Grace suddenly felt uncomfortable again even though she shouldn't. She'd known Johnny for years since he was friends with the family.
Grace looked up into Johnny's eyes and a lump formed in her throat.
His eyes were definitely deep blue like the Master's.
Once again, she ignored her instincts and refused to believe Johnny could possibly be the Master.
"Is that true, Grace?” Larry asked, but she had missed the whole conversation, still deep in thought that either of these men was capable of such atrocities.
"I'm sorry, what was the question?” Grace asked, then Larry repeated the story.
Johnny was talking about undercover work and Grace's black belt.
"You have no idea, Larry, what Grace is capable of. Espionage, undercover operations, disguises..."
"She's a regular James Bond, or maybe we should call her Jane Bond,” Larry suggested and Johnny laughed.
Grace was speechless. She was reading into everything they said, every word, every comment. Her thoughts went back to the Master and how she told him her name was Jane Bond, then the cologne, his blue eyes, his large, solid body and height.
Either man before her could fit the description. Damn it! Then she excused herself to retreat to the ladies’ room.
She needed air, to take a breather, or to maybe just get the hell out of there.
Two hours later, there was no sign of the Master or anyone Grace could tell Max to do surveillance on or follow. There was no concrete evidence or even a crumb of anything to warrant an investigation into either Johnny or Larry.
What would she tell Max? That Larry gave her the creeps because he hit on her constantly, touched her as if he had a right to and possibly wore the same cologne the Master did at the club? Or that Johnny had the same deep blue eyes as the Master? That they called her Jane Bond?
Shit! This was damn frustrating.
"Gracy, when did you arrive?” Aunt Delores asked as she approached Grace from behind.
"I've been here for over an hour. What a party, Aunt Delores."
Delores gave her a kiss on the cheek, then glanced around as if looking for Grace's escort.
"Where's your date?"
"I didn't bring one,” Grace responded, then wished she hadn't. Now her aunt would be introducing her to every single, available guy present.
"Oh ... well. Are you seeing anyone?” Aunt Delores asked.
Hesitating, Grace said, “Not really. Just casually...” She hoped her aunt would back off, but she just kept staring.
"Aunt Delores, is something wrong? Are you feeling all right?” Grace followed the direction her aunt was focused on.
Grace turned and was only able to catch a glimpse of a tall man making his way deeper into the crowd.
"Did you see someone you know and you want to talk to?” Grace now focused on her aunt's expression of shock and her sheer white complexion.
Aunt Delores looked at Grace. “No. Not someone of importance. I'm sure I'll be seeing him again."
Her aunt patted Grace's hand, then walked away, continuing to greet guests.
Grace had that uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach again, but she ignored it and decided to call it a night.
* * * *
"Have you made your decision yet, Master? Luther is waiting for the final okay. He's outside the news building."
The Master stayed silent, not saying a word as he tried to organize his thoughts as well as his plan for Grace Martin.
He underestimated her and how ironic that Mr. Marquette had chosen Grace's sister as his personal sex slave. Even more ironic that Marquette's own daughter was a sex slave, as well.
The Master felt so confident, so untouchable. Thoughts of Celina Marquette entered his mind and he could see her luscious thighs, hear her screams for mercy as he trained her. He demanded perfection and perfect she would be or she would die.
She was coming around. Obeying him without a fight. Moaning ... even if it was out of pain, it still was beautiful music to his ears.
The Master had heard about the undercover bust operation through a close friend in the police department. Since the clubs weren't safe anymore, he had them cleared out immediately. They decided to grab May as she left work instead of sending the special invitation to the club.
The cops were headed to abandoned offices and buildings. The thought pleased the Master.
"Tell him to grab her but be careful. Bring her to the client's requested location. I have the money and everything is perfect.” The Master then hung up.
He had not a worry in the world because he was in control ... always.
Then there was Grace Martin, a goddess just waiting to be controlled. The Master was more certain than ever Grace was put on this earth—his earth—to serve him.
At first, she seemed tough, but she was still a woman.
Women are weak, good for one solitary purpose—to serve men. There are millions of women out there just waiting to be claimed by me, taught by me and desired by me. It is I, the Master, who makes the choice. Not just any woman will do. Forget the whores, the slut I took right by the front door. No, no, no.... A slave is special, unique and should pride herself in being offered the position.
He laughed.
Offered the position.... Gracy, Gracy, Gracy. Mmmmm, I can hardly wait to taste you.
* * * *
The parking lot was dark and May was annoyed at Silvia as she spoke to her friend Erin on her cell phone.
"You should call Phillip, May. He'll meet you in the back and drive you to your car. Don't trust that bitch Silvia. She's still pissed about that Marquette guy. She's old and looks at you as competition for her job. You're beautiful, youthful, classy and intelligent. You're the bomb, May, and Silvia is an old lady."
May laughed, grateful her friend was helping to ease the current situation.
"I can't call him, Erin. He's already protective enough."
"Well be careful, May. I'll meet you at O'Maley's Restaurant in thirty minutes."
"I'll be there. Order me a Margarita on the rocks, extra salt. I'll need it."
Erin laughed, then she ended the call.
The second she did, that uneasy feeling immediately crept up inside her. What a bitch. She made me stay late on purpose and is now trying to deter me ... from being a journalist. She knew the light in this area of the parking lot was broken, yet she offered me her parking spot this morning. I should have known the bitch was up to something.
As she walked by a few cars, May took a deep breath. She could hardly make out her own vehicle all the way across the parking lot and near the front entrance of the building.
The bitch planned this, too. Her spot is right in front of the building and of course after nine o'clock in the evening, they lock that door. The only way out is the back entrance that leads to the back parking lot because that's where the peons park. Shit! I'm so stupid.
May looked around her, listening intently for any sounds of movement, squinting to see any moving shadows. She picked up her pace, walking faster to the car.
As she walked, she pulled out her car keys, placing one key between her fingers just in case.
The car was a few feet away when May glanced behind her but couldn't see anyone.
She quickly unlocked the car door and jumped inside, tossing her briefcase on the passenger's seat at the same time.
She immediately locked the doors, then leaned her head back against the headrest, laughing at her childish behavior. Her cell phone rang. Startled, she jumped, then laughed again as she reached over to grab her purse.
She never saw it coming, never felt his presence behind her and like a snake, he attacked with venom.
Struggling to breathe, kicking and screaming, she clawed at whatever her manicured fingers could touch. The car keys fell next to her thigh and she reached for them, struggling with all her strength to resist her attacker.
With a cloth over her mouth, May held her breath as she scratched at her attacker's
face with the car keys.
"Bitch! Damn it!” The attacker used more strength, tried harder to control May.
Suddenly, she gasped for air, needing to take a breath. Overcome with panic, she inhaled the chloroform. Her arms fell to her sides. The keys landed on the driver's side floor under the seat. It was over, May lost.
* * * *
Phillip closed his cell phone and sat in the patrol car with his partner, Dante. He took a deep breath and wondered why May hadn't answered his call. Could she already be at O'Malley's with Erin and her friends? There's no way Silvia let May out of work early. The woman had been hounding May to no end.
"What's the matter, Phillip?” Dante asked.
"She's not answering. Maybe she's at the restaurant and doesn't hear the ring.” Phillip had a bad feeling in his gut.
"Maybe it's just the reception. She's doing her internship at the County, right? That's not too far from here,” Dante suggested and Phillip smiled at his partner.
"Thanks, Dante. I just want to be sure she's safe. I have a bad feeling in my gut and it's not easing up. I've had it all afternoon.” Phillip then headed toward the highway, the quickest route to the industrial area and the newspaper building.
"It's love, Phillip, and if I had a woman who looked like May, I'd be worried all the time. Jealousy does that shit to a man. The thought of another guy touching his girl, kissing her or..."
"Shut up, Dante!"
Phillip stepped on the gas pedal and tried to remain calm. His partner was only making matters worse.
* * * *
At home, Grace still worked on her computer. She hadn't heard from Max yet or the outcome of the club raids. She just prayed the Master hadn't managed to escape capture. Maybe one of the employees would talk or rat the Master out? Grace sighed, then glanced back at the files on her desk in her home office and her e-mail.
Grace felt guilty for investigating both Johnny and Larry, but they were her only suspects. No matter how she approached the information and interpreted it, she found ways to suspect both men. Both fit the profile.
Yes, Johnny is a prosecuting attorney, enjoys putting the bad guys behind bars and upholding the law, but he could have a secret life. Many serial killers are known to be married, have a family, attend church regularly, but it's all just a cover. They live two lives. He's the nice guy, the lawyer, the handsome, wealthy, likable man and no one would believe he would be capable of such deceit and violent acts. Ah ha ... guilty!
But then there's Larry ... scumbag defense attorney, creep, womanizer and way too touchy feely for my liking. He's bold arrogant, sneaky. A killer? Possibly. Handsome ... popular ... well known in his field ... rich, powerful ... he wouldn't even have to pay for sex since women probably throw themselves at him. But still there's a creepy side to him, unnerving, scary, possibly a violent side ... guilty! Damn it! It's no use. I'm making myself crazy.
Looking at the clock, Grace noticed it was nearly ten in the evening.
She thought about who the Master could be from an investigative standpoint. Maybe she was focusing on it being someone who really wasn't. She recalled her training and education.
The Master wanted to dominate and feel in control. Not only did he enjoy having sex slaves for himself and engaging in sexual fantasies, he also sought it as a lucrative business. Others were interested in the same thing. However, killing someone took a certain type of personality.
There was no way these people who purchased sex slaves from the Master killed the women themselves. It was a sick and twisted thought, but Grace came to the conclusion the Master had to be offering the added service of removal.
She swallowed hard and tried not to focus on the details of such acts. Instead, she thought of the personality associated with such an individual. From the various textbooks she had read and Practical Homicide courses she had taken, such an individual could be labeled a sexual predator. The individual craved sexual aggression, domination, and control. The individual was aroused at the thoughts of fantasies with sexual aggression. He thrived on behavior that was considered socially forbidden, disapproved and ridiculed in society.
The Master was a classic, organized offender. He was smart, cunning and resourceful, and planned each detail of his acts including the murders themselves.
The victims had to have known him in order for him to have gotten so close. There were the common factors of their physical appearance, their education, social status, and connection to the clubs. The Master knew these women were into some form of sexually deviant behavior. They weren't going to the club just to have a few drinks.
He played on this poor decision on their part and used it to entice them into attending a visit to the club. She picked up a copy of the special invitation the Master sent to his victims. If they accepted the invitation and showed up, it was as if they accepted their destiny to be a sexual slave.
Her stomach quivered at the thought of such cunning and deceit. She then wondered how the Master could trust his clients to keep their mouths shut about the slaves and his removal services. She assumed the fear of their sexually deviant behavior and the fact they paid for such a service would end their life.
The phone rang, interrupting her thoughts.
"Hello!"
"Grace.... It's Max. Don't leave the house. Is anyone there with you?” Max sounded agitated, out of breath.
"No. What's wrong, Max? You're scaring me."
"Just stay put. I sent a patrol car over to your house. I'll be there in ten minutes."
"No, Max, tell me what's wrong. You sound worried. Should I be scared?” Grace took a deep breath, then looked around her home office, then to the doorway. The sanctity of silence and having the evening to herself suddenly turned into dread and worry. She didn't want to panic.
"Don't be scared, baby, just be on guard. The raid went bad. He knew about everything. There was nothing, no one. It was a mess."
"The Master found out ahead of time?"
"Yeah and.... I'll talk to you when I get there. Is the patrol officer there yet?"
Grace took out her revolver and kept her finger on the safety.
"What, Max, what are you not telling me?"
"Is the patrol officer there yet?"
Max raised his voice and Grace stood from her desk. She walked toward the window that overlooked the driveway. There weren't any lights or movement. Then she saw the headlights and a patrol car made its way up her driveway.
"He's here now."
Max released an uneasy breath. “I'll be there in five minutes. Wait for him to come upstairs to you."
Grace hung up and waited.
* * * *
"Oh, my God, no! Not my sister. Not May.” Grace shook her head and pulled away from Max. She refused to believe that the Master went after May. Crazy thoughts went through her head. Each image was more extreme than the next. No, this can't be happening. Why May? Why my sister? The Master won't get away with this.
"Forensics is all over the crime scene. Phillip was worried about May and went to check on her at the news building. He was too late. The person who did this screwed up, Grace,” Max stated.
Grace immediately spun her body to face Max. “What do you mean?"
"Forensics found her keys with blood on them. More than likely they belong to the person who attacked her. He also left behind a rag that they're assuming had chloroform on it and lots of prints. Your sister put up a hell of a fight."
As Grace absorbed the information, she covered her mouth with her hands. The tears ran down her cheeks. She was scared but would do anything to keep her sister alive.
Max took a step closer, and when Grace didn't resist, he pulled her into his arms. Grace held him tight, laying her head against his solid chest. Max consoled her, caressed her hair and promised to do everything he could.
"What do we do now?” Slowly, Grace stepped away from Max and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
"You go ... be with your family. Your aunt and uncle need you
now. They have to know you're safe, Gracy."
Grace put up her hand, then turned away from Max.
She placed the gun in its holster, adjusted it to her hip and gathered her things.
"Gracy..."
"He's done this on purpose. He wants me, so let him come."
Max was immediately filled with anger. Clenching his fists at his side, he seemed to try to maintain some control.
Grace was upset. She wasn't thinking clearly. He would react the same way, want revenge, lash out.
"Gracy, please.... Don't do this. I know you're upset..."
Grace spun back toward Max. “You don't know anything. You don't know how this feels. What it's like to be a.... “She couldn't complete her sentence.
"A prisoner? Held captive against your will?” Max finished for her.
Grace looked up at him.
"You're right.... I don't know how that feels. But if we want to catch this guy, to save your sister and maybe the others, then you need to listen to me and do what I say. Don't get angry ... get even!"
"I'm not going to just sit around and do nothing."
"You won't be. As soon as they run those fingerprints through the system, we're going to do what we do best and find this perp fast."
"You promise not to withhold information from me? You'll tell me right away if something bad happens to..."
Max took Grace's hands into his own and brought them to his chest.
"I promise, baby. We'll do this together. Now you need to be with your family, Gracy."
* * * *
The command post was set up in the uptown precinct where Uncle Nicholas worked. Grace was fully involved with the investigation. There was no way she would sit at home and not do her job. She was tired but knew with each hour that passed the chances of finding May and saving her got slimmer.
Tommy was able to run the prints from May's car and find the name of the person responsible for abducting May.
Luther Sanchez was the name on file in the police department records. From three years ago. Tommy and the other detectives were only able to find a garage he used to work at as of a year ago. Exactly twelve months ago, Luther received his last paycheck.
Grace's cell phone rang and she was grateful it was one of her informants. To save her sister's life, she would do anything, illegal or not.
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