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

by Black, Nikita

  “The research part is no doubt true,” Tim said. He glanced at her apologetically. “But then, by all accounts, Detective McGraw is also a smart, organized, control freak. He could easily have set all this up. And his background... well, to be honest, it fits the killer’s profile nearly as well as Smythe’s does. The only thing McGraw doesn’t have is priors, which admittedly one would expect.”

  Traitor.

  “What about motive?” Caro blurted out.

  “As you know, serial killers don’t need a specific motive to kill. There only has to be predisposition, a long-standing fantasy and a sufficient trigger.”

  “Trust me,” she said, “Detective McGraw’s fantasies are not about murder. His nightmares, maybe.”

  “Which are sometimes the same thing.”

  She glared at Tim. “You know it’s not him. Why are you doing this?”

  “Do I? The simplest explanation is usually the right one. And frankly, your opinion might be a tad...biased.”

  Once again she felt the heat of embarrassment. She squeezed her lips together before responding, “Maybe because I know him better than anyone else. He couldn’t do this. I’d stake my life on it.”

  The room hushed, and Tim said quietly, “I think you already have.”

  ***

  “Can I see you a moment?”

  Caro turned from gathering her things after the meeting broke up to see Tim standing next to her.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, still fuming. “If this is another lecture...”

  “No. I promise. I just want to know how you’re doing. A lot has happened since our last private talk.”

  “I’m fine,” she assured him. He believed Mick was a serial killer. No way she was confiding in him about another blessed thing.

  “Caro, for what it’s worth, I’m not absolutely convinced Mick is guilty,” he said.

  “Absolutely” being the operative word. But she had to give him credit for trying to keep at least a partially open mind. “Oh, really?”

  “I’m willing to reserve judgment, although I don’t like the guy, and I hate what he’s doing to you.”

  “He’s not doing anything to me. We’re doing it together.”

  Tim leaned his hip on the conference table. “Tell me, what exactly are you doing together?”

  She straightened her stack of files, weighing her answer. If she could just convince him of Mick’s innocence, maybe the L.T. would ease up on him. Let him go to the Tether Club tonight with her. Because one thing was for certain. She was going, even if she had to go alone. Catching Smythe was the only way to clear Mick.

  “Look, Tim. I don’t pretend to know what’s going on with us. In fact, our relationship scares the hell out of me most of the time. I’ve never done anything like this before. I’ve never even heard of anything like this before.”

  “Like what?”

  “A person wanting to belong to someone else. Not just temporary bondage but being completely submissive to their will. I’m—”

  A deep scowl shot across Tim’s face. “You mean voluntary slavery? Surely, you haven’t—”

  “No. God, no. I haven’t become his slave. Not really.” She fingered the links of her collar.

  “What do you mean by not really?”

  “For the case, you know I agreed to act as his pleasure slave. But the roles seem to suit us in real life, too. So, we’re... exploring that whole scene.”

  “Sexual slavery? What kind of scene?” Tim demanded, and Caro almost smiled. Most people would simply be horrified. Tim knew to ask about degree. “Please, tell me you haven’t done something really foolish.”

  “No. I’ve only agreed to be his pleasure slave,” she said mildly. “Nothing more.”

  The look of relief on the profiler’s face was evident. “Thank God. Swear to me you’ll never take it any further. That you won’t ever agree to a total power exchange, or even a partial one.”

  She’d never heard the term before, but the meaning was obvious. Complete submission in all things. “No worries. I’m too stubborn and independent for that. Besides, I lived too many years under my father’s thumb for that lifestyle to hold any appeal whatsoever.”

  “So it’s just about sex.”

  She met his gaze. “Yes. It’s all about sexual fantasy, like you said. And letting go. And trust.”

  He didn’t look away. “You like having a man own your body? Having him use you as his sexual vessel? Letting him take complete control of your flesh and your sex?” He said it quietly, but with a trace of huskiness in his voice.

  “I like Mick controlling my body,” she corrected softly. “I like it a lot.”

  Abruptly, Tim stood. “That’s all well and good. But be careful,” he admonished her. “There’s a thin line between pleasure and danger. Remember that.” He gave her a chilling look. “Especially tonight.”

  ***

  Mick waited patiently at his desk in the glass office, ignoring the covert glances and the rampant speculation going on out in the squad room while the task force meeting concluded next door without him.

  Afterward, Lieutenant Fredrickson came out and led him to Interrogation, playing chief inquisitor, though he was obviously uncomfortable with the chore of cross-examining one of his own detectives. A union rep sat in one corner, along with a stenographer, but Mick had waived his right to an attorney. Bobby was there, too, peeling bits of Styrofoam from an empty coffee cup as the video camera whirred and Mick failed to explain the unexplainable.

  They didn’t keep him too long. Maybe an hour in all. No doubt he’d get a worse grilling when the rats at IAB got hold of him.

  “So you admit it’s your condom wrapper?” the L.T. asked reluctantly.

  “It’s the same brand I use,” he admitted without hesitation.

  “And you have no idea how it could have gotten behind the bed at the crime scene?”

  Several times Mick was tempted to tell the lieutenant what he wanted to hear. That he was guilty. Just to get it over with. This was one of those times.

  Hell, there was a fifty-fifty chance he’d be found guilty anyway, regardless of whether or not he confessed, or was in fact innocent. Great odds for a lottery. Unless you didn’t want the prize.

  But then he thought about his life, and how hard he’d worked to escape the sins of his father. He recalled the sick desperation of that day two months ago when he’d heard his mother’s murderer was out of jail prematurely. The blind rage and resulting two-day binge, the uncontrollable feelings of helplessness. Then pulling himself out of it by planning his own private vengeance. And finally, the irony of a few weeks later being assigned the one case he had no business touching, let alone leading.

  Most of all though, he thought of Caro. Sweet, trusting Caro. Another thing he had no business touching.

  Of everything done over the past two months, falling in love with Caroline Palmer was the one completely unexpected development. The single thing he could never have predicted, no matter how well-thought-out his plans—even when those plans spun hopelessly out of control.

  So he kept his mouth shut.

  “No, sorry,” he said. “I have no idea how the condom wrapper got there.”

  Maybe he could pull this off. Just maybe.

  Lieutenant Fredrickson pursed his lips. “Officer Palmer seems to think it was planted by the killer.”

  He looked up quickly. The woman was a constant source of amazement.

  “She insists you’re innocent. That you’re being framed.”

  Hell. So much for scaring her off.

  “Stockholm Syndrome has also been suggested. Or that you’ve brainwashed her.”

  He finally recovered his power of speech. “Why? So I can kill her, too?”

  The L.T. leaned back in the metal chair and grimaced. “Martinez filed a very interesting report with IAB this morning.”

  Mick carefully folded his hands. “I thought he might.”

  “What the fuck were you thinking?” Bobby
burst out, frustrated incomprehension sizzling in the words. “Are you trying to get yourself thrown in jail?”

  Mick quirked his lips in a humorless smile. “If that’s what it takes.”

  “For what?”

  Mick hated the hurt and betrayal he heard in Bobby’s voice. He’d been a good and loyal friend. “You’ll have to trust me on this one, bro.”

  “And what about Caro? Do I trust you with her, too?”

  He aimed a sharp gaze at his partner. “Caro’s a big girl. She can decide for herself.”

  But if Mick ended up in jail, where would she end up? In his best friend’s bed? He forced back a deluge of jealousy.

  Fredrickson broke the tension. “Not in this case, McGraw. The Chief nixed you going to that party with her tonight. She’ll have to partner with—”

  “No!” Mick interrupted, not sure what motivated him more, jealousy or concern. Both were about to overwhelm him. “Please, don’t send her in. I’m serious, Lieutenant. It’s a sure bet the killer will be at the Tether Club tonight. After everything we—everything that’s happened, if he finds Caro and I’m not there—” He couldn’t go on. The images were too awful.

  After a short consideration, the L.T. said, “Agreed. I’ll order her to stay away from the party, too. Bobby can go stag.”

  “I’ll take Cody,” Bobby said. “He’s asked to come along.”

  Figured. Mick’s old friend Cody had taken to Brimstone like a man with a new sex toy. Mick nodded. “Good.”

  “Once everyone’s in place inside, we’ll be ready with the SWAT team to deploy anywhere at a moment’s notice. Bobby, you need to target Smythe and make friends if you can. Get him to talk. We’re after a confession or the location of physical evidence, like trophies or the bloody sheets; either will put him away for good. If he’s not forthcoming, we’ll follow him and whatever unlucky couple he chooses, and catch him in the act. There’s no way the bastard gets away from us this time.”

  Mick’s throat tightened and he swallowed a sudden knot of fear. It was finally happening; the end of the tunnel was in sight. But he had a sick feeling it wasn’t Smythe they’d be arresting.

  “Listen, Lieutenant,” he said. “I might as well tell you. I’m going in tonight. With or without the chief’s blessing, I will be there when the killer is caught.”

  ***

  At his announcement the lieutenant sighed, but Bobby looked relieved. Bobby was a fine cop—hell, a great cop-—but this thing was out of his league and his partner knew it. Not because the killer was smarter than Bobby, not so, but simply because of the way he thought. Bobby was a good guy. It took a bad guy to “get” someone like the Teddie Killer.

  Mick knew the Teddie Killer as well as he knew himself.

  Lt. Fredrickson officially took him off the case and stripped him of the Teddie case files. While awaiting the official fate of his career, he was sent to sift through photos and statements on a robbery-homicide that had happened day-before-yesterday on Orange Grove and been largely neglected. At least the L.T. hadn’t threatened to haul him off to jail. Good. He didn’t want to have to go AWOL until tonight.

  But Mick was useless for work. The demons were too busy dancing around in his head.

  He slipped off into a small, empty conference room at the end of the hall and around a corner, far from the bustle of the squad and task force. Closing the door firmly behind him, he tossed the robbery jacket on a battered metal table and rolled the room’s lone chair away from a computer. He sank into it and drove his fingers through his hair.

  “Fuck,” he said, and stared out the room’s single, dust-streaked window.

  Doubts assailed him from every direction. About what he’d done, about what he was doing. About what he wanted to do. Principal of which was to call Caro on the intercom and get her in here so he could throw her on the table and bang her until he lost consciousness.

  He growled in frustration and tugged the ends of his hair.

  Not very Iceman-like.

  On the other hand, the ol’ Iceman image was pretty well shot to hell thanks to Caroline Palmer.

  Holy crap. What had he gone and done?

  No.

  He had to stop thinking about everything that could go wrong. Concentrate on something else. Anything else.

  There was a knock on the door and Caro peeked her head in. “Mick?”

  Like the answer to a prayer.

  “Yeah, babe.”

  He swiveled the chair to take her in. She looked so beautiful it made his head spin. She was dressed in one of those silly suits she wore when she was trying to look “professional”. This one was light pink. A homicide cop in pink. He almost grinned.

  “What’s up?” She took a step toward him.

  He held up a hand. “Don’t come any closer.”

  A frown sketched across her forehead. “Why not? Did the L.T.—”

  “No, nothing like that. I just want to look at you.”

  He could see his words pleased her, yet frustrated her because he could tell she wanted to touch him. Nevertheless, she paused where she stood.

  “Open your jacket,” he said, deciding on the most distracting game he could think of.

  She glanced at him uncertainly, but he kept his expression shuttered. She opened her mouth, then closed it again and unbuttoned her jacket.

  Good girl. She was learning.

  He nodded expectantly, and after a slight hesitation she pulled the two sides of her jacket apart, showing him her blouse.

  Meeting her gaze, he said, “Unbutton it.”

  Her lips parted. Realization of what he intended flooded through her eyes. “Mick...” she whispered warily.

  He didn’t answer, simply raised one eyebrow.

  Her tongue peeked out, slid over her lower lip. He watched it, his hunger growing by the second.

  Slowly she unbuttoned her blouse. And held it open.

  Oh, yeah.

  Her pale white flesh beckoned, the sumptuous curves of her breasts above her lacy bra gleamed in the stark fluorescent light of the room. He gripped the arms of his chair and forced himself to stay in it.

  “I hear you think I was framed.”

  Her gaze focused on his. And seemed to look right through the wall that had been there for a lifetime. Seeing things he’d never intended any living person to see.

  “Is that what this is about?” she asked evenly. “Because if it is, I think it’s only fair to tell you, you can do whatever you like to me in this room but it won’t change my mind about your innocence.”

  “You are a stubborn little slave.”

  “One would think you’d have noticed that by now.”

  He felt a cheek muscle tick. “One would think.”

  She started toward him again. “Mick—”

  He held up his hand more forcefully. “Choose carefully, Caro. Leave now while you still have your—” He cut off, unwilling to continue that train of thought.

  Too late. She was like a scent hound on the trail of a cadaver.

  “My what, Sir? My dignity? I think we disposed of that in front of the window yesterday. My job, perhaps? No, by now the department shrinks will say I’m not responsible for my actions.” She tipped her head. “Or...maybe you mean...my life?”

  She was taunting him. The little bitch was playing with him.

  He set his mouth in a thin line. “No,” he said. “I’m talking about your clothes.” He glared at her and firmly ordered, “Unhook your bra. Now."

  Chapter 24

  Caro drew in a breath of surprise. And relief. At least he was still acting true-to-form. Which meant she should, too.

  “Why should I?” she asked defiantly.

  “Because when they lock me up I want the taste of your breasts in my mouth,” he growled. “And because I told you to. You’re still my slave.” Then with slightly less vehemence, “Aren’t you?”

  The last two words were tacked on almost as an afterthought. It melted her heart completely. Wordlessly, she
undid the front hook of her bra and pulled the sides apart, exposing herself to him.

  After a moment he lifted his half-lidded gaze. “I fucked you all night. I don’t understand how I can still want you this much. You have anything on under that skirt?”

  “No panties, if that’s what you mean.” She’d grown to enjoy the decadent feel of bareness between her legs. The erotic knowledge that at any moment he could unzip his pants, lift her skirt and take her. It kept her on the edge of excitement all day.

  “Someone could come in,” she observed.

  “Would you mind?”

  She never got the chance to answer. Suddenly there was a quick knock and the door flung open behind her. “Been looking for you two.” It was Bobby’s voice.

  She didn’t dare move as Mick glanced over her shoulder and answered, “Come on in, bro. And close the door.”

  She heard the quiet snick of the door.

  “What’s going on?” Bobby asked.

  Caro sent Mick a wide-eyed appeal.

  “Better lock it, too,” Mick said, and raised a warning finger at her when she moved to pull her jacket closed.

  Her hands stalled half-way there and wavered. Her body flooded with conflicting instincts. All she had to do was say, “Detective,” and Mick would cease whatever game he was playing.

  Then she heard the swish-click of a lock turning and it was too late.

  Heat washed through her whole body. Except for her naked breasts. Suddenly they felt chilly. Her nipples tightened, and a rash of goosebumps prickled over her skin.

  “Did you bring something for me?” Mick asked Bobby, who was still behind her. She could smell his after-shave. Lime.

  “Yeah. The L.T. wants you to take a look at this case when you’re done with the Orange Grove robbery.”

  “Sure.” Mick held out his hand to her, his eyes meeting hers.

  Caro blanched. She didn’t utter a word. She was too flustered. Any second now Bobby would—

  She felt the whisper of his jacket on her arm as he came up beside her and handed Mick the file.

  “So why’d you want the door-—” His words choked off. “What the—” She felt his gaze on her breasts—first shocked, then lingering, then hot. “Jesus, Mick.” She risked a glance at Bobby’s face. His neck was red, the skin around his eyes taut. “Jesus,” he repeated, this time more softly. “You are both certifiable.” But he didn’t look away.