H.E.A.T. Book Bundle (H.E.A.T. Books 1-3)

by Nicola Claire

  "Help? The killer's trying to help me?" My words were incredulous.

  Hennessey held up a hand to stall me. "It's a possibility, although I understand you reaching for 'spanner in the works' as a plausible explanation. I must, however, point out the escalations in complexity of the murders. You, yourself, having picked up on them. It's clear he wants us to. This is not some inexperienced and unintelligent person playing vigilante, cleaning up the streets. He has a reason for why he's doing it, one which he believes is righteous and deserved. The first was reactionary and personal, a shock at discovering whatever it is that has set him on this path. The rest have been planned, to the point of getting your attention, as though trying to shake some sense into you."

  "Shake some sense into me? What a strange choice of words," I murmured. Do I need to shake some sense into you, Sport?

  "Why strange, Detective? It's a metaphor."

  I shook the thought away. "Go on, Doc."

  "The last two murders have been of victims who had been attempted killers themselves," Hennessey continued. "One could argue the murderer was killing them to protect you, in the case of today's homicide, or in retribution for the failed attempt on your life at The Cloud."

  "Oh, this is just ridiculous," I burst out. "He got Damon involved to fuck with me, he's doing the same by killing off those informants connected to me and Carl, and just getting a kick out of doing it while I'm shaking in my boots with fear for my life."

  "Were you shaking in your boots?" Damon asked softly. "You looked very much in control."

  I flicked an annoyed glance at him and turned my attention back to Hennessey instead.

  "It's true though, isn't it? That explanation works as well."

  "Of course it does," Hennessey almost huffed. Very unlike him. "You asked for my opinion, this is it. The killer is male, extremely intelligent and believes what he's doing is just. He's on a mission, it could be to protect you, it could be drive you insane." Great, too close to the truth and now it would appear in an official offender profile. "He knows a little about you, enough to pull your strings." Damon's involvement. "He also understands the system, either because he's been through it, or worked within it. That could be policeman, a fireman, or even a security guard."

  Fireman. My eyes turned to look at Damon. His were fixed on the doctor, jaw flexing, teeth ground tight. I shook my head. It was enough to have the multiple connections we already had, without introducing the HEAT arsonist into this mess.

  "Will he stop, though?" the doctor asked. "This is not a simple case of getting a taste for murder and unable to deny himself now. He has justifiable reasons for what he's doing. When those reasons no longer exist, I would say he will stop. He is controlled, level headed. He killed a person while police detectives were near." Embarrassment washed my body in pink. "He is not easily riled," he concluded. "Premeditated, justified, knowledgeable and personally interested in you, Detective Keen. That is your profile."

  I stared at the doctor as though he had two heads. Finally I managed to say, "That's not what I wanted to hear."

  "I dear say it's not," he murmured, shutting the file and reaching over the coffee table to hand it to me.

  I didn't want to take that blasted thing. I didn't want to have to face Inspector Hart and give him more fuel for his sideline Keen fire.

  "How sure are you?" I asked on a sigh, accepting the loaded bomb he gave me.

  "Very," he said softly back. "But there is always room for error, Lara. You know that."

  I lifted my gaze to his professional, but concerned face. Room for error. Now the shrink was giving me messages too.

  "Any questions?" I said to Damon, getting ready to rise from my chair.

  He shook his head, unusually quiet. We said our good-byes and left the house. As I unlocked the door to the car, Damon finally spoke up.

  "I'm beginning to think this may have absolutely nothing to do with Zero."

  I sighed and lifted my arms to rest on the roof of the car as I looked over the top at Damon.

  "I think you're right," I concurred. "Not only is the connection between informant information and the roofie scene getting thinner by the day, the profile is of a killer with more personal involvement than that. And if they wanted us to back off, why kill O'Malley? Why not let him finish what he started, at least see if he succeeded in eliminating me before they rushed in and ensured his silence. Pat was hardly going to offer up more info while swinging that chain, was he?"

  Damon scowled across the car's roof at my seemingly blasé attitude. I wasn't indifferent to my near death, I was just compartmentalising so I could do my job.

  "The profile doesn't fit," I went on. "He's self-righteous and controlled. Would killing O'Malley right then have been the act of a desperate organisation to hide their activities from the Police? Or would it have been a self-assured, justified and knowledgeable individual wanting to send a message to me?"

  "And what would the message be?" Damon asked.

  I stood listening to the late afternoon Auckland traffic, the birds up in the tree that stood sentinel outside Hennessey's window. The wind as it gently buffeted the branches, made the leaves rustle. To the breath as it eased out of my chest in a decidedly tired wheeze.

  "That it could have been me," I finally said.

  "What could have been you?"

  "The chain. Around my neck. It could have been me."

  "Lara..."

  "Think about it. O'Malley dropped that chain some distance from where he was killed. I left it behind. There is no way that chain should have been anywhere near where we found him. I'd travelled down several alleyways by then, a veritable warren of paths interlinked. I was right on O'Malley's tail, yet the killer stopped for that heavy, noisy chain, overtook me undetected, and did the deed before I arrived. Why bother? Why not throw him off the top of the containers and break his neck? Why use the chain?"

  "Fucking hell," Damon exclaimed on a harsh whisper. "You really think he was reprimanding you?"

  I wouldn't have used that exact word, not so soon after Hart had demoted me for being nearly killed twice. But it did fit.

  "It was a message," I said simply, opening up my car door and slipping inside.

  I didn't start the vehicle when Damon joined me.

  "There's probably no reason to go to Zero Gravity tonight," I pointed out, staring out the front of the windshield. "I'm all but ready to wipe its connection from this case. The roofies could be investigated at a later date."

  "Lara Keen. That is not like you," Damon chastised with a wide grin.

  "What do you mean? It just seems like a waste of effort right now when we should be concentrating on this more urgent case."

  "And the supposed drugging and potential sexual assault of victims at these clubs is not part of your job description?" he remarked, a knowing lilt to his tone. "Forgive me, but that's not the Lara Keen I know. Now, if it's because you're chickening out..."

  "Fine. We'll go. But it's strictly business."

  "Sweetheart, tell yourself that for as long as you can. But by the end of tonight, I guarantee it won't be strictly business anymore."

  I grumbled indistinctly the entire way back to CIB.

  Chapter Eighteen

  "Focus, focus, focus. Or the bad guys win."

  The doorbell interrupted my swearing.

  Like a startled possum I froze. My eyes too round in the mirror, staring back at me with what I could only call terror. A bubble of hysterical laughter spilled up my throat. I tamped it down ruthlessly, tugged on the hem of the poor excuse for a dress I was wearing, and limped out of the bedroom toward the front door.

  Once there, I paused. Took in a deep, settling breath, centred myself and opened the door.

  Damon stood there, one hand in the front pocket of his black fitted jeans, the other hanging casually at his side, tan leather watch strap and big dial a statement of its own on his wrist. He had on thick soled boots, the jeans cuffs over the top, a large polished buckle of
some designer emblem I couldn't identify graced the wide leather belt at his waist. His shirt was a black long sleeved Henley, the top three buttons at the neck undone, the sleeves pushed up displaying muscled forearms. It was untucked at the sides and back. He wore sunglasses and hadn't shaved, stubble darkening his jawline.

  But that was it. That was what he was wearing to a sex club.

  His body had been turned away slightly, looking off down the street, but upon hearing the door open he swung back to look at me, smile on his face. Which promptly fell, along with his jaw. He swallowed, ran a hand over his mouth and then removed his shades.

  "That's...that's quite a dress. I mean, it looks good. Great. Beautiful. You look beautiful. Ah, fuck." The last was said in a whisper.

  "I borrowed it," I admitted, tugging at the too short hem.

  I watched as his eyes roamed over the black lace that covered the black denim bustier of the tight fitting bodice, the denim underneath continuing on into a tight and short skirt, the lace ending mid thigh, an inch or so further than the denim. The sleeves were just back lace, no denim, down to my wrists. An attachment allowed me to place my thumb through a loop, holding the sleeve tight down to my hand. Skin peeked through the weave. It had a collar, which only seemed to make the dress more of a contradiction, the bodice almost prim, only a small amount of cleavage showing through the undone buttons at the neckline. What made it sex club appropriate was the ridiculous length, the sexy black lace, and the knee high buckled black leather boots I was wearing.

  All in all not too much skin was on show, but my figure was displayed in an enticing package, if the look on Damon's face was anything to go by. I just hoped my arse wouldn't poke out beneath the lacy hem and my broken and slightly swollen toe wouldn't fall off from lack of circulation by the end of the night.

  "Will it do OK?" I asked, shifting and turning, looking over my back at my butt, making the hem rise up a fraction of an inch. I was starting to get into the swing things now, his reaction and stunned near silence making this ordeal so worthwhile.

  "Yes. Yes, it'll do nicely," he said in a rasp. "How the hell you can make something that displays so little flesh sexy as fuck, I will never know."

  "I got underwear to match just in case," I added and watched his body go still, back ramrod straight, matching the impressive bulge in the front of his jeans.

  "You're enjoying this," he said, astonished. "I can't believe you're enjoying this."

  "One has to have some enjoyment in their work," I pointed out. "Shall we go? Or do you want to stare, slack jawed, at my outfit a while longer?" I offered a sweet as pie smile.

  "Sweetheart," Damon drawled. "Staring is not all I have planned tonight."

  I knew he said it to even the battlefield, if you could call what we were doing a battle, but I couldn't help the shiver that went up my spine as his eyes devoured my figure hugging dress one more time. I wanted to remind him again that this was strictly business, but the argument would have been met with another 'sweetheart' comment and I knew when I needed to cut my losses. I'd had fun with his response to my outfit, I'd take what I could get for now.

  A hot palm landed on the centre of my back as Damon led me towards his black SUV. We'd decided to take his private vehicle, turning up at a mystique night in a HEAT truck or an unmarked police issue sedan with red and blue strobe lights along the back window ledge and in the front grille seemed a little short-sighted. Anonymity was the name of tonight's game.

  Damon opened the passenger door for me and waited for me to slide in, no doubt enjoying the flash of skin I displayed in the manoeuvre. Which was only confirmed when he slipped into the driver's seat and adjusted himself without any shame at all. He reached into the back of the car and returned with two masks for us to wear. Both black, but quite clearly designed for different sexes. His was plain silk. Rather like a Zorro mask, the material would mould to his face, offering a swathe of black across his eyes.

  Mine, on the other hand, was ornate. A beautiful statement all on its own. A half mask, again only covering the eyes and the immediate area, shaped to curve around the face. I held it up against my face and looked in the pull-down mirror, to make sure it fitted correctly, surprised to find it was comfortable and would complement my dress. Silver and black glitter outlined a delicate pattern, with rhinestones accenting the lower edge of the eyes. Satin ribbons hung off the back, ready to be tied in place. It was pretty, but not overdone. Hopefully blending in with the environment and not making me stand out. I thought Damon had chosen well.

  "You like?" he asked, as though it was a gift he'd given me, not a prop to complete a stake-out.

  "It'll do nicely," I replied, placing it in my lap and looking out of the side window. "What else do I need to know about this place to be prepared?"

  It was better if I kept us both on target, reminders that this was a job and nothing else. I wasn't naive enough to think we wouldn't be affected by the atmosphere, and part of me was genuinely intrigued. But I couldn't afford for my curiosity to overpower my reasoning. This could be a dangerous environment. Even though I no longer thought the sex club scene was tied in with the murders, if roofies were being pushed, then this was still a criminal stage. For any police officer, this was tantamount to walking into the lion's den.

  Thankfully, Damon picked up on my attitude, and lost all trace of teasing to give me an outline of what to expect.

  "We'll present our invitations at the back door to the club. Walking through the main part with masks on creates too much interest among the regulars, they like to keep mystique events slightly separate from normal back room nights. It will be dark and the music will be loud, at least the bass will be, to give a sense of intimacy. Mirrors adorn all the walls completely, even behind the bar. There are areas dedicated to certain likes, if you will. Expect restraints, racks and padded plinths, all for maximum display. Some of the attendees need to be watched in order to achieve their pleasure. The room has no privacy areas, if you wanted private you'd stay at home or stick with the main clubroom floor."

  Damon flexed his fingers on the steering wheel, as though he wasn't comfortable with the subject. I studied his profile, having turned to look at him after the first few low words out of his mouth. He wasn't doing anything other than giving a report, which made looking at him easier right then. But once I was, I realised his jaw was set, his words a little too clipped, his skin slightly paler than usual.

  "But we don't have to participate," I confirmed, for what must have been the tenth time.

  "No, Lara. Nor do I intend for us to, but we must look like we are enjoying ourselves. Otherwise we will stand out."

  Suddenly, as though until that moment I'd believed something else entirely, I felt calm. He'd joked and teased about the whole thing, part of me expecting he'd get carried away or push for too much. He'd ignore the fact that this was business, my job on the line. Possibly the safety of some of the patrons. I had to take this seriously, I'd thought he hadn't until right then.

  He didn't intend for us to participate.

  I'm not sure how I would have felt if we were going to Zero as a couple. I'd like to think I would be game enough to give anything a go. But, honestly, I'm a little prudish. I'm not into public displays of affection and I don't watch porn. That's not to say sex scenes in movies, if done right, aren't a turn on. But I'd been feeling out of my depth in the build-up to this night, and suddenly Damon had given me my anchor.

  "OK," I said. "We're there to observe, so I'll need to be in a position where I can watch the bar in particular. If you could engineer that, I'll do the rest."

  He chuckled, his grip on the steering wheel easing.

  "That won't be too difficult. I have some ideas."

  I wondered if this brought back memories of the last time he was there. Of who he must have been with. I wondered if the tight grip on the steering wheel earlier and the slight sheen of sweat above his upper lip was because it hadn't gone well. Part of me, the bitch part, wanted that to
be the case. But then a small part of me just wondered if his reaction was because he knew he couldn't participate tonight.

  I pushed all negative thoughts from my mind.

  Focus, focus, focus. Or the bad guys win.

  I'd stay focused, I'd keep us on track, and by the end of tonight we'd be able to strike Zero Gravity off our list of connections, and hopefully confirm if they were dealing in illicit drugs and taking advantage of unwilling guests.

  There were two reasons to be here, and neither of them had to do with Damon's past.

  Damon parked the car down the street from the club, not too far that walking in my outfit would attract attention, but also not so close that we couldn't make a quick escape if need be. I checked my toe with a little pressure on my foot, cringing at the tightness and short stab of pain that radiated up my leg.

  "Will you be OK in those?" Damon asked, coming to my side, his mask held loosely in his hand.

  "I'd prefer to be barefoot," I admitted.

  "Maybe you can remove them once we're inside."

  I shook my head. "Better to stay fully dressed."

  He laughed. It was a sharp burst of humour, as though releasing some much needed tension.

  "Perhaps I'll help you out of them when we get home," he said, placing his hand in the small of my back and guiding me towards Zero.

  We donned our masks before we entered the carpark at the rear of the club. Damon tying mine quietly from behind, his hot breath tickling my neck. He rested his hands on my shoulders when he was done, then leaned in and kissed behind my ear.

  "What are you doing?" I whispered.

  "We could be being watched even now," he pointed out. "From here in on in, I won't be able to keep my hands off you, understood?"

  I was impressed with his devotion to the task, but strangely a little miffed as well. Stupidly my body craved his proximity, and the thought that he'd only be doing this because we might be made didn't sit well. I struggled for some composure and some much needed professional clarity. But as with all things Damon I seemed to be out of my depth.