With an effort she held herself still, listening carefully as he—whoever he was—slowly circled the bed.
She started to shake. “Please, whoever you are—”
She caught a whiff of masculine aftershave. Not Mick’s. But it smelled familiar. Bobby’s? Or was it Cody’s? Frantically she tried to recall how each of the men smelled, but her brain was too frazzled to remember. Or maybe Tim...
Suddenly something firm and buttery touched between her thighs and pushed up into her. She cried out and tried to close her legs but her ankle bindings held them wide apart. It pulled out of her then pushed back in. A finger. A gloved finger.
“Ohhh!” she cried when it slid out and circled her clit. Her nipples spiraled to points and her knees jerked further apart.
“No!” she called into the taut silence, a bundle of confusion. “I don’t want this!” But clearly her body did.
And whoever it was knew it.
His mouth closed over one of her aching nipples, sending her off the bed in a bowstring arch. He bit down on it, and flicked it with his tongue.
She moaned. “Please,” she whimpered. “I want Mick.”
Maybe it was Mick. She lifted her head, trying to reach him as he laved her breast with his hot, wet mouth. If she could just taste him, or smell his skin, she would know if it was Mick. But he pulled away, leaving a scented trail of aftershave and mint.
She yanked on the scarves again as he started caressing her body with his leather-gloved hands. Suddenly, behind her ear a muffled, gravelly male voice asked, “Tell me how Mick fucks you.”
She was too stunned to reply. Then it hit her. This was exactly what Smythe did to his victims.
But...they’d just arrested Smythe! It couldn’t be him. And Mick would never—
Her tormentor’s finger feathered over her clit. “Tell me how Mick fucks you.” The voice was too distorted to tell, as if he spoke through a thick layer of cotton or cloth. “Or I’ll have to fuck you myself to find out.”
Unwilling arousal slashed through her like a flash fire. Did she want him to fuck her?
Who was he ?
She licked her bottom lip. Was Mick there watching? He had to be. Sitting in the chair he’d brought in earlier, watching his friend threaten to fuck her. Was this turning him on as much as it was her?
She licked her lips again. “He... He has a huge cock,” she whispered.
“Louder!” he demanded, his muffled voice gruff.
“He has a huge cock,” she blurted out, “and he puts it inside me.”
Her tormentor’s finger circled her clit slowly while a large gloved hand grasped her breast and squeezed. “Where?”
She was finding it difficult to concentrate. “Um...”
The finger stopped. “Where?”
“Anywhere he wants!”
The finger started up again and the hand switched to her other breast. She felt her intimate folds blossom wide, inviting a more thorough invasion of her flesh. She moaned in trepidation at the uncontrolled licentiousness of her body. Was there no end to the lengths it would go for pleasure?
But what could she do, tied up as she was, unable to deny this unknown man’s demands?
“Tell me,” the voice coaxed with graveled authority.
“My cunt,” she whispered.
“Louder!”
“My cunt! And my mouth. And my ass.”
She writhed as his finger slid mercilessly back and forth over her clit and his other hand plucked at the tips of her breasts. His tongue lapped at her stomach, dipping wetly into her belly button. She groaned, pleading with him to stop.
But for some reason the words got jumbled up and she realized she was begging him not to stop.
He stopped.
“Keep talking,” he said, gathering her breasts in his rough-gloved hands. He climbed on top of her, sitting at the nexus of her thighs. His legs were naked, and his tight, swollen balls squashed against her bare, blossomed sex. He grasped her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and rolled them until she cried out.
“Talk.”
Unable to help herself, she did, just to keep him touching her. As he caressed every part of her body with his rough velvet hands, she told him in dazzling detail about everything Mick did to her. She told him about how good Mick felt, how he used his fingers and tongue to make her feel untold pleasures, until she was panting with need. As she told him the things Mick did that she liked best, she realized he’d slid down between her legs. Then he roughly thrust his cock inside her.
“No!” she sobbed, and struggled against him as he started to fuck her. She bucked and writhed, but he held her down, ruthlessly plunging in and out of her, again and again, panting and groaning, until she suddenly realized those were Mick’s pants and groans, and Mick’s unmistakable cock, and she gave another sob and let all the pent-up frustration and guilty arousal rush through her body. She thrashed again at her bonds but this time because she wanted to kill him. Instead, release thundered through her in a shuddering, throbbing, electric orgasm until she screamed Mick’s name and thought her body would surely tear apart from so much pleasure.
He captured her mouth. Under the mint disguise the familiar taste of him flooded through her senses, hot and musky and claiming. She came all over again.
“Bastard!” she panted. “Bastard!”
But that just spurred him to hammer harder and faster into her. “You’re Mick’s slave and you’ll fuck anyone he tells you to,” he growled between thrusts.
“No!” she cried, fighting against him. Knowing that was what he wanted. “I won’t! Only Mick!”
His body jerked and stiffened and she felt his cock swell and pulse, semen spurting into her like molten lava. Over and over he convulsed on top of her, swallowing a strangled shout each time. He ripped off her blindfold and kissed her. Hard and soft and demanding and tender, all at once.
“I love you,” tumbled from her lips.
And that’s when she noticed the man lounging in the chair at the foot of the bed, watching them.
A snarl was on his face. And a shotgun in his hand.
Pointed right at Mick’s back.
***
Caro gasped, her eyes suddenly popping with terror.
This is it, Mick thought, seeing the change surge over her face. Desperately, he battled to catch his breath. Amazed he’d even been able to climax under the circumstances, let alone like that.
Focus.
His whole life had boiled down to this one moment. All he had set up. Everything he had done for the last two months.
It’s what he’d lived for for twenty-five years.
To watch the bastard die.
He closed his eyes and bowed his forehead to touch Caro’s for a brief instant, then lifted it and took one last, deep breath.
“Hello, Dad,” he said, and rolled off his woman to face the devil.
“You should know better than to mess with me, son.” His father’s voice carried the same sneering disgust Mick remembered so well. Oddly, this time it didn’t make him tremble in fear. “You had to know I wouldn’t let you get away with it.”
He’d known. He’d counted on it. He’d made it impossible for the bastard not to come.
“What are you going to do, shoot me?”
The old man shook his grizzled head and flicked the shotgun at Caro. “Nah. That’s for your whore. You, I get to carve up.” He indicated a large hunting knife strapped to his thigh and grinned. “Just like the Teddie Killer.”
Mick forcibly restrained himself from jumping the man and pounding him to hamburger. “Let her go,” he said through clenched teeth. This was the part he hadn’t counted on. Caring more about Caro than killing the devil who’d spawned him. “She has nothing to do with this.”
“She’s going first. So you can watch her die. Before I cut out your guts, like you—”
Caro wrenched at her bonds. “Why are you doing this? To your own son?”
The shotgun swung to aim
at her head. “That piece of shit’s no son of mine! With his whore of a mother there’s no way to tell who got him on her.”
Mick sat up, drawing attention away from her, shielding as much of her as he could with his body. “You’ll never get away with this. The cops will know it’s you. I’ve made sure of that.”
His father jumped up from the chair. “Lies! You interfering little ass-wipe! Your tongue’s already cost me twenty-five years of my life, but no more. Cutting it out of your face is gonna to be a real damn pleasure.” He grabbed a pair of handcuffs from his belt and threw them at Mick. “Put these on!” He glanced toward the bedroom door.
Mick snorted. “Looking for your bitch Smythe?”
That one had really confused Mick for a while. A knife in the back was not his father’s style. But because serial killers almost always work alone, it hadn’t occurred to anyone on the task force that it could be two men together, each feeding on the other’s sick fantasy.
There’d never been any doubt in his mind that his sick and twisted father would kill again, giving Mick the opportunity to set up his revenge. Smythe was the surprise ingredient.
“I’m afraid your lover boy won’t be coming tonight,” he said in a gloating tone. “They’ll be throwing away the key on him.”
Fury slashed across the old man’s face. In a motion he was at the foot of the bed shoving the barrel of the shotgun against Mick’s throat. “And you’ll die slowly for that,” he growled. “Piece by piece. Now put on the handcuffs!”
Mick swallowed heavily, his Adam’s apple scraping against cold, hard steel. Hatred burned in his whole being like acid eating away at his flesh. He’d lived for this moment. Dreamed of it. Fantasized about it. He’d do anything to see the bastard before him dead. Anything. And if that meant dying himself, so be it.
Behind him, he felt Caro move. He eased further in front of her. Praying it wouldn’t be asked of him. Or her.
“Aw, now ain’t that just so sweet? Tryin’ to protect your little piece of—”
“Shut up, fucker.” Forcing himself back into that cold, hard place he’d lived in for most of his thirty-six years, he put one of the cuffs over his wrist and pushed it closed.
He slid the other one on, but the old man yelled, “No! Behind your back. Turn around!”
Clamping his jaw, he removed the second cuff, looking into the face of the man he’d feared his whole life he would become. But he’d gladly become him to watch him die. He thought of his mother, and all the other women who’d been hurt because of the bastard. And knew he’d be forgiven.
“Hurry up!” his father growled impatiently. He was getting madder by the second, ready to explode.
“Make me,” Mick dared.
The old man swung the shotgun from his neck to press into Caro’s left eye. She screamed, and Mick shouted, “Wait! Okay!” throwing his hands behind him, deliberately losing his balance and falling sideways onto the mattress.
“Now, or she’s dead!”
Caro screamed again. “Mick!”
Lightning fast he grabbed the gun from under the pillow, swung around and pulled the trigger. And kept pulling even after the magazine was empty. The Beretta clicked uselessly, but for some reason the gunfire didn’t stop. It kept blasting away for another three or four rounds.
“Jesus, Bobby!” Caro cried, “Stop!”
He whipped around to see his partner pump one final shot into his father’s limp, bloody body, which fell to the floor with a finality that did Mick’s soul good.
His eyes met Bobby’s, his wide with surprise and Bobby’s narrow with a cold determination he’d never seen before. His partner was still wearing the tuxedo he’d had on at the Tether Club, though the tie was gone and his white shirt was unbuttoned at the neck.
“Next time you might tell me what you’re up to,” Bobby muttered, and holstered up. “So I don’t have to follow you around, guessing.”
“It’s been you trailing us all night?” Mick asked incredulously, his heart still pounding so hard he thought it might burst out of his chest. Dead. The murdering son of a bitch was finally dead. And he was still alive.
Bobby shrugged. “What was I supposed to do? Let him kill you?” His calm demeanor helped Mick get his violent pulse under control.
“You knew?”
“Fuck, yeah. That was a no-brainer. I am a detective, you know. No way could Smythe have been gutting those victim men. He’s strictly a stab and run kind of guy. Gutting was more your old man’s style. Glad I arrived in time.”
“Yeah. Me, too.” Mick gazed at his partner with stark respect. He’d never underestimate Bobby again. Ever.
“Guess I’d better call it in.” Pulling out his cell phone, Bobby’s focus shifted to Caro, who was still bound spread-eagle to the bed. “You both okay?”
Mick whirled around to Caro. She looked a little shell-shocked. “Baby?”
He was feeling more than a little shell-shocked himself. Dead. He couldn’t believe it was all over. Well, almost over. His father was dead. As he should have been years ago. Would have been, if Mick had been less of a coward. If he’d just killed him instead of calling the police....
He reached for Caro’s wrists, to release her from the scarves, needing to feel her alive and vibrant in his arms.
Her hands trembled in his. Or was it his own hands that shook?
“You’re sure he’s dead?” she asked nervously.
He and Bobby exchanged a glance. Between the two of them they’d probably emptied about ten to twelve rounds in his father’s chest.
“Um, yeah,” Bobby said. “I’m pretty sure he’s not getting up.”
Thank God.
“Why don’t you get her ankles?” Mick suggested, taking a deep breath. He leaned over and gathered her close. She sat up, wrapping her arms around him. He held her tight.
Bobby untied her foot closest to him, hesitated a moment, then stretched across the bed to undo the other one. He propped up on an elbow and his gaze wandered up her long, bare legs to her exposed sex.
Mick watched his friend carefully. To his surprise, he didn’t feel like killing him. Not even after what had taken place at the party tonight. He must be more emotionally drained than he thought. Because it was nearly over.
“I suppose this means you’re not giving her to me,” Bobby said philosophically, trailing his fingers over her ankle, where it was a little red from her bonds.
“Not a chance,” Mick murmured. He scraped a stray curl out of her eyes, giving her a kiss. “Sure you’re doing all right?”
She nodded, then glanced at Bobby, whose hand was still smoothing back and forth over her ankle. The man had to be hurting. The adrenaline from the shoot was still surging through Mick’s veins, and he knew Bobby had to be even worse off because he hadn’t been having sex all night.
For a split second Mick thought about letting him fuck Caro. Which shocked the hell out of him. Because he was definitely not into sharing. Even with his best friend.
What had happened to him tonight?
“Figured as much,” Bobby said, and rolled off the bed. “You two better get dressed. I hear sirens.”
He’d set himself free, that’s what had happened. And even if his plan failed in the last moment and the department didn’t clear the killing as justifiable, even if he went to jail for the rest of his life for shooting his father with premeditation, it had been well worth it.
Mick let out a long breath and gave Caro one last kiss. “Yeah,” he said, and rolled off after him. “I hear the sirens, too.”
Mick took hold of Bobby’s shoulders and gripped them for a moment. “Thanks, bro. For having my back.”
“Always,” his partner said, and gave his biceps a quick punch with his fist.
He sure as hell hoped so. That he hadn’t misjudged the other man’s interest in Caro.
Because Mick was depending on Bobby to get him through the one last hurdle. The official review of the shoot.
After that, unbeli
evably, it would be truly over.
Just a few more days and finally he’d be able to let down his guard and stop looking over his shoulder.
Maybe even let a woman into his life.
If she’d have him.
Chapter 30
Caro had always considered herself to be a strong woman, but when Captain Trujillo suggested taking a week or two off, she’d never been so grateful. The events of the past ten days had left her reeling. Not to mention the avalanche of emotions swirling inside her for Mick—emotions that needed to be dealt with. Rationally. If she still had it in her to be rational about him. Which she had a sinking feeling she didn’t.
“Thanks, Captain. I could use the down time,” she replied, holding herself straight and tall, despite the uncertainty roiling inside over her fate.
“I understand you’ve gotten several other offers of employment,” he went on, steepling his fingers over his desk.
An understatement. She’d been swamped with calls during the two days since she and Mick had succeeded in trapping the Teddie Killer—that is, Teddie Killers. She was still shocked that Smythe had been working with Mick’s father the whole time.
Overnight, Mick had become the center of a media feeding frenzy. It wasn’t every day the lead detective’s own father turned out to be the serial killer and was shot down trying to make him the next victim. Along with her. Naturally, their personal relationship, especially their explicit sexual involvement, had been splashed over every tabloid in existence, and even the legit news magazines, too.
As a result, they’d both had dozens of offers, everything from centerfold photo spreads in bondage rags, to every TV talk show in existence, to genuine offers of employment from various law enforcement agencies, mostly for undercover work.
“Yes, sir, I’ve had a few calls. None I’m taking seriously, though.”
He nodded, and paused before saying, “Perhaps you should take another look at the good ones.”
Alarm skittered through her. “What are you saying, sir? Are you firing me?”
Trujillo swiped a hand over his mouth. “No. I’m not, Officer Palmer. Thanks to you and Detective McGraw, our biggest case of the decade is closed. However, under the circumstances, it might be in your best interest to make a move. You understand how difficult it’ll be for you to work here....”
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