BLOODY DEEDS
CHAPTER 1
Lake Success, Long Island
Friday, October 4, 2024
9:50 PM
The phone call that would destroy everything arrived less than a minute after orgasm.
Jane was still catching her breath, tangled in sheets damp with sweat and intimacy, when she responded to Anna’s words.
“Well, at least they’re not called The Smarty Pants Sperm Company.”
It was an absurd sentence to hear while naked, breathless, and clinging to the edge of a mattress barely surviving the aftermath. Anna Franklin answered with laughter—musical, overflowing.
Jane adored her spouse’s expression during such moments. Already beautiful, these bursts of happiness lit her face and rendered her even more captivating, stealing Jane’s breath every time.
It was the look of someone who could upend a life with a single smile and make the chaos seem a privilege.
“In my view, Genius Genetics is a perfectly dignified name and sums up their business quite nicely—Detective Smarty Panties.”
Jane propped herself on an elbow. “You realize most people appreciate the etiquette of waiting longer than ten seconds after climax before bringing up artificial insemination. What would Emily Post say?”
Anna smiled. “I doubt Emily, in her wildest dreams, ever considered a situation such as...” she waved her hands over their two nude bodies, “...ours.”
The younger spouse, 36-year-old Homicide Detective Sergeant Jane Rieger-Franklin, reached out and caressed Anna’s right breast. She leaned down to kiss the nipple, her touch soft and tender.
“Anyway... I’ve been giving it a lot of thought.” She looked up. “So if you really want to go through with this... then...” she gave the nipple a playful bite, “I am all in.” Jane gazed into her lover’s deep hazel eyes, the dim light of the night table lamp catching the scattered blue flakes within.
“You know I love you and could never say ‘no’ to you. Especially not about this.”
Anna’s grin widened. At thirty-nine, she was well aware of her biological clock ticking.
It’s now or never, she believed.
The lovers—who had clawed their way through hell to build this life—already had two adopted daughters, both brilliant, both shaped by shadows they never deserved.
The Franklins were a rare breed: a family bound by choice, love, and a fierce loyalty that kept them steady.
Reality had changed, though. One daughter, eighteen, was off at SUNY Stony Brook, and the other, sixteen, spent more time with her boyfriend than at home. The house that once rang with Shakespeare on Saturdays and board games on Sundays felt quieter. Empty-nest syndrome hovered—an unspoken diagnosis—especially for Anna. The idea of expanding their clan had been circling her thoughts for a while.
A few months ago, she’d brought up conceiving through artificial insemination and began searching for sperm donation companies satisfying the couple’s strict criteria—including exceptional IQs. She discovered Genius Genetics.
“I’m meeting with the company’s president tomorrow at 10 AM. He’s showing up on a Saturday to accommodate our schedules. Any chance you can... come?” As she spoke, her hand maneuvered between Jane’s long legs—she was a tad over six feet tall—resting upon a familiar spot. With practiced touch, she applied the right pressure, accompanied by a slow, swirling movement of her index and middle fingers.
“Hmm?”
Jane moaned. “Shit, you aren’t playing fair, hon,” she purred, her tone a sultry blend of amusement and arousal. Anna intensified her movements with confidence born of practice. Jane began vibrating like a violin string.
“Jesus, it’s fucking hot in here. I’m sweating more than LeBron in the fourth quarter.”
Anna tittered. “You realize the thermostat’s set at only sixty-eight.”
“What in? Celsius? Anyway, you know we...” she gasped, “...we have three open cases... oh shit, a little faster... yes, that’s it... Yes... But... but I guess I could spare an—”
Chopin’s Funeral March shattered the moment.
Jane’s hand shot out, stopping Anna’s movement. Lieutenant Douglas Charles didn’t call at this hour unless someone was dead.
The detective had to answer. “Fuck! I have to take this, sweetie. I expect a rain check.”
Anna kissed her mate on the lips. “You got it. No expiration date.”
Jane chuckled and swung her legs off the bed, grabbing her phone.
“Yes, LT... Yeah, I gathered...” A long pause followed, and whatever Charles said drained the color from her face. She jumped up so fast her wife flinched.
“WHAT?!”
Anna’s breath caught as her wife’s expression crumbled and the homicide cop—the woman who’d stared down killers without blinking—folded in on herself, smaller and achingly fragile.
When she spoke again, the words were almost imperceptible.
“You’ve called Ted?... Gathering the troops?... Sure, of course, except her...” More listening. Then, “It gets worse? Christ Almighty, how the fuck can it get any worse?” Another lengthy pause, then, “Shit... Shit. Okay, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She disconnected.
Anna, her hands shaking, wrapped her arms around her spouse.
“What is it, honey?”
Jane turned, her expression stricken.
“It’s Jeremy. Jeremy Summers. Found murdered, naked, along with a woman, also nude, at a house in New Hyde Park. One bullet in each.”
Anna digested the horrifying words. “Oh, my God. Has anyone told—”
“Not yet. Captain Hall is on his way to her.”
Jane took her mate’s hand, the cop’s body trembling. “But there’s more. DNA evidence for starters, and the New Hyde Park detective smartly contacted the red-light camera division. A car was seen at 7:39, speeding and running a red just blocks from the crime scene. He’s already checked the plate.” The tough-as-nails police officer collapsed into her wife’s arms.
“It was her car!”
Anna’s breath caught. “Her?”
And there it was, the thread that once pulled, would unravel decades of secrets—and stain more lives with blood.
The vehicle belonged to the murdered man’s wife.
To Jane’s colleague.
To their friend.
To Detective Vivian Summers.