Slave To Love (sizzling erotic thriller noir - full length)

by Black, Nikita

  Everyone stared at her. Mick couldn't believe it. He simply could not believe it. They were actually buying her story. And the really obnoxious part was, she was absolutely right.

  “So, that's why I seduced Detective McGraw in front of the window.” She turned to him and shrugged. “Sorry, McGraw. Nothing personal.”

  His mouth opened but no sound came out. Not a peep.

  He didn't know whether to smack her silly or leap on her and kiss her to within an inch of her life. Instead, he got even more angry.

  He did not want her saving his ass. Whenever a woman got involved in trying to save him, it always, always, turned out badly. If he wanted ass-saving he'd damn well do it himself.

  What was the point, anyway? It didn't matter how good her reasoning was, that kind of behavior would not be condoned.

  Summoning his best outward sangfroid, he said, “Not a problem. I commend your inventiveness, Officer Palmer,” and returned his attention to the Chief, waiting for the ax to fall.

  “So what do you suggest we do now?” Trujillo asked Caro, to Mick's shock.

  “I guess the main thing is, be sure the press knows. Then just say “No comment,” or “We're investigating,” when they ask about it. That way they won't let it alone, and even if he wasn't actually watching us, the killer is sure to hear about it. Either way, we've got him hooked.”

  The chief turned to Fredrickson. “What do you think, Dave?”

  “I think no matter what we do, the PPD is going to take a black eye. But if it helps catch the Teddie killer, we can spin it afterwards and come out ahead. I say go for it.”

  “The press is going to look up your butt with a microscope, McGraw. Can you handle it?”

  He clamped his jaw. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Not this time. It's going to be dangerous, Palmer. Even more dangerous than before,” Trujillo stated.

  “I know, sir. I'm willing to take the chance. Just let us catch this bastard,” Caro said.

  “All right, you'll get your chance. But Palmer, next time let us in on the plan first.” The chief squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “On second thought, never mind.”

  “You won't regret this, sir.”

  “I already do. Now get the hell out of my office before I change my mind and toss you both off the force.”

  ***

  “Thank God that went well,” Caro said, as she and Mick made their hasty escape from the third floor. “You can thank me now.”

  Mick said nothing, just glared at her and yanked open the door to the stairs. Why the hell was he so damn mad? She'd just salvaged both their butts, hadn't she? He stopped dead, making her run into him on the landing.

  “Do you have any idea what is about to happen to us?” he demanded, grabbing her arms to prevent her from toppling down three flights of steps. “The press is going to have a field day with this, not to mention our esteemed colleagues. Life's going to be a living, breathing hell, do you understand?”

  “It was going to be anyway. This way at least we still have gainful employment,” she returned, shaking loose and trotting down the stairs.

  “Only if we catch the killer. What if your so-called plan backfires? What if all the publicity scares him off instead?”

  “Not a chance. Tim says—”

  Suddenly, she was caught from behind and pressed roughly against the stairwell wall. “Tim? You've been talking to Agent Woodruff?” Mick's angry face stared down at her.

  “While you were home sleeping I consulted him on a matter- - Oh!” She'd never told him her news! “Mick, listen! I found something on that website. The one on the business card—”

  “You were working with Woodruff on that?”

  “No. Peter.” She waved off his scowl. “The Internet geek from Analysis. Listen to me! We found an Easter egg—a secret, hidden link—unmarked and really hard to spot, buried down in the bowels of the site, and it lead to a secret page with photos taken at this private house where they hold bondage parties. Invitation only parties. It was called the Tether Club. There was a schedule.”

  “Caro, stuff like that goes on all the time. It's no big deal. Besides, those parties could be anywhere in the world.”

  “It says the Tether Club is here in the L.A. area. But here's the clincher, Mick. We checked the dates of past parties. Three of them coincided exactly with the nights of the Teddie Murders.”

  His grip briefly tightened on her arms, his pale blue eyes turning the color of dark steel. “Did it say how to get invited?”

  “There's a code word.”

  “When's the next party?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  ***

  So, she’d found the Tether Club.

  Just one more day before it was all over.

  Mick let Caro go and beat back a slow spurt of panic as he followed her out into the deserted second floor hallway. It would be okay. Everything would turn out for the best.

  But no matter what happened, he couldn't let Caroline get hurt.

  “I need to be at that party. What's the code word?” he asked, striving to sound perfectly composed.

  “Beeswax candle.” She halted and turned. “I? Don't you mean we?”

  “I don't want you there.”

  “Excuse me? You don't have an option.”

  “It's too dangerous.” This time it would be for keeps. “I don't want you hurt.”

  “I won't—”

  “I'll bring Cody. Or Bobby.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” she said, her expression mutinous. “Masters and slaves get in free. Single male guests pay a cover of a thousand bucks. I’d like to see you get that requisition past accounting.”

  “I'll pick up a willing pro on Colorado Blvd,” he said, unfazed. A man could find anything he wanted on the street. And he knew just where to look.

  “In that case, I'll be Bobby's slave.” With that, she turned on a toe and marched through the door to Homicide.

  “Caroline!” he shouted, bursting into the room after her. “Don't even think ab—”

  All at once chaos erupted from every direction. Cat calls, whistles, whoops and raunchy comments assaulted them like a rain of bullets from the detectives at their desks.

  “Everyone shut the fuck up!” Mick ordered loud enough to cut a swath through the mayhem. “Until I hear differently, I'm still second in command here, and you'll have a little respect!”

  “They didn't fire your ass?” someone called back.

  “Your bare ass,” someone else snickered.

  “I really hate to break it to you jerks,” Caro informed them with a derisive snort. “But it wasn't us in that window.”

  All around there were murmurs of disappointment—and no doubt of disbelief.

  “Who was it then?”

  “Some pervert neighbor,” Mick answered stiffly, and shut the door behind them.

  He wanted to shake her until some sense penetrated that incomprehensible brain of hers. Unfortunately, the whole squad could still see them through the glass partition.

  “Why the hell did you say that?” he demanded.

  “Bought us a reprieve, didn't it?”

  “You think they don't know you're lying?”

  She tipped her head in a dare. “Want to kiss me now and put an end to the speculation?”

  “Maybe I should do more than that,” he warned, taking a step toward her.

  She crossed her arms. “Hmm. I don't think the killer is here in Homicide to watch us, but I s'pose you never know...”

  “You calling my bluff, woman?”

  “If I am, will I be your slave at the Tether Club?”

  “No.”

  “In that case, forget it.” She looked at the wall clock. “It's late. We still going to Brimstone?”

  He glared at her, counting to ten, twice. Never before had he felt such an irresistible urge to take a woman over his knee. Obviously nothing else worked to tame her.

  He flexed his itchy fingers. Brimstone wou
ld provide the perfect venue to give vent to his fury with the woman.

  “Absolutely,” he said, and smiled through his teeth. “Shall we go home and change?”

  ***

  “Well, so much for anonymity,” Mick said after watching the breaking news report on TV as Caro dressed. “I can't believe we made CNN.”

  “My parents are going to kill me,” Caro said, looking slightly shell-shocked. “Or they would if they were still speaking to me.”

  “What's with that?”

  Mick couldn't imagine anything Caroline could possibly have done that deserved not being spoken to by her own parents. At least, not until very recently.

  “A cop pretending to be a hooker day after day isn't my father’s idea of an acceptable career for a girl,” she said, and shrugged. “Especially his daughter.”

  “Oh? And what did he have in mind?”

  “No career, of course. Except for a husband, kids, and spending every waking hour volunteering at his church.”

  Mick adjusted his leather harness in front of the mirror. “His church?”

  “He's a minister.”

  He stared at her reflection. “You're kidding.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  He whistled. “And full of Christian charity, too.”

  She smiled wryly, but he could tell it bothered her more than she let on, probably even to herself. He knew all about that kind of self-deception.

  “Forget about them. They don’t deserve you,” he said to cover the sudden impulse to take her in his arms. “Ready to go?”

  “As ever,” she said with a sigh, and drew back to give him a final inspection. “But you're not.”

  ***

  “I look like a damn executioner,” Mick said as he checked the rearview mirror for the tenth time since leaving the triple-X adult store on Sunset.

  They were in the Brimstone parking lot, about to go into the club. He was still in a piss-poor mood and Caro was fast running out of patience.

  “Not a bad analogy,” Caro muttered, batting his hands away from the black leather half-hood they'd just purchased for him.

  “Look. There are the clowns from last night,” she said, pointing out two men leaning against the same car as yesterday. “Is Cody going to be here, too?”

  “Same set-up as last night all around. Cody's on his way, the clowns are out here and two undercover cops are already inside the club.”

  “And Denny and Brady have been at their post watching my place since the shift started,” she concluded.

  Mick tugged again at the hood, which covered his hair and came down to the tip of his nose. “Do you really think this is necessary?”

  She hiked a brow. “After our pictures have been plastered all over every news broadcast since six o'clock? Yeah, I think so.”

  “Not fair,” he groused.

  “Oh, grow up. Can I help they used my Academy photo?”

  The shot they'd shown of Caro didn't resemble her in the least any more, especially in heavy club make-up, but the one of Mick had looked just like himself.

  “You want to find a killer, or would you prefer the circus when everyone recognizes you? Your choice.”

  He stared out at her from twin holes in his black hood. “My choice? In that case, I choose to strip you naked and chain you to that wall inside, then spank you until you promise to stop messing with my life.” His ice blue eyes raked her up and down.

  She ground her teeth. Well. At least he was focusing.

  “You know they won't let you do that,” she said, and got out of the car, her irritation rising by the nanosecond. “And you spank me again and all deals are off.”

  What was his problem? He had no reason to be angry with her. Fucking in front of the window had been his brilliant idea.

  She straightened her skirt, plumped up her breasts in the demi-bra, fluffed her hair and took two strides toward the club entrance.

  “Forgetting something?”

  She ground to a halt, simmering.

  Damn. The goddamn leash.

  She plastered on a smile and turned. “Forgive me, Sir. Your word is my command.”

  She forced herself to walk calmly back to where he'd taken up residence, propped against the Camaro's trunk.

  “Get out my kit,” he commanded, nodding at the red bag that had appeared on the front seat. “And finish dressing me.”

  Not the Homicide kit.

  She glanced from the toy bag to his harness, leather pants and boots. All present and accounted for. “You are dressed.”

  “Not quite,” he said with a Machiavellian smile. He crooked a finger. “I believe I'll want some of my tools with me tonight.”

  Chapter 17

  “Tools?” Caro glanced at the bag nervously.

  Mick's smile disappeared. “To punish you with.”

  Her heart stalled. The man looked serious. Ever since the meeting with the chief, he'd been on some kind of major toot.

  “For what?” she asked, incredulous. “Saving your damn job?”

  “I'm the Master. You should have let me take care of it.”

  She let out a snort. “Yeah, and you were doing so well. Had them really convinced. That we were guilty.”

  “We were. That story you came up with—”

  “Worked, didn't it?”

  “The point is,” he said with jaw clenched, “I don't need a woman to take care of me! I wear the pants in my relationships.”

  “Of all the—” She planted her hands on her hips. “Then it's a damn good thing we aren't in a relationship, isn’t it?”

  The neon parking lot sign flashed on and off, on and off, reflecting blood red in his hooded eyes. He looked just like the devil's executioner, come to earth to collect reluctant souls.

  “Ah. But we are,” he refuted with the equanimity of one who knows the devil is never denied his due. “You've given yourself to me, and I mean to keep you. But I'll have your obedience. Now, get me the bag.”

  She silently regarded him, nerves humming. So here they were. Crunch time. She didn’t like that word, obedience.

  How much of his performance was real, how much the fantasy they were creating for the benefit of the killer?

  Again, did it really matter? The game they were playing had already gone far beyond the fantasy, beyond the case, beyond the personal boundaries she had always assumed were inviolable.

  “Yes, Sir,” she said levelly. Letting her annoyance with him go. He was right, she’d made her choice. For tonight at least, she was his, and she wanted to please him.

  She fetched the bag and presented it to him for his perusal.

  “Handcuffs,” he directed. “Two pair. The flogger, of course. And the long, narrow paddle.” He showed her where to tuck the cuffs and attach the other two implements at the bottom of his harness, to one side.

  She wasn't meek or submissive, or even particularly gentle as she worked. But she had to admit, it was nice to touch him. There was a kind of satisfaction in preparing him, for battle as it were, like an altar boy would a priest, or a squire a knight.

  “A scarf,” he said. “An orange one. Tie it around my biceps.”

  She met his gaze, which was impassive as ever. “Are you sure?”

  “You question me?”

  “No. I just— It's so blatant. Like taunting him.”

  “Think it'll work?”

  “Yes. I do.” And suddenly she was scared to death. Not for herself, but for Mick. He was the one the guy wanted to stab and eviscerate. “Especially if he knows we're cops.”

  “Want to back out?”

  “Of course not. Like it or not, I'm watching your backside.”

  He snapped the leash to her slave collar. “Then I hope you like the view.”

  “Oh, I do,” she murmured, leaning into him. Setting aside her fears and frustrations, she rubbed her hands down the front of his broad, harnessed chest. “From every angle.” Whatever else, that much was true. She only had to see his body and she was ready
to accept it into hers.

  He wound his fingers in her hair and kissed her. Hard.

  She could feel the power and strength flowing through his hands, barely tamed, held in check by the force of his will and nothing more. He folded her in his arms, between his legs, and possessed her, every bit as much as he had in front of that window. Not with his cock, but with the sheer intensity of his intrinsic dominance.

  “This is how I like my woman, pliant and tractable,” he murmured, sliding a hand under her leather skirt. “Mmm, no panties. Perhaps you've learned to obey me, after all.”

  “Perhaps,” she murmured, enjoying the feel of his fingers probing her folds. Completely forgetting where they were.

  “In that case, I'll have to reward you—” his finger slid along her valley, slipped into her “—for this small acquiescence.”

  “Rewards are good.”

  She moaned softly at his practiced touch, already swelling for him, slickening, needing.

  He smiled as he kissed her again. “You are greedy, aren't you, sweet baby?”

  She wrapped her fingers around the latigo of his harness and pulled him close. “Only for you.”

  She didn't want to think about how true that was. Or how it had happened in just four short days.

  She couldn't bear the thought of being without him. Without the taste of him on her lips, the smell of him in her bed. Being without his scandalous demands. Being without this.

  Her eyes shot open when she felt something small and hard push up into her. She jerked back, but his tight embrace prevented her from going anywhere.

  “What is that?” She wriggled, attempting to avoid his fingers sending it even further up inside her.

  “Your reward. Your punishment,” he said in a gravelly voice. “And a way for me to communicate with you.”

  “I don't—” Her breath sucked in sharply when the object started to vibrate. Her eyes widened.

  “Like it?” he asked, grinning like the demon he was. “How does it feel?”

  She shimmied between his thighs, trying to make it stop. Impossible, of course. Only he could make it stop its wicked intercourse. “Turn it off!”