bastard, who likes to sexually and physically abuse his victims, before killing them. He leaves no fingerprints, no hairs, and no ways to trace him.” He frowned. “He has a pattern, but now he broke it. One could say that he did it on purpose, but this kill was too personal. I mean, the only part of the woman that was untouched was her face, believe it or not. He kept her face intact because he wanted to watch it. He knew her.”

 

“But why kill them there? Why not wait like he did with the others?”

 

“He was consumed by his need to make her pay.” Mimi swallowed, realizing for the first time just how parched she was. “She denied him the chance to be his bitch, so he wanted to intervene right away and stop her from being with anyone else. He wasn't thinking clearly. He just wanted to kill her. But someone walked in near the end. Or knocked on the door.” She chewed on her lip. “Something happened so he didn't have time to set them up like he did the others.”

 

“Probably the usual security check.” At their confused gazes, Yamato continued. “In Erotika's, they have hourly security checks on the rooms. A guard passes the room, checks the door to see if it's locked, knocks on the door, asks for the person's membership and so forth. It's just to ensure that nothing illegal is going on.” He took another swig of his coffee. “My guess is, the guard knocked on his door and he panicked. He was lucky, though; the door, when opened, doesn't show the bed. All he had to do was flash his membership and that's…”

 

“I think we should ask the guards about their hourly checks, eh?”

 

Mimi reached onto Yamato's desk, and, without asking, pulled a sheet of paper from the wooden surface, went back to the couch and began scrawling down her earlier thoughts.

 

As he watched her move away, Yamato couldn't help but notice the slight bruises under her eyes and the way her hand trembled faintly as she grasped the paper. Her eyes, despite being aglow with excitement about her new knowledge, were growing paler with hunger and exhaustion.

 

Sighing softly, he turned to his coworkers. “Maybe later. After we've had something to eat and woken up a bit more.” He faced Miyako as Taichi saluted him and left. “Inoue-chan, can you ask Makino-chan to order us some food from Noodles, Noodles? Just the morning special for two, please. Thanks.” He waited while Miyako left the room, before turning to Mimi.

 

“So … did you sleep well?”

 

He watched as she openly ignored his question, her hand moving fervently, fingers shifting quickly as she excitedly scrawled every thought and spoken word on the paper. It was a wonder that her hand didn't cramp from the sudden use of the muscles.

 

Sighing, he moved to the front of his desk, leaning back on it, crossing his legs slightly. He sipped his coffee as he watched her, his eyes following the slope of her pale throat, watching as the pale flesh slid under the white blouse. As she shifted, the light shone through the sheer fabric, causing the blood to rush to his nether regions as her breasts were shown.

 

The ample, creamy mounds were definitely more than a handful, yet not so big that they would completely spill out of his hands. No, they were definitely a lovely, large size. He estimated them to be a C to a D, depending on bra make. How he knew this was simply from experience. Also, due to the fact that Miyako wore an A, as written on the bra he had found in the locker, and that top was nearly bursting from the size of her breasts.

 

Swallowing thickly, nearly choking on his spit, Yamato attempted to avert his gaze, trying to focus it on anything other that the curvy woman before him. How his hands ached to just reach forward and brush the creamy swells. How his cock yearned to be freed and then shoved into her moist tunnel. He wanted to take her, hard and fast, and yet, at the same time, savour and touch every part of her body.

 

It was the first time in his life that he barely thought of dominating her. Certainly, the idea of being a Dom in their relationship was appealing and sexual; yet, he found himself aroused without any thoughts whatsoever concerning bondage and being dominant. At least, not to the extreme he was used to.

 

“Lieutenant, did you say something?”

 

Her eyes were wide, shimmering in the light, surrounded by the thick, dark lashes. Her lips were begging to be kissed; moving at she spoke that one word that nearly broke his hold on his sanity.

 

Well, maybe his dominant personality was enhancing her effects on his body.

 

Mentally kicking himself in the shins, he shrugged slightly, attempting to appear and sound nonchalant as he sipped his coffee.

 

“I just wanted to know if you slept well. I know that you handled last night very well, actually, better than some trainees, but, well, people do dream when they sleep…” He broke off, letting her piece together the ending of his sentence.

 

What was it about her that made him care? Why did he find the need to know if she had had nightmares? Why was it that he wanted to comfort her if she hurt? She was just some therapist helping make a profile, that's all.

 

So why did he care?

 

She shrugged, trying not to remember the vivid dream she had had that night. She could still feel his rough, warm hands grasping her body, his mouth and tongue sending her to the brink of a mind shattering orgasm. Unconsciously, her hand shifted, drawing a somewhat crude image at the bottom of her report.

 

Blushing faintly, she tilted her hand, letting her wavy hair tumble forth and block her face's view from him. Quietly, she replied, “It was all right. No dreams, fortunately. But, I've slept on more comfortable couches.”

 

She heard his snort of laughter and glanced in his direction. His eyes gleamed with amusement.

 

“Well, I'm sorry the couch couldn't have been comfier. At least it was better than a desk.” He gestured to the said object, before quickly glancing at the clock. “We overslept.”

 

Mimi couldn't help but let out a snort of her one. “We? You mean, you overslept. I was up way before you.”

 

He arched a brow. “Oh, you did now? And what did you do? Watch me sleep?”

 

She fought back a brilliant blush as her mind confessed that she did watch him. But she couldn't have helped it; the dream had been so strong, and she wanted to wonder it his body would feel just like that against hers.

 

“Maybe I did.” Her lips twitched into a smile. “But I doubt you'll ever know the answer to that.”

 

“Why is that?”

 

“Because you were sleeping at the time.”

 

He couldn't help but grin in response, casually sipping at his coffee a few more times before placing it on his desk. Stepping away from the wooden object, he made his way over to the bulletin board, his eyes roaming over the images strategically placed there.

 

The images were dark, crude, pictures of death and torment, scenarios forever captured on film, to be forever imprinted in the minds of those who witnessed the scenes. They were red, almost pouring out blood, overflowing with the crimson substance. He could have sworn that the cork was soaked in the colour.

 

She watched him with her keen, intelligent eyes, the whiskey orbs glowing with thought and intellect, mind running through scenarios and descriptions of his character. She could not help it; she saw the regret in his twin oceans. She saw the deep-seated pain and agony, the self-loathing and woe that were buried underneath the hardened exterior. Through years of garish experiences, he had built himself a granite wall, blocking all outsiders from entering his mind. She knew that without the wall, he would feel exposed and vulnerable; he needed the wall to live and breathe freely in this cruel world.

 

Oh, how she would love to simply sit him down and question him, to be able to spend hours analyzing his mind, winding through the complex mazes to find the core of his soul.

 

Of course, this need was simply unearthed because of her fascination with the brain and mind, not because he sent her body on overdrive every time she simply thought about him. No, she was not fascinated because she was enamored with him. He was simply an interesting subject.

 

“Tachikawa-chan.” His voice brought her out from her sea of thoughts and she glanced towards him, fighting every screaming urge that told her to get up and simply touch him.

 

“Hai?”

 

“Did you know Horata Rumiko?”

 

Instant confusion glittered in her eyes, her lips and brows forming frowns as creases appeared on her forehead. He knew that her insides were tightening, while her mind was racing for some possible explanation to his question. But he would only give her an answer if she asked the right question in response.

 

The moment of silence seemed to go on for an eternity, all the while her mind was screaming, telling her not to answer, not to let him know about her involvement with Rumiko. If she told him that they had been great friends, she would most certainly be removed from the case; it would make it far too personal for her. Her heart pounded in her chest as fear knotted in her stomach. She wanted, no, needed to be a part of this case. Whether she would admit the truth to him or not, she would fight to remain on this case.

 

She was not going to let him use her for a few ideas, and then discard her like a useless piece of paper. She absolutely refused, and this refusal enabled anger to ebb and flow in her veins. Fury at the idea of him having, most likely, known of her involvement with Rumiko, and unadulterated anger at the thought that maybe he had only used her to give him facts and theories. Facts and theories that had been unnerving to her, thoughts that had mingled with regret, guilt, and pain, and images that would forever be branded in her mind, giving her nightmares on nights when her mind was not solely focused on eroticism.

 

She was not going to let him push her away just because she had been a friend to a victim.

 

Victim.

 

Her head fell, eyes watering with tears: droplets of self-hatred and guilt that threatened to spill forth and moisten the paper on her lap.

 

Rumiko had become nothing but a victim, a woman who had been in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and had become a statistic of the number of murdered women. She was now a number, a label, and even Mimi was becoming used to such a thought.

 

Rumiko would not be a `victim'. Mimi refused to let her mind, to let the world around her, change what her heart truly felt about her friend. Rumiko was, had been, a friend, and that friend would be avenged, whether Mr. Lieutenant over there thought Mimi could be on the case or not.

 

Yamato was unaware of the screams in Mimi's brain, unable to hear anything but the tick of the clock as the silence drew on. He knew, deep down, that she had known Horata. The pained look in her eyes had told him everything last night, whispered to him that she had known, and loved, the woman lying cold and dead on the table.

 

He didn't know why, but he had to know the truth. To be honest, he really could have cared less if she had known the woman or not, but something inside of him, a curious part of him, had been ignited with the need to know the truth. To know if she had really been paining for a lost loved one.

 

Sipping his coffee, he waited patiently for her inner turmoil to cease and her mind to come to its senses, and he watched as she slowly lifted her head. The tears glistening in her eyes shocked him, yet his face remained impassive, uncaring. Years of hardening, experience, and practice taught him to never show his emotions. Instead of doing what his heart ached for him to do, instead of going over and caressing her face, asking her what was wrong, he sipped his coffee and waited.

 

She closed her eyes slowly, before nodding. “I knew her. We had met a few years ago, in high school. I've known her nearly as long as Sora. Our friendship grew when we realized we had similar interests and likes in clubs. She is, or was, very kind.”

 

Nodding slowly, Yamato watched as her eyes opened, the grief replaced by the faintest flickers of fear. What could she possibly fear? Perhaps she thought that the police rules extended to her, as well?

 

“Tachikawa-chan, do you think, now that I know that you had one befriended Horata, that I would remove you from this case?”

 

The question startled her, causing her body to jerk involuntarily, and a couple stray tears to slide down her cheeks.

 

Wiping the droplets away, she gazed at him with confusion and wonder aglow in her whiskey eyes. Was he about to say…?

 

His lips curled up into a small smile, eyes aglow with amusement. “Tachikawa-chan, you are a vital part of this investigation, and I would not, under almost any circumstances, remove you from this case. Do you understand?”

 

“Y … Yes.”

 

“Good.”

 

He turned, placing his mug on the desk, before striding towards her. He only had one more question for her…

 

Leaning forward, he placed on hand on the armrest, the other in the middle of the couch's back, boxing Mimi into the corner of the couch, permitting her no access to an escape route. He further leaned forward, his face inches from hers, a faint smile painted on his lips.

 

“I just have one more question, Tachikawa-chan.”

 

Fear grew with her eyes, the widened, doe-like orbs surrounded by thick lashes that fluttered up and down as her lids opened and closed with each blink of surprise. Her mouth opened slightly, giving her the most beautifully erotic, surprised expression Yamato had ever seen on any woman.

 

“I, uh, yes…?”

 

He needed to know the answer, the reasoning behind her actions, and he needed to know what she had done. He absolutely had to known why all of the women looked alike, and why, they looked like somebody else he knew.

 

“What were you doing in Erotika's last night, Tachikawa-chan?”