Unlike the quick and brutal slashing of Granville’s throat, in drawing the cross, the gestures had been slow, gentle—like a reverent show of respect or contrition. Then, the killer had left without touching Granville.
The police had found Granville covered from the waist down and a band of white skin where the ring had been. Eva mentioned the discrepancies from the video to one of the Crime Scene specialists and hoped forensics would jump on them first.
In moving through the three-story pleasure palace, one large room caught her attention because it had not been ransacked by partiers. No discarded clothing. No leftover food or booze. Michelangelo-like paintings of Greek gods in various carnal scenes covered the walls and the vaulted ceiling. Only one statue stood in the center of the room—a well-endowed Bacchus, aka Dionysus, the god of wine. His followers had been known for their naked, ritual frenzies. It would seem those here revered the head of a B.C. sex cult.
Not a good sign.
Hedonism for pleasure’s sake never ended well. Add worship into the debauchery and the fervor often proved deadly.
Leaving the main floor, she descended to the basement. A chill that had nothing to do with the thermostat or the outside temperature wrapped around her. Violent death waited at the bottom of the stairs. Shivering, she grabbed the rail and moved slowly forward.
A wine cellar came first. She walked through it, delaying the inevitable. The overstocked space held a generous selection of fairly expensive red wines and cases of other high-end imported beverages. Leaving the wine, she moved into a dungeon-like room and braced herself. The sickly sweet incense clogging the air assaulted her senses and the cold cut deep into her bones…
Light flashed directly into her face, hurting her eyes. She tried to lift her hands to shield them, but couldn’t break free of the chain binding her wrists to the metal band around her stomach. Her heart hammered painfully and her stomach wrenched with dread at her naked state and her surroundings. Where was her sister? She had to find Maria.
On the far wall a large screen video played. The sickening images of dozens of naked men and women writhing on the floor, having sex with one another as a man poured red wine on them and whipped them, cut to her soul.
Where was her sister?
Hearing a whimper in the darkness beyond, she stumbled forward until a harsh laugh brought her to a stop. “You ready for your turn? Your sister has been enjoying the ecstasy of pleasure enhanced by pain.”
“Who the hell are you? Where is Maria? Where are our friends… the limo… the club?”
She barely saw the snaking end of the whip before it lashed across her stomach. She recoiled from the stinging pain.
“Money can buy everything. On your knees, you illegal piece of ass. I am your master. God of your pleasure and devil of your pain.”
The whip wrapped around her legs and jerked her hard to the stone floor. A masked man stepped from the shadows, naked except for black leather boots and black leather straps that accentuated his musculature and bulging sex. Blood smeared his body—stomach, thighs, chest, and sex. He was the man in the video whipping the men and women.
“What have you done with my sister!” she demanded.
He laughed and stepped aside. She saw her sister’s bloodied body, lying motionless on the stone altar. She’d been violated, whipped, and had suffered God only knew what from the assortment of metal devices on a nearby table. Blood smeared her angelic face, her body welted from the numerous lashes all over.
“Your turn,” he said.
Fury exploded throughout her. “In hell. I will kill you for this,” she screamed. Jumping up, she rushed to the table and grasped the sharpest instrument. She couldn’t raise her arms high, but she could hit low. She ran straight at him. He twisted, and her stab to his groin sank into the soft flesh of his stomach. She rammed the sharp point deeper and higher.
He roared. His ring gleamed in the light. For a brief second, she saw the letter B over the face of a ram in a pentagram before his fist slammed into her face. The punches kept coming. Her stomach. Her breasts. Her neck. Her back. She fell to the ground. He kicked her ribs and her head. Agonizing pain flashed with every blow until—
“Eva! What’s wrong!”
Her body trembling beyond control, Eva snapped her eyes open at Adam’s cry. He had his hands on her shoulders, turning her face up from the ball she’d crawled into.
The woman’s death throes still shuddered through Eva’s mind with unbearable pain.
She said the only thing she could to keep her secrets safe. “Migraine. Bad.”
Adam’s heart pounded hard. His chest hurt. Seeing Eva collapsed on the stone floor, as if dying in agony had caught him off guard and shaken him. This is the woman who, having only a knife, had fearlessly gone after a man with an ax to protect him. She’d been indomitable against serial killers.
Logically, he knew the odds of someone hurting her here with the place swarming with agents had been slim. But he damn well knew the unthinkable happened all the time. He’d reacted with his gut.
Relief that she hadn’t been harmed lasted a second. Her skin had turned whiter than snow and just as cold. He scooped her into his arms. “I shouldn’t have brought you here. You’re going to the hospital.”
She struggled against him. “No, just need… fresh air.”
He doubted that was all, but juggled the French door open and carried her outside. Marching through the drizzling rain, he went to a large gazebo near an infinity pool and sat down with her in his arms. He welcomed the comfort of the cushioned chaise lounge and her soft Ivory Soap scent.
It had to be midnight or later. The waters of Lake Lanier gleamed darkly in the misty moonlight and a damp breeze lightly stirred the night. The beauty and calm clashed with the sickness behind him. One never knew what lay behind even the most expensive of closed doors.
Eva sucked in air as if surfacing from deep underwater. Her long black hair brushed the skin of his arm as he pulled her tighter. She had warmed him with her body when he’d been shot and in shock. She’d fiercely demanded that he’d better live. That moment had seemed like heaven and hell for him. Holding her now, only reaffirmed how much more alive she made him feel. He pressed his cheek to her forehead, thankful for the warmth returning to her skin.
“What happened?”
She straightened her back as if she didn’t need help from anyone. “I… must be allergic to the incense. Blinding pain hit me the moment I stepped into that room. I can be hypersensitive to scents. It’s why I stick to Ivory Soap.”
So sensitive that she’d crawled into a ball rather than exit the French doors? Her explanation didn’t ring completely true, but before he could challenge her on it, she pushed up from his lap until she faced him. “Are you familiar with the current rise in ancient sex cults?”
He blinked then frowned. Always the unexpected with her. “Every religion, deviancy, and fetish has its sexual radicals who band together. What are you specifically wanting to know?”
She waved her hand toward the mansion. “Granville and whomever else he’s involved with are likely in a sex cult. They are rising up here and in Europe. A case I researched in New Orleans had a sex cult involved in two missing prostitutes. Ever hear of Bacchus or Dionysus?”
“There’re two yachts down at the dock named Bacchus 2 and Bacchus 3. Otherwise, those are the names for the Greek and Roman gods of wine, right?”
“Yes. Single god, though. Two names.” She explained the worship room upstairs then added the dungeon area had to be their playground. “With as much high-end red wine as they have stored in the cellar, they had to have consumed large amounts during their frenzied rituals. Anything could have happened in that room. I’d have the crime scene team go over it as carefully as the judge’s bedroom.”
“Sure.” Adam’s mind raced. Other than the judge’s few personal effects, there hadn’t been a shred of any identifying papers in the entire mansion. Not even a grocery receipt. All the utilities w
ere on automatic pay to the same bank account from the Cayman’s.
But what about the booze? That had to be ordered locally, and the wine sat in crates with a very famous name on them. She’d given him an idea that might shortcut them into who owned or at least funded the place.
He leaned forward and planted a light kiss on her lips. “You’re a dream.” He pulled out his phone, started to dial, then froze. He’d kissed her. Not really completely kissed her but he’d put his lips on hers after fantasizing about it for weeks.
He slid his gaze to hers and heat flashed between them like a fire suddenly fed oxygen. She too looked shocked, incredible gray eyes wide open, full mouth parted. Cheeks suddenly flushed with color.
One of the French doors swung open at the house and male voices, crudely commented on the women who’d come to the wild parties.
Eva sprang from his lap, her brow creasing as she faced him angrily. “They shouldn’t judge. What if some of those brought here hadn’t come willingly?”
Adam stood and zeroed his gaze in on Eva. “Have you heard something about this place then?”
“Not yet, but you can bet I’ll be asking questions at the victim’s assistance meeting today. The volunteers handle calls from women in difficult situations.” She shook her head. “Somebody murdered Granville for a reason. And it’s odd the gate guard never saw the people who came or left. Just the limos. Anyone, in any kind of shape, drugged, bound, or whatever could be brought here and no one would hear their cries for help. As I told you a minute ago when you weren’t listening, I’d have the dungeon processed as thoroughly as the judge’s bedroom.”
Adam frowned. Again, he had the feeling she knew a hell of a lot more than what she said. But how? Unless she’d lied to him, she hadn’t known more about this case than he had.
“I’ve already requested for the dungeon to get an in-depth sweep. The room gave me an odd feeling as well. We’re checking traffic cam footage at the highway exit. The gate guard swears the owners forbade any type of video recording on the property. There’s not even any security cameras. Just alarms.”
Eva arched a brow. “Really? I bet everything that happens here is on film. They’re likely watching us now and laughing their asses off.”
“I’ve got men looking for hidden cameras. As soon as I set up a watch detail for the hotel you’re at, I’ll take you back.” The repairs to her house after Mason Smith fiery wake-up call wouldn’t be finished for another week or two.
“Why?”
He was incredulous that she’d even ask. “This nut threatened you.”
She shook her head. “The killer demanded I write a story.”
“Or you’d face judgment, too. That’s a threat.”
“The hotel security is good, Frasier. And I really don’t think—”
She looked at him as if he was being—what had she called him—a mother hen? He clenched his teeth. “You didn’t think Mason Smith could get to you, but he did. This is my investigation and what I say goes, Ms. Saint. You either take the detail, or I’m bunking on the sofa to ensure you’re protected.”
“Fine.” Eva pressed her fingers to her temple, suddenly looking very tired. Forehead creased, skin back to pale, mouth drawn tight with pain. “Then let’s go before my head explodes.”
She never gave up a fight this quickly. That they were back to being Frasier and Ms. Saint rankled, but he let it go. He knew she suffered from the debilitating headaches, but hadn’t really seen the effects before. Her curled into a ball on the floor still hit him in the gut. He took her arm, motioning for the house. She pulled up short. “I’m not going back through the basement even if we have to walk the whole estate.”
He shifted direction. “There’s a service entrance on the left where we can exit to the front.”
She exhaled, her relief palpable. Several questions came to mind, but he bit them back for now. As he’d told Brad, something was going on with her.
Brad’s warning about loving trouble rang out.
Trouble had felt too damn good a few moments ago.
Video of victim number two hit the internet at ten the next morning. Eva got the text from Adam in the middle of her meeting. The volunteers at National Victim’s Assistance Program were sharp women with a heart to help. Eva had to bite down on her frustration and focus to stay on task. She wanted to be in the thick of the investigation.
The women before her came from all walks of life, from society column ladies to nuns, from security guards to teachers. Everyone wanted to be trained on preventing crime and helping victims.
“Awareness is the first step,” she told them. “But that alone isn’t enough. Each person must have the courage to act when they see something off or wrong. In my interviews with witnesses after a horrible crime, someone did notice something but didn’t report it.”
Her thirty-minute speech lasted forty. Before she closed, she appealed to the women there. “I am working on a case that might involve women being taken against their will in limos while they are out clubbing. If anyone knows anything, please let someone know. I’ve heard illegals may be targeted. There is a number on the NVAP website where problems can be anonymously reported.”
The security detail Adam assigned hoovered in the back of the room. They’d shown up before Adam left her hotel suite this morning. She and Adam had stumbled around, prying their eyes open with espresso and coffee before seven this morning. He’d eaten strawberry jam on a croissant and she’d eaten grapes with half a bland bran muffin. She refused to remember his firm lips brushing hers last night She refused to recall the flashing heat chasing the cold from her bones. She refused to acknowledge how alive he made her feel in a heartbeat.
He’d left muttering something about Vanderhaul Wines, a wine and beverage dynasty from Europe. She’d sighed with relief and hit the shower—a cold one. Then she’d scoured the internet for the ram’s head-pentagram signet ring. None of the images had a B imposed over it. Most had satanic overtones.
The leftover dregs of migraine medication had her eyes drooping by the end of the meeting. She needed more caffeine and wanted to call Adam, but invited anyone in the audience to come speak with her if they had questions or books they wanted signed.
After several ladies spoke with her, one of the nuns in the room came up. “I’m Sister Sarah. I so need to tell Sister Mary everything you said today. It will make her feel better. Women who feel safe in the sanctuary we offer come to the church for help. I have heard your story of women being taken against their will in limos. There is more, but only Father Joseph can be the one to tell you.”
Eva’s heart kicked with excitement. “I must talk with him now.”
“He is at a funeral this morning. But I am sure the church secretary can make an appointment for when he returns.” The nun handed her a number.
The cobwebs in Eva’s mind disappeared in her excitement. She had a clue. One she hadn’t used her paranormal gift to discover. Well, not directly. She had used her visions to help write the books she had, thus putting her in the position of speaking at the NVAP.
Before becoming Mason Smith’s target, Eva had always worked quietly alone on cold cases to expose killers and their evil to the world. During Smith’s investigation, she’d tasted what working on an active case was like—and, Lord help her, she’d loved it!
Eva quickly texted Adam the news from the nun then finished talking to the rest of the women waiting in line. Forty-five minutes later, she gathered her things and called the church. She arranged a meeting with Father Joseph. Considering the killer had prayed after killing Granville, she knew she was onto something.
Just as she finished, Adam entered the room, surprising her. He must have rushed over after getting her text. Walking toward her, he scanned the room. “Is the nun you spoke to still here?”
Eva smiled at his lack of greeting. She well-understood being case focused. “Sister Sarah?” She glanced about. “No.”
“Any chance we could meet with the Fath
er now?”
“He’s at a funeral. I just made an appointment for 2:30.”
“Tell me exactly what transpired.”
She explained.
He shook his head. “Damn, you have an uncanny ability to fish for sharks in the deep end and always snag a bite.”
Eva saw they’d drawn the attention of several NVAP staff members. “How about we talk on the way?”
“Sure. Where are we going?”
“You came to me. I thought you had a plan.”
He shrugged. “Lunch then. I’ll catch you up. Maybe we’ll have a break on the second murder by then.”
A working lunch did not a date make, she told herself. Adam let security detail go and escorted her to his rental car. She’d been to the Buckhead Diner before and could already feel the inches glomming to her waist the minute she walked into the landmark restaurant. There had to be calories in smells that good. Adam ordered a milkshake and a fried-egg-grilled-cheese-BLT. She ordered unsweet tea and a vegetable plate.
He frowned over her order. “That is un-southern.”
“I put a higher priority on unclogged arteries than my heritage, but we’ve had this argument before. Why is it taking so long to ID the second victim?”
“Killer put a white hood over the victim’s head. Throat slit and two Justice Cards are nailed to the victim’s mouth area. Biometrics are dead in the water and experts are looking for clues.”
“So the Granville’s sin had been in thinking. This victim’s sin had been in speaking.”
“Our deduction as well. None of Granville’s cases are turning up a suspect yet. We’re checking every angle and we’re piecing together sex cult case. Every room had a hidden camera that wirelessly transmitted feed. We’re tracing that.”
“What about Granville’s missing ring?” she asked hoping she could give him information from her vision.
He shook his head. “The angle of the video is wrong for biometrics to distinguish any significant details about the ring. At this point, we are assuming the killer took it with him as a keepsake.”
Eva had to bite her tongue to keep from telling Adam that a pentagram framed ram’s head lay beneath a bold letter B on the signet ring. She changed the subject before she could blurt anything out. “What about Vanderhaul? You mentioned the dynasty this morning.”
Never Fear - The Tarot: Do You Really Want To Know? Page 27