The Ultimate Romantic Suspense Set (8 romantic suspense novels from 8 bestselling authors for 99c)

by Lee Taylor

  Well, she went in wearing my collar, and never left, so she must be there against her will.

  He paused, a chill sweeping up his spine as his hand came to rest on another picture of Glazebrook, taken at 6:06 pm. He was tossing something into the dumpster behind his offices. Michael reached for the magnifying glass.

  It was Jessie's collar.

  ~~~

  Michael paced. There had to be a legal way into the house. If not, he'd break in. Jessie was in danger, her fear something he felt in his gut. He called Jim at home. "Michael Atherton here, Jim. Sorry to call so late. I need a search warrant."

  Silence.

  "Jim?"

  "Yeah. I'm still here. It won't be easy to get hold of a judge at this time of night."

  Michael felt better that Jim hadn't dismissed the idea out of hand. He trusted that Michael wouldn't have called unless it was urgent. "I know, but more than one life is at risk here, Jim. I want the warrant for the Glazebrook house."

  "Jeez, Michael. You don't do things in half measures, do you? Where are you?"

  "I'm at home. I have application forms. I'll get started filling one in."

  There was a pause. "You said more than one life. Who else is in danger besides Matilda Johnson?"

  Michael took a deep breath. "A woman I'm involved with--deeply involved. Glazebrook is using her to deter me from my investigation. I think--no, I know--she's in his house against her will."

  "And you know this how? Did she call you, or text?"

  He sensed Jim's confidence crumbling. "I have a connection with her, Jim, plus I have photographs that prove she went in and never came out."

  "He forced her in?"

  Fuck!

  "No, she apparently went in of her own accord, but I think she was lured under false pretenses."

  "And you're confident she isn't cheating on you?"

  Michael raked a hand through his hair. "She's not the cheating kind."

  "Okay. Make sure you fill in every detail correctly, bring the photos and I'll get a judge. Wait for my call."

  ~~~

  "Stuart, I know it's late--"

  "Just tell me what you need me to do, Mr. A."

  "Go over to Camden Manor and press Phil Glazebrook's doorbell. Call me on my cell and let me know if he answers, or not."

  "Sure thing."

  Michael spent forty minutes completing the application for a search warrant. Every detail had to be precisely worded if they were to succeed. Knowledge gleaned from his years in the police force kicked in.

  Satisfied with the finished product, he bundled the paperwork and the photos into a backpack, along with a few items from his garage. He didn't own a gun, so he grabbed the Bowie knife from his tackle box, unsheathed it, tested the edge, then shoved it back in its covering. He tucked it into his belt, and set off for Phil Glazebrook's offices.

  His cell rang as he pulled into the parking lot. "Atherton."

  "Stuart here, boss. The perp is home."

  Michael had to smile. "Ten-four, Stuart. Thanks. Can you hang around there and let me know if he leaves?"

  "Aye, aye."

  Suddenly they were Navy Seals?

  "I'm glad you're on the team, Stuart. Over and out."

  He scanned the house. The rear of the building was in darkness, no light at any of the windows. Concealed outdoor lighting cast a warm glow over the office front.

  Michael walked around the house, then went to the dumpster where he quickly retrieved Jessie's choker. The key was missing, but the lock wasn't broken. He held it to his chest.

  Jessie.

  Suddenly, a light flickered in a window on the third floor, as though someone had lit a candle.

  ~~~

  The door creaked open. Jessie held her breath. The Korean girl raised her head, her eyes widening. She shook her head vehemently. Fear skittered up Jessie's thighs and lodged in her stomach. Had Glazebrook returned?

  "Oh my!"

  Jessie hazarded a glance at the door. Matilda Johnson stood there in her nightie, candle in hand.

  For the first time in her life, Jessie truly understood the expression cat on a hot tin roof. If the woman was demented and near death, she might not understand the enormity of what she was seeing. But how had she got out of bed?

  "What has that evil man done now?" Matilda rasped, shaking her head. She shuffled over to the Korean girl and eased the gag down. "I'll have you out of this contraption in a jiffy."

  The Asian took a deep breath then let go with a stream of rapid Korean. Jessie didn't understand the words, but it was evident the girl was trying to warn the old woman to get back to her room.

  Jessie wriggled, making as much noise as she could, trying to ignore the friction of the shibari knot on her clit. She had to let Matilda know she had a cell phone downstairs, if the woman had access to the offices.

  Reality smacked her in the face. The office was phone central. She would surely have called someone before now if she could roam free.

  Matilda became engrossed in untying the Korean girl's knots, a futile exercise in Jessie's opinion, especially when she complained about needing her glasses to see more clearly.

  She increased her frantic efforts to draw attention. Matilda finally turned to look at her. "Patience. I have to help Mi Cha. She's the reason I'm still alive. She's defied that man's orders to help me. Look what he's done to the poor girl."

  Jessie pleaded with her eyes.

  Please remove my gag.

  Matilda shuffled over, grasped the top of the gag and pulled it down. Jessie took a deep breath, coughing. "Matilda," she gasped. "My name is Jessie. My--"

  How to describe her relationship with Michael in terms this woman would understand?

  "--my fiancé has been trying to find you. That's why Glazebrook brought me here."

  Matilda studied her face for long moments. "This is a fine kettle of fish. What do you suggest?"

  Jessie closed her eyes. If she wished hard enough she would not be hanging upside down and naked in the dungeon of a madman, talking to a demented octogenarian.

  Help me, Michael.

  She felt his presence nearby.

  She looked into Matilda's eyes. "Can you get into a room with a window?"

  Matilda nodded.

  "Is there something to break the window with--maybe a chair?"

  Matilda hesitated a moment then snapped her fingers. "The IV stand."

  Jessie didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Break the window, wave frantically, and yell Fire!"

  "Clever girl," Matilda said gleefully as she headed for the door.

  Did the old lady even have the strength to break a window?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Michael strained to see if the candle still flickered, but it seemed to have disappeared. His cell phone rang.

  Please God let it be Jim with good news.

  "Atherton."

  "Jim here. Do you have the papers ready? Judge Hanrahan is the only one I could get hold of."

  Michael swore under his breath. Hanrahan was notorious for not granting warrant requests. Still, better than nothing. "Where do I meet him?"

  "At home. Here's the address."

  Michael was jotting down the directions when he heard a loud crash directly above him. He hunched his shoulders, covering his head as glass showered down, followed by a long piece of metal that bounced when it crashed to the ground inches from where he stood.

  What the hell? A fucking IV stand?

  "Wait, Jim," he yelled into the phone, leaping out of harm's way. "Something's happening here."

  He took a few more steps back, craning his neck to look up. A face topped by a mop of white hair edged out of the broken window. A woman! She cupped her hands to her mouth and yelled, "Fire! Fire! Help!"

  God bless Matilda!

  "Jim, get the Fire Brigade here, right now. And the police, and paramedics. Matilda Johnson might just have saved the day."

  Within minutes several cars had stopped and a crowd gather
ed beneath the broken window, all craning their necks to look up.

  "Has anyone called the Fire Brigade?"

  Michael held up his cell. "I did. They're on the way."

  "I don't see any smoke."

  "Maybe someone nearby has a ladder?"

  "Too high."

  "Fire! Help!"

  "I still don't see smoke."

  "Well, she obviously does."

  "No need to get testy. Maybe she has Alzheimer's and is imagining things."

  "I hope they bring the aerial ladder truck."

  Michael was tempted to tell them to go to hell. On the other hand, he knew there was likely no fire, and if Glazebrook did return, a crowd might scare him off.

  Running to his car, he clicked the remote to open the back door, and pulled up the cover for the spare tire. He yanked the tire iron out of its anchor and leaned in to press the button to close the door, not waiting to check that it locked.

  Sirens blared just as he smashed a small window on the ground floor, directly below where Matilda was still shouting. With any luck he might be able to wiggle through the opening. Matilda was safe; the firefighters would make sure she got out of the house. His focus was on getting to Jessie first. If his suspicions about Glazebrook were correct, she would need his support before anyone else saw her. In his research into D/S he'd been shocked by some of the Google images of what sadistic men were capable of.

  He knocked out the jagged bits of glass clinging to the frame and crouched, angling his shoulders to get through the opening.

  Someone who apparently thought they were lending a helping hand shoved him when he was half way in, sending him sprawling on to a cold stone floor, jarring his knees and wrists. The sheath of the Bowie knife jabbed into his groin.

  "Okay?" a round face at the window asked.

  Michael gritted his teeth. "Yeah, thanks."

  He scrambled to his feet, peering into the darkness, trying to locate the door and the source of the scurrying noise. He couldn't believe he'd left his flashlight in the backpack in his car. He offered up a prayer of thanks when the fire engine's headlights illuminated the room. Jack Taylor's company had obviously never been in this part of the house. The dust coated boxes looked like they'd been in storage for centuries.

  He wrenched the door open, thankful it wasn't locked, and slammed it behind him. Whatever was running around in that room could stay there. He peered into the dark hallway. Following the sounds of Matilda's cries, he stumbled onto the stairs and took them two at a time. Finding the next flight was easy, and the next. Breathing heavily, he reached the top.

  His heart stopped when he came face to face with a ghost. Matilda stood motionless, candle in one hand, the other clutching a grey blanket draped around her shoulders.

  For God's sake, Michael. Focus.

  "Matilda?" he rasped. "Don't be afraid. I'm Michael Atherton. I--"

  "You must be the one who's been searching for me. The young lady's fiancé."

  Michael thought his brain might explode. Matilda had spoken to Jessie. But when? Fiancé? She'd accepted his collar, but that was a long way from--"

  Get a grip, Atherton.

  Gently, he took hold of Matilda's arms. "Do you know where she is?"

  Matilda nodded, pursing her lips. "They're in that fraudster's dungeon."

  Michael's heart rate skyrocketed, then he realized what she'd said. "They?"

  Matilda started walking. "Yes, your fiancée and Mi Cha, my nurse."

  Michael tried to calm his breathing. This was no time for another heart attack. "Mi Cha?"

  "Lovely girl. Korean. Doesn't speak a word of English."

  Of course. The Asian woman.

  He speed dialled Jim. "Get a Korean interpreter here, as fast as you can."

  "Will do."

  Click.

  Matilda came to a sudden halt outside a door covered with quilted plastic padding.

  Michael put his trembling hand to the knob, but Matilda blocked his way. "I don't know if I should let you go in. They wouldn't want you to see them this way."

  Michael was tempted to lift her up and put her aside, but he forced his voice to a normal pitch. "I understand, but if I don't help Jessie, all the firefighters will rush in and see her and Mi Cha. We wouldn't want that, would we?"

  It was difficult to know how to talk with this plucky old woman who'd endured imprisonment, and whose courage in breaking the window had probably saved Jessie's life. One minute she seemed lucid, the next she was acting like a silly old biddy. He decided honesty was the best policy. "Besides," he winked, "I've seen Jessie naked before--and in some pretty intimate positions."

  Matilda smiled sadly. "But I doubt you've ever tortured her, Mr. Atherton."

  Michael's lungs refused to fill with air. He could hear the heavy footsteps of firefighters coming up the stairs. "No, I haven't, now please let me help those women."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Matilda sloughed off her blanket. "Take this. I'll keep the firemen busy for a few minutes."

  Michael kissed her forehead, then opened the door.

  Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw and heard. He realized the room had indeed been soundproofed as a torrent of anguished Korean bombarded him.

  He'd seen Japanese rope bondage demonstrated at Scallywags. It was an art form, but what had been inflicted on the Asian girl was sadistic torture, pure and simple. He was afraid to touch her for fear of hurting her more. She needed the kind of care he couldn't give. The paramedics would help her.

  Jessie was suspended beyond the other woman, but a glaring searchlight blinded him. Glazebrook had probably intended they be kept awake by the light. Fear that she'd suffered the same torture as the nurse closed his throat. The idea of Glazebrook mutilating her beautiful breasts made him sick to his stomach.

  He'd watched Anita die in agony, her pain relieved only thanks to the efforts of Hospice doctors. He didn't think he could bear to go through that again. What Jessie did to his heart was more intense than anything he'd felt for his first wife.

  He stumbled towards her. "Jessie," he rasped.

  "Michael, you came," she sobbed. "I knew you were nearby. I felt you. I'm so sorry."

  That she was still alive and apparently unscarred turned his knees to jelly.

  Amore! Gioir!

  He cradled her face in his hands, kissing her lips. He draped Matilda's blanket over her, his hands trembling "I should've warned you about Glazebrook, Jessie. Forgive me."

  He took out the Bowie knife he gutted fish with when he went camping. If Glazebrook had been in the room, he'd have made like Zorro and left his mark on the bastard.

  Four firefighters crashed into the room. They stood stock still, shielding their eyes from the glare, staring open mouthed at the sight before them.

  Michael took charge, already sawing through the ropes supporting Jessie's legs. "You two, cut that girl down from there. You, find as many paramedics as you can--and bring blankets. We'll need stretchers. You, help me get Jessie down."

  It seemed like an eternity, but within fifteen minutes Matilda Johnson and Mi Cha had been whisked off to the Royal Jubilee hospital. The Korean girl calmed considerably after the arrival of the interpreter. Good thing Jim had found a female paramedic for the job.

  Michael made sure the blanket covered as much as possible of Jessie's body as they were freeing her, but when only the rope tied through her slit remained, she shook her head. "Please, Michael, I don't want anyone else to see it."

  He bundled her up in thermal blankets from the ambulance and carried her out of the dungeon. Down the hall he found a room with a small bed.

  "He kept Matilda here," Jessie explained.

  Michael put her down carefully on the bed, opened up the blankets, and quickly sliced through the crotch rope while Jessie sobbed. He knelt to gently lick and kiss her swollen nub, then covered her again, cradling her in his arms. She clung to him, trembling uncontrollably.

  He was shaking too--with
anger and relief. When he could finally speak he urged her to let him take her to the hospital. "To make sure everything's okay."

  She shook her head feebly. "I just want to go home with you. I need to sleep. I'm fine, but the drug hasn't worn off yet."

  Michael took a deep breath. "He drugged you?"

  Jessie nodded.

  He interlaced his fingers with hers. "You need to know what happened while you were unconscious, or it will haunt you."

  Understanding dawned in her eyes. "Oh God. I'm going to be sick."

  He kissed the top of her head. "The police have issued a warrant for Glazebrook's arrest. They'll need all the evidence they can get."

  Someone tapped at the door. A female police officer entered carrying a black garbage bag. "I think these might be your clothes, Ms. Halliwell."

  She opened the bag. Jessie peered inside and shuddered. "Yes, leave them with me, please."

  "Sorry. I'll have to take them as evidence. Just wanted to verify they were yours."

  As she left, Jessie slumped against Michael. "Looks like I'm going to be poked and prodded anyway."

  He nuzzled her neck, his heart in knots. "I'll kill the bastard."

  "I'll help you. As soon as I've had some sleep. My back is killing me. I'm too old for this shit."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  It was the middle of the night by the time they arrived back at Michael's house. He'd rushed to Jessie's apartment while she was in Emerg to get her some clothes. Glazebrook was being bundled into a police cruiser as he pulled up. It took a supreme effort not to grab the Bowie knife from the passenger seat, launch himself at the moron, and slice him open.

  He didn't mention anything about it to Jessie when he got back to the hospital.

  Her silence worried him. He knew enough about rape kits to know she'd had samples taken from every orifice, from her hair, and under her fingernails.

  Now they had to wait for the results, but he also knew the horrendous backlog in DNA testing in local labs. He'd try to pull some strings.

  Though it was late, Jessie seemed to welcome the idea of a quick soak in the hot tub. He sat her between his legs and eased her back against his chest, careful not to make her feel restrained in any way. She was as limp as a rag doll. He murmured endearments, hoping the hot water, the steam, and his body would help erase some of the horror of her ordeal.