White Collared Part Three: Revenge

by Shelly Bell

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  About the Author

  By Shelly Bell

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  HE LAID THE new acquisitions on his bed. Quirts, crops, rattan canes, floggers, knives, signal whips.

  All for her.

  It was a shame he’d had to discard his collection after Alyssa’s death in order to eradicate any DNA evidence, but in a way it excited him. He had the chance to start fresh with Katerina.

  Katerina. The name suited her.

  Strong. Captivating. Unusual.

  His.

  A woman like her deserved the finest in life. Silk sheets. Private jets to Paris. And a collar of flawless diamonds around her neck.

  His dick hardened at the thought of her suspended from his ceiling, bound and blindfolded, her thighs open in invitation. He’d beat her until she floated as high as the stars, and then he’d fuck her, torturing her bruised body with every thrust. When she couldn’t tolerate any more, he’d release her from bondage, tend to her wounds, and make love to her slowly. Gently. Merging their bodies and hearts and minds into one.

  But what to do about him?

  Sighing, he unlocked his silver case and lovingly stroked the weapon inside.

  There was only one choice.

  He had to be eliminated.

  Chapter Two

  HANNAH’S BLOOD STAINED Kate’s trembling hand. The scent of violence wrapped around her like a boa constrictor, squeezing her chest and crushing her racing heart. Hannah lay face down with a knife in her back, blood fanning around her abdomen.

  Kate gagged, the copper scent filling her nose and stealing the air from her lungs. Black spots flashed in her vision, and the room spun faster and faster. She counted to ten, breathing deep, and then opened her eyes.

  She sighed, relieved the world had steadied. “Hannah?” She shook her friend by the shoulder, but she didn’t respond.

  Did she have a pulse?

  She placed two fingers on Hannah’s still-warm neck and felt a weak flutter under her fingertips.

  Thank God.

  Hannah was alive.

  “Hold on, sweetie. I’m going to get you some help.” Leaving bloody fingerprints behind with each shaky touch of the cell phone screen, she dialed nine-one-one.

  “What’s your emergency?” the female responder asked.

  “My f-friend was stabbed. She’s n-not moving and she’s b-b-barely breathing.”

  “What is your location?”

  “One-zero-two-six Wayne Street in Detroit, apartment three-oh-two.”

  The clatter of fingernails typing on a keyboard reverberated through the phone. “EMS and police are on their way. What is your name?”

  Her mind went blank. What was her name? “Kate Martin.”

  “Kate, can you tell me what happened?”

  “I don’t know. I came home a couple minutes ago and found my door unlocked.”

  Hannah must have used her key. Why hadn’t Kate asked for it back? If she had, maybe Hannah would’ve been safe.

  “When I came inside, I found my friend lying on the carpet. There’s so much blood.”

  Will Hannah bleed out? She’s lost so much already. “Should I take the knife out of her back?”

  “No,” the woman said gently. “I know it’s going to be difficult, but you need to leave the weapon or you could do more damage. What’s your friend’s name?”

  “Hannah Watterson.”

  “Kate, I don’t want to alarm you, but I need for you to make sure you’re safe. Are you certain no one else is in your home?”

  Her entire body shook. She was so cold. “N-no.”

  “If you haven’t already, I want you to lock your door and then stay on the line while you check. Can you do that for me, Kate?”

  She wasn’t sure her legs would work. She couldn’t feel them. Besides, what if Hannah needed her? “I don’t want to leave her.”

  “You’re not leaving her, but you have to check your place to keep you both safe.”

  Safe. No one else could keep them safe.

  She kissed Hannah’s cool cheek and tried to stand, but her legs buckled. She wiped the sweat from her brow and tried again. Why was she sweating when she was so cold? This time her legs held her weight and she stumbled to the door.

  It took her a couple of attempts before she engaged the locks. Nick and Jaxon had both warned her about her building. About her locks. She’d blown them off because she wasn’t worried. She should’ve listened to them.

  “I’ve locked my door. Did you tell the police?”

  Had she asked that already? How long had she been on the phone?

  “I’ve dispatched both EMS and the police, and they’ll get there as soon as they’re able.”

  She laughed. She’d once heard it took an average of sixteen minutes for EMS and more than a half hour for police to show in Detroit. A report on the news had explained that the city didn’t have enough working ambulances. People died while waiting for transport to the hospital, and sometimes the police didn’t show at all. If she’d had a car, she could’ve carried Hannah outside and driven her to the hospital herself. She should’ve bought a car. Nick was right. Her Harley, her baby, was dangerous. It wouldn’t help save Hannah’s life.

  With her heart hammering and her pulse roaring in her ears, she roamed around her apartment. She started in her bedroom, checking under her bed, in her closet, and behind the door. It was still a mess, and it didn’t look like anyone had been in here. Next she checked in her bathroom, trying to forget all the shower scenes from horror films as she pulled open the shower curtain.

  Empty.

  She returned to the living room and went into the kitchen. Nowhere to hide in there.

  It had been only a minute, but it felt like hours when she dropped to her knees beside her friend. “There’s no one here,” she said to both the worker on the phone and Hannah.

  Banging on the stairs and voices coming from outside her apartment startled her. Who was there?

  A firm knock sounded on her door. “EMS.”

  “They’re here,” she whispered, her throat sore and scratchy. “Thank you for sending them.”

  “Good luck, Kate,” the worker said.

  She ended the call and ran to open the front door. “Please. Help her.”

  Two men, one blond and one with dark-brown hair, both dressed in white shirts and khakis, pushed a stretcher inside her apartment. They bent to Hannah, using a stethoscope to listen to her lungs, and checked her pulse. Why was it so cold in her apartment? The thermostat showed seventy degrees, but it must be broken. She turned it up, not caring for once that she’d have a higher gas bill this month.

  Hannah would be sorry that she missed the opportunity to flirt with the EMS workers and that she didn’t look her best. She’d want her hair off her face. Kate should clean her up a little before she went to the hospital.

  She darted to the kitchen for a rag and then returned to the living room. She tried to get to Hannah, but the men were in her way.

  The blond man shot her a firm look and put his hand up. “Step away, ma’am, and let us do our job.”

  What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she stop shaking? Why was she worried about Hannah’s appearance? This was more than an anxiety attack. Her mind and body weren’t her own.

  The blond EM
S worker went back to listening to Hannah’s breathing. “Punctured lung. Let’s lift her on three. One. Two. Three.” They placed Hannah on her stomach on the stretcher and strapped her down. Then they wheeled her toward the door.

  Kate rushed after them. “Can I come with you?”

  “No, ma’am. We ask that you stay here until the police arrive,” said the dark-haired worker.

  “Is she going to be okay?” she asked, her voice cracking.

  The blond man looked at her sadly. Did he know something she didn’t? Was Hannah going to die? “We’ll do everything we can for her. She’ll be at Detroit Receiving Hospital.”

  She collapsed on the couch as the emergency workers continued wheeling Hannah into the hallway.

  Footsteps pounded on the stairs. “Kate? Kate?”

  She knew that voice. “Jaxon?”

  Suddenly he was there. Next to her. And she was in his arms.

  “Oh thank God. I thought . . . I thought something had happened to you.” He held her tightly. As if she mattered to him.

  She burrowed into his side, thankful for his heat. “No. It wasn’t me. It was Hannah. Someone stabbed her. Why would someone do that?”

  He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “Let me get you a blanket. You’re shivering.” He went to her room, and she heard him speaking. When he returned with her University of Michigan throw blanket, he was on his cell phone. “She’s going to need you. I’ll tell her.” He stuck his phone in his pocket and then wrapped her in the blanket.

  “Who’d you call?”

  “Nick. He said if you haven’t already, not to speak to the police before he gets here.” He pulled her back in his arms. “Start from the beginning.”

  “I thought it was me. I came home and saw her lying there with a knife sticking out of her back. There was so much blood. The smell . . .”

  “Why did you think it was you?”

  “I got confused. Hannah was wearing the same suit as me, and she was on her stomach, so I couldn’t see her face.”

  “Understandable. You’re in shock.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. He was silent, and then almost as an afterthought he asked, “What did you mean you came home and found her? That would’ve been a couple hours ago.”

  Her stomach cramped with guilt. “I . . . went out.”

  He squeezed her tighter and kissed the top of her head. “Where the hell did you have to go that was so important it was worth risking your life? Why didn’t you ask me to take you?”

  She peered up at him to witness his reaction. “I . . . went to see your old neighbor, Martha Webber.”

  His beautiful face expressed nothing but concern. “I see. And you felt you couldn’t wait for Nick or me to come with you?”

  She pressed her fingers into the bruise on her neck. “I wasn’t sure if I was right. I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

  Lines etched his forehead. “Right about what?”

  Kate pulled out of his embrace. As much as she wanted to stay wrapped in his arms, she needed some distance. “Why didn’t you tell me Stephanie’s wrists and ankles had been bound with blue rope?”

  He blinked, looking confused. “Honestly? I hadn’t remembered that. What does it matter? Blue rope isn’t exactly rare.”

  “But you knew her. Two women you cared about, both murdered, both bound with blue rope.”

  “You think the murders are connected?” He jumped to his feet. “Jesus, it doesn’t make any sense. Other than the blue rope, there’s nothing to connect them.”

  “And you.”

  He glared at her. “Stephanie was my neighbor. I told you that.”

  “If that’s all, why did Martha tell me you and Stephanie had an affair?”

  He covered his face with his hands and didn’t speak. She didn’t think her heart could pump any faster after finding Hannah, but it proved her wrong as she waited for him to respond. The silence stretched until finally he dropped his hands from his face and sighed. “Stephanie called me about a month before she died. She’d lied to Martha and told her we were dating.”

  “And you went along with it?”

  He crossed his arms. “No. I told her she had to tell Martha the truth.”

  Relieved, she shrugged off the blanket and stood. “Why did she lie?”

  “She was dating an older man and knew her mother wouldn’t approve.”

  “But why you? Why use your name?”

  He moved behind the couch and gripped the top, leaning his weight on his hands. “Martha found jewelry. No eighteen-year-old could afford diamond earrings and whatever the hell else she got from him. Before Stephanie’s death, her mother had always been sharp. She asked if she was dating an older man, and Stephanie said yes. She figured Martha wouldn’t care if it was me. But I wouldn’t go along with it. I told her to tell Martha or I would. I was marrying Alyssa, and I didn’t want anything getting in the way.”

  She went to him and placed a hand on his back. “Stephanie never told her?”

  “No,” he said sadly, shaking his head and turning to her. “She was murdered before she got the chance. After . . . it didn’t matter. I let Martha believe it. Alyssa knew. My father knew. I even told the police the truth, not that they cared.”

  She dropped her gaze to the floor. “Oh.”

  He tipped up her chin. “Yeah, oh. You didn’t trust me.”

  “I trust you.” She trusted him as much as she could trust someone she’d only just met.

  His muscles relaxed and his expression softened. “Why didn’t you ask me to take you?”

  “I’m not used to relying on other people. Since I was fourteen, if I wanted food, I’d have to work to earn the money for it and then go buy food. No one told me when or where or how. If I waited for my mama to buy groceries, I would’ve starved.”

  He put his arms around her. “I’m sorry.”

  “No. Don’t pity me.” She slapped a hand on his chest. “I don’t want it and I don’t deserve it. So my mother was an alcoholic. She didn’t abuse me. A lot of people had it a lot worse.”

  How many times had Caden come to school with a black eye or bruised ribs? Who did you complain to when your father was the small town’s sheriff?

  Her lips quivered. “When my dad died, I spent two years pitying myself until I realized how bad it could really be. After that I grew up pretty quickly. I had to. My best friend Caden and I found a couple of bikes to fix up. Neither one of us ever wanted to rely on our parents. We had each other. Whenever things got bad at home, we’d meet at our secret spot and go driving. For hours. Sometimes we didn’t ever want to go back. But we did because we were responsible. We had to graduate and get out.”

  He covered her hand with his. “This Caden. Do you love him?”

  She didn’t think it was possible under the circumstances, but she managed a small smile. “Yes, but not the way you’re thinking. He’s my best friend. That’s it. Believe me, we both wished it could be more, but since he’s gay, that was out of the question.”

  Jaxon’s eyes registered relief, and his thumb brushed an arch across her palm. “Where is he now?”

  “Still there. He doesn’t live with his folks anymore, but he never left our town. He opened a garage where he fixes cars and refurbishes motorcycles. I’ve begged him to move to Detroit, but he won’t leave. He says he’s got unfinished business.”

  She saw him only when he came to Detroit, which wasn’t often. Between school for her and work for him, their time together was limited to a couple days twice a year, weekly phone calls, and e-mails. She didn’t understand what kept him from leaving the town that failed him time and time again.

  “I’m glad you had him. But that still doesn’t explain why you felt the need to go to Martha’s without an escort. Unless you didn’t want me there because you were worried you’d find out I killed Alyssa.”

  She bit her lip. As much as she believed she trusted him, a part of her had worried he’d either stop her from talking to Martha or she’d learn
something she didn’t want to know. Now she realized she was wrong. She should’ve asked him to come with her even though her strongest reason for shirking his help hadn’t changed.

  “I wanted to prove to Nick I could do it on my own. He saw the pills. Saw how weak I am. How can he recommend me for associate if I have panic attacks?”

  His gaze narrowed. “There’s more. What is Nick to you?” His eyes shut for a moment and then reopened. “Are you in love with him?”

  She swallowed hard, attempting to relieve the pressure in her throat. “I . . . don’t know. I’m confused. Until a few days ago, I thought I loved Tom, and I guess I did in a way. I cared about him. But I’ve harbored a crush on Nick for years. Since I first read about him in the news. He’s my idol; who I’d hoped to become. I’m not sure if I’m in love with him or if it’s hero worship. Like a teenage girl with a crush on a rock star and finally meets him in person.” Before he could interrupt, she pressed her fingers to his lips. “Then I met you. Everything’s happened so fast, but my feelings for you are so much more intense than I’ve ever experienced. They’re real. I don’t want to hide from you. I want you to know me. Not Kate, but Katerina.”

  She threw her arms around his neck and crushed her mouth against his. His lips were closed tightly and his body rigid. She slid her tongue across his bottom lip, and when he didn’t open, she bit him.

  Banding an arm around her waist and plunging the other hand into her hair, he yanked her to him. His mouth conquered hers, his tongue caressing hers with desperate intensity. She needed to submit. Needed him to help her release the guilt and the shame of sneaking off to see Martha Webber and causing Hannah’s assault. Needed to prove to him that she trusted him with more than her body. Needed to prove she’d chosen him.

  The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway drew them apart.

  Her front door creaked open, and Nick stood there, staring at the both of them with suspicion in his eyes.

  Chapter Three

  HAD NICK WITNESSED their kiss?

  In all the chaos, she hadn’t noticed that they’d left the door ajar until Nick appeared in the doorframe. But the suspicion she thought she’d seen in his eyes disappeared as he dropped his briefcase by the door and then strode to her with his arms outstretched.