Sympathy For The Devil (20 page)

“Do you just leave a message?”

“And they call back, yes. It’s for new potential members, requesting if you can bring a guest, reserving a room for a party. That kind of thing.”

“One more question: is the number 555-6341?”

Meredith Freeman hung up.

Tash returned the receiver to its cradle and sat back, staring at the list of numbers Walker had called in the past month. Three times, she dialed the number that was more than likely to The Box. Once on the Friday she was murdered. Though Tash hadn’t yet figured out how she got there without a car, there seemed little doubt that the missing time no one could account for her on Friday after she left the dungeon in Hastings County was probably spent at The Box. Or at least that she’d been intending to go.

Which left Natasha wondering where Archer had gone after she saw him outside the Bar & Grill, and if he’d spoken to this victim as well. He’d asked her last night when she’d first followed him—had he mentioned the Friday Walker was killed?

With the police no doubt already combing The Box for connections to Walker, there seemed precisely one place she could go asking questions.

Whether or not Archer would answer her remained to be seen.

Chapter Twenty

The house was an even worse mess than it had been when he left it.

The basement door lay open, boxes below all shifted around. Whatever they’d been looking for down there couldn’t have been in the boxes themselves, as those weren’t opened. Perhaps they were to look for something in particular, something large. Or just a general search of the premises, as if he left evidence of murders all over the place.

Upstairs things were a bit rougher. Any plastic tarps he’d tossed over the floors and furniture while painting were gone. The paint cans were all opened, fresh drops on the floor. What the hell they expected to find, he couldn’t say. Maybe Perry was busy trying to plant evidence.

He stood in the living room, staring down at the mess. He’d need to make another run to the store for supplies but dreaded the thought of heading into town again.

What he
should
do is pack up, put boards over the windows again, and get the fuck out of Stirling Falls. Return to the city. Leave all this behind.

Of course, he’d probably just be arrested for leaving town.

Tires rolled over gravel outside. Devin stiffened, turned toward the front door. The day was dark and gray, rain steady as it poured. A dark car pulled into his driveway.

A car he recognized.

He crossed the room, toward the front door. Thought long and hard about locking it, ignoring her altogether. But something drew him toward the porch anyway, pushing open the screen door just as Natasha parked and climbed out of her car.

Devin let the door slam behind him, stood on the creaky porch, and waited.

Natasha closed her door hesitantly, her eyes finding his through the rain. Water beat against her curly black hair, soaked through her T-shirt. She seemed to take a breath, perhaps to steel herself, and then ran through the rain and mud, up the steps to his porch, and paused under the awning.

He remained in front of the door and didn’t offer her the opportunity to go inside. Instead he crossed his arms at his chest, ignoring the slight chill the rain brought, and waited to hear what the hell she had to say.

It seemed he might be waiting awhile. Natasha stared at him, her eyes wide, lips parting and then closing like she wasn’t entirely certain how to open this conversation.

Devin relented. “Your friend’s car is being dropped at your place this afternoon. I took care of it—if that’s a problem, pay me back at your leisure by mailing a check, but it was my fault you were targeted, so I don’t mind taking responsibility for it.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“So you didn’t need to come all the way out here.”

“Well, you destroyed your phone.”

She had a point there, and he hadn’t given her his cell number.

“I
wanted
to come out here,” she said, lifting her chin as if in defiance to his doubt. She crossed her arms under her breasts and shivered. Goose bumps ran up her bare arms and he tried not to notice how the cold tightened her nipples.

He focused on her eyes. “Why?”

“I didn’t really turn you in.”

He scoffed, his boots scraping against the porch boards as he prepared to turn and head back inside.

“I’m serious,” she snapped. “I had to tell them, when I recognized the girl, that I’d seen you speak to her, but I told Perry you had an alibi when she was killed.”

Devin shook his head. “And they believed you, right? Since you’re a private investigator for them?”

The response was all over her face, the way her lips settled into a straight line, the way her eyes grew resolved. It hurt more than he’d expected, the twist of a knife in an old painful wound.

“I’m not working for them,” she said. “Private client. And no, the police don’t believe me, but I tried. I get that you’re pissed at me, but I am still on this case and I have a couple of questions.”

Chick had fucking
balls
, he had to give her that. He leaned against the closed porch door, glaring at her. “Shoot.”

She must’ve been expecting him to argue as she blinked at him for a moment, changing tactics. “The Friday we met, when you were outside of the Bar & Grill, where did you go after you left?”

“Home.”

“You sure it wasn’t The Box?” She continued when he didn’t reply, “Deborah Ann Walker, the victim they found last week, was there that night.”

“Is this Perry’s new tactic? Get me to incriminate myself to
you
?”

“Goddamn it, Devin, I’m trying to help you. The cops don’t know yet that she went there that night, but they’ll figure it out soon. The last victim spoke to you the night she was abducted—I know because I saw her approach you. If Walker did as well, that means someone is possibly deliberately targeting women who have been around you.”

“Like I told Perry,” he said coldly, slowly, and letting his voice drip with venom. “I. Don’t. Know. Walker.”

“Did anything happen Friday night? Did anyone talk to you?”

She was serious—she apparently
actually
wanted to know.

Devin sighed and shook his head. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Yeah, people talk—they tend to be very friendly when looking for someone to fuck.”

A blush crept up her cheeks, but it was the only sign of her discomfort; she had an excellent poker face. “And did you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Fuck anyone?”

He smiled unkindly. “Is this personal or professional curiosity, darlin’?”

She didn’t back up or storm away but he strongly suspected she wanted to. “Just answer the question.”

“I go out for drinks, not women. Since I’m not particularly welcome locally—despite trying—it’s the one place I
can
go.”

“It’s a hell of a distance to go and cover charge to pay for just that.”

“Maybe I like the atmosphere,” he said with a shrug.

“Maybe you like to screw strangers who end up dead later.”

“I
don’t
screw random women.”

Her chest heaved with rising irritation and her blush hadn’t abated. “Except me?”

So that was why she didn’t believe him.

He took a step forward, then another. She backed up, hit the porch railing, and froze, staring up at him.

“Are you here as a private investigator or because you’re jealous, Natasha?” He paused only inches away, the toes of his boots touching those of her running shoes.

“Why would I be jealous?” she said, her eyes hard and challenging.

“Why are you really here?”

The porch railing creaked behind her, and her arms across her midsection tightened. Her breasts were thrust out, begging for his touch, and he wondered if her body was warming and tingling the way his was.

His hands came down on either side of her, holding the rough railing and pressing against her hips.

“Here, at my home, instead of trying to meet in a public place. After I warned you what would happen next time.” Closer still, until he could feel her body heat against his, hear the little panicked breaths she tried to clamp down on. “You’re looking for something. Something you think I can give you. Is that it, darlin’?”

“I should go.” She didn’t move, though—made no effort to leave.

“Maybe you’re thinking what I’m thinking.” He pushed his feet between hers, urging her into a wider stance. Her eyes grew glassy and a shudder worked through her as his hands folded on her hips.

“What?” she whispered.

“You’re thinking that you want to know what it’s like. To give up control. Be dominated. To have me tan that ass of yours before fucking it, and making you beg for every moment of it.”

His words had the desired effect, tremors working through her body and chest heaving as she panted. He swept his eyes over her, through the scant two inches between them, and to her eyes again. His grip tightened on her hips and her still-crossed arms loosened slightly. Her head tipped to the side as he leaned forward, brushed his lips up her throat.

“You’ll call me ‘sir’,” he whispered. “And you’ll beg. And you’ll thank me when I make you come.”

Devin breathed her in, taking in the scent of rain, the whiff of fresh soap. Some women wore perfume, like they were covering something up; she smelled pure, real, clean. He kissed her throat and a sigh escaped her, her arms falling to grip the front of his T-shirt. She melded to him as he mouthed her jaw, worked toward her lips.

When he claimed her mouth, she groaned, tightening her grip on his T-shirt. She opened to him, worked her tongue against his, fought for control but he wouldn’t give any of it. For this moment, she was his, and he’d show her that.

He squeezed her hips roughly, took a step back and jerked her in a circle so she faced the yard beyond the porch where the rain continued to hammer down. “Hold the railing.”

She hesitated.

He leaned forward, speaking directly in her ear. “If you don’t put your hands on the railing
right now
, and don’t let go, I will tie you.”

Natasha gasped but did as she was told, trembling and saying nothing.

“I didn’t hear you.”

She took in a sharp breath. “Yes. Sir.”

Better. She’d catch on.

He tugged her hips, making her take two steps back. The round globes of her ass awaited his touch, clad in cropped jeans. He wondered what she wore under them, if she’d gone casual or worn something special knowing he’d see. Though her fingers flexed on the railing, she didn’t let it go as he palmed her cheeks, adjusted her so her back was arched and ass thrust upward. He expected at any second to hear her call it off, to confirm the bit of doubt he had about why she was here. But when she said nothing, didn’t even whisper her own name, he continued.

Devin worked her jeans down slowly, first popping the button and then lowering the zipper inch by inch to let everything sink in for her. She breathed heavily and stared straight ahead as he peeled the fabric from her skin, dragging it down to mid-thigh.

Cream-colored lace panties met his gaze, stretched invitingly over her dark skin. These he gathered in one hand and gently pulled, knowing the crotch of them would rub against her, the rough lace brushing her sensitive flesh. She squirmed and gasped, flexing her hips.

He could take her right then. Right there. Bent over the railing, her ass raised just for him. He delved his hand past her underwear, finding her soaked and responsive.

Yes, he
could
take her. And she wouldn’t object.

But that wasn’t as much fun.

He brought down her panties to sit with her jeans and gave her a moment to wait, feeling the air. It had been a long time, long enough that he didn’t have new floggers. The old ones, Chelsea’s, were stowed in a box upstairs, never to be touched again. A part of him hadn’t expected to want new ones, to ever go to this place with a woman again.

His cock ached as he unbuckled his belt, pulled the leather through the loops, and folded the length in two. This moment, here, where anticipation was palpable, where she was squirming with desire and nervousness, was one he stretched out and wished could last longer. He dragged the end of the folded belt over her, watching her flinch before settling again, growing used to the feel of supple leather against her skin.

A deep breath filled his chest, heat spreading through his limbs as he raised the belt. This would be a gentle session, meant to shock and arouse rather than hurt, and he slowed the descent of the leather before it hit.

The belt cracked as it lapped her skin. She bucked as it made contact, gasped. Still held the railing, still held the position he’d molded her into. Red glowed on her left ass cheek.

He brought it down again, this time on the right. “How does it feel?”

When she didn’t answer immediately, he spanked her again but with slightly more force this time.

Natasha yelped. “Amazing.”

“Do you want more?”

“Yes.”

The leather creaked in his hand.

“Yes, sir,” she said in a shaky voice. “Please.”

He gave her another and she writhed. God, he wanted her—wanted every part of her, wanted to spend the rest of the day in her tight heat. His feet kicked hers apart, widening her further, and at the angle of her hips it exposed her lower pussy to his gaze. A twist of his wrist and the belt was aimed differently; he flicked it up and the belt snapped between her legs.

She cried out, straining against the railing. If he had her tied spread-eagled on the bed, had a proper flogger, he thought she could come just having her pussy spanked. It was definitely on the list of things he’d like to try. But for the time being, he stepped between her legs again and brought his hand to the apex of her thighs. Her cream covered his fingers, gave him easy passage as he thrust two digits into her.

“Are you ready to come?”

“Yes, sir,” she breathed out in a rush.

“Beg.”