Controlling the Detectives (The Magic Remote Book 3) by Nadia Nightside

Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older.
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Controlling The Detectives
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    T here just doesn't seem to be much to the house, thought Heather, deep now in her eighth hour of the stakeout.
    Lieutenant Detective Heather Key and her partner, Detective Sandra Harrera, had been watching the sorority house for nearly a day now, sitting in their car and trading off observation periods with their high-powered binoculars, watching the attractive two dozen or so women who lived there go in and out—they exited with only their purses and their drab, plain high-collared outfits, and came back with bags of groceries, designer clothes, video games, and movies.
    The word was, this sorority used to be something of a hot spot for parties and wild, indulgent living not even a month ago. Now, they were all dressing like nuns in a convent, as if they wanted no one to see what their bodies looked like one way or the other. It was an odd reversal for what had been, before, a sorority for rich, beautiful socialites. Now it seemed like a sorority for rich, beautiful shut-ins.
    As far as working stakeouts for the Vice department went, Heather had been on far worse. Most put her deep into downtown of the city, snuggled up against smog-fuming buildings and buried in trash. This university campus, on the other hand, was rich and abundantly nice. She felt like she needed a better car just to fit into the affluence that surrounded her.
    It was morning time in the nice little  campus—the sun shining happily on the cloudless day. Most of the other campus houses here were big, with driveways that circled around gardens or fountains or fountain-filled gardens. Long rows of brushes lined each home, nearly matching the height of the tall fences that were common to many of them. Every lawn was perfectly maintained.
    There was, so far, no sign of the young man who supposedly had ruined the once-happy home of the Russells.
    The man who had brought the case forward, a Mr. Bryan Russell, had explained that he came home no more than a month ago, and his daughter Carmen simply told him to leave, forever, and not come back, and that his wife Monica would be sending him divorce papers soon.
    In the back of that same room, Russell said, he saw his wife performing an eager, practiced blowjob on the young man from next door.
    They were trying to hide it, the young man positioned behind a counter, watching the whole interchange between Carmen and Mr. Russell. But, apparently, Mr. Russell had seen a reflection in a glass door of his hot young wife so exuberantly performing the blowjob.
    Russell had a lot of pull with Heather's boss, having donated some serious money to the police commissioner's campaign at the end of last year. So, naturally, the best vice detectives in the department were put on the case—Heather and Sandra. Russell had asked specifically for vice—he insisted some kind of weird prostitution drug exchange was going on.
    Heather was inclined not to believe the husband's story, certainly after seeing so much of nothing so far from the sorority house. They had tracked his daughter there, and some eyewitnesses said they had seen the young man, Jared, there as well, and that was how their stakeout had been started. Heather's gut instinct, though, was that probably Bryan was only making it all up to help himself in the divorce proceedings.
    Still, though. Bryan Russell would be somewhat rare if he was getting dumped. When a husband got discarded, she had found, there was either abuse, lack of finances, or lack of sexual attraction. With Russell, all three were hard to fathom. He didn't express the kind of undignified rage that most abusers tended to take on, he was completely wealthy, and he certainly was very handsome.
    “Quiet, so far” she said to Sandra, sitting across from her in the front of her old sedan.
    “Mmm,” said the younger detective.
    They were both young, both beautiful,