“Why?”
When she spoke, she’d parted her lips, and he placed a rubber ball between her teeth and secured a strap behind her head to hold the gag in place. She shook her head, telling him no, but Ray paid no attention. Then he encased her head.
“Easy. Breathe through your nostrils.”
Like she had a choice. Her heart hammered. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t talk. She couldn’t so much as quiver a muscle and at the realization, excitement jolted her.
“So how do you like being at my mercy, querida?”
She couldn’t answer, not even to groan past the ball in her mouth. Fear mixed with excitement and arousal. What would he do? Only the flesh between her legs was exposed.
When she felt his light brush strokes through the latex over her breasts, her muscles tried to jerk . . . and couldn’t. Dios. Delicious sensations poured through her. She couldn’t squirm, couldn’t encourage, couldn’t plead for more.
Her heart raced. Ray’s touch through the latex was indescribable. The binding seemed to increase sensation, and the material spread each caress evenly so she had difficulty determining where and what and how he was caressing her.
Hot ribbon-like streams of sensation rippled through her. She sucked in air through her nose, wishing her chest would expand, wishing with every cell in her brain that she could talk and tell him how good he felt and that she needed more.
One minute, or five minutes or maybe ten minutes later, she was frantic for release. If her mind could have conveyed the message, she would have begged, sobbed, promised him anything.
But she’d made her choice.
When she’d submitted to his domination, she hadn’t known the consequences could be this erotic. She hadn’t known anything could feel so good.
As if sensing she might be about to break, he ceased caressing and stroking her breasts. Her hard nipples pressed against the latex and . . . she held her breath, hoping, praying, frantic for the release she craved.
Her muscles tightened. Her stomach knotted into a tight ball of desire.
She’d heard nothing, except her own breath. Surely he wouldn’t leave her filled with frustration? Burning.
Ray.
Please.
More. More. More.
But he’d seemed to have abandoned her. Tears seeped beneath her eyelids into the padding.
And then she felt the slightest brush of air between her legs and tears of frustration turned to tears of joy. Ray understood. He knew what she wanted.
Chapter Thirty-Six
“SAM’S NOT CHEATING,” Catherine told Dana over the phone.
“How do you know?” Dana walked with the portable phone into her kitchen where her new bodyguard couldn’t overhear her conversation, a weight lifting off her shoulders.
“The PI has followed Sam constantly. He hasn’t met with a woman for breakfast, lunch, or dinner. He spends a lot of time holed up with the mayor. Apparently the county administrator still isn’t back, and it’s thrown the local government into a legal tangle that Sam’s trying to help the mayor sort out.”
Relief washed through Dana, and she sipped her first cup of morning coffee. “It’s only been a few days. Can we be certain?”
“These people are pros. They examined Sam’s credit card bills, phone records, and personal bank statements. He hasn’t charged anything suspicious like jewelry, flowers, or women’s clothing.”
“What about the Bay Star Hotel?”
“Nothing.”
“Maybe she’s paying.” But even as Dana said that, she knew better. Sam was too much of a male chauvinist to allow a woman to pay for anything.
“He has no hidden assets, no secret apartment that he’s bought or renting. The PI followed the money trail back six months. Sam might be a workaholic, but he’s not cheating,” her mother repeated.
Dana sank onto a bar stool. “All right. Call them off. I don’t want Sam to—”
“You don’t want Sam to what?” Sam strode into the kitchen and kissed Dana on the cheek. He shouldn’t have been home. But he was. Deal with it.
Her pulse leapt. How much had he heard? What could be worse than a wife who didn’t trust her husband? If Sam found out what she’d done, he’d be hurt and furious. “Mom, I’ll call you later.”
Dana hung up and smiled at Sam, hoping she looked calmer than she felt. “I don’t want you to worry about me,” she improvised.
“I know. The doctor’s cleared you to travel, and we don’t even need your bodyguard anymore.” Sam took Dana into his arms with a grin. “Especially not where we’re going.”
“Sam?” Dana read his happy mood, and her heart lifted. Obviously Sam hadn’t heard much of her phone conversation, and he didn’t seem the least bit suspicious. She hadn’t seen him this excited in a long time. When they’d first met, he was always surprising her with theater tickets, flowers, a trip out of town. “Where are we going?”
“How about here?” He handed her a picture of a crescent white-sand beach that framed turquoise water. A lovely contemporary beach house overlooked a private cove with a boat dock, water vehicles, and an inviting tiki hut.
“It looks wonderful.” After her harrowing week, she could think of nothing better than spending private time with Sam in some romantic getaway.
“The house is on a tiny island in the Bahamas. I’ve hired a jet to take us to Walker Cay. From there, we set sail for Shell Island. I’ve rented the house for a week.” He twirled her around. “Can you be ready to leave by noon?
Dana’s eyes widened. “Noon? Today?”
“Yes, today.” Sam swatted her butt. “Get a move on. Just think, we can be swilling Bermuda Triangles and watching a glorious sunset by evening.”
The last time Dana had drunk spiced rum, peach schnapps, and orange juice over crushed ice, they had been on their honeymoon in St. Croix. She’d always loved the beach, but Sam preferred going west on vacation. He liked to ski at Vail or Aspen. But he’d obviously booked this island spot for her.
Dana peered at him, a dozen thoughts flying through her head. She hated to leave the firm and her mother with all the turmoil, and yet, she’d been dreaming of livening up her marriage and now that Sam was willing, she certainly didn’t want to nix his grand plan. Besides, she’d already cleared her schedule for this week, why not take advantage of it?
“What about your big case?” she asked.
“I’m taking this week to devote to you.”
Dana checked her watch. She had less than two hours to pack, but she could manage. Grinning, she pirouetted toward the walk-in closet, looked back over her shoulder and teased, “Bet I can pack faster than you can.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
LAST NIGHT AT the bar, Mandy had picked up more useful information than Zack had, acquiring the name of a business, Franklin Construction, where Moose worked as well as his home address from Biker Dude. An hour ago, Zack had followed up her lead from their hotel room to learn Moose’s former residence had turned out to be a dead end. A new family lived in his old trailer. Apparently, the landlord had had to evict a squatter before they’d moved in. Unfortunately, the police had no record of a legal eviction taking place, stymieing Zack’s attempt to find Moose’s legal name.
Zack hoped to have better luck with Moose’s work address this morning. Mandy still wore some of her disguise, the duct-taped glasses on her forehead and the wig, but had ditched the padding, claiming it was too hot.
He was driving her car on the way to the construction company to ask about Moose when his mother called. “Dana and Sam are flying to the Bahamas for a week,” Catherine told him. “All clients have been contacted and know we’re closed until further notice.”
“Isn’t the Bahamas trip kind of sudden?” Zack asked, leaning back in the car seat.
“Sam su
rprised her, and Dana was so happy. Maybe if she relaxes and gets pregnant, she’ll give me grandkids.”
Now there was a loaded statement if he’d ever heard one. Zack wasn’t going to tell his mother that she already had a grandchild—that wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have over the phone. He didn’t want to discuss Dana’s marriage or her desire to have children, either.
Zack clenched the phone tight, but tried to keep his tone loose and easy. “Mom, it’s been a stressful week for all of us.”
“What about you, Zack? How are you holding up?”
Was her question a veiled reference to his and Mandy’s relationship? He wasn’t going there and deliberately misunderstood her question. “Mandy and I learned that Vizzi knew a black man named Moose. He may be the guy who stole the lottery ticket. His description matches the one Mandy gave to the police. He works for Franklin Construction. We’re going there now to see if Mandy can identify him as the thief.”
“If she can, you call the police. Don’t handle things yourself.”
Zack refrained from rolling his eyes. “Yes, Mom.”
“Don’t you yes-Mom me.”
“Okay.”
“Zack, don’t patronize me. I mean it.”
Zack snorted. “You do realize that I’m agreeing with you, and you’re not satisfied?”
“I know you, Zack. Your save-the-world complex worries me. Your face still has bruises from—”
“We’re here.” Zack pulled onto the interstate. “Got to go, Mom. Love you.”
Beside him in the passenger seat, Mandy raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and the glasses slid down onto her nose. Zack rubbed his brow and let out a long sigh. “I know. I know. I shouldn’t have lied about being there already, but she’s not going to be happy until you’re working safely back at the firm—”
She shoved the glasses back up and eyed him. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“—and I’m in a career she considers safe. She’d love it if I opened a shoe store.”
Mandy laughed. “Somehow I find it difficult to picture you selling shoes.” When he didn’t say anything else, she gave him a sideways glance. “Have you ever considered another career besides the DEA?”
No, not since Kevin had died. “When I was a kid, I wanted to work as a spy for the CIA.”
“Now that would be safe.” Mandy’s sarcasm was teasing, but he sensed that beneath the facade of light conversation, she was searching for more. But he wasn’t ready to have a discussion about his future.
So Zack kept the conversation light. “When I was a teen, I wanted to be a race car driver.”
“We’re on a roll here. Didn’t you ever want to do anything that wasn’t life threatening?”
“No.”
“Do you need excitement to feel alive?” she asked, her tone curious.
“I’m not an adrenaline junky. But I like doing important work. When I stop tons of cocaine from coming into the country and put the dealers behind bars, I save lives.”
She bit her lower lip. He had to give her credit. She didn’t try to change his mind by mentioning Gabrielle. But although she didn’t say anything, he did have a daughter now. As long as he continued his undercover work for the DEA, he couldn’t be a father to Gabrielle.
Zack felt trapped. Yet how could he ever regret being that sweet little girl’s father? He recalled holding her hand on the beach. Watching her throwing sand at her toes and then chasing the sea gulls—that golden moment was one of the most perfect in his entire life.
And being with Mandy again—it was better than he’d ever imagined.
Yet, every time he made a bust, every time he stopped containers full of drugs from entering the country, he saved lives. Zack took satisfaction that he did his job well, that his superiors appreciated him, that the other agents respected him.
He hadn’t a clue what he intended to do.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
FRANKLIN CONSTRUCTION developed large tracts of land, turning acreage into subdivisions. They did it all, land clearing and site preparation, underground utilities, paving and home building. If Zack and Mandy had known Moose’s legal name, searching for him would have been easier.
But Franklin’s office staff only had the legal names of their employees, and the field people who might know Moose by his nickname were spread out among five surrounding counties. With three thousand employees, the company was so large that most employees didn’t know the others.
After striking out in the office, Mandy and Zack had donned hard hats. They’d strode over to the shop where loaders and backhoes were hoisted onto bridge cranes for servicing to ask about Moose. None of the mechanics knew him. They also asked several dump truck drivers, a field team, maintenance and inventory control, as well as a fence crew. Nothing.
Two hours later, Mandy’s shoulders slumped in discouragement. “Maybe we’re doing this wrong.”
“I’m open to suggestions.” Zack removed his hard hat and wiped his brow.
“We don’t have his real name, but we do have his last known address. Maybe the computer can do an address search and come up with his name.”
Zack grinned. “That’s a great idea. Let’s go talk to Franklin’s computer guru.”
A hundred bucks and fifteen minutes later, they learned that Carl Francisco Roberts, aka Moose, was a grader operator who hadn’t been to work in over a week. However, now that they had his legal name, Zack called a contact at the DEA and learned more.
As they headed back to the car, Zack told Mandy, “Moose served time for vandalism when he was just ten years old. He now has a rap sheet as long as a novel.”
Mandy thought about what kind of childhood had created such a monster. Although he’d probably had it rough, so had most of the kids she’d grown up with. They hadn’t turned into killers. Everyone had a choice. Along the way, Moose had made bad ones.
Zack opened her door for her. “He moved from petty theft to armed robbery to fencing stolen goods. He mostly stayed out of jail thanks to some excellent defense attorneys, the latest of which is none other than my brother-in-law.”
“Sam’s good at what he does.” She sighed, slipped into the hot seat of the car, tossed the glasses onto the dash and removed the wig. She fluffed her hair and recalled hearing Sam speak passionately about how every citizen deserved a legal defense and a fair trial—but she wondered how he’d feel if he’d helped keep the man free who’d hurt Dana and who’d murdered Lisa. “I wonder if Sam ever defended Nicholas Vizzi.”
Zack shook his head. “If that had been the case, I’m certain Sam would have mentioned it after Vizzi shot him.”
“True.”
Zack got in and started the car. His ring tone sounded, and he pulled out his cell and checked caller ID. “It’s Mom, again.”
He automatically turned on the speakerphone so Mandy could listen. Catherine didn’t mince words. “Maria was attacked last night.”
“Oh, no.” Mandy paled, her shoulders sagged, and she raised her hand to her mouth.
Zack remembered Maria from the funeral. Even with the sad occasion, she’d had that special spring in her step and a light in her eyes that suggested she was in love. “What happened?”
“She went to Ray’s house, and her bodyguard waited outside. He’s dead, his throat cut. A neighbor noticed his body in the bushes while walking her dog this morning and called the police. The cops arrived to find Maria in the basement. It was filled with all kinds of sexual items—apparently she and Ray were into kinky stuff. Maria was tied to a table, swathed in black latex. She’d been sliced up pretty badly, but she was alive. She’s on the way to the hospital as we speak.”
Zack had never ruled Ray out as a suspect. Perhaps they’d been searching the wrong trail for clues. “And Ray?”
“He’s in pretty much the s
ame shape as Maria.” So much for Zack’s suspicion of Ray. He wouldn’t have cut himself badly just to create an alibi. “The police think Ray fought off the attacker and that’s why he and Maria are still alive, but we won’t be certain unless he survives to give a statement.” Catherine’s voice cracked. “I can’t believe this is happening again. I wish Sam and Dana hadn’t left the country.”
Zack tried to console his mother. “Maybe Dana will be safer there.”
“I called to let her know what’s going on, but she didn’t answer and must still be on the plane. I left a message, and I’m calling Sylvia next.”
“All right. Mandy and I are tracking down Moose, aka Carl Francisco Roberts. His fingerprints are on file since he has a record. If the police find anything at Maria’s crime scene, maybe they’ll get a match.”
“I’ll let them know.” Catherine cleared her throat. “Be careful.”
“You, too.”
“Now what?” Mandy asked, her voice determined—even if it shook a bit.
“We find Moose. I’m pulling in every favor I can. If Moose uses a credit card or a cell phone under his real name, my friends at the DEA will be able to pinpoint his location.”
“And then what?”
“We let the police handle it after that.” Zack turned to her, knowing from the fear in her eyes that she needed reassurance. “I’m not putting you in any more danger. Last night, when you disappeared on me, I realized that . . . I should never have asked you to come to the bar. I shouldn’t have left your side.”
“If you’d been with me, I’d never have coaxed Moose’s address and place of work from his friends.” She seemed to choose her next words very carefully. “When all hell broke loose in that bar, I got out fast.”
“You did the right thing.” But he was still kicking himself for letting her go into a dangerous situation and not being right next to her to protect her. That she could take care of herself—wasn’t the point. He could have lost her, and if anything had happened to her, he would have been devastated. Not because she was his assignment, or because she worked for his mother or because she was Dana’s best friend. Not even because she was the mother of his daughter.
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