Taste of Fear
- John Montclair Mystery Thriller 1 -
Jadran Hawke
Copyright 2014 - All Rights Reserved
Author’s note
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and events portrayed in this story are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and simply the imagination of a story teller.
Prologue
Liliane Genet’s murderer was waiting in the room next door and she couldn’t wait to join him. She was about to die in the most pleasurable way possible.
Liliane was beautiful. She wasn’t that young anymore, but at forty-one, she was still very attractive. Since her divorce, she had paid special attention to her looks: personal trainer, gym membership, low-carb diets, skin therapy and thousands of euros invested in her new physique.
She tossed her panties on the floor of her bathroom and glanced at her stomach. It was flat and firm. She turned around to look at her ass and smiled. She was proud of it. Round and thick. Her personal trainer was right: squatting was the best way to reshape her bottom, and she was now reaping the results. In addition to a great body, she had regained confidence. Lots of confidence. And lots of men. Her new lover was beautiful. He looked much younger than he really was, but still looked mature and charismatic. He had a strong and powerful body. His muscles were chiseled, which made him extremely manly. Liliane had never slept with such a man before. She was almost shy, and impressed to have him waiting for her in her bedroom. It almost felt like a dream. She couldn’t believe how horny she was. This man was dangerous.
She stepped out of the bathroom, her heart beating like a drum. Wearing a black silk dressing gown with red high heels, she was completely naked underneath. She looked at her lover’s eyes, and all she could see was lust. His gaze was deep and intense. My god, his eyes, she thought. She loved his eyes.
The speakers of her laptop were playing soft and relaxing music, while her bedroom was lit by candlelight. It was perfect. He was perfect. She glanced at his washboard abs and felt butterflies deep in her guts. She was willing to do anything to please him. They made love, and time seemed to stop. Liliane Genet was swept away by her lover’s skills. He was truly amazing. Then, he asked her to turn around, face down. She didn’t think twice; she immediately did as he asked. She heard him move behind her and reach for something. She felt something cold around her wrists and heard a metallic sound. Click!
She figured she was being handcuffed, and felt even more aroused. That man was so damn kinky. The cold feeling was quickly followed by pain. Not extreme pain, but short and intense. Like needles on her back and her ass. Candle wax, she thought. She absolutely loved it. They made love again and she felt him climax a second time. But this time was different, though. Liliane Genet felt a tight grip around her neck. Her lover’s hands were choking her. Erotic asphyxiation? Maybe. She waited for him to release her, hoping this wouldn’t last too long. She waited. She didn’t particularly enjoy it but why not, she thought. She waited more, until her chest started to hurt. She opened her bulging eyes and tears rolled on her pillow.
Please, stop now, she thought. Her lungs were burning, desperately looking for air. That was enough. She tried to get away from his grip and thrashed and jerked, but he was holding her so tight that she was pinned on the bed. Trapped. Her arousal quickly disappeared, replaced by fear. What the hell was he doing? What was going on? Why? Impossible to move. She panicked and tried to shout. She tried to call for help and prayed this wasn’t what she thought it was. Was he trying to kill her?
Help! Help! she cried out in her head. No sound came out. The room was deadly quiet, except for the music from her computer. She jerked one last time before her body gave up, exhausted. Lifeless. Dead.
1
John Montclair was staring out the window, cell-phone stuck to his ear. It was cloudy and cold outside, a typical November afternoon in Paris, France.
“Next Friday? Let me see…” he said.
“Oh, come on, John. Don’t pretend to be so busy,” his ex-wife Julie said. “I’m taking care of Claire every day. School, homework, dinner, shower, bed-time, everything. You don’t even have to do all that on weekends.”
“That’s not the point, Julie. I’m happy to spend time with my daughter…” he said, shaking his head.
“But?”
John hesitated and took a deep breath. “She told me that you keep coming home with new boyfriends all the time. I don’t think a five-year-old need to see how active her mother is with her dating life. She should stay with me. All the time. At least, until you find your perfect match.”
He heard Julie sighing. “Hey, stop being sarcastic. I’ve given up the idea of finding someone perfect since we’ve been married. And she’s just a kid. She exaggerates. It’s not that often and when it happens, she’s always in bed.”
“Not asleep, apparently… She knows when somebody’s with you. If she ever hears anything gross, I warn you I will–”
“Listen,” Julie said, a hint of impatience in her voice. “I would never do anything that could hurt my little baby, so don’t–”
“Our little baby,” John said, raising his voice.
Julie paused for a moment, surprised by the interruption. “Yes… Our daughter.”
“I’m still her father. Always will be. No matter how many new daddies you bring her home.”
“John, stop it. We sound like two thirty-five-year-old kids arguing. You know I want what’s best for Claire just as much as you do.”
John kept silent on the phone. Their divorce was still fresh. Just a year old. Twelve months of silent agony, self-doubt, regrets and uncertainty. Ten years of marriage gone down the drain and one little girl caught in between.
Julie exhaled loudly. “I need to move on with my life, and I will choose based on what’s best for Claire as well. You’re a police Detective, you have odd hours, you fight crime and always make enemies. You can’t come home covered with blood and expect her not to notice. That’s not what our daughter needs.”
John had been stabbed in the thigh during a fight two years earlier. An ex-convict he’d sent to jail was back on the streets, and had decided to get revenge. Claire wasn’t asleep that night when John came home, injured and bleeding.
“I was doing my job. It was your job to make sure she was in bed when I got home that night,” he said. “It was midnight, for Christ’s sake.”
“John, that’s just not right for her. Do you understand? What’s next? We live in two different worlds. I’m a fund manager, my schedule is fixed, people around me are educated and peaceful. I’m more likely to make better decisions regarding Claire’s future. Plus…” Julie said, hesitating. “I make more money than you. It’s better like that. You need to accept the judge’s decision, John…”
John closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Resilient. “Alright. Friday after school until Sunday night, then.”
“Evening. You can’t bring her home too late or she won’t fall asleep. Then she’ll be moody on Monday morning and will be late for school.”
John shook his head and frowned. “Who is it this time?”
“What?”
“Your new boyfriend. You’re going to see him next week-end, right? That’s why you ‘allow’ me to see Claire.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. Just a date. I met him at work. Good career, good-looking, good sense of humor. Why?”
“Just asking,” he lied. Since their divorce, John hadn’t been in any meaningful relationship. Not that he wasn’t attractive, though. His size usually got women’s attention. It was hard for him not to be noticed, actually. He was fairly tall and well built – 6 feet 3 for 220 pounds. Most of it, lean muscle mass; the results of fifteen years of discipline at the gym and inside a boxing ring.