He opened Adrian Hamilton’s ‘Queen of Cups’ file and began to read every word over again. The journalist had definitely been on the brink of something big and he’d been a lot more thorough in his research than in the other story files Conor had read. A name caught Conor’s eye and he reread the paragraph again. Something nagged away at the back of his mind. He stared at the words until they blurred.
“Oh fuck!”
Conor grabbed the phone and dialed furiously, stabbing at the numbers. Alex’s phone went straight to voicemail so he tried Sergeant Higgs.
“What?” Higgs answered abruptly.
“Sarge, it’s Conor. Tell Alex—the woman that you’ve gone to arrest at the shop is Amanda Teller’s sister. Her husband has a record for GBH. It could be him we want. You need to get both of them.”
“Damn it all to hell, they’ve just gone into the shop.”
Conor listened to the sound of heavy footsteps. Higgs was running somewhere—hopefully toward Alex. He heard a crash in the background, muted shouts and scuffling. His heart pounded as he listened to the sound of fighting. Then just as he was about to shout his frustration into the phone, Higgs came back on the line.
“The husband was hiding in the back room, put up quite a fight. Apart from some bruises, everyone’s fine. We’ve got them both and we’re on the way back.”
“Thanks, Sarge.” The line disconnected, and Conor heaved an audible sigh of relief.
He made himself a mug of tea then went back to work. A trip to the canteen for a bacon sandwich held some appeal but he didn’t want to leave his desk until he’d spoken to Alex. It was so quiet in the office that when the phone did ring, he jumped, heart racing.
“Jesus, Conor, you’re turning into a complete wuss.” With a shake of his head he picked up the receiver. “DC Trethuan, how can I help you?”
“Oh, I can think of a few ways you could give me a hand.” Alex’s deep tone reverberated with amusement.
“Alex! How are you? Are you okay? I’m imagining black eyes and a fat lip.”
Alex snorted. “I wasn’t that close to the action. Mind you, it took three men to hold Sid Muir down, and Jemima Muir sure has some nails on her. Bloody woman has talons that would look better on a hawk.
“One of the uniform guys that was helping out is going to have some explaining to do to his girlfriend tonight.”
Conor chuckled. “Well, I’m glad everything went okay. I stared at that file for an age before I noticed the connection. You’d noted Amanda Teller’s maiden name on your interview notes—Ellison. Adrian Hamilton had researched her sister’s past and there was one note of her maiden name in the file—Jemima Ellison, now Muir. I should have spotted it sooner.”
“I’m amazed you spotted it at all, considering how much information you’ve been dealing with and the number of names that must be in your head. It was a good spot.”
Conor all but glowed at the praise. “So, what happens next? Are you coming back here?”
“No. The suspects have been taken to different stations for interrogation. I wanted them locked up at places with more secure facilities. I’m going to observe the interviews. Higgs and Pete are going to do them. We’ll do the husband first and let Mrs. Scratchy sit there and stew for a while. We should get to her this afternoon.”
“Okay. I’ll see you later then?”
“Definitely. I’ll pick you up and we can spend some quality time celebrating the collars.” He chuckled. “Probably involving you in a collar.” The chuckles turned into a deep, sexy laugh.
Conor held the handset away from his ear and glared at it. He shook his head and put the phone back against his ear. “You are so amusing. If you think you’re getting leather around my neck after that appalling connection, you have another thing coming.”
“Oh, I’ll definitely be coming. Not so sure about you…”
“Alex…” Conor growled but a light click followed by the dial tone told him that Alex had put the phone down on him.
“Cheeky bastard,” Conor muttered, but his cock had stiffened and there was nothing he could do about it.
The day passed quickly, and Conor hardly noticed that he spent most of it alone. Various people called in to deliver reports, drop of photographs or just seek out a cup of coffee and a chat. Conor felt like he’d accomplished quite a lot, sorting and cross-referencing all his notes on the arson investigation and making a start on a similar set up for the tarot murders. It was gone six o’clock when the duty sergeant from the front desk stuck his head round the corner of the door and threw an envelope in Conor’s direction.
“This was left on the front desk for you. I didn’t see who left it. I was in the john.”
Conor looked at the envelope, which had landed at his feet, and time stood still. The old-fashioned typing on the outside of the envelope was horribly familiar. His hands trembled.
“Um, Sarge…you’ll need to pull the video footage of reception for the time you were gone.”
The sergeant blanched. “Don’t tell me this is something freaky?”
“It could be. It’s not your fault. It would never have been left while you were there. Someone’s been watching. I’ll need your prints for elimination purposes as well.”
“I’ll get on to tech support about pulling the footage right away. I’ll let the lab have my prints as well—they’re in the personnel files, like everyone’s.” The sergeant backed out of the door and Conor heard him running down the corridor.
Conor went to his desk drawer and pulled out a pair of latex gloves. He pulled them on then used a ruler to slit the envelope open. He parted the paper with care and shook the contents out. A colorful card slid into his hand.
“The Moon.”
The picture seemed innocuous enough. There was a full moon with a crescent within it, twin pillars, two dogs or possibly wolves howling, and a stream with what looked like a lobster emerging out of the water. Conor got hold of his tarot book and thumbed through it until he reached the correct page.
“Hmm… Crayfish, not lobster. Hidden enemies, danger, calumny, darkness, terror, deception, occult forces, error.” The words sprang off the page and hit him with an almost tangible force. With a shaking hand, he dialed Alex’s number only to get his voicemail again.
“Alex, it’s me. Call me back. It’s urgent.”
Conor paced across the office in agitation. There was no way the card could have been left by the suspects they had in custody. That meant that unless they had an accomplice, someone else was the murderer and that person was still out there. Conor rang Sergeant Higgs.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up.”
“Higgs here,” Higgs answered in his familiar gruff tone.
Conor’s relief was almost tangible.
“Sarge, it’s Conor. Where’s Alex?”
There was a short but ominous silence.
“Isn’t he with you?” Higgs asked. “He left here over an hour ago to pick you up. You did an amazing job, Conor. The couple from Arcania confessed to the arson. They’re denying the murders but it’s only a matter of time.”
Conor tried to focus but he felt sick and needed to sit down.
“There’s been another card, Sarge. It was delivered here to the station no more than half an hour ago. I was wrong. The Muirs must be telling the truth. They’re not responsible for the murders.”
“Well, fuck me. Another card…”
“Yes! The killer is still out there and there’s no sign of Alex.”
“Bloody hell. Sit tight, son, and don’t panic. There are any number of perfectly ordinary reasons why the boss might have been delayed. I’m on my way and in the meantime, I’ll put a call out for the beat officers to look out for him or his car.”
“Thanks, Sarge.”
Conor didn’t know what to do with himself. He couldn’t sit still. He couldn’t focus enough to think. A hundred gruesome scenarios played through his head and he cursed his colorful imagination. He pushed open the office door and walke
d blindly down a long, gray corridor, through reception then out into the car park. The rain, soft but steady, soaked his hair and shirt instantly. Dark strands clung to his face and tiny pearls of water hung tenaciously to the ends before dropping to the floor. He leaned back against a wall and felt every bit of energy drain from his body. Too exhausted to cry, the tears were still there, prickling uncomfortably behind his eyes. The elation he had felt at discovering the links within the case had dissipated instantly with the realization that it wasn’t over. The possibility that Alex could be in danger was too much to face.
The Moon card from the tarot pack had seemed so innocent but its message was clear. Conor had made a mistake and the murderer must be laughing at his incompetence. Conor was absolutely convinced now that Alex was the killer’s target. He didn’t know why. He just knew. His body flushed with heat then went instantly cold and just in time he leaned over a nearby drain and lost the contents of his stomach, heaving until there was nothing left. He wrapped his arms around his aching ribs and bent forward, hair hanging limply over his eyes. Was this what utter despair felt like? Life without Alex wasn’t worth contemplating. Just the fleeting thought sent racking shudders through his slim frame.
Vaguely he acknowledged the sound of a car pulling into the car park. Somehow his brain registered that he should get out of the rain, get back to work…do something to help the investigation. His body was frozen in place, movement was just too difficult. He couldn’t face the understanding glances of his colleagues—their reassuring pats on the shoulder and sympathetic looks would likely turn him into a sobbing wreck.
There was a light touch on his face and he started, jerking his head up to meet a pair of familiar ice-blue eyes. Alex pulled him into a close hug, wrapped him up in comfort and love, just held him silently until he could speak.
“Alex, I thought… I thought he had you. I thought…” His words weren’t exactly coherent. “Oh God, I can’t do this anymore.”
Alex brushed wet hair out of Conor’s eyes. “I know. Higgs found me. I had a flat. Had to stop and change a tire. My phone’s dead. I’m sorry.” His words were clipped as if he was trying to restrain his own emotions. He pushed Conor gently toward the car.
“Go and get in the car. We’re going home. Give me a few minutes to clear things with the team.”
Conor did as he’d been told as Alex disappeared inside the station. Relief that Alex was safe left him giddy and lightheaded but fear still gnawed at his insides. For the first time since he had joined the force, he felt lost and totally out of his depth. He shivered, his wet shirt clinging both to his skin and to the leather of the car seat. His shoulder throbbed, adding to his misery, and he wondered how Alex could possibly carry on loving someone so weak, so fragile?
“Christ, I’m pathetic. I have the emotional resilience of tapioca.” He brushed roughly at his eyes, determined not to cry. He didn’t understand why everything felt so overwhelming. He stood on the edge of a precipice. One more step would see him tumbling toward a complete meltdown.
The driver’s door opened and Alex slipped into his seat. Conor couldn’t look at him. He was so ashamed of his reaction. Alex rested a hand on his thigh and squeezed very lightly.
“Put your seatbelt on, love.”
The simple instruction was a lifeline. Obedience was something that Conor could cling to. Alex would look after him. Nothing in the world was more certain. Conor sat back but didn’t relax. His spine was rigid, as if bending would break it. One wrong move and Conor thought he might shatter into a million pieces.
Alex drove in silence and it didn’t take them long to get home. Once there, Alex took command. He gave Conor half an hour to get clean, inside and out.
“When you’re done, wait for me in the bedroom. Naked.”
He was sorely tempted to join Conor in the bathroom and spend some time soaping and soothing him, but deep down Alex knew that wasn’t what his beautiful lover needed. He had to be strong for him. He made a quick phone call, sorting out what he needed and thanking heaven that he had good friends he could call on. Alex wasn’t a policeman anymore—he was a Dom, pure and simple. His submissive needed him. Nothing was more important.
He climbed the stairs slowly, making his steps heavy enough that Conor would know he was on his way. He pushed open the bedroom door. Conor stood in the middle of the room, his eyes cast down, hands clasped behind his back. Alex let his eyes roam across Conor’s perfect body and noted the tension in his shoulders.
“You will be silent. Trust me to give you what you need, Conor.” Alex kept his tone low and calm.
Conor was on the edge of something Alex didn’t fully understand and he didn’t want to scare him. He pulled open the dresser drawer and took out a leather cock ring. It had a padlock attached, which was heavy enough to make an impression. Alex took a couple of steps and dropped to one knee in front of Conor. He lifted Conor’s semi-hard cock in his palm, ignoring the twitch of Conor’s tense thigh muscles. He locked the ring on then put the key into his pocket.
“You don’t get to come tonight unless I allow it.” Alex stood up, stepped back a little and admired his handiwork. Conor stood perfectly still.
“You haven’t done anything wrong, love,” Alex whispered in Conor’s ear, brushing the soft lobe with his lips. “You need to understand that. This isn’t about punishment. It’s about taking you to a place where you can let go of everything, give yourself up to me completely. You need to submit.”
Conor shivered. Alex rested a proprietary hand on his sub’s arse and gave it a pat. “We can’t do this at home—you need to be out of your comfort zone. I’ve arranged a room for the night at the club.”
Conor trembled and sighed but made no attempt to speak or move. They had visited the BDSM club Alex was referring to a couple of times and used the private playrooms. Alex nodded, satisfied that Conor had accepted the proposal.
Alex went to the wardrobe and picked out a pair of plain leather trousers, which he then laid on the bed.
“You may dress. Trousers only. No shoes, no shirt and definitely no underwear. Meet me downstairs when you’re ready.”
He knew that his orders would only make Conor feel more vulnerable, but he wanted him in a state where total submission could take away all his worries. Alex went to the spare room and picked an outfit to change into later. He put his heavy boots, black leathers and a charcoal gray T-shirt into a small holdall, along with a few other essentials then stored it in the boot of the car.
When he returned inside, Conor was standing at the bottom of the stairs, head still bowed. Alex didn’t need eye contact. That could wait until later. He held out his hand, and when Conor took it, led him to the car. Conor’s bare feet made no sound on the smooth tarmac path. He made no complaint about the evening chill, despite being semi-naked, but Alex made sure the heater in the car was turned up while he returned to lock up the house.
He played calming, classical music in the car for the half hour drive to the club, occasionally glancing sideways at Conor, who sat with his hands folded neatly in his lap. Traffic was reasonably light between Bristol and Bath. Alex navigated the one-way system with the ease of familiarity and drew up to a set of forbidding security gates behind a large Georgian building just north of the town center. The car idled as Alex waited for security to check his registration plate and within a minute, the gates slid smoothly open. He pulled into the ample car park and found a space in a corner. It was almost full and he was glad that he’d thought to request a slot along with the room he’d booked earlier.
Alex got out of the car then retrieved his bag from the boot. He went to the passenger door and opened it. Conor looked up at him with wide eyes.
“You know you’re safe with me, love. Come on.”
He took Conor’s hand and led him to the rear entrance of the club, which was down a short flight of stone steps. Alex checked for anything that might hurt Conor’s feet but the area was immaculate and as they approached, the door swun
g open. Inside was a single desk staffed by a young man dressed in black.
“Welcome to The Chamber Hotel, sir. Everything has been prepared as you requested.”
Alex kept his hand on the small of Conor’s back as he accepted the key, which was handed to him.
“Your room is on the top floor. You recall where the lifts are?”
“Yes, thank you.” Alex picked up his bag.
“Please dial zero if there is anything at all that you require. The desk is staffed all night.” The young receptionist took his seat and gave no indication that he thought Conor’s state of undress unusual. It was one of the things Alex loved about The Chamber. Discretion was absolutely guaranteed. He could probably have walked them both in stark naked and no one would have batted an eyelid.
The décor spoke of understated luxury. Thick carpets absorbed any sound as they walked, and the lift rose smoothly. There was no annoying Muzac playing—no distractions at all. On the top floor there were just four doors leading from the corridor. The door to the room Alex had booked was heavy but swung open silently. Alex indicated that Conor should go in first, knowing that his lover would be confronted with the sight of a large St. Andrew’s Cross against the opposite wall. The room was decorated entirely in black and the walls were padded with thick velvet. The bed was vast, with an intricate iron frame and luxurious coverings. It looked soft and inviting, unlike the cross, which Alex noticed Conor could not take his eyes away from. The cross stood almost as high as the ceiling and was heavily cushioned with leather. Sturdy chains ending in thick metal cuffs hung from the widest points and a wide leather belt lay open at waist height.
An en-suite bathroom could be glimpsed through another door on the far wall that stood slightly ajar. Wanting a closer look, Alex wandered over and pushed the door open. A huge sunken bath surrounded by gleaming tiles and several mirrors filled one side of the room. The shelf at the end of it held a range of toiletries and a pile of fluffy black towels.
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