A girl's dream is never truly fulfilled. Detective Bob Harris considered himself equipped for anything. At twenty-five, he's the youngest homicide detective in his precinct's history-the golden boy of the department and a gifted investigator with a love of the hunt. Now, he finds himself facing a new case that challenges all his expectations and boundaries. A string of brutal, ritualistic murders has the city on edge. His investigation brings him to the front doors of one of the most powerful law firms in the world. These doors protect many dangerous secrets-and Detective Harris is getting too close for the comfort of the influential men and women behind those doors. Beyond reproach and unconcerned over the man's investigatory interest to qualify one of their own as a viable suspect in the case, a brilliant and powerful woman has determined the world is hers to do with as she pleases. No simple cop can ever threaten her power, her position-or her destiny. And no one is going to interfere with the process of purification required for blessed matrimony.

Schism

By K.R. Lugo

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 K.R. Lugo
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4620-9353-3

Chapter One

The light hazel eyes that reflected from the perfectly polished mirror were those of a woman who had seen far too many things in her life, terrible things that would forever alter the course of anyone's life. She licked her dry lips, causing her dimpled cheeks to elongate, as she continued to stare with unblinking eyes into the glass. She then leaned slightly forward to get a closer view of her facial features, not wanting to make any detectable errors that might make her appear even slightly clownish; ran a light coat of red lipstick over the contours of her pouty mouth; and then carefully blotted them on a folded-up piece of tissue paper by gently pressing her lips together. Once she had finished applying the final touches of makeup to her face, smiling to verify that she had correctly rouged her high cheek bones, the woman reached down and pulled each of the lilac spaghetti straps over her shapely porcelain shoulders. She then meticulously dabbed at the hair clips that held up her thick brunette mane and stood up from the chair that rested in front of the vanity once she was completely satisfied that her physical appearance was immaculate. She ran her hands over her ample breasts and down her tiny waist to smooth the material of the dress over her voluptuous body, shaking her hips ever so slightly.

The sound of the elevator doors opening from outside the room and down the hall reached her ears. Seconds later two voices—those of a man and a woman, probably a husband and wife—could be heard arguing as they walked down the hallway toward her room. They stopped right outside the door, each of their voices rising in the heat of the moment as words continued to be exchanged.

The woman inside the room remained unmoving as she listened intently to the subject of the conversation just outside the door. Typical, she thought as she pressed her tiny hands into fists. She blinked with deliberate slowness, wishing they would either kill each other or just do the courteous thing and be quiet. No one wanted to listen to their nonsense. She certainly didn't. She dabbed at her hair again for effect. "We don't need any interruptions, do we, baby?" the woman asked in a seductive whisper.

The sound of a door slamming shut across the hall echoed throughout the floor, followed by a man cursing loudly and kicking the door.

Silence.

Then the familiar mechanical sound of the elevator doors emerged once again.

"Finally, we have some privacy again, my love," the woman whispered. "People can be so very rude." She then used the mirror to look over her right shoulder in order to see the results of her unfortunate but very necessary actions. She frowned from the sight, wondering why everyone she ever cared for always left so selfishly. Like shadows during daybreak, they just vanished without a trace or explanation. No one, especially men, ever put her first. It just wasn't fair. But she always forgave them, regardless of their trespasses and betrayals. Blessed by God, she had been born with a heart of gold. If they couldn't see that—well—that was just their loss.

Sprawled out across the king-size mattress, hands and feet tied with leather straps to each of the four corners of the canopied bed that was prominently displayed by the posh hotel in pamphlets to lure visitors, lay the lifeless body of the man who had unwittingly approached his future murderess in the bar downstairs. Had he been alive to see the fate of how his life had ended, Samuel Smith might have found the surrounding circumstances somewhat amusing, if not downright hilarious. Samuel had always been a loving and faithful husband, never straying from his devotion to Marcia in thought or deed, but when he saw the stunning woman sitting alone in a booth in a dark, obscure corner of the bar, something almost primal had awakened within him, drawing him to her like a moth to a flame. The woman was flawless in appearance, and she exuded a sexuality that defied explanation, which was coupled with an aura of unidentifiable mystery, even a modicum of danger. He was powerless to resist her. He didn't know, and never would understand, why he felt overwhelmed with the desire to speak with her, to touch her, to be devoured by her, but the impulse could not be ignored or suppressed.

Arousing even more intrigue, the woman did nothing but sit alone in the shadows and daintily sip at a glass of red wine. She did not speak or move a single muscle other than those required to lift the crystal and drink from it as she stared off into the abyss.

If he had not been an out-of-town visitor, venturing out beyond the borders of the safety of his own hometown and to a distant city only because his company had sent him to attend a business conference, Samuel would have sprinted outside and driven off in his car as fast as the wheels would spin the first moment he had coveted anyone other than his beloved wife. Instead, since he opted to violate his own moral conscience by mustering up a misplaced version of courage he did not previously realize he possessed, shamelessly choosing to flirt with a woman who was physically out of his league, the dead body of Samuel Smith would eventually be found tied to a foreign bed in a thick pool of his own blood. Both corners of his mouth had been slashed up to the ears. A large knife was jutting out from his bare chest, and his severed genitals were floating in a jar of formaldehyde that rested on a nearby nightstand. His eyes had been meticulously sewn open with purple thread so he and those who found him could see and understand that all was not lost, because all men could be saved and sent into the realm of loving bliss. Sometimes people just had to be coaxed into seeing with their own eyes, so she had made certain those helped by her would see the error of their ways. None could escape or deny the incontrovertible truth, an absolute she had received in a biblical vision.

The woman walked over to the bed where her latest love lay and looked down at him with an almost quizzical expression. He's so quiet, she thought, tilting her head and wrinkling her nose from the metallic scent that was emanating from the massive amount of blood that saturated the linen. She then leaned down and ran her hand lovingly over his balding head with a sense of compassion for his plight. "You poor little man," she whispered, shaking her head ever so slightly as she peered down at the slain tool salesman. She caressed his cheek with the back of her hand, paused on the chin, and then pulled it away. "You have no one to blame but yourself and the weakness of your own flesh. The essence of this necessary act shall cleanse and give you a rebirth to make you worthy of my daughter." She then reached out to the nightstand that was located next to the bed and plucked a single rose from the bouquet he had bought for her in a pathetic demonstration of chivalrous romanticism and slid the stem between his two mangled lips. "For you, my misguided prince. Farewell, for I love you, if only briefly."

The sound of the door from across the hall being opened came again. A woman's voice was apologizing for acting like a jealous schoolgirl, immediately followed the sound of the door being shut. Seconds later the hum of the elevator summoned into operation sprang back to life.

When all fell silent once again, the woman stepped across the lush carpet and retrieved her designer purse, which was resting on a nearby chair. She removed an expertly handcrafted doll and smoothed out the blonde hair that cascaded over its head, cooing softly. Tears began to pool in the woman's eyes as she looked down at the perfect child she had constructed with her own hands and had loved since she'd willed the girl to life. "Shhh, Wendy," the woman breathed as she straightened out the doll's dress. She then walked back over to the bed. "I know, Wendy, but we need to take care of him, love him. He should not be alone. No one should ever be alone, not ever." She brought the doll up to her right ear and listened intently. Then she nodded her head in understanding. "Yes, sweetheart. Please do not fret over such minuscule matters. Of course, I'll tell your sisters that you love and miss them." The woman moved the doll away and looked down at it with nothing but love filling her eyes. She then brought the doll up to her chest and hugged it with all her might, twisting her body as she did so. "I love you so much, Wendy." The woman then adjusted the doll's arms in the outstretched position and placed it facedown over Samuel's neck, providing the image that Wendy was hugging him tightly, like a lover who cannot bear to be separated from the one she adores beyond all else.

The woman, content that she was doing the right thing, the proper thing, walked over and picked up the purse, secretly wishing she could take Wendy with her. The others would understand, she thought. It was the natural course of all things, the inevitable conclusion for all those who matured into womanhood. I will find them all a man to guide, to love, with whom to grow old. She dabbed at her moist eyes with a silk handkerchief, careful not to smear her mascara, ashamed at herself for feeling a scintilla of jealously because Wendy had found a man to love her, and for her to love over the course of eternity. She then walked over to the front door, placed her hand on the brass knob, and started to turn it when she heard a voice call out to her from behind. She turned and smiled. "You're welcome, Wendy," the woman said. "Good-bye, my beloved daughter. I shall hold you in my heart forever." She opened the door and headed toward the elevator doors, happy that she had married off another one of her treasured babies.

After the elevator doors closed in front of her, finding the shimmy of the floor as she descended down the shaft slightly unnerving, she rocked her head to the melodic voice of Karen Carpenter singing about an ascending balloon. She then began to hum along with the music.

When the doors opened with a muffled mechanical clatter to the downstairs lobby, where dozens of visitors and employees were either busy scurrying about or reclining on plush chairs and couches, the woman nonchalantly stepped out and walked across the beautifully polished marble floor. She put on a false smile for all of the testosterone-driven men who looked upon her body with evil lust in their eyes and in their black hearts. Pigs! she cursed silently.

A large fountain was located in the center of the large room. The focus of it was a perfectly sculpted unicorn with the right foreleg raised. A constant stream of water flowed from the mythical equine's three-foot horn.

A young man of perhaps twenty years old approached her, obviously an employee of the hotel, and bowed slightly at the waist. When he stood completely upright he found it impossible to look away from the most penetrating eyes he had ever seen. They reminded him of those of a cat. Even the pupils seemed to vertically elongate. "Excuse me, miss, but may I be of service?" the young man asked in a voice that seemed overly polite. He reached out to take her purse, but she quickly pulled it out of his reach, clutched it against her chest, and shook her head. Her features suddenly took on a strained look, almost as if she were afraid for her safety. Taken aback by the woman's physical reaction, hoping no one had seen the obvious rejection, he grimaced slightly and took a step back. "I'm sorry, miss. I meant no harm. I work for the hotel as a bellhop, so I thought I would offer to help you, nothing more." He made certain to keep his voice soft and caring.

There was something in the tenor of the young man's voice that caused the woman to relax. She let her hands fall to her sides, still holding the strap of the purse tightly in her hand, and looked directly into the dark brown eyes of the employee. She measured the veracity of his words against the honesty of the eyes that looked at her. She didn't move for several seconds; she only stared at the patient bellhop.

And then a thought occurred to her.

She smiled from her innate matchmaking abilities. He would be the ideal husband for my Jenny, she thought.

The bellhop furrowed his brows, wondering why the woman would not speak to him. "Are you all right, miss?" he asked, concern crossing his young features. He looked over his shoulder in search of the desk clerk. "I can call you a doctor, if you're feeling ill."

The woman shook her head and held out a free hand. "Oh, no, that will not be necessary," she said. "I'm perfectly fine. I'm not very familiar with the city. And I'm extremely cautious of people."

The bellhop smiled in response to the reasonable explanation for her behavior and gladly accepted her hand. He blushed slightly when he felt her slowly run a thumb over the soft area between his index finger and thumb, and then he swallowed hard to clear his throat before daring to speak. "Perhaps, if you would like, I might be allowed to give you a tour of our city," he said, his voice cracking from nerves. It was obvious that an older woman of such astounding quality would never give someone like him the time of day. He half expected the ultimate humiliation that she would burst out laughing right in front of him, to his face.

"I think I would enjoy that very much," the woman said, releasing his clammy hand. Always on the prowl, she could smell the nervousness dripping from his pores. "As a matter of fact, I know I would like that very much." She peered at the expensive watch fastened around her petite wrist and nodded slowly. "So, when would you like our date to occur?"

"Our date?" the bellhop asked, the shock in his voice evident to anyone within hearing distance. He ran his tongue over his suddenly parched lips.

"Well, of course, silly," she said, giggling. "You are asking me out, are you not?" She offered a couple of flirtatious flutters of her long lashes. "Please correct me if I've misconstrued your intentions." She placed a single hand over her chest to feign embarrassment.

Afraid that he was going to inadvertently sabotage the situation, the bellhop searched his mind for the best line he knew to recover from such an unexpected change of fortune. He was speechless. All he trusted himself to do was smile dumbly and nod his head.

"Shall we say dinner tonight?" she asked. "After dinner, then perhaps you can escort me through the city and show me all of the wonderful sights."

The young bellhop, surprised beyond belief at his good luck, continued to smile and nod his head. "It would be an honor, miss," he finally managed to choke out.

"What time do you get off work?" she asked.

"Six," he replied.

"Six is just fine," she said. "How about I pick you up, then?"

"Okay," he said numbly, barely hearing her.

"So, what is your name?" she asked.

"Billy ... I mean, William Preston," he replied.

"William, huh?" she repeated, licking her lips seductively. "I like that name. So very regal by nature." She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, pausing ever so slightly with her moist lips pressed against his skin for sexual effect. "My name is Verona Capulet, William." The heat radiating off his skin spoke volumes to her. Yes, he will be most perfect for my Jenny, and she will adore him, just as it was meant to be, she thought, biting on her lower lip.

"It's a true pleasure to meet you, Miss Capulet," Billy said, wondering if the words sounded as stupid to her as they did to him. He knew that he was playing in a game that was so far out of his league that all he could do was fumble around and try not to appear like too much of a geek. The fact that he was a twenty-year-old virgin was embarrassing enough, leaving him about as much game with women as a diapered monkey playing chess.

"No, the pleasure is all mine, William," Verona said. "And, please, call me Verona. My mother was Mrs. Capulet."

"Okay," William said, inwardly chastising himself for acting like such a lame.

"Well, I have several appointments to make before our date, so I better take care of business so that we can concentrate on us," Verona said. She looked at her watch again. "Shall we say right here at six?"

"Okay," William replied, mechanically nodding his head up and down as if a ventriloquist had a hand shoved up his back and was controlling his every move.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from Schismby K.R. Lugo Copyright © 2012 by K.R. Lugo. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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