by Piper Stone
“Can do.” Betsy placed the stack of folders on her desk and started to turn around then stopped.
“Is there something else?”
“Just that you seem very preoccupied lately. Are you worried about the case?”
“The case?” She should be. Mr. Walter Martin’s alibis were rock solid. There was no way he could have sliced and diced three women and be in another city at the same time. What was she missing?
Betsy nodded. “I’ve never seen you so, well, nervous I guess.”
Joelle rubbed her tired eyes and sat back in her seat. “I’m just not sleeping well. I admit I’ll be glad when this is over.”
“He’s guilty you know.”
She smiled. Her assistant was tenacious, doing everything she could to get ahead in the firm. The woman stayed late, went to every criminology class she could register for, and generally sucked up to the powers that be. She’d also followed along with this case in particular, helping Joelle locate witnesses and other evidence. Too bad the evidence wasn’t adding up. She had a week to pull everything together. “You’re so certain?”
“I am,” Betsy said defiantly.
“All right. I’ll bite. Talk to me.”
She sat down in the chair slowly, a wry grin on her face. “Do you remember when you talked with the family of the first victim, Rena Showalter?”
“Vividly. They had no desire to talk with me.”
“Did you ever wonder why?”
Joelle narrowed her eyes. She could tell by the very intriguing look on Betsy’s face the girl was hiding something. “Of course. Go on.”
“Well it took me a little while to figure out, but I managed to sift through lots of bullshit, finding out Rena’s daddy has direct connections to Mr. Martin.”
“Connections?” They’d checked and rechecked everything, trying to make any connection. Mr. Martin was, on paper, an upstanding citizen.
“Yep,” Betsy cooed, her head bobbing up and down. “You see, about twenty years ago they were in business together and from what I’ve been able to determine, a bit shady if you know what I mean.”
As Joelle thought about the information, she realized the one thing Mr. Martin couldn’t have was any dirty laundry hanging over him, especially since he had aspirations of running for Congress, some said the White House. “This is documented?”
Betsy grinned and pulled the bottom folder from the pile. “You bet and I’m not there yet, but I think the families of the other victims have the same association.”
“Holy shit. If you’re right, then this is nothing more than a blood bath to keep the families quiet. You’re freaking brilliant!”
Beaming, Betsy smoothed down her skirt. “I thought you’d be pleased.”
Joelle rose from her chair. Instantly the thick plug made her cringe. “Girl, if this pans out, I’m not going to just be happy. I’ll make sure you get that promotion you’ve been pining away for.”
“Really?” she squealed.
“You bet. We have a hell of a lot of work to do and not much time.” She grabbed the file. “I think I need to pay another visit to the Showalter family. Keep digging.”
“Can do!”
Joelle grabbed her purse and keys, her phone last and headed out the door. “Shit.”
“Did you forget something?”
“Just a quick phone call I have to make.” Why did her voice sound so sheepish? Because you’re a whore, a submissive who has duties. Suddenly, the room was stifling.
“No problem. I’ll see what I can find. When you get back I’ll be ready to strategize.” Betsy moved toward the door then turned her head, giving a ruthless grin. “By the way, Gregory Brentwood left you another message.”
“Ignore him. I’ll talk to him when we get into court.” Finding out she was up against the asshole once again hadn’t made her day.
“He was insistent, almost threatening. Kind of an arrogant jerk. Isn’t he? But he certainly thinks you’re going to fall at his feet.”
Joelle laughed. “Never. He could be the last man on earth and I’d kick him in the nuts.”
“Good girl. I just adore working with you.”
Threatening? Gregory certainly thought highly of himself. Just another reason she was going to win the case. Hell, yes. Exhaling, she waited until Betsy walked out of the room then unlocked her iPhone. She flipped to her text page.
I’m leaving for an appointment, sir.
The rules to text Craze when she arrived and when she left was a daunting practice, but she hadn’t failed as of yet. For some reason, she had a feeling he’d know if she failed.
She waited for a full two minutes, as if he’d answer then shoved her phone into her purse. There was a hell of a lot of work to accomplish in a short period of time, but she was determined to take the asshole down.
Craze’s phone buzzed. He looked down at the glowing screen and smiled. She seemed to enjoy following his very simple rules. He fingered the screen, moving to her text and a shiver trickled down his spine. He was immediately hard, longing to have her right here, in the middle of his office. Sadly, she could never know the real man. Ever.
I’m leaving for an appointment, sir.
He lifted his finger, ready to answer her when his door was pushed open. “Don’t you knock?” Giving Mark an angry glare, he set his phone down. His lovely submissive was going to have to wait.
“Someone has been sniffing around in Mr. Martin’s past,” Mark said as he slumped into the seat in front of Craze’s desk.
“You find that surprising, why?”
“You don’t understand. I mean really delving into the past, all the nooks and crannies, perhaps finding secrets like the ones we all have buried deep within our lives.”
He shook his head. Of course, he knew the reason why Mark was partially directing his comment toward him—Trent’s threat remained lurking in the shadows. He’d received two calls from the mystery man and Craze knew the clock was ticking on both his decision and the threat to expose his tryst with Anastasia. He’d decided he was going to call her tonight, warn her of possible impending doom. He had no other choice.
There was also a second reason. The guy was his buddy, having shared many years together outside of work, but the kink he kept away from his vanilla world entirely. Still, with the admittance of his dark affair with Anastasia, Mark had begun to ask more questions. Was he seeing someone else? Was he frequenting BDSM clubs? At least he could answer half correctly. No one would ever know about his needs, his hunger to humiliate, own, and require various sexual needs from a woman. “Who and what did they find out?”
“Someone from the prosecutor’s office and honestly, I don’t know what they found yet, but I’m trying to sneak my way into learning.”
“Great. So you know bupkis then?”
“Oh, come on. You and I both know Mr. Martin has a past life. That’s been all over the news in the recent months,” Mark chortled.
“Yeah, but that doesn’t make him a killer any more than the fact you used to streak in college. Now does it?”
Mark flushed. “You’re a bastard at times.”
Craze grinned. “You wouldn’t have me any other way.” He sat back, thinking about what he’d long suspected about the solid businessman with his sights set on being the next President of the United States. The rumors about Mr. Martin running for Congress could place him in a difficult position. If Craze announced his candidacy before the trial, he would have pressure to recuse himself from the case. If he waited until after and if the man was found guilty, peers and enemies would say he’d high-jacked the case to eliminate his competition. He was in a no-win situation. Very interesting.
“Very much so. I know you have an idea about this guy. What are you thinking? Maybe I can run interference and try and find out the same information.”
“I’m thinking organized crime, but a long time ago. Mr. Martin’s records have been gone through with a fine toothcomb. He’s clean.”
“He’s squea
ky clean and you know what that means.” Mark’s eyes flashed.
“He’s guilty as hell. The question is, why risk everything to kill those women?”
“Maybe he hired someone to do the wretched deed.”
Craze nodded. “My guess is that he did. He wouldn’t get his hands dirty, but why now? There has to be a reason.”
“That’s why you have a crack investigator on your team.”
“Who would that be?”
Mark rose to his feet. “Son of a bitch, bastard is more like the word for you.”
“I don’t think there is such a thing. Might want to check,” Craze snarked as he grinned. The information was damn interesting. If he could get the asshole off the street, clean up a litany of organized crime without being accused of duplicity, he might have a clean slate come election day. Yep, his stepping stones to power and fame just might be in his sights. Still, there were too many lose ends.
Mark pointed at his watch. “I don’t have to remind you how high the stakes are.”
“No, you don’t. Those stakes are also pointed and ready to kill. Just a few more days and I’ll make my decision.” Craze was exhausted from the bantering.
“I’m worried since we have heard jack shit from Trent.”
“I called the Times. He’s away on assignment.” He wasn’t certain whether to believe the information.
“That terrifies me even more,” Mark growled. “I’ll stop pestering you. Drinks later?”
He thought about Joelle. He needed to see her tonight. His cravings had increased to the point he was ready to lose control. “Not tonight. I have a few things to do that don’t involve being pestered.”
“Uh-huh. You’re such a ball buster. That leggy blond, eh?”
“Very funny.” Craze pulled his phone closer. “Incidentally, who are the attorneys on the case?”
“Um, Gregory Brentwood and Martha Parker.”
“Mr. Brentwood is an arrogant ass. The case should be interesting. Martha. Never heard of her, but I can admit that I hope she is damn good at her job. Brentwood could be taken down a peg or two.” What he knew about the prosecuting attorney’s office was that they hired crack attorneys, snapping them up from Harvard and Yale before anyone else had an opportunity. The battle would be fascinating.
“I’ll find out what I can since I’m in investigative mode.”
“You just do that.” Craze laughed as Mark walked out, and grabbed his phone. He had enough time tonight to play. He’d make time.
Be at my place tonight at seven. Wear purple. No bra. No panties and don’t be late or your ass will pay.
Hitting send he shivered. He needed her more than ever.
Joelle heard her phone blip just as she reached the Showalter’s house. She resisted looking and cut the engine. Someone was home judging by the light in the front room. This wasn’t going to be easy. The family had all but thrown her out the last time.
Easing out of the car, she shut the door and looked around at the neighborhood. The area was decidedly middle class, but well kept. The murdered girl had been in her early twenties, home from college for barely a week when she was killed after leaving a club, her body ceremoniously dumped next to a construction dumpster. The killer had wanted her body to be found.
She shuddered thinking about the gruesome photographs as she walked to the door. After knocking several times, she stood back and waited.
Mrs. Showalter opened the door. “Yes?” When she recognized Joelle, she shook her head. “I can’t talk to you. You need to leave.”
“Can’t or won’t because you’ve been threatened?” When the aging woman’s eyes opened wide, she knew she’d hit the mark. “I can help you. I can protect you if only you’ll allow me.”
“No one can help my family, not even God.”
“Please. Think of your daughter,” Joelle insisted. She kept her look peaceful, even comforting. “Mrs. Showalter, you know this is the right thing to do.”
Mrs. Showalter hesitated a few seconds before opening the door. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Just trust me. I’m here to help take down your daughter’s murderer.”
What Joelle had learned in two hours was astounding and certainly enough to solidify her case against Mr. Martin. Granted, the pieces would be tough to put together, but she was now confident a week was enough to build the rest of an airtight case.
She was giddy when she sat back down in her car. She thought about the next steps then remembered her text. Yanking out her phone she read the words and fingered the screen before looking at her watch. It was nearly six. “Shit.”
She started the engine and dialed Betsy, getting her voice mail. “Betsy, you’re definitely on the right track. I can’t come back to the office but we’ll get together first thing in the morning. Make certain you keep this on the down-low. If anyone finds out what we’re attempting to do, I have no doubt everything you’ve found will be eliminated.” There was just enough time to race back to her house, find something purple and drive to Craze’s studio. Did she even own anything purple?
Groaning, she headed home, eyeballing her closet in her mind. Nothing. She didn’t own purple. Who owned purple?
As she drove she tried to figure out if there was any store close enough she could dash in and find something. The moment she noticed a Ross in a strip mall she jerked into the parking lot, stopping the car quickly. By the time she made it into the store, she was panting, her heart racing. Why did this man have such a tremendous effect?
You want him. You crave him. You need to submit to him.
She growled and headed for the women’s department. Five minutes later and three purple dresses in her hand, she took long strides toward the cash register. Patience wasn’t her virtue and the cashier seemed to have zero care. When her turn came, she slapped the dresses on the counter, yanking out her wallet. “Hurry. Please.”
“Hot date?” the kid asked, a sly look on his face. He didn’t pick up the pace.
“You have no idea.” By the time the kid had finished, Joelle was fit to be tied. She grabbed the bag and raced out into the parking lot. There was no doubt she broke at least two laws on her way to her house, but she refused to disobey her sir. Master? No, she wasn’t ready to use such a magnanimous word yet.
Within minutes she was dressed. She caught a glance of her reflection and gasped. Where had the professional woman gone? In her place was a garish hooker, one prepared for a night of sleazy sex, complete domination.
Joelle turned off the bathroom light and walked into her kitchen, eyeing the open bottle of wine on the counter. “Half a glass.” For courage? Perhaps. To check her sanity? No doubt. Her feet seemed heavy as she pulled a glass from the cabinet, pouring more than half.
Why are you doing this? Why? You don’t know anything about him. You have no idea if he’s a serial killer or a madman disguising as a sexy, yet disturbed painter.
No, she didn’t, but her instinct was usually spot on. His paintings were such an incredible reflection. Unfortunately, they truly depicted a man close to the edge. She took several gulps and held the glass to her head. The dress wasn’t something she’d ever wear for any reason. Here she was, going to spend an evening with a stranger while she should be working.
She grabbed her purse, almost tossing the contents, and was prepared to text that she couldn’t come. When she read the words again, she moaned. She wanted him. Her body craved him. Her soul had to have what he was offering. Her decision made, she polished off the wine and walked toward the door. Tonight, she was going to find out who he was.
Craze stood by the window, a stiff scotch in his hand. He checked his watch and knew Joelle would be arriving any minute. Tonight wasn’t about sex, but about discipline. He also wanted to get to know the woman, inside and out. Learning about every vulnerability would help shape her training. He realized he was going to have to let his guard down enough so she trusted him in order to fully submit. The thought was appetizing.
He took a sip and studied the waning early evening light. What he’d had to come to grips with over the last few days was that he wanted her in his life, not just as a sexual partner. Yes, he had to own her, wanted no man to ever touch her again, but he also craved her vivacious and very intelligent wit. He needed deep conversations, hungered to delve into her mind, one as dark as his.
In order to take their relationship to another level, they both had to open up. Relationship. The word usually terrified him. Every other woman, with the exception of Anastasia, had ended what they’d shared abruptly. While there had been various reasons, he knew the moment he’d allowed them inside, a glimpse of his very soul, they’d been horrified. Joelle was different. She required seeing the ugliness encapsulating him. She needed to have all of him, which would allow her to let go.
As he thought about the only woman who’d allowed him to delve into the darkness, he groaned. Anastasia had a right to know. He pulled out his phone and dialed her number, half hoping he’d reach her answering machine. When she answered, he closed his eyes. “Hi.”
Anastasia hesitated. “Craze? Is everything alright?”
“The truth is I am calling to warn you.”
“Warn. That sounds much more ominous than normal, darling. Do tell.”
Craze rubbed his jaw and opened his eyes to glare out at the city. “There is a reporter threatening to expose us.”
“Us? I didn’t realize there was an ‘us’,” she chortled.
“The kink. He has pictures.”
She exhaled then purred into the phone. “Perhaps there are things you should know about me.”
