She stared into the mirror he’d placed against the cinderblock wall in front of the metal crate where she rested. She refused to look at her cramped, abused body as he’d instructed, focusing instead on the others. White, wispy steam streaked over her image. Faces materialized then dissipated. Random women whom she didn’t know. Odd apparitions that weren’t real yet they were.
Smoke and mirrors, none of it real.
Her mind, what was left of it, played tricks on Claire. Insisted the faces she imagined belonged to otherworldly voices she couldn’t possibly hear.
“Master is angry.”
When isn’t he?
She choked on a ragged snort, fiery agony blasting from her throat and into her chest. Her body shook with a fit of coughing. Had she been unsecured and tried to stand, she would have fallen to the floor.
Lord, she felt weaker than a newborn.
“Leaving.”
“No, don’t go.”
“Down here.”
“We’re here.”
“Save us.”
Faces zoomed past, her face the one solid thing in the reflection. Pale. So pale. Was she already dead? She looked dead.
“Gone.”
The whispers dropped in volume.
“Master comes.”
“Be strong.”
“Don’t orgasm.”
The voices cut off and the foggy faces disappeared, leaving her alone once again.
Claire had discovered she didn’t care for being alone. Oh, she’d lived by herself for many years and had no issues with it but something elemental inside her had changed. The voices weren’t real yet their company kept some of her more disturbing thoughts from forming.
When Carl—Daniel—whatever… When he’d first stated the rule about not orgasming without permission, she’d thought he had to be joking. She never would’ve believed a man could be capable of forcing an orgasm on a woman. Especially not when inflicting pain.
She’d learned a lot from him.
Control was an illusion. She didn’t have control of anything. Not the craziness her fractured mind invented. Not even the responses of her body. She no longer understood the difference between pleasure and pain. Any stimulation applied to her stupid body resulted in swelling, wetness and yes—arousal. Her mind could argue and make demands until the cows came home, the end results were still the same.
The lash produced heat that zinged between nerve endings. Painful stretching and pulling sent jolts of electricity flying. Even the pain of cold metal shoved up her ass morphed into burning awareness that further blurred the connection between mind and body.
Would she become as the faces in the mirror, as insubstantial as a wisp of smoke? While she found that disturbing, she couldn’t force herself to be overly concerned. If anything existed outside the dungeon, Claire doubted she’d ever see it again.
The whispers had told her their tales, all frighteningly similar. Lured into the dungeon by a charming man who turned into a beast. Whipped and tortured until their bodies were his to command. Teased and tormented to the point where flesh took over, submitting to his commands.
Orgasm meant an end. A fatal, final end. No more pleasure, pain or life.
And still with the end of life there would be no freedom. She would be trapped here with the others for eternity, one of many urgent whispers advising other women who would succumb and join their ranks.
An endless cycle of misery she’d never escape.
Chapter Seven
Mason pulled back his arm and slammed his fist into the wall of his office. He withdrew his hand from the hole, barely glancing at the split skin on knuckles that already started to swell.
The pain was an inconsequential twinge compared to the frustration raging through his body, causing his blood to boil. He didn’t even want to consider the hollow ache in his chest.
Cam and he had spent long hours combing over case files with the detective handling a string of missing women over the past several years. The police never found any evidence leading to a suspect and nothing to connect the women. The primary similarity in all twelve cold cases was how each woman vanished without any signs of a struggle, almost as if they’d been beamed up by an alien spacecraft. There were no bodies, no trails to indicate they’d walked away from their lives. Nothing to go on.
Mason glared at his watch. Less than an hour ago, Claire had officially been reported missing and become number thirteen.
Without comment, Laurie walked into his office and pressed an ice-filled towel to his hand. Cam scowled at the hole in the wall but kept his mouth shut.
Mason knew this whole fucked-up situation would be ten times worse without the support of his friends.
“There has to be something we’re missing. Thirteen women can’t just evaporate into thin air without someone seeing a damn thing.” There had to be a neighbor, friend or family member of the missing women who had information without even realizing.
“Okay,” Cam agreed. “What about Trina? You’ve gone over everything with your aunt and uncle but what about her friends? Have you talked to them?”
“There are statements in the file from her neighbor and a few friends.”
Cam nodded and compressed his lips into a thin line. Mason knew the look, could almost see the wheels turning, and waited his friend out. Cam had to process the thought and let the pieces connect before sharing the idea.
“Sure, the cops took the required steps, crossed the T’s, dotted the I’s. Put yourself in their shoes. They had eleven cold cases spanning years, no evidence of anything amiss in any of those cases. Now they are staring at the same damn thing again.”
Mason nodded, starting to follow the line of reasoning. He stayed silent, letting Cam work it out and develop the idea so it wouldn’t be lost.
“Cops are underpaid and overworked. Remember the huge stacks of files littering every surface in Manny’s cramped office? Now I’m not saying anything against Manny. He’s one of the few who still give a shit. But consider hitting the same blank wall. Where do you spend your time, on the case without any clues or evidence of foul play?” Cam shook his head.
“No,” Mason agreed. “You do the required, cursory investigation and focus on the cases with evidence that you might one day be able to close.”
Cam grabbed Trina’s file, flipping pages until he found the one he wanted. “Trina’s best friend, Janie Stratton. She lives over on Oliver Street with her parents. That’s where we start.”
And there was the payoff. Cam ferreted out the crack that crucial information could have slipped through.
Both men headed for the door, Cam pausing to kiss Laurie’s cheek and let her know where they were headed. “Lock up and head home, sugar. Don’t wait up.”
Ten minutes later they were seated in the Strattons’ living room.
“Janie already talked to the police,” her father stated.
Mason appreciated the man’s protectiveness. “Yes sir, but they may have missed something or not asked the right question that could provide a lead.”
Cam leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “Another woman has gone missing and we are desperate to find something—anything—to go on.”
Mr. Stratton considered, watching them closely before sitting back and nodding his consent for Janie to answer their questions.
He didn’t have to look at Janie’s statement again, Mason knew it by heart. Turning toward the frightened young woman, he spoke in a soft monotone, hoping to put her at ease.
“Janie, we need to hear everything you remember about the days before Trina disappeared. The smallest, seemingly inconsequential tidbit of information could help us find her and bring her home.”
The tiny brunette nodded and took a deep breath then rubbed her palms on her jeans. “I only saw Trina a couple of times the week before… She was always so busy with work, putting in long hours to prove herself at the law firm. We talked on the phone most evenings but we did have lunch at Wong’s.”
Cam jumped in with the next question. “Did she talk about anything out of the ordinary having happened? Maybe she’d been asked out on a date?”
Janie shook her head. “Trina hadn’t been on a date in months and she wasn’t interested in anyone.” She paused, hesitation flashing in her light-brown eyes.
“Janie, we understand how difficult this has to be for you. But Trina needs your help. She won’t be upset about a broken confidence. Please…” Mason’s voice crackled with emotion. “Tell us everything.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. Mrs. Stratton squeezed her daughter’s hand and encouraged her to continue. “Even if Trina would be embarrassed, you need to tell them, Janie.”
Having an idea what could be holding her back, Mason broke the ice. “Janie, we know Trina is a submissive.”
A visible weight lifted from her slender shoulders and she sighed in relief. “She told me that’s why she doesn’t date much. That D/s relationships take a lot of time and effort. She has some issues with granting a man the level of trust necessary for a relationship to work.”
Mason nodded but remained silent, allowing Janie to become comfortable with the subject.
“It had been months since she’d gone to one of the parties. I forget what they’re called.”
“A munch,” Cam offered.
“Yes, that’s it. A munch. She said it was one of the only ways to meet Dominant guys—” The color suddenly drained from her face and she clapped a hand over her mouth, shifting her widened gaze between the two men.
Mason scooted forward on the couch. “What? What is it, Janie?”
Impatience had him on edge. His skin felt stretched too tight and his pulse skyrocketed. He didn’t want to scare her but he wanted to grab Janie and shake the information out of the girl.
Mrs. Stratton rubbed the girl’s back. “It’s okay, Janie,” she softly reassured her daughter. “Tell them.”
Mason’s entire body vibrated from the spike of adrenaline surging through his blood. He had to strain to hear the whispered words when she finally began speaking.
“When we were leaving Wong’s, Trina said something about a man she’d met. He’d made a big impression on her. Sounded more like a fantasy than a real man to me.”
His hands fisted on the couch cushions in an effort to anchor himself to the furniture and not jump to his feet. Mason fought to remain calm and keep his voice even. “We need to know everything she told you about him, Janie.”
She nodded and her eyes took on a faraway look as she thought back to the conversation. “The way Trina described him made the guy sound like he’d stepped off the pages of a magazine. Tall and sculpted with lean muscles. He dressed nice. Really nice.”
“Where’d they meet?” Cam prompted.
“On the sidewalk, late one evening. She was walking home from the office, arm full of files, mind preoccupied. Walked right into him. Almost knocked his camera out of his hand. Trina said he was charming, rich and handsome.”
Janie paused and chewed on her lip. Her father was the one to coax her into continuing. “What else, pumpkin?”
“He invited her to have coffee at the diner. Trina said she lost track of time and they talked for hours. Turned out he’s a…um, a Dom.”
Pieces of a conversation he’d had with Claire flashed through Mason’s head. She’d met a Dom in the park while filling out the second checklist.
“I met a psychologist who was taking pictures. We got to talking. Turns out he’s a Dominant.”
“What’s the Dominant’s name?” he’d asked, wondering if he knew any Doms who were doctors.
“Carl Skinner. He’s really easy to talk to.”
Mason shot to his feet and stared down at the girl. “Did Trina say anything about what the man does or mention his name?”
Janie nodded enthusiastically. Blood pounded a loud rhythm in Mason’s ears, making her voice sound distant. “She said he’s a doctor but I don’t remember what kind. His name is Carl. I can’t remember his last name.”
Son of a bitch!
He headed for the door without making a conscious decision to move. He heard Cam speaking with the Strattons as he made a beeline for his truck, charging through the door and slamming it shut behind him.
Mason didn’t believe in coincidence. Both Trina and Claire had met a doctor named Carl. A rich, handsome and charming Dominant who ran around town with a camera.
Pictures.
He came to a sudden stop, freezing in place as a memory teased the corners of his mind, not quite forming. Letting the nighttime close in around him, he narrowed his focus. Where the hell else had he heard about pictures recently?
Think, dammit.
He visualized a camera and used word association to grab hold of the elusive memory.
Camera. Lens. Lens cap. Filters. Camera strap. Tripod. Flashbulb. Lighting. Film. Thirty-five millimeter. Exposure. Negatives. Pictures. Photo paper. Photo album. Darkroom.
The memory slammed into him with the force of a two-by-four, almost driving Mason to his knees. A firm hand offered support, steadying him.
A house surrounded by trees that had given him the creeps. That cocky jerk, Daniel Winters, looking down his nose at them.
“I am in the middle of working in the darkroom. The image I was developing has sat in chemicals too long and will be utterly ruined. I have neither the time nor the inclination to indulge a jealous lover concerning his absentee girlfriend.”
How the hell would Winters know the woman Cam and Mason had been looking for was his girlfriend?
Holy fucking Christ!
Pain slammed into his knees and reverberated along his thighs as the energy drained from his body and Mason dropped to the ground. He’d been there this morning, talked to the motherfucker and walked away. Wasted the whole day trying to find clues. Leaving Claire in the arrogant dick’s clutches.
“Mason, what the fuck?” Cam’s sharp tone broke through his runaway thoughts.
His face contorted in pain as he grabbed Cam’s hand, taking the other man’s assistance in regaining his feet. “No time. Get in.”
He jumped in the Bronco, started the engine and shifted into reverse before Cam even made it into the cab. As soon as the door slammed shut, tires squealed as he dropped the pedal and raced along the residential street.
“Claire told me about a guy she’d met in the park, near U of I. A doctor named Carl who had a camera. A Dom who answered her questions about the checklist.”
“Fuck,” Cam muttered. “How are we going to find some random doctor named Carl who is also a Dom?”
Mason shook his head as he blew past a stop sign without slowing down. “You’re missing the essential connection—the camera.”
“Oookay.” Cam dragged out the word, clearly not understanding Mason’s line of reasoning.
“Remember the creepy house out in Urbana? Took the owner forever to answer the damn door. Arrogant jerk. What did he say we interrupted?”
“Watch it,” Cam warned and braced a hand on the dash as the truck skidded around a corner. “Now wait a minute. That’s a pretty big leap. Just because the guy was developing pictures in a darkroom doesn’t mean shit. And his name wasn’t Carl.”
Mason shot his friend an incredulous glare then returned his attention to the road. “Think about it. If you were planning to abduct a woman would you give her your real name?”
“No,” Cam agreed. “But you can’t go off half-cocked. Pull over. We’ll come up with a plan. Can’t just go racing up to the guy’s house and accuse him of abducting people. He’s innocent until proven guilty.”
Mason slammed on the brakes and yanked the steering wheel, narrowly avoiding a guy on a bike. As soon as the bumper cleared the angry bicyclist, he hit the gas again.
“Jesus, Mase. Slow down or we won’t make it out of town alive. We can’t help Claire if we’re in the hospital morgue.”
“I have a plan. Park down the street, recon the property, pick a lock an
d search the house.”
“And if she’s not there? If the owner catches us, calls the cops?”
Mason shrugged and gunned the engine as he hit a straight stretch of road. “Laurie will bail us out.”
“Aw crap.” Cam raked a hand through his hair. “You’re fucking serious, aren’t you?”
“As a heart attack,” he confirmed.
Cam stopped arguing and prepared for a full-scale invasion. He opened the glove box and pulled out two pistols, checking to make sure both were loaded and ready to go, shoving extra ammo into his pockets. From a rack behind the backseat, he grabbed the double-barrel shotgun and repeated the process. By the time they stashed the truck in the same place they’d hidden it before dawn, both men were armed and ready for anything.
From the gym bags still in the truck, they grabbed dark clothing and masks. Thanks to the rural location there weren’t any streetlights or close neighbors to worry about. Still they moved through the darkness with caution, sticking to shadows and staying low.
Nothing had changed in the sixteen hours since they’d last checked the place out. Sedan in the driveway, hood cold and only one light shining from the living room window. All the doors and windows were locked up tight, which was odd considering the nice summer weather. Most people had their windows open to enjoy the crisp breeze.
Cam had the back door opened in less than thirty seconds. They communicated with hand signals, Mason indicating he’d take the first floor and directing Cam to the second.
Even calling on his years of military training, Mason’s nerves got the better of him and had him jumping at shadows.
He cleared the dining room and took a right turn, winding up in the living room and coming out the other side at the front of the house near the stairs. From the entryway he moved toward the back of the house and into an open kitchen area, using a center island for cover. The place was clean and organized, nothing like the kitchen in his place. He opened a door, discovering a well-stocked pantry, then closed it again.
From the kitchen he again headed toward the front of the house, pausing to clear a small bathroom before heading into a laundry room, which was connected to the two-car garage.
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