“You don’t know that. It depends on what his trigger is. If he’s looking for specific behavior from a committed couple, no. But if it’s something else, say, something visual or verbal, or a specific aspect of our interaction with him, we could be okay. I don’t know. Agent Woodruff would have better insight.”
Bobby sighed. “Unfortunately, we can’t ask him. He was called away earlier, on another case up in Oregon.”
“Great.”
They had arrived at the task force room where she still had the daily report to get out.
“Bobby,” she said with her hand on the door knob, “I’m going to that party tonight. I have the mansion’s address and the password for the gatekeeper, so there’s no way you can stop me.” She met his scowl with equanimity. “The only question is, will you pick me up, or am I going in alone?”
Chapter 25
Caro stayed at the station as long as possible that evening doing paperwork—and avoiding going home. Just after eight o’clock she broke down and decided she couldn’t put it off any longer. Bobby had said he and Cody would pick her up between 10:30 and 11:00 p.m..
She had to prepare herself. Mostly mentally. She hadn’t forgotten about the Tether Club’s dress code. Or why she was going.
She had a killer to catch. Both her and Mick’s careers depended on it. Maybe even his freedom.
Unfortunately, to have a chance at success she had to get naked. Not that she’d told Bobby or Cody that little detail.
The Teddie Killer hunted Master/slave couples. To have a prayer of luring him into the open, she had to play the part of a slave, regardless of who played her Master. And regardless of her feelings about going naked in a crowded room. Her being naked might even be part of the killer’s trigger. Didn’t he always kill after this party?
Roger was watering the geraniums on his front porch when she pulled into the driveway. Before she even got out of the car he sent her a really evil glare, turned on a heel and stalked through the door to his half of the duplex, slamming it loudly. Guess the reporters must have been ugly to him last night. And their articles about her had probably shocked the socks off him.
Too bad. Caro was fine with what she’d become over the past week—finally letting loose all those uncomfortable needs she’d carried hidden inside for as long as she could remember. If that didn’t suit someone else’s narrow so-called moral code, it couldn’t be helped. The only person’s opinion she cared about was Mick’s. And he liked her this way.
She had to save him.
What would her life be worth if they put Mick in jail, never to touch her or fill her again? Never to love her?
She didn’t even want to think about it.
She tossed her purse onto the sofa and went straight to the wet bar to pour herself a drink. A nice glass of wine might settle her nerves.
The bottle clattered against the glass as she poured it, and some of the ruby liquid sloshed onto the counter. Her hands shook as she lifted the wine to her lips and took a long sip.
She was going to have to walk into the Tether Club tonight with Bobby and Cody, without a stitch of clothing on.
Oh, God.
Could she do it? Could she really face dozens of strangers staring at every inch of her body? Worse, men she knew and worked with...men she knew were already attracted to her? Cody had come right out and asked Mick to share her last night at Brimstone. And Bobby...
Well, Bobby had been a gentleman this afternoon, but how would he react to her nudity, especially after Mick had supposedly gifted her to him? Would he tell Cody? Would they—
Best not think about it. She had no choice.
To clear the man she loved, she must do this. And do it convincingly. Convincingly enough to trap a vicious murderer at his own game. Whatever she had to do, she would.
God help her.
She missed Mick desperately. She needed him, needed his strength to help her get through this. She wondered where he was now. Several times she’d tried calling his apartment, his cell phone, and had gotten no answer at either.
Maybe they’d already arrested him? Surely Bobby would have told her if they had.
Was it possible Mick was on his way to the party, despite Chief Trujillo’s express command forbidding it? No. She didn’t think Mick would disobey the chief. Not when he wouldn’t even defend himself against this stupid accusation.
Caro wasn’t disobeying the chief, just the lieutenant. Big difference. Besides, the way she saw it, if she didn’t catch the Teddie Killer she could kiss her career good-bye, anyway. Without a big win in this case, her behavior with Mick would no doubt land her back in Traffic for about three hundred years—if it didn’t get her fired outright.
Mick would be furious to know she was going to the mansion tonight when he’d repeatedly demanded she not go. But despite their serious game of sexual Dominance and submission, he did not own her. She made her own decisions. In this, she would not give him power over her. He might be willing to throw away his career and years of his life by stepping away from their undercover operation, but she wasn’t. She loved her job too much. She loved him too much.
She was going to get the Teddie Killer, or die trying.
Walking to the bedroom, she removed her suit and hung it up in the closet, then took off everything else, too. She stared at her bare body in the vanity mirror.
Heart thumping wildly, she tried to imagine walking into a roomful of men like this.
Shoes, the guy had said. She could wear shoes. She slipped on her black fuck-me pumps and considered her reflection again.
Shit, this was even worse. Now she looked like a stripper.
Well, except for—
Suddenly it came back to her, the personal details from the female victims Mick had mentioned that first night he’d arrived at her apartment and they’d gone over the autopsies. The women all had wax jobs. At the time it had seemed like just a strange coincidence—after all, how could the killer have known such intimate details before he chose his victims? Now she knew.
She exhaled resignedly. And her, never having had so much as a bikini wax. She grabbed her wine and went into the bathroom, closing the door firmly. Then she locked it for good measure. It was too late to buy wax now, but she had a pretty good shaver and lots of new blades.
Now all she had to figure out was how to stop her hands from shaking long enough to do the deed.
***
After getting out of the Z, Mick made a last minute adjustment to his silk tie, hefted his red kit bag in his left hand, walked up the marble steps to the ornate front door of the private mansion where the party was being held, and knocked sharply.
It was opened immediately by a tall, refined-looking older man who might pass for a butler on some old BBC series.
“Looking for beeswax candles,” Mick said, using the password Caro had given him yesterday.
The butler glanced behind him. “Are you alone?”
“Yeah,” Mick said edgily, and handed him ten crisp hundred-dollar bills. For now.
Taking them, the butler stepped back and swept his hand toward the foyer. “Welcome to The Tether Club. You may put your bag here until you need it.” He indicated a large Victorian-style piece of furniture that took up an entire wall of the foyer.
A dozen or so other kit bags already occupied the shelves. Many Doms took their kit with them everywhere, and none would think of coming to an Event without it. Carrying a kit separated the serious participant from the spectators, of which there were also always plenty. The times Mick had attended this type of party he’d mostly been an observer himself, so he knew they were welcomed; spectators heightened the pleasure of those who were scening.
Mick nodded and stowed his bag on a high shelf, already aware of numerous eyes on him, sizing him up. He’d come alone, with a kit, which meant he was there to find a partner and play.
He ignored an approaching woman and jogged down the three steps from the foyer into the library, where the bar and hors d’oe
uvres were set up. Drinking was a no-no if you were into anything other than watching—the point with bondage scenes was not to give true pain, but pleasure-pain, and to do that you must perceive where the subtle line between them lay. Mick definitely needed all his faculties intact tonight. But he was so furious, he needed a drink even more.
Bobby had called an hour ago and told him Caro insisted on coming. Short of trumping up charges and putting her in jail there was no way they’d stop her, Bobby had said.
It shouldn’t have surprised Mick that Bobby and Cody had caved. They’d both been sniffing around her all week like two junkyard dogs. He’d hoped she’d be sensible. Prayed she’d obey him and stay away. But in his gut he’d known better. He’d taught her well. The activities at The Tether Club wouldn’t scare her, and she wanted to be in Homicide badly enough that the danger wouldn’t either.
Now she’d be right in the middle of the unrestrained sex, the rampant temptation, the uncontrollable danger. And dead center in the killer’s crosshairs.
Tamping down his ire, Mick accepted a glass of champagne from a nude bar slave and wandered out to survey the rest of the mansion’s first floor.
It was huge and open, a generous contemporary floor-plan with lots of blond wood that winked in the semi-darkness, and even more glass. A series of low steps telescoped the room down to a black marble fireplace and the two-story floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows flanking it. The house was situated high up on Gold Hill at the foot of the San Gabriel mountains; the view outside was spectacular. The lights of the whole valley below and two or three beyond sparkled like fistfuls of diamonds strewn across the forest-green landscape. The sinuous red and white curves of the 210 and San Berdoo freeways snaked along in the distance, always packed, always moving.
Music played in the dimly lighted room, hard rock, loud enough to hear, but not too loud to stifle conversation or mask the tantalizing sounds of whips snapping and chains rattling. Even now, moans drifted down from the upstairs bedrooms where the serious bondage equipment would be located. Scattered about here on the first floor were more modest apparati, sleek restraining devices deliberately designed to blend in with the rest of the contemporary furniture, and meant to deliver a jolt of explicitness to an otherwise mundane party setting.
The collection of stylishly-dressed people might have been at any upscale gathering, except for the ones with no clothes on. Seven or eight slaves stood with their Masters, naked but for collars and high heels. Because this was a MaleDom/femsub party, the slaves were all women. One was buckled to an armchair by her wrists and ankles, her legs spread just enough to see between them, being discreetly observed or outright ogled by the single men chatting around her. One was casually fondling her breast.
It was still fairly early—not even midnight. The novelty would wear off as the night went on. As more participants paired off and started having sex, as more clothed women were claimed by a man and placed in bondage, more of them would be stripped of their fancy dresses.
Mick usually liked this stage best. He enjoyed the visual shock of seeing a lone, naked woman standing in the midst of a group of men in tuxedos. Everyone was still on their best behavior, trying to impress each other. They hadn’t gotten loud, or greedy for their pleasure. That stage had its charms, too, but Mick liked the edge of anticipation of the early hours best.
Usually.
Tonight, however, he had no appreciation for the erotic undercurrents. He was too angry at Caro for her disobedience. Too disquieted by what was to go down here later. Too worried that it would all go to hell.
Where the fuck was she?
A rush of cool air from the foyer drew his attention. He turned, saw a couple enter the front door. The butler helped the woman off with her coat. Her bare skin shimmered gold with some kind of tinted body oil that matched her gold slave collar. The men below let out a collective “Ahhh.”
Her Master escorted her to the top foyer step leading to the main rooms, and announced, “This is slave sara. She enjoys being taken from behind.” He paused meaningfully and men all around examined her with calculation in their eyes. She lowered hers. Those familiar with the routine knew it was an open invitation to all; first-timers would soon realize it.
A private bondage party was nothing like Brimstone. Brimstone was pure entertainment, a kinky floorshow put on for the titillation of people afraid or unwilling to go further than arousal. At Brimstone, actual sex was forbidden. At the Tether Club, sex was expected and encouraged on all levels. Male Domination and female bondage was the theme, the way to get you there. But sex was the ultimate goal, one way or another.
The Master said, “Turn around, sara,” and she did. “Bend over,” he ordered, and again she did, showing her plump ass to the crowd. The man slapped it, eliciting a small cry from her. Then he unzipped his trousers, quickly slid on a condom, stepped behind and penetrated her. The crowd watched raptly. After a few hard pumps, he pulled out and zipped up. Then he took her hand, led her down the low steps to a narrow, padded pommel horse in the big room. He made her bend over it at the waist, then fastened her ankles and wrists to cuffs provided low down on the supports. She was forced to stand there with her legs spread, doubled over the padded frame, her ass tipped up and her sex accessible to all.
“Something to keep you wet while you wait to be fucked?” her Master asked.
From his jacket he pulled a large golden dildo, the same color slave sara’s skin was tinted. After smearing it with lubricant, he slowly pushed the phallus into her, pulled it out and pushed it back in. She moaned and met it with a thrust. Between her legs she glistened with moisture.
“Gentlemen, feel free to indulge,” sara’s Master said to those around him. Leaving the dildo where it was, he walked away from her, toward the bar.
The audience loved it. Nearly every man’s eyes were bright with lust. As they lined up, Mick turned aside, aroused but uninterested. He meandered over and leaned against a side wall where he had a good view of the room, the entry stairs, the foyer, and the front door beyond.
And he waited.
For Smythe.
For Cody and Bobby.
For Caro...
His naughty, defiant pleasure slave.
His pleasure slave. She should be with him, not Cody or Bobby.
Did the three of them have any idea what they were in for tonight? Of the variety of kinky perversions they’d be free to indulge in at will? All in the name of catching a killer, of course.
How would Caro be dressed? Her black leather Brimstone outfit would be inappropriate here. Would she instead be wearing satin and lace? Or a slinky silk sheath? Perhaps a tight, clingy gown?
Whatever it was, he should make his pretty slave caroline take it off. Force her to strip down to her bare skin for disobeying him. She was his slave. Here, slaves went nude.
Would Bobby object, as he had earlier at the station? Or would he be caught up in the thick, sexually-laden atmosphere of the private club? Would Cody make a move on her, press him to share her again?
No way he’d share. But what if he ordered her to do other things? With him, to him, for him?
To show them how far she would go to please him?
He felt himself stiffen.
What if he fetched a dildo from his kit and fucked her with it, as sara’s Master had done? What if he cuffed her to one of the bondage instruments, leaving her naked body exposed and at the mercy of the crowd, like the slave in the armchair? What if he took her upstairs and tied her to a St. Andrew’s cross, tested her tender backside with his leather quirt? Stroked and flicked and kissed her with its sting until she writhed and begged him to put his cock inside her and pound her till she screamed. Or maybe—
His gaze jerked to the foyer. A man walked in. Bobby. With Cody right behind him. Both looked like they’d just stepped off a page of some glossy magazine Julio Martinez might read.
Mick’s pulse jumped, hoping Caro had changed her mind and didn’t come. Hoping more she hadn’t
.
She stepped over the threshold, wrapped in a swath of red silk, her blond hair a wild mass of curls, her lips scarlet, her long-lashed eyes rimmed with artful shadow and black kohl.
Already hard from his fantasies, Mick’s cock lurched violently. He’d never seen her so ravishing. It was the only word to describe her. He felt ravished. By her beauty. By her presence. By his own dark feelings at seeing her here.
He elbowed his way through the throng that had turned to check out the newcomers, and strode to the center of the room, stopping below the entry steps.
He saw Bobby hand the butler a clip of cash and exchange a few words with him. Then with Caro between them, Bobby and Cody each put a hand on the small of her back and walked her to the top of the steps.
Mick barely stopped himself from marching up and snatching her away from his friends.
She stood like a countess, tall and confident as she surveyed the room. But he knew her well, and discerned an edge of panic behind her exotic eye make-up. Saw the way her fingers crushed the edges of her wrap, the way her neat ankle wobbled above her red patent stiletto.
Then she spotted him. A blaze of indefinable emotion flashed through her eyes and her lips parted a tiny sliver. Was it his imagination, or did her shoulders notch down a fraction?
She murmured something to Bobby and Cody, then took a deep breath. The two men reached up at the same time and with a flourish removed her wrap.
Suddenly Mick couldn’t breathe. Bobby and Cody froze in shock. For half a second there was absolute silence all around.
Caro stood there, sinfully naked, her siren’s body exposed to the eyes of every man in the room. Her pussy was smooth and bare as ivory satin, her nipples hard and painted scarlet like her full lips. Her slave collar gleamed, the delicate links of her silver leash spilling from its tiny padlock to her hand.
A voluptuary. A sensual vision of promised gratification.
She looked like an odalisque.
His odalisque.
Mick stood rooted to the spot as she descended first one step, then the next. She came to a halt before him, looking up into his eyes with a gaze of complete submission. Handing him the end of her leash, she softly murmured, “Sir.”
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