Dangerous (The Complete Erotic Romance Novel) (71 page)

She tried to squirm away from him as he stood, looming over her as he unfastened his jeans. “He taught you to be a whore. I’ll show you what happens to whores. By the time I’m done, no other man will ever want you again, no matter how
nice
he might be.”

The woman screamed into her gag, but the sound was muffled. He kicked off his jeans, keeping his back to the camera, chuckling as she rolled off the couch and tried to crawl away from him.

“Good idea, Lisa. We’ll start with your ass first.”

* * *

Naomi awakened in a dark room.

For a moment, she wasn’t sure where she was, then she remembered she was back at the shop. Her head hurt and there was something sticky under her face. She reached out and wasn’t surprised to feel the shelving unit in the fabric storage room, much less the bolt of heavy satin on the bottom shelf.

Black. And the red was right beside it.

She reached out her other hand and her heart stopped cold when she felt a body beside her. The skin wasn’t as warm as it should have been. She sat up immediately, and felt a wave of nausea as a result, and leaned back against the shelving unit to recover herself. She couldn’t see her hand in front of her own face.

She reached out and touched the body. Someone lying on their back. A woman. Someone who wasn’t breathing any more. No. It couldn’t be. Naomi remembered the shot she’d heard and ran her hands over her companion. She found the bracelet and the watch she knew so well, the three familiar rings she knew were silver, the buttons on the front of the sweater Alicia always wore in the shop.

Naomi caught her breath, feeling a shiver start deep inside of herself. Alicia was dead. She was locked in a small room with a corpse. And any desire to scream was stifled by the uncertainty of where the killer was now.

She edged around Alicia and leaned down to listen at the base of the door. She could hear a woman’s voice, but didn’t recognize it. She was talking about divorce. Naomi closed her eyes and tried to think about the fabric storage room, most specifically what was in it and what she could use to her own advantage. She wondered where her purse was. Her phone was in it.

Maybe the beeping wouldn’t be noticed. It sounded as if the woman was having an argument with someone. Naomi felt all over the floor but only found Alicia’s body and liquids she really didn’t want to identify. She wiped her hands, then got up, feeling over the shelves of fabric. She worked methodically, using touch instead of sight, but moments later, it was clear her purse wasn’t in the room with her.

Of course not. He was smarter than that.

She tried the door again but it was locked. She peered through the keyhole, because it was an old-fashioned door, but could only see flickering shadows on the other side.

Don’t worry. You’ll get yours too.

The memory of those words made Naomi desperate to escape. She couldn’t just wait here for him to come back. Her heart started to race as her imagination ran wild, and then she remembered.

An old-fashioned door.

With a keyhole.

So a key could be used from either side.

And Alicia always carried the skeleton key in her corset. It had been a joke in the shop, because Alicia insisted she’d never be trapped by anyone. There was a story behind that, Naomi was certain of it, but her boss had always insisted it was just her nature as a dom. Alicia had only recently confided the location of this skeleton key to Naomi, and only then because Naomi had been making a new corset for Alicia. Alicia had told her to include the secret pocket, where to place it, how to stitch it so it was effectively invisible but held the key securely. Naomi didn’t doubt that her boss had had a hundred more contingency plans, but she hoped this one was in place.

And that the assailant hadn’t known about it, too.

Naomi’s fingers were under her employer’s skirt, shaking as she followed the hem of the corset with a fingertip. She found the fold and exhaled in relief when she felt the shape of the key inside it. In a heartbeat, she worked it free then leapt to her feet.

She listened again. The couple were arguing. The volume was probably at its peak, which meant this was her chance. Naomi turned the key in the lock, then eased open the door.

Darkness.

Except from the main workroom, which was lit with flickering light. She looked around and listened, but there was no sign of the assailant. A man’s voice rose in the argument and she was relieved that he was clearly arguing with the woman in the workroom. She slipped down the corridor on silent feet, then dropped suddenly behind the last row of sewing machines shocked by what she’d seen.

Reid Stirling bound to a chair, and his delicious sex slave, Kendra, was bound helpless on the floor. Worse, there was no woman arguing in the room. There was a movie playing on a laptop and the man who had killed Alicia was standing in the middle of the room, watching the video.

She closed her eyes, praying he hadn’t noticed her. Her heart was pounding and she waited as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She saw the silver glimmer of a large pair of shears on the cutting table not six feet away. There was no way she could reach Kendra, for the woman was on the other side of the room. But Reid’s back was to her, his bonds in the shadows. Maybe she could move between the machinery and set him free.

Naomi had to try.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Mayday
.

The safe word kept echoing in Reid’s thoughts. He was completely powerless and being compelled to watch the quest of Alana’s partner for vengeance. He’d never guessed she’d been so deceptive, much less that she had a partner. He’d been so fooled, and this entire situation was his fault.

But there was nothing he could do to change it, or to stop the killer’s plan for Kendra. He’d failed on every possible level, and the magnitude of his mistake—never mind its implications—would drive him insane.

He couldn’t watch Alana’s final humiliation, couldn’t accept her partner’s delight in causing pain. He couldn’t block his ears though and he knew he wouldn’t forget the sounds of her anguish any time soon.

Finally, mercifully, the video came to an end.

The attacker—Mitch—touched a key and the display changed. A red light appeared on the front of the camera and Kendra’s image was on the screen. When he had set the focus to his satisfaction, the captor lifted the item from behind the laptop.

It looked like an insulated bag. He put on a pair of latex gloves, then opened the insulated bag and removed a sandwich bag from inside it. Then he selected a large dildo from the array of toys sold by Alicia. He showed the dildo to Kendra and she held his gaze steadily, hiding her fear far better than Reid could.

“We’ll see how much you can take, whore. I wish I could do it myself, but it won’t be my DNA that they find on your body.” He opened the small bag and removed what looked like a used condom, then turned it inside out and smeared its contents on the dildo. He spared a glance at Reid. “Very careless of you not to take everything with you from the apartment. There will be no doubt that you’re the killer this time.” He took his time spreading Reid’s semen on the dildo. “I’ll have many many years to enjoy these movies, while the boys in jail enjoy you.”

The man’s surgical planning of this scene and his intent was like fire in Reid’s veins. Rage rolled through him, rage that this man would violate Kendra and kill her instead of facing Reid himself. He struggled against his bonds and roared into his gag, unable to make a difference in his situation and hating it.

The man laughed. “Just wait,” he said. “It’s going to get better.”

Then he advanced upon Kendra. She glared at him, unflinchingly, and didn’t make a sound. She wouldn’t beg for mercy. There would be none and she knew it.

But Reid couldn’t stand it. He didn’t want to watch this. He wouldn’t watch this. He seethed and fumed and then suddenly felt his bonds release. He froze for a moment, wiggling his fingers in his astonishment.

Someone had cut the cable tie.

Someone was behind him.

That someone cut the bonds on his ankles as well, setting Reid free. Then he felt the weight of a pair of dressmaker’s shears settled into his grip.

He wasn’t helpless anymore.

The stranger seized Kendra by the collar and flung her on to her stomach. He laughed as he lifted the dildo, his back turned to Reid. Reid saw his moment and was flying across the room, shears raised, when the stranger glanced back to gloat.

Reid aimed the shears at his eye, but the man flinched in the last moment. Still the sharp blade cut a deep line in the other man’s face and his blood ran. He screamed, flung down the dildo and latched his hands around Reid’s neck with ferocious strength.

The fight was on and it would be to the death.

Reid had no intention of losing.

* * *

“We’ve got a hit,” the junior officer said just when Moynihan was thinking of getting some dinner. Russell didn’t even bother to disguise his triumph. He leaned over Moynihan’s desk and tapped up the ID.

“Not just a hit. An arrest.” Moynihan skimmed the report. It was from an agency in another state. “Hello, Mitch Sinclair. Pretty close resemblance to Stirling.”

“Oh, they had more than that in common.”

Moynihan ignored the invitation to ask for more. “Pretty far from home.”

“Maybe he was following someone.”

Moynihan shrugged, trying to ignore the way the other officer was pretty much bursting to tell him something.

Probably something he didn’t want to hear.

It could wait.

“Three years ago. Domestic abuse.” Moynihan tapped up the image of the victim attached to the report and winced at the bruising on the pretty brunette’s face. “That was no accident. Let me guess: their fight got loud, the neighbors called it in, she defended him, then went right back to him when he got out of jail.”

“Pretty much,” the other officer agreed.

“Tell me he was there for more than a week.”

“Eight days I think.” The younger officer grimaced. “But there’s more.” He tapped again, bringing up another picture of the woman. “Meet Lisa Sullivan.”

Moynihan skimmed her record. “Not such a nice girl, after all.”

“Specializing in confidence games, gambling scams and generally taking other people’s money.”

“Made for each other.”

“But here’s the really interesting part.” The junior officer tapped up an image of Alana Stirling and placed it beside the one of Lisa Sullivan.

It was the same woman.

“Only her hairdresser knows for sure,” Moynihan said. “I suppose her documents were impeccable.”

“Only the best for our Lisa.”

“Well, it worked. She snagged a rich man and had complete access to his money. For a while anyway.” Moynihan regarded the other officer with a smile. “Go on, Russell. Tell me.”

“Well, they had a string of break-ins out there. Surgically clean, not a clue left at any of the robbery sites, which were cleaned out without anyone seeing anything. Always very affluent clients, hidden safes always left open and empty, sophisticated security systems cleanly breached. Real pro stuff. There were about a dozen of them, with no suspects.”

“Until.”

“Until Lisa got smacked. Turns out she’d known or associated with a number of the break-in victims. A couple of cops out there got curious about her abusive lover boy.”

“High life?”

“Fancy taste. No discernible job. Strange hours. No friends. A cold fish. Neighbors said he was like a machine. He had experience with small electronics and sometimes fixed them on the side.”

“No friends. Cruel to small animals.”

“And the word was that Lisa was screaming that she’d take him down if he didn’t stop hitting her. She threatened to tell all she knew and the neighbors heard.”

Moynihan turned back to the first picture. “But by the time our boys got there, she’d been convinced to stay quiet.”

“The lead detective out there is sure that Mitch here was responsible for the break-ins. They poked around but never got a thing on him before he left town.”

“Which was?”

“Two years ago. Right around the time the coroner says Alana Stirling was killed.”

Moynihan stood up. “Do we know where he is?”

Russell shook his head.

“Tell me that we know where Kendra Jones is.”

Russell blinked, his surprise making the answer more than clear. Moynihan called her cell phone and got a message she was unavailable. He called Kendra’s apartment, but the roommate hadn’t seen or heard from her. The roommate’s concern did nothing to alleviate his own. He summoned the detective who’d taken her from the station the night before.

“She went to Stirling’s house last night,” that man said.

Moynihan called, only to learn Kendra hadn’t returned there for the night. “And the tail on Stirling?” Moynihan demanded of his team.

That detective winced. “I lost him in traffic downtown.”

“Check her apartment and Esperanza Enterprises,” Moynihan ordered, although it was a thin chance. He could only hope they found her before it was too late.