In his right hand he held a coiled bullwhip, the tip of which rested on her back. Elizabeth’s neck stretched forward, her lips kissing his cockhead as if in reverence.
I put the picture down, intrigued and a little confused as to what brought these two into my office. “I sense a deep connection between the three of you.”
“That photo was taken to commemorate the day Elizabeth agreed to become my slave. It was the fifth of March. Our collaring ceremony was to be this weekend.”
I stilled. The invitation on the card to the Edge had been for that date. “Who else knew about this?”
“No one. I’m graduating from university at the end of this semester. I will be returning to my country. I had planned to take the women I love with me…as my brides.”
His passion fascinated me. I wish I felt a tenth of it in my daily life. Elizabeth had told her parents she had found her prince and would be leaving. I don’t think they fully understood.
“I heard you were asking about her last night. She has disappeared, and I want you to find her for me. Becoming my slave may have been too much for her. I can accept that, but I want…I need to hear it from her.”
Was it possible he was unaware of Elizabeth’s death? He could be the killer, and this was an elaborate ruse to put me off his scent. But watching him interact with his slave, my gut told me that was not the case.
His hand hadn’t once left the slave at his side. He stroked her hair. Brushed his knuckles against the line of her jaw. Rested his hand on her head.
I had no idea what sort of relationship he may have had with the victim, but if it was anything like that of the slave kneeling beside him, it had to be intense.
“Do you have any reason to think she may have backed out?”
He shook his head. “None. I took her to get her passport and to apply for appropriate documents to enter my country. My family is aware of my plans. My mother has met Sandra and Elizabeth and approves the union.” His face darkened. “Even if their first visit did not go very well…but we have sorted through that. My father has finally approved the union.”
I wondered at his hesitation.
“I assume her parents hired you to find her? I’ll double what they’re paying and more if you agree not to give them any information about her whereabouts once you find her. Elizabeth has her reasons for not wanting to be with them.”
I yanked on the filing cabinet drawer on the left, jerking it open with an ear-splitting squeal.
He really had no idea.
I reached in and pulled out the file. This part of my job was the worst, but he deserved to know the truth.
“I’m not investigating Elizabeth’s disappearance.”
I flipped open the manila folder. The picture of Elizabeth taken by the coroner showed her face frozen in death. The deep marks scoring her body were displayed in all their ugly detail. His reaction would tell me everything I needed to know. Grief could not be staged. Even the best actors gave themselves away.
But I couldn’t do it. Not like that. I closed the folder, unable to show him such a morbid picture of the woman he so obviously loved.
Instead, I showed him the picture Mrs. Westmoreland had given me. “Is this Elizabeth?” I needed to confirm we were speaking about the same person.
He nodded.
I broke the news as gently as I could. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but I’m not looking into her disappearance. I’m investigating her murder.”
His olive complexion paled, and the entire musculature of his face sagged. He placed a fist on the tabletop, trembling with the force of his grip. His eyes narrowed. “Whoever did this will pay with their life.” His whisper was spoken as a deadly promise.
“Master?” His slave gripped his leg as her voice trembled.
“I’m so very sorry.” Eight years on the force, and I’d never perfected this part of the job. There was no good way to break such horrible news, but now I knew this man was not my killer.
“I should have been there to protect her.” Fire burned in his eyes. A blaze stoked by agony and the need for revenge. His voice rumbled with grave intensity. “Tell me, how did this happen?”
I told him what I could, leaving out sensitive details of the case. When I finished, he sat unmoving. Beside him, his slave’s tears fell.
I allowed the silence to fall between us, not afraid of the terrible weight of it.
“How much do you know about Elizabeth?” Mr. Imman asked, his gaze searching mine, his pain very evident.
“Very little,” I said with a shrug. “Her parents are not much help.”
“I will tell you what I know in the hope it will help.”
He leaned back, his eyes darting to the manila folder I had not shown him. “She ran away, got involved in drugs, wound up on the streets, and one day found herself at Stripes, dragged in by some of her friends to ‘look at the freaks.’ An experienced Dom took her in. He saved her in a way, showed her a different way to live, and gave her structure that had been missing from her life.”
I understood that. My stomach clenched at the parallels in my own life. The thrill of playing on the edge had saturated me with so many sensations I’d been high with the adrenaline rush. Vulnerable, I’d fallen hard and fast into a world I should have entered slowly.
“Over the next few months, that Dom trained her how to submit.” He placed his fingers to his forehead, squeezing. “She liked to play hard, though, and met another man deep into extreme play. She told me things got dark and heavy fast. There was a bit of a power play, with the first one taking her back, although she never fully shared with me what happened. I met her nearly a year ago when she was demonstrating breath play for those interested in learning the technique.”
Elizabeth had died of asphyxiation from a belt wrapped around her neck. Mr. Imman just shot back up to my number-one suspect.
“Forgive me,” I said, the tone of my voice soothing, noting the muscles clenching reflexively in his jaw. “But there’s something I don’t understand. If she had agreed to be your slave, knowing you planned on taking her back to your country, why would she engage in a scene with someone else?”
“She wouldn’t have. My Elizabeth would never have agreed to be with anyone but me.” He shook his head. “Miss Summers, please find who did this to my Elizabeth.”
“What do you know about a club called the Edge?”
His left eyebrow arched. “What do you want to know?”
“You’ve heard of it?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Were you there the weekend of March 3?”
“That photo was taken on Sunday, the fifth.”
One day before she died. I didn’t like coincidences. “Elizabeth was found on the sixth. Did you engage in breath play that weekend?”
He became silent for a time. “After the photo, we celebrated. I’m aware of the risks, but Elizabeth…”
He glanced down at the slave kneeling at his feet. “I don’t do it with Sandra because it is too extreme for her.” He patted the blonde. “Elizabeth wanted to cement our vows with a scene with special meaning for her. We played very hard with my belt.”
This was not good for Mr. Imman.
“When did you last see Elizabeth?”
“We left the Edge just before two in the afternoon on Sunday. I dropped Elizabeth and Sandra off at their apartment. I then went to my home. When I went to see them Monday morning, Elizabeth was not there.”
“Any idea what happened to her?”
Sandra choked back a sob. “She likes to wake early and go for a run. I didn’t think anything unusual about it until she didn’t come home. The last time I saw her was when I went to bed Sunday night.”
“Mr. Imman, I need to report this information to the police.”
“I’d appreciate it if you could keep this private.”
“Unfortunately, that’s not possible.” I cleared my throat. “What I need from you is an introduction to the Edge.”
&
nbsp; His lips firmed into a frown. “I’m sorry, but that won’t be possible. The only women allowed are slaves of members. I would never bring a woman to that club who was not one of mine.”
“Mr. Imman, for the sake of finding Elizabeth’s killer, an exception must be made.”
“Not at the Edge. Besides, your reputation precedes you. I’m sorry, but I can’t help.”
“Not even if it means finding Elizabeth’s killer?”
“I’m sorry, but no. You’ll have to find another way.”
Chapter Six
Kate
Even though I no longer carried the authority of a badge, a legitimate suspect stood in my office, presenting a problem. Fahd Imman’s diplomatic immunity might insulate him from arrest, but that wasn’t for me to decide. I glanced at his slave, needing more information than his side of the story alone.
“Please wait outside, Mr. Imman.”
He arched a brow.
“I need to speak with your slave.”
“I will stay while you question her.” The crispness of his dialect reverberated in my overlarge office, rattling off the sparse furniture.
I gave a soft chuckle, warming up to the challenge in his voice. If he thought he would dominate the situation here, on my turf, he had a surprise coming. I didn’t bow to any man.
I leaned back and kicked my heels up on top of my desk, making a show of it. “Masters have a way of influencing their slaves. I’ll speak to her alone.”
He could challenge me, but he was going to lose.
The corner of his lip tilted up, and the skin crinkled at the corners of his eyes. “Ah, but for a true Master, that influence extends whether I am present or not. I assure you, Detective, I have nothing to hide.” His head tipped forward with the use of my old title.
I couldn’t tell if he meant to mock me or if he used the title with respect. He might have hoped for a reaction, knowing that title had been stripped from me, but I laced my fingers behind my head and stared him down. “I will still speak to her alone.”
He had wounded me. I didn’t think I would ever recover from the loss of that title.
Sandra unfolded from her kneeling position. Head bowed, she stood before him, hands clasped to the front.
He gripped Sandra’s collar and pulled her toward him.
She kept her chin tucked while he brushed his lips across her forehead.
“My love,” he said on a whisper. “Answer the detective’s questions with the truth, even if you think it casts me in a bad light.”
His gaze shifted to mine, a hardness in the inky black of his stare, but something else lingered there as well. A tremendous loss. “We have nothing to hide. Elizabeth’s killers must be brought to justice. In this, I trust Mistress Kate.”
So I was no longer Miss Summers or Detective Summers. He finally acknowledged me by my more legendary title. I found that oddly interesting and annoying at the same time.
“Yes, Master.”
He stood, then positioned her in front of the chair and pressed down on her shoulder. “Sit, my love. I will wait for you outside.” He caressed her golden curls as she took her seat.
Was that it? I had expected more of a fight from a man conditioned from birth against taking orders from a woman. I’d been prepared with my arguments, and failing those, some well-placed threats.
His acceptance of my demand, and the tenderness he extended his slave, garnered my growing respect. I was kind of disappointed not to argue my case. My gut told me he wasn’t a suspect, but I had to do my due diligence.
I slipped into Domme mode the minute Mr. Imman left my office and closed the door, demanding answers from Sandra. Establishing her trust came easily. Obedience flowed after that. Then came the truth. I’d always been an expert interrogator. Sandra corroborated every word her Master had spoken.
No surprise there.
She was telling the truth. These two had no idea Elizabeth had died until I revealed it.
They were not the killers.
When I brought Sandra into the reception area to rejoin her Master, Mr. Imman volunteered details about the visa applications for both Sandra and Elizabeth. He even helped place a call to the Jordanian embassy.
After making sure I had his contact information, I let him leave, giving assurances I’d keep him current on the progress of the case. He wrote a sizable check and left it on Mitzy’s desk. I couldn’t stop looking at the deposit. Hadn’t seen that much money in a very long time.
I had an outstanding case to wrap up, a domestic dispute, so I left Mitzy to mind the office. The remainder of the day I spent trailing a philandering husband, taking photos of him screwing his next-door neighbor. I called the wife and met her at a diner.
An hour later, I had a much smaller check in hand and a shoulder wet with the tears of yet another woman’s broken dreams.
Some days I really hated this job.
When I returned, the office sparkled from another one of Mitzy’s cleaning fits. There must have been a break in the gaming action online. I tossed the check on Mitzy’s desk.
Mitzy looked up. “Did you catch him cheating?”
“Yeah.”
“You know, some day you’re going to tell me the guy was out buying his wife roses or something.”
“When men stop cheating on their wives, I’ll do just that.”
Mitzy didn’t think my joke was funny and flipped her polishing cloth over her shoulder. She shook her head at me.
Humor was not my strong point. “Can you deposit the checks on your way home?”
When was the last time we’d had more than one check in a week to put in the business account? I might just make rent this month. A weight lifted off my shoulders and eased a world of tension from my life.
Mitzy glanced at her watch. “Yikes, it’s almost four. I gotta run if I’m going to make it before they close.” She shut off her computer and gathered her purse.
I should close up, but I didn’t have anywhere pressing to be. A fleeting thought of returning to Stripes passed through my mind, but to play at the top of my game, I needed to be in a better frame of mind.
A repeat of last night was unacceptable. Maybe some single-tail practice would get me in the mood?
Tyler may not have sensed my inner discord, but I prided myself on delivering the best experience to my submissives. It would have been nice if I’d gotten a little something out of it too. I had missed the adrenaline surging through my veins. That heady thrill of power kept the other, darker urges buried. I fell short last night.
It was this damn case messing with my mind. Maybe I needed to go back and find a sub who could handle a harder scene and go in deep. But not tonight.
Fatigue pulled hard at the edges of my mind, and concentrating on the needs of a man demanded too much energy. I needed to focus on work.
If I didn’t drum up more business soon, I’d be closing my doors for good. I turned my attention to my advertising campaign. The mountain of debt I’d accumulated created a formidable opponent, one I had set my sights on defeating.
My skills as a detective were always rock solid. I didn’t doubt myself. What I feared was my creditors’ timetable, although with the money from the mayor, Mr. Imman, and the wife of the cheater, I wouldn’t have to worry about creditors for a while.
I shed the distractions of the office. The hum of the air conditioner faded as I opened up the advertising folder on my desktop. The overhead whine of fluorescent bulbs smoothed out while I leaned in close, adjusting the typeset of the flyers I’d prepared.
I deleted the smiling picture of myself and replaced it with a stern-faced headshot, one with my flowing hair pulled back off my face. I needed something with an edgier feel.
I clicked away, each change turning the flyer into what I hoped portrayed a competent, professional, and discreet detective agency.
It had better. My livelihood depended on it.
A soft knock at the door jolted me from the glow of the computer screen.
“You’re working late.” He popped the doomed pastry into his mouth.
Pete worked with me years ago when I’d first earned my detective badge. We’d devoured enough doughnuts between us to feed a high-school football team, even more after his divorce. His belly reminded me of a doughnut—soft, doughy, and round like a spare tire.
“I was in the neighborhood. I thought I’d stop by, see how you were doing.”
Which meant he was checking up on me. Of all the men at the precinct, he’d been the only one to stand by me. Unlike the others, he wasn’t threatened by my need to dominate men.
He ran a hand over his invisible hairline, brushing back hairs that had long since fallen out.
A smile lifted the corners of my mouth. He was such a goofball and a welcome distraction. “Isn’t it a bit late for breakfast?”
He wiped a bit of powder from the tip of his nose.
I pointed to his chin.
He gave one of his big grins and wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Did I get it all?” He smeared even more powdered sugar over his nose and chin.
I laughed and brought him a tissue, dabbing his face like I was his mother. He endured my attentions with a twinkle in his eye.
“Now you’re good. Where’s your new partner?” I retreated to my desk and dropped into my seat, exhausted.
“We just got off shift. Janice had to get to the daycare to take her kids home. I was wondering if you wanted to get a bite to eat.”
Pete was up to something. He rarely stopped by to invite me to eat.
“Really?” I arched a brow.
A laugh burst from him. “Yeah, that was a lame excuse, but I couldn’t come up with anything better.” He clasped his fingers over his paunch. “I heard the mayor was in your office yesterday.”
He stepped forward, pressed a finger on my desk, and gave me the eye. “I know for damn sure it was no social call. Not with your history. Was he causing trouble? Is there anything I can do?”
Command (Changing Roles Book 1) Page 7
