Slave to Love (22 page)

Not exactly the truth, but his words had the desired effect. Everyone looked suitably sheepish and chastised. The Iceman strikes again.

Mick pointed firmly to the next person up to continue the reports and the meeting was resumed.

Unfortunately, the rest were as meaningless as those before the interruption. That was, until they came around to the Chief of Forensics.

“We may have something,” Maria Rawlings announced.

Every head at the table snapped to, including Mick's. “What, Maria?”

“Orange silk fibers,” she said. “Two, to be exact. The M.E. discovered one in Wendy Tailor’s eyebrow and sent it to me for analysis.”

“Her eyebrow? Think it was from a blindfold?” someone asked.

“Very likely. Wendy Tailor is a blonde, so the orange color popped. The M.E. then went back and rechecked the other victims. Sure enough, there was also a tiny one on the Connors woman.”

“Orange silk?” Mick said neutrally. A sudden prickle of tension shot down his spine. This was it, then. “He uses an orange silk blindfold on the women?”

“Apparently. Nothing was found on the men.”

Mick stared at his colleague, drowning in a powerful visual of Caro running from him, a slash of bright orange silk across her eyes.
Along with other, less pleasant memories
.

With a monumental effort, Mick kept his gaze steady on Maria and banished the images. “What about the Atkins woman?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. But the good news is, that same type of silk would also be consistent with the ligature marks we found on all the women. Including the strangulation marks.”

“That’s huge,” said Reed eagerly.

“I’ll say. Can you trace the fibers?” Bobby asked.

“The dye is pretty distinctive. From India. Get me a sample and I can tell you if it's a match or not.”

There was a murmur of excitement through the group.

This was exactly what he’d been waiting for
, Mick reminded himself. Where he’d worked so hard to get.

He pointed to the sergeant in charge of the two-stripers leading the investigative team. “Find every retail source of orange silk within a five mile radius of the crime scenes and get samples. Then go out to seven miles. Keep going until we find a match.

“You got it, Mick.”

It was a needle in a haystack for them, he knew. But it was the only needle he had at the moment to send them after.

Caro looked at him, then quickly away.

So she remembered. He'd hoped she wouldn't. Last night had been his first and only mistake.

Before he could decide what to do about that particular complication, the conference door swung open and Tim Woodruff walked through carrying a short computer printout.

With a flourish, Woodruff handed him the printout and announced, “Houston, we have a suspect."

Chapter 13

The room erupted in questions as Mick gestured for Agent Woodruff to take the chair to his right. Motioning for quiet, Mick swiftly scanned the ID and photo on the printout. Then slowly let out the breath he was holding. He didn't recognize the man. Or the name. Although...there was something vaguely familiar about the man's photo....

He frowned. That unknown something that had bothered him at the last crime scene returned to niggle at the back of his mind now.
What was it
?

Nothing,
that’s what. He should be elated. He’d needed a suspect, and Woodruff had just handed him one on a golden platter.

“Give us the details,” he said.

“Suspect's name is Rodney Smythe,” Woodruff said. “Got out of Corcoran prison about six months back, where he was doing twenty for aggravated sexual assault and intent with a deadly weapon.”

Mick came to full alert. “Corcoran prison?” What the hell...?

“Yes, he was released after ten by going through an intensive psychological and behavioral rehab program. The prison psych pronounced him cured.” Woodruff tisked.

Mick forced himself to pay attention. “I take it you don't agree.”

“Smythe was a suspect in two other sexual assaults besides the one he was convicted of. Guys like that don't reform. They repeat. And escalate.”

Mick couldn’t agree more. “He wasn't convicted on the other cases?”

“Never charged. No evidence. He's careful about leaving traces. The only reason they got him the last time was because a boyfriend walked in on the assault in progress and could ID him later.”

“So, why do you think he's our man?” Mick asked.

“I think he
could
be our man,” Woodruff corrected. “Because of the nature of the assaults. He tied the women to the bed at knifepoint, but didn't rape them physically. He stripped them, blindfolded them, and proceeded to interrogate them about the particulars of how they had sex with their boyfriends, while he touched their bodies—wearing some kind of leather gloves.”

There was a general murmur of disgust around the table. Mick had heard a lot worse. “Go on.”

“Then he recited for the women exactly what he intended to do to them—which according to the victims was some pretty kinky stuff. But he never followed through. Apparently talking was enough. If he got off, he took everything with him. He left the victims on the bed, tied up.”

“Unharmed?”

“Not a scratch. He even covered their bodies with a sheet.”

“Except for the last one.”

“That's right. The boyfriend walked in while Smythe was still at the touching stage. Jumped him, but was no match for Smythe's knife. Got cut up pretty badly and barely made it.”

Mick closed his eyes briefly, wondering how two killers could possibly have such similar MOs.

“This guy sounds exactly right,” Mick said. “Most of the elements are there and those that aren't could be explained by a dime behind bars.”

“True. He didn't fare well in prison. He must have offended someone early on, because he was singled out for repeated sexual assault. Then one of the gang leaders was brutally knifed in the stomach and died. Smythe was never accused, but after that they left him alone.”

Strangely lightheaded, Mick rose, along with the entire cop portion of the team. “Let's pick him up.”

Woodruff lifted a hand. “Unfortunately, it won't be that simple. He seems to have disappeared. Hasn't checked in with his parole officer in two months, and his last known address doesn't exist.”

Why did that not surprise him? Mick let out a succinct curse and sat back down. “Any leads at all?”

“A few. This guy's smart, though. We have to be very careful how we approach him.”

“Then it's a good thing we have Detective Staunton. He's the very definition of subtlety.”

Bobby smiled sinisterly. “You know it.”

Mick recognized the ominous gleam in his partner's eye. Bobby wanted lead on this suspect in the worst way. Which was good. Mick shouldn’t get close to him. Not until he figured things out.

“We need to have Smythe in the bag before the press gets wind of this,” he said.

“Not a problem.” Bobby went down the table pointing to a small handful of cops. “You, you, you and you. With me.”

As one, the group swarmed out the door. Mick smiled grimly after them. He almost felt sorry for Smythe. He wouldn't want to face that crew, not even in a good mood. Which they weren't.

“Anything else?” he asked those remaining.

Caro looked up and opened her mouth, then shut it again.

“Officer Palmer? You have something?”

“No. It's not important.”

“Okay, everyone pass your reports to Palmer, who'll get today's summary out asap.”

Caro stood to gather papers. “I'd like to request starting tomorrow everyone email me their reports, in addition to hard-copying them here,” she said. “It'll make things go faster.”

“Good idea,” Mick agreed, and adjourned the meeting. He needed to go somewhere quiet and think. But first he had one other situation. “Palmer, stick around. I want to hear what wasn't important.”

It took forever to clear the room. When he was finally alone with her, Mick allowed the tension and weariness to wash over him and let his shoulders sag. He rubbed his hands over his face, wondering how he should deal with what was surely coming.

Maybe if he ignored it, it would just go away.

Yeah, sure it would. Caro was a woman, and if there was one thing that could be relied upon from the opposite sex, it was that showing emotion only made her demand more. Which he wouldn't give.
Couldn't
give.

Obviously his best defense would be offense. He drew himself up to his full, intimidating six-foot-four.

“I didn't appreciate being put in that position, Caroline,” he stated.

Surprise flitted over her. “What position?”

He strode over and got in her face. “Airing our bed linen in public.”

For a moment she looked as though he'd slapped her.

Then she smiled tightly. “Is that what it was? Bed linen?”

“Do I have to remind you what I said?” he asked irritably. “What else would it be but bed linen?”

Her expression became sardonic. “Are you saying you need me in your
bed
? And here I thought you just meant on this case.”

“Of course I need you in my bed. I thought that was obvious.”

She took a step back, lifting her chin.

Uh-oh. Here it comes...

“And what about beyond that?” she asked.

“Don't push me, baby,” he warned. “You said yourself you're not interested in anything beyond that.”

“So I did,” she agreed firmly. “And I don't. I just needed to know exactly where we stand. In order to evaluate your offer.”

His
offer
? He couldn't decide if she was lying, or blind, or just in major denial. This had nothing to do with his offer of a transfer. She was already his for the taking. And what they had already went miles beyond mere sex. She had to see that. Mick wouldn't allow himself the luxury of emotions—that would be far too dangerous for both of them. But it didn't mean he wanted her to deny the feelings she had for him. Oh, no. He wanted her totally, helplessly, irrevocably in love with him. Bastard that he was.

Dream on, McGraw.

He grasped her by the arms, swung her around and held her so she couldn't escape him. “Very well. Here's where we stand. You’ve already accepted my offer, baby. At the station, I'm your boss, and you'll do as I say. Undercover, I'm your Master, and you'll do as I say. In bed, I'm your lover, your top, and you’re my bottom and you'll do as I say. How's that for clarity?”

Her cheeks blazed scarlet. “You really are a fucking arrogant bastard.”

“I believe we've been through this before and you're still right. I also believe that's what you like best about me, which scares you to death. And it’s why you're in love with me and will do anything I ask—which scares you even more.”

Her expression was priceless, if not exactly what he'd hoped for. “You're on drugs, McGraw.”

But she didn't pull away.

“We'll see about that.” He gazed down at her. “So. Are you wearing panties?”

Her eyes darted to the door. “Yes I am, and I have no intention of—”

“You're being a very naughty slave, Caroline.” Mick let go one of her arms, trailed his hand over her throat and nudged her chin up. “You promised to obey me.”

“Only at Brimstone.”

“That's not how I remember it.”

“You can take ginseng for that, you know.”

He slid his fingers down over her slave collar, caressing the cool metal links. “Impertinent, too. I'm going to have to punish you, Caroline.”

He felt a tremor travel through her other arm before she tried to jerk it from his grasp. “That line is getting old. Let go of me.”

He drew her closer. “Just as soon as you promise to go right to the ladies room and take off your panties.” He glanced at her legs. “And lose the panty-hose, too.”

She squirmed against him. “No.”

He felt a tiny spurt of anger and smiled. Slipping his fingers to the back of her neck, he wound them tightly in her hair, holding her head immobile. He released her arm and slowly slid his hand down her hip, gathering her skirt in his fist as he went. “Then I guess I'll just have to take them off for you.”

“Mick, don't,” she whispered.

He pressed closer still, working her skirt up to her waist. “Are you going to take them off?”

“For godsakes, Mick, someone could come in.”

“Would that bother you?” He tucked one finger under the elastic waist of her pantyhose, then two. Three. And tugged lightly.

The very tip of her tongue peeked out and swiped over her lower lip. “It will when they fire us.”

His balls swelled painfully. “You're exciting me, Caro. Tempting me. If I didn't know better, I'd think that was a dare.” He yanked down on the elastic, hard.

“No!” she squeaked, wriggling against him. “Please, Mick. This isn't like you.”

“Ain't that the truth,” he drawled. “See what you do to me? Right now I don't really care if we get fired.”

“I care.”

“Then what are you going to do about it?”

Her eyes implored him, but he wasn't in the mood for mercy. After what she’d done earlier, he wanted her total obedience. Nothing less.

She ground her jaw. “All right, fine. I'll take them off. Now let me go before someone comes in.”

Satisfaction surged through him. But he wasn't ready to relinquish her. Not just yet. He wanted to savor his victory.

“Are you wet?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.

Her lips pouted with the slightest trace of belligerence. “Yes,” she answered.

Even in submission she was giving him attitude. He took in the blush on her cheeks, her full, inviting mouth, her sparking eyes, absorbing every sensual detail. And couldn't help the smile that crept up on him at her sauciness.

God, she turned him on.

“Good,” he said, and let her go before he swept the papers from the conference table and took her right there. “When they're off I want you to bring them to my desk and hand them over.”

“Why, don't you trust me?”

His lip curled. “Whenever I miss you, I want to reach into my pocket and feel them there, still warm from your heat.”

Her temerity dissolved and he almost broke down and kissed her when her mouth parted and inched toward his.

“Not at the station,” he admonished. Giving her ass a good smack, he avoided her return punch and propelled her toward the door. “Get out of here before I do something we'll both regret. Be at my desk in five minutes or I'll come looking for you.”