Chapter 31

They returned to California the next day, arriving in the afternoon. As the private plane was taxiing to its assigned parking spot, Priscilla had told Emily that she would be busy for the next few days, and wouldn't be able to see her.

Emily had stared at her intently, trying to suss out whether Priscilla was being honest with her…or trying to brush her off. Perhaps their Hawaiian vacation had been the end of them spending time together in the enjoyable ways they had, after all.

But she had determined that Priscilla was being truthful. There had been something in her eyes which indicated that she was feeling regret at not being able to see Emily for a while.

Nonetheless, Emily had decided to press for more information.

"Busy doing what?" she had asked, hating that she had sounded like a jealous girlfriend.

"Busy doing business," Priscilla had replied cryptically. "I won't bore you with the details."

Emily had known that the discussion was over at that point, and that apparently, routinely fucking Priscilla Kroyn did not earn a woman any more information than Priscilla was willing to share.

From the airport, the Bentley limousine drove them to Emily's condo. They had kissed deeply in the car before Emily exited, with Priscilla telling her that she would be in touch in a few days.

That had been Friday.

Emily had then spent a very disappointing and unfulfilled weekend at home. She didn't leave the condo at all Saturday or Sunday. She had all her meals delivered, told her team that she would speak with them on Monday, and remained in pajamas twenty-four hours a day.

Over the weekend, she knew she had been missing Priscilla, and she kind of loathed herself for that, but she also hadn't been able to help it. The Hawaii trip had been amazing, and when she had been able to completely put The Young Shepherdess out of her mind, she had just loved spending time with Priscilla. There had been moments when they had simply been two women enjoying each other's company, like old friends, laughing and telling stories…as if they had been together for a long time. She had gotten to see Priscilla as just a woman, as opposed to the mega-wealthy business titan the rest of the world knew her as.

And the sex had been…stupendous. Well after she had been untied from the bed that one morning, whenever she concentrated really hard, she could still feel that vibrator in her vagina, buzzing unceasingly, bringing her to orgasm after orgasm.

As early as Saturday morning—waking up alone in her bed—Emily realized that Priscilla had gotten her addicted to having sex with her, and not knowing how long it would be until they were able to fuck again was maddening. She ended up masturbating four times that day, just to center herself and regain some sense of mental focus. On Sunday, she'd had to get herself off five times—the last time being in bed at night, just so she could have any hope of sleeping.

Now it was Monday morning, and Emily was at the station house, in the detectives' squad room. She could have just as well stayed home another day, but she knew her bosses at Geneva Excess required her to continue working with the police—in person—until the case was closed one way or another.

She was sitting at an unoccupied desk, sipping her hyper-caffeinated coffee—Amy's Jet Fuel was what that shop in Carlsbad called it—and feeling like shit. Masturbating last night had indeed allowed her to drift off to sleep, but it had been an uneasy slumber, full of erotic dreams starring Priscilla dominating her in wonderfully sexual ways. The last dream had been so realistic, in fact, that Emily had woken up, grasping her neck, certain she was going to feel the collar which had Priscilla's spelled out in diamonds there.

Tom approached, dragging the wheeled office chair from his desk, and sat opposite Emily. He stared at her silently for several moments.

"You, uh, look well-rested," he eventually remarked.

Emily smiled.

"Um…really?" she said. "Because I feel like crap."

"Well, I was being polite," Tom said. "But it does look as though you've got a bit of a tan…"

Emily smiled.

"Yeah," she began. "We, uh, got away for a few days."

Tom nodded, keeping his expression neutral.

"As part of the investigation?" he asked.

"Uh-huh," Emily replied. "Like I said…me getting close to her can only benefit us."

Tom nodded again.

"Right," he said. "I remember you telling me that."

He continued looking at her for several moments.

"So, we were wondering…" he began, reaching into his jacket pocket and removing his phone. He tapped the screen a few times. "We were wondering if all of this getting close to Ms. Kroyn would allow you to tell us who this is…"

He held his phone out to her. Emily took it and examined the photo on the screen.

She frowned.

The picture showed Priscilla having a candlelit dinner, with wine, with another woman.

And Emily knew who it was.

It was the young Celia Bruce, Countess of Ailesbury.

Priscilla and the countess were sitting close—one might say intimately close—to one another.

Emily's heart dropped as her anger rose.

"That was Friday night," Tom said. "Any idea who that is?"

Emily cleared her throat.

"It's a friend of hers," she told him. "Celia Bruce. She's a countess from Ireland."

Tom's eyebrows shot up.

"A countess?" he asked. "They still have those?"

Emily nodded.

Unfortunately, in this case…

"So what's a countess doing in San Diego?" Tom asked.

"Probably because it rains seven-hundred days a year in Ireland, and she likes sunshine," Emily retorted.

"Well, she's cute," Tom said. "She definitely fits here in Southern California." He reached forward, took the phone back from her, swiped his finger across the screen, and handed it back to Emily.

"This was last night," he told her. "A little after ten o'clock."

Emily looked at the photo, and started grinding her teeth.

This one showed Priscilla and Celia—holding hands—walking into the lobby of the Astor Place Towers, where Priscilla's penthouse was.

That fucking bitch!

Emily shook her head and shrugged.

"I don't know what to tell you, Detective," she said, handing the phone back, "as far as I know, they are just friends."

Tom nodded.

"If you say so," he said. Emily could swear that she detected a note of sarcasm in his voice. "By the way…we got a hit on one of those gizmos used at the museum."

Emily blinked. For about three seconds she had no idea what Tom was referring to, so angry was she. But then it clicked.

"You did?" she asked.

"Yeah…it turns out that something very similar to the thingamajig that was used to kill the cameras in the museum was also used during a bank robbery in Prague, in October of last year," Tom informed her. "We did some digging. Guess who made three trips to Prague last year?"

Under the circumstances, Emily could see how that would be an interesting connection, but…

She gave a dry chuckle.

"Priscilla Kroyn could have countless reasons for being in Prague," she said. "It is a major center of business in that part of Europe."

Tom nodded and then stood up.

"I'm sure you're right, but still…we'll do some more digging," he said.

Just as he started to walk away, Emily stopped him.

"Detective!" she said.

When he turned back to look at her, she swallowed.

"I thought the police were done with surveillance on Priscilla Kroyn," she stated.

"We were," Tom told her. "But that Prague connection kind of renewed our interest." He waggled his phone. The picture of Priscilla and the countess was still on the screen. "So…this is just a friend?" he asked.

Emily's eyes shot lasers at the two women on the screen.

"Mm-hm!" she hummed cheerily, trying not to let on as to how upset she was. "As far as I know."

Tom looked at the picture again.

"A countess, huh?" he said. "I always thought those were old spinster women who dressed in black."

"Yeah, well, every old spinster woman was once a young slutty woman," Emily said. Suddenly, she hurriedly put her phone and some documents into her tote-sized handbag, and stood up. "I'm…uh…going to go down to the diner on the corner…think about that Prague connection some more, maybe make some phone calls, ask some associates of mine what they think."

Before Tom had a chance to respond, she was walking rapidly out of the squad room, rudely brushing past a uniformed cop who was filing some papers in the corridor outside, and who was in her way.