A Dead Man's Pulse

by Samantha A. Cole

  As the dog weaved back and forth, his nose following the microscopic particles carrying the scent of the victim, Dakota and the others kept their eyes peeled on their surroundings. The K9 was a passive tracking dog, which meant he could walk them right up to their suspect—that was ideal with missing children or Alzheimer’s patients, but not something you wanted when tracking a violent serial killer.

  The floppy-eared Belgian Malinois reminded Dakota of the dogs-in-training back at the Trident compound. Keeping her eyes front, she addressed Logan to her right. “How’s FUBAR doing?” He’d told her about the pup that was probably going to fail out of the aggressive training during one of their stakeout shifts—it was the one she’d seen roll over for a belly rub the day she’d met her partner.

  “Kat says he’s a hopeless romantic and isn’t cut out for guard duty. Babs officially adopted him the other day, and Tori, who trained Russell’s service dog, is going to help her get him trained as a therapy dog. That way she can bring him to the veteran hospital when she goes for her therapy and stuff.”

  “Awesome. Glad he’s going to a good home.”

  “Yeah. Him and Jagger have their own couch in the garage now and have become best buds.”

  While they trudged through the woods, they could occasionally hear and see the others on the dirt road, heading in the same direction parallel to them. It seemed as if the victim had known it was there and used it as a guide, but was smart enough to know she might run into her abductor if she’d gotten too close.

  “Hey, look over there,” one of the cops to Dakota’s left prompted. “Looks like an old utility building. There’s a few of them around from back in the 70s and 80s, but the ones in this area were pretty much abandoned when the park rangers had their new headquarters built about two miles north of here. They moved all the equipment that was stored in these over there.”

  The concrete structure blended well with its thick, surrounding flora. There was only a dark green door visible on the side they could see and no windows. Keeping her weapon in her right, dominant hand, Dakota pulled out the FBI portable radio she’d been given back out on the road. She brought it to her mouth and pressed the transmit button. “Parrish. Sawyer.”

  The former’s voice followed a squelch. “Parrish. Go.”

  “I think we’re just about parallel to you. There’s an old utility building about two hundred yards ahead of us and the K9 is heading right for it. No signs of being occupied at the moment.”

  “Copy. Proceed with caution. We’ll meet you there.”

  The tension among the five in the woods had increased and talking was to a minimum as the K9 lead them to the structure. While the two patrol officers covered the only door they could see, the handler held his partner back, as Logan and Dakota circled around to see if there were any windows or other entrances. They worked well together, covering each other as they rounded the corners in silence so as to not alert anyone inside of their presence. By the time they completed the inspection, Parrish, Sawyer, and the other two feds had arrived. Logan used hand signals to indicate to the others that there was only the one way in and out. Logan and Dakota stacked up behind Sawyer, who was holding a Mag-lite in his non-gun hand, on one side of the door jamb, weapons at the ready, and waited as one of the cops, standing on the opposite side, grabbed the door knob and gently tried to turn it. When it did without hesitation, he nodded at the trio, and then mouthed a countdown from three to one. Yanking hard, he swung the door wide and Sawyer pivoted inside with Logan and Dakota on his heels, sweeping the room with his flashlight and weapon in the same direction. No one was inside, but there was no mistaking the fact they’d found where the Kink Killer had slaughtered his victims. Dried blood coated the floor, ceiling and one of the walls beside a large St. Andrew’s cross. A hospital bed with leather restraints and chains attached also had blood on them . . . fresher blood. Somehow, Georgia Branneth had managed to escape the bonds and run for her life. Only now she had a different fight for that same life.

  Parrish stepped in the large room and used his own flashlight to illuminate it. There was a switch for an uncovered light bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling, but until they got the crime scene techs in there to inspect and photograph everything, nothing was to be disturbed if it could be prevented. The SAC took one last glance around then turned back to the door, pulling out his phone. “Everyone out. Let’s hope the techs can find something we can use to catch this bastard, once and for all.”

  C

  HAPTER 18

  Dakota couldn’t sleep, and she tried to convince herself it wasn’t because Logan hadn’t been lying next to her. He’d brushed his lips against her forehead before leaving her bed around 2:00 a.m. and she’d tossed and turned until finally giving up on falling back to sleep around 5:30. She’d tossed off the covers and gotten dressed in workout clothes before heading toward the Trident compound to use the gym. It was closer to her temporary condo than the ones at her police precinct and the SOD headquarters, and probably a hell of a lot quieter at this time of the morning when most cops were getting a workout in before their shifts started.

  Pulling up to the guardhouse at the first gate, she rolled down her window and smiled at the big man who came out to greet her. “Morning, Murray.”

  “Good morning, Dakota. You’re up early.”

  “Not as early as you, apparently.”

  “Don’t let my bright eyes and bushy tail fool you. I just got here about twenty minutes ago and I’m on five hours sleep. Not that I’m complaining, since my girlfriend got home from her three weeks visiting family in Ireland yesterday.” He waggled his eyebrows and it was clear what the couple had been doing to celebrate. “Anyway, you here for a meeting or the gym?”

  “Gym. I didn’t get much sleep either so I figured I’d burn off a few calories.”

  “Trust me, darling, you don’t need to. And no, I’m not flirting with you—my woman and Cowboy would both kick my ass—just stating a fact. Let me get the gate for you.” He reached inside the shack and hit the button that rolled the iron gate to the left, granting her access.

  With a wave at the guard, she drove through and up the quarter mile to the first parking area which was for The Covenant. Instead of pulling up to the inner gate, she slowed when she saw Logan’s SUV with another vehicle parked outside the club. That’s strange. What’s he doing here so early? There’s no task force meeting. After a moment’s hesitation, her curiosity got the better of her and she pulled her SUV in next to Logan’s and climbed out. She’d just pop her head in and see if he was free to work out with her; that was all. Yeah, right. You want to have a reason not to trust him so you can be the one to break it off first, just like you always do.

  Ignoring her inner bitch, she took the stairs to the second-floor entrance two at a time. Her hand print had been scanned into the compound’s security system so she had access to the club, gym, and Trident’s main office, instead of having to be buzzed in by someone else. When the lock clicked, she pulled the door open and stepped into the lobby. No one was there, but she hadn’t expected to see anyone at this time of the morning. Striding over to the double wooden doors, she found one slightly ajar and widened the opening so she could step through.

  Again, no one was in sight, but Logan’s deep rumbling laughter floated up from the pit. Dakota was about to announce her presence when she heard him moan and say, “God, that feels incredible. Don’t stop.”

  A female replied, “Actually, let’s take this into one of the playrooms where there’s a bed, love . . .”

  Whatever the woman had said next after “love” was low and muffled, but Dakota had heard enough. Jealous rage coursed through her when Logan said, “Sounds good to me.”

  What the fuck? On silent feet she quickly made her way to the balcony and looked down. That son-of-a-bitch! Logan was taking off his T-shirt, his arm, shoulder, and back muscles rippling fluidly, and following that dark-haired chick, who had shown up at the hospital with Tiny, towar
d The Covenant’s playrooms. The woman had on skinny, black ankle pants, a fitted black blazer, showing off her curves, and black heels that had to be four inches high.

  That two-timing son-of-a-bitch!

  Neither of them had said anything about being exclusive, but Dakota had sort of assumed they were. Well, you know what assuming does, you idiot. It makes an ass out of “u” and “me.” Well, she’d be damned if that happened again. The couple disappeared down the hall to where they were no doubt going to fuck like rabbits. No wonder he didn’t want to sleep all night in her bed—he had to rest up for his morning honey. Well, fuck that. He wasn’t getting back into Dakota’s bed, that was for sure. Turning on her heel, she stormed out of the club, hopped into her SUV, and didn’t bother acknowledging a confused Murray on her way past the guard shack, speeding toward the highway. She drove aimlessly, for how long she had no idea, trying hard not to cry—Logan was just like every other bastard out there—she had dated plenty of them. Her vision blurred and she yanked the steering wheel, hitting the brakes. As the vehicle skidded to a stop on the gravel shoulder, her tears fell. So why am I crying for him when I’ve never cried over any other man?

  “Hey, Cowboy,” Charlotte greeted him as she descended the stairs into the pit. She was dressed for work, which he hadn’t expected her to be since she was supposed to whip him again today. She usually wore something more relaxed then took a shower and changed before heading to her job. “Roxy can’t make it this morning. She sent me a text—one of her patients was admitted very late last night and she only got a few hours’ sleep. We’ll work on your technique today and scene tomorrow instead. I’m not comfortable enough yet without having another Whip Master present. You’ve done great so far but it’s still new. Okay?”

  “I’m okay with postponing it a day, but I’m not sure about the practice.” Tilting his head to the side, he winced. “Must have pulled a muscle or something because it’s really tight right here.’ He’d been massaging the back of his neck for the past few minutes, trying to work out the kinks.

  She rounded the back of the chair he was sitting in by the stage and pushed his hand out of the way, then prodded the area. “Yup, you’ve got a nice knot there. Did your sexual aerobics with the pretty cop get out of hand?” she quipped.

  Logan laughed, then moaned when she kneaded the sore spot. “God, that feels incredible. Don’t stop.”

  “Actually, let’s take this into one of the playrooms where there’s a bed, love.” She patted his shoulder then strode toward one of the hallways where the playrooms were located. “It’ll be better with some massage oil and easier for me to work the muscle if I’m straddling you.”

  Having spent a lot of time with the Domme since she’d joined in his therapy, he knew nothing would happen in the bed between them other than her giving him a massage. They’d become good friends, and while she teased and flirted with him at times, it was all in jest and a way to ease his anxiety about the whip. “Sounds good to me.”

  Standing, he followed her, pulling his T-shirt over his head. He was almost to the hallway when he heard one of the wooden doors upstairs slam against the wall. Pivoting, he glanced at the stairs, waiting for whoever had walked in to make an appearance. When no one did, he assumed it was Mitch or one of the other employees—no one else would be there this time of the morning.

  “It’ll probably be better if you take a break from practicing the whip today too.” Charlotte was waiting for him in the doorway of Playroom #3. Most of the rooms were decorated with different themes, but this one had a basic setup with just a spanking bench, a St. Andrew’s cross, and a round King-sized bed. One wall had a variety of implements hanging from hooks while a row of cabinets sat catty-corner to it. Charlotte strode over to the latter and quickly found a bottle of massage oil before retrieving a towel from a warmer sitting on the countertop. “All right, Cowboy, lay down and let’s get your vertebrae vertical again.”

  “Do you need to stop anywhere on the way?”

  “Nope.”

  Logan sighed as the traffic light turned green, and he hit the accelerator. For the third time since he picked Dakota up at the condo, he asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “Nope.”

  Yeah, he wasn’t stupid or naïve. The woman had a bug up her ass about something, and it was clearly up to him to figure it out because she refused to tell him what was wrong. Everything had been fine when he’d left her bed around 2:00 a.m.—or at least he thought it had been. He was racking his brains trying to figure out what he’d done or said to piss her off, but he was coming up blank. “Look, obviously you’re mad about something. Tell me, so we’re not walking into Heat with you looking like you want to kill me.”

  “I’m a professional. No one in there will have the slightest idea there’s anything wrong.”

  “Except for me, and I haven’t a clue what’s wrong.” Silence filled his SUV and he glanced over at her. “Koko—”

  “Don’t fucking call me that again.”

  What the fuck? Yanking on the steering wheel, he pulled onto the shoulder of the road and slammed on his brakes with more force than necessary. Throwing the gearshift into park, he spun on her and intentionally dropped his voice in what he hoped was a convincing Dom tone. “All right. That’s it. One of the things everyone has been stressing about this lifestyle is communication and honesty. So out with it, subbie.”

  She glared at him, her arms crossed over her chest. “Drive, Reese.”

  “Wrong answer, sweetheart. Try again before I haul you over here and tan your ass.”

  “Try it and you’re a dead man.”

  No, he wasn’t. Not anymore. Working at Trident had brought him back to the land of the living, giving him a purpose in life again, but Dakota had given him so much more. “Babe, I’ve been dead—that’s no longer a threat that bothers me.”

  Her eyes narrowed in confusion, but before she could question him, he glanced in the rear view mirror and saw flashing lights. “Fuck. A cop just pulled up. Friend of yours?”

  Hopefully, so they wouldn’t have to deal with him for more than a minute. They had to get back on the road to Heat.

  Ducking her head, Dakota took a peek in her side mirror and groaned. “Yup.” She rolled down her window as the officer approached her side, his dominant hand resting on his gun.

  “Is there a problem—Swift? Hey, what’s up?” He eyed her and then whistled loudly. “Damn, sweetheart, I think you should wear short skirts and low cleavage at work; you’ll have the criminals drooling and frozen in place—easy arrests.”

  Beside her, Logan, growled a warning, and she rolled her eyes. “Stop being an ass, Ric. Logan, this is Ric Hernandez, my longtime friend and partner. Ric, this is Logan Reese, my temp partner.”

  Yeah, she wasn’t getting away with that “temp partner” shit. Despite her piss-poor attitude this morning, they had something special growing between them, and the last thing he wanted was to be a “temp” anything with her. “Actually, I’m more than that—I’m also her boyfriend.” He’d almost blurted out that he was her Dom too, but didn’t want to out her lifestyle if this idiot didn’t know about it.

  It was her turn to growl. “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am. Case closed until we have this out later.” His stern expression dared her to challenge him again. He didn’t take his eyes off her as he addressed her pain-in-the-ass friend who had placed his hands on the door frame, leaning on it. “You need anything, Hernandez, because we’ve got somewhere to be.”

  Grinning as his gaze ping-ponged back and forth between the two, the uniformed cop chuckled. “About time you’re getting laid on a regular basis, Swift. Reese, we’ll be having a discussion later to convince me you’re good enough for her, but in the meantime, do me a favor and don’t slam on the brakes like that and make me stop to see if there’s a problem. Swift, I’ll call you later.” Logan’s opinion of the other man jumped up a few notches. It was clear Hernandez was just looking out for someon
e he cared about and nothing more.

  Dakota’s jaw dropped as she glared at Ric who just laughed, slapped his hand on the door frame, and then headed back to his vehicle. Putting the SUV in drive, Logan hit the button that dropped his window automatically, then waved as the cop climbed back into his patrol car before pulling back out into traffic. “I meant what I said, Koko, we’re continuing this discussion later, and if you can’t be open and honest with me, then my hand and your ass are going to get to know each other very, very well.”

  C

  HAPTER 19

  Dakota gnawed on the inside of her cheek as she tried to focus on the real reason they were at Heat and not on Logan’s hand he insisted on keeping glued to her left hip as he stood on the opposite side of her, guiding her around the room. While the club was much nicer than most of the ones she’d been into over the years, it had nothing on the elegance of The Covenant. It was like sitting in Coach after experiencing First Class for a few trips. The warmth of his hand permeated the thin material of her floor length skirt which exposed her legs up to her mid-thigh through a slit in the lacy material. A red and black corset gave her a little more coverage up top and allowed her to carry several weapons undetected.