Stray

by Suzanne Steele

  He stood for a moment, soaking up not only her panic, but the control he was feeling as well. “Oh, I’m sorry, sir. I’ll have to have her call you back.” He raised a sardonic brow in her direction, looking her full in the face, “She’s tied up at the moment. Yes, sir, I will have her call you as soon as she’s available.”

  He ended the phone call and sat down on the bed, laughing as she thrashed around in anger. He grabbed the dildo he had placed on the bed with his other toys and began rolling it around her opening. “Are you still mad at me?”

  She shook her head no. “Very good, you’re a quick learner,” he stated watching her hips as they attempted to rise once more. Once again, he taunted her with pleasure only to stop before she could achieve it. This time, when he looked into her face, tears streamed down her cheeks as she begged from behind the gag with unintelligible moans.

  “Do you belong to me, Claire?” he questioned her with a dead serious look on his face.

  She desperately nodded her head.

  “Do your orgasms belong to me?”

  Once again, her head bobbed up and down signifying yes.

  “And you’ll do anything I want you to do, right? That’s a good girl, such a good girl,” he replied. He grabbed the dildo and, this time, he plunged it into her when he received the answer he wanted. He grabbed a vibrator and when he placed it on her clit, the begging continued behind the gag, no doubt for fear he would once again stop. He watched her with interest as her tear filled eyes crossed and her body jolted up as high as the ropes would permit when she exploded with an orgasm that he finally allowed.

  He had been successful in doing exactly what he intended to do. He taught her a lesson. Regardless of how in control she was in the business world, behind the closed doors of her bedroom, he ruled and reigned supreme.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Agent Turner

  Agent Turner made his way into the Russell neighborhood that housed the Beecher Terrace projects in the west end area of Louisville, Kentucky. It was the last known address of Mary Haze and he was in search of anyone who may still be alive and might have known the woman twenty years ago.

  “This is a long shot,” Rene muttered from the passenger seat.

  “Look, I already made a call to get an officer to look through birth records and search for a name in case this doesn’t pan out. What else are we going to do in the meantime? 2110 Cedrick Court is what we’re looking for,” he said, trying to ignore her pessimism. “There it is, right there, and there’s parking right out front. You can’t beat that.”

  He jumped from the car, making certain to lock the doors behind them even though they were parked right in front of the address. He wasn’t one to ever assume the best of anyone; his job had seen to that.

  “So you’re just going to randomly knock on doors, David?”

  “It’s Agent Turner at work!” he snapped. “How many times do I have to tell you that, Rene?”

  Rene backed off, being fully aware how important it was to her boss that they maintain professional boundaries at work. He started doing exactly what she thought he might do and began knocking on doors. Four doors in, he found somewhat of a lead.

  Agent Turner eyed the woman standing in front of him. She had unkempt hair, dirty clothes, and she was too young to have resided here for the last twenty years so he did the next best thing. He asked her, “Is there anyone who has been living here a really long time?”

  “Why you wanna know?” she sneered. “Get outta here, boy,” she yelled at who he presumed was her young son. He glared at her, cringing at the way she spoke to the poor kid.

  He reached around to grab his FBI credentials, showed her, and then looked at her like he dared her not to answer his question.

  “That ole, ole lady next door has been livin’ here forever.” She slammed the door, giving him no time to reply. At that point, he didn’t care. He’d gotten what he was after.

  They made their way over to the next door and knocked on it. It took a moment for the elderly lady to make her way to the door and open it.

  “What do you officers need this fine day?” she asked, not needing to be informed that they were police.

  “We’re investigating a series of murders that happened over twenty years ago.”

  “You talkin’ ‘bout that serial killer who was sent to death row?”

  “Yes, ma’am, we are. We’re actually looking for the son of the man who was prosecuted. Do you remember a little boy who lived here around that time? His mom’s name was Mary Haze.”

  “Sure do, poor, little Johnny was relentlessly bullied for what his father did. I can remember more than once a brick was thrown through one of their windows. I guess it finally got to Mary ‘cause she killed herself. After that, social services came and got him and took him away. I never heard any more about him after that.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. You’ve helped more than you realize.”

  “Y’all want to come in and have some coffee?”

  “Thank you but no, ma’am. We’ve got a social worker we need to talk to.”

  Striker

  “Oh, come on! Don’t be mad at me,” Striker teased Claire, tickling her after he released her from the bonds he had bound her in. “You can’t say you didn’t enjoy it.”

  She wiggled away, jumped off the bed, and threw a shoe at him. He barely escaped the line of fire but he was still laughing.

  “Fuck you, Striker!” she yelled out while making her way into the bathroom.

  “Hey, now that sounds like a great idea.”

  Evidently, she didn’t hear him or the doorbell. He jumped up to make his way to the door, thinking he’d kick Victor’s ass if it happened to be him.

  He was shocked when he opened it to view a deliveryman. Claire didn’t mention she was expecting anything, and he hadn’t sent her anything, so the only thing it could be was something pertaining to her job.

  He signed for the box, noting there was no return address.

  “Hey,” he yelled out to the deliveryman, “there’s no return address on this. Do you know where it came from?”

  “I just get paid to deliver them,” was the only response he got before the man pulled himself up into the driver’s seat and drove off.

  He made his way over to the kitchen island. It was the spot that had become the location for opening whatever impending doom might be awaiting Claire in the form of a cardboard box or a manila envelope.

  He attempted to discover the contents of the box before she returned from the bathroom but he knew that wasn’t in the cards when he heard her voice whisper behind him, “Another box?” Though he could tell she tried to mask it, the concern in her voice couldn’t be hidden.

  “What the fuck?!?”

  “What is it? What is it?!”

  Though Striker knew she was afraid, right now her curiosity was overriding her fear and she was peering over his shoulder.

  “Good thing you’ve got me here to protect you. Now, who do you know that owns a tobacco field?”

  “Nobody…”

  Striker turned, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her, more from fear than anger. “Think… who do you know that does business in the tobacco industry?”

  “Nobody, why are you acting like you’re mad at me?”

  “Claire… this is really important.” He couldn’t hide the desperation in his voice and, right now, he couldn’t care less about keeping up some macho persona.

  He gently pushed her back so that she was at arms length but his hands still gripped her shoulders as if it would help her to think of the answer he so desperately needed.

  “You deal with affluent people, people with money working in multi-million dollar industries. Think! Do you know anyone who works in the tobacco industry or owns a cigarette distribution warehouse?”

  He felt like his heart was in a vice, like some huge fist was squeezing the breath out of his chest when he viewed one single tear roll down her cheek and she just shook her head no.


  He pulled her to him, holding her so tightly that she had to tell him she couldn’t breathe. He felt like if he could just squeeze her into him close enough, her enemies wouldn’t be able to penetrate his armor to get to her.

  In a sense, she was safe before when it was only him stalking her and instilling fear as payment for the sins of her father, but this was different. Someone was out to get her and it wasn’t him. Someone was also trying to frame him for murder. Though he couldn’t tell her she was truly in danger now, he knew she was for the mere fact that he hadn’t been the predator who sent these particular deliveries. This time, it wasn’t working in his benefit and he couldn’t protect her because he had no idea who it was. Victor was as good a place as any to start though…

  He knew someone had followed him to that cop’s house and though they may not know he was responsible for the guy’s murder, they had sent that kitten as a way of letting him know they were watching not only Claire, but him as well. Now, there was this delivery to worry about. A box full of tobacco leaves doesn’t sound very ominous but when a straight razor is thrown in, the message is pretty clear. Somebody is letting them know that they need to watch their backs.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Agent Turner

  Sitting in the DHS child services office, Agent Turner eyed the middle-aged woman he hoped could help him. The glasses she wore couldn’t hide the dark circles beneath her eyes or the weary look on her face. She wore the expression of a woman who had come to terms with the fact that she couldn’t save the world, a bitter pill to swallow when it involved children. Her desk was a conglomeration of files, no doubt in a system only she could decipher. He wouldn’t judge her for it as he, more than most, knew how overwhelming paperwork could be.

  “I understand your position. I understand you don’t want to open the files of a juvenile but we could be dealing with a serial killer. Every day that this man remains free to kill, he puts the unsuspecting community in danger.”

  He used the moment that he had the woman’s attention to gently place a photo on her desk. “This is some of his handy work. We aren’t just dealing with one potential serial killer; there’s a possibility we might be dealing with two. There is potentially the man who is free to kill because the wrong man was mistakenly and unjustly sent to death row, and then there’s also a possible copycat, out for revenge. There are numerous variables in this case and that’s why it’s so important that we get this lead. If the wrong man was convicted and sentenced to death, this boy, John, has motive and we need to make sure he’s not out there getting revenge and slicing women up into ribbons. If it’s not him, then we’ll leave him alone but either way, we need this information.”

  The woman still hadn’t spoken but the sigh she released was evidence that she couldn’t bear the thought of going to sleep tonight knowing that she hadn’t done all she could do to protect the unsuspecting females of Louisville. Sometimes things were subject to a higher law.

  She wheeled her chair around towards a filing cabinet, yanked a file from it, and then set it in front of the agent. “I’m going across the street to get a cup of coffee. Do you understand what I’m saying?” She turned to eye the copy machine and grabbed her purse before making her way out the door.

  When she reached the door to leave, she once again turned and looked over her shoulder as she spoke, “I’m never in agreement to women being abused or maimed the way that victim was, but if anyone had all the ingredients to grow up into a fucked up, dysfunctional individual, it was John Haze. That kid went through and saw more horrendous acts by the age of five than any kid should ever see. His eyes still haunt me in my dreams even twenty years later. If I can finally help him, then maybe I can retire feeling like I had a successful career.” With that, she quietly made her way out the door and never looked back.

  Claire

  No matter how much Claire tossed around the events surrounding the deliveries she was receiving, she couldn’t make sense out of any it. She couldn’t fathom the thought of someone hating her so much that they wanted her to live in a state of constant fear. Who would have that deep of a vendetta against her? She racked her brain trying to think of anyone who dealt in any kind of business involving the tobacco industry and she kept drawing a blank.

  She eyed Striker who was bent down at eye level and handing her a cup of coffee. She had to giggle at his comment.

  “I regret to inform you that, as your bodyguard, I can’t allow you to exit the premises today.”

  Though she could see he was trying to lighten the mood, it was also clearly evident that he meant the mandate. There was a mixture of seriousness and sadness in his eyes and she couldn’t remember a time she had ever seen him look so somber.

  She reached out to touch his face and, ironically enough, found herself comforting him.

  “What’s wrong?” For a moment, just one fleeting second, she thought she saw guilt in his expression and he looked like he wanted to tell her something. It was gone as quickly as she thought she saw it.

  “I just can’t imagine losing you, Claire. I think I’ve done something I never meant to do.” He shook his head before he continued. “I think I’ve fallen in love with a woman I never meant to fall in love with.”

  This time, it was her grabbing his chin and directing him to look her in the eye. “Me too,” was all she said.

  “Claire, I’m not the man you think I am. I’m a fucked up individual. My kind of love isn’t safe or sane and, at times, it isn’t consensual. I’m not the kind of guy who will let you go. I’m not one of those politically correct bluebloods you’re used to dealing with. I’m not the type of man who’s going to breakup with you if you don’t want to date me anymore. I’m an extremely possessive lover… to the point of being dangerous.”

  There it was again—the adrenaline rush he gave her from the unpredictable way he behaved. The anxiety filled anticipation he caused her to feel in his presence wasn’t from something he did or tried to do; it was from the man he was. He was the only man she had ever been with who could walk into a room and even though her back was turned, her hackles would rise and her heart would race. Though the reaction came from a mixture of intensity and fear, the fact still remained that it excited her sexually. Even if she did heed his warning and walk away from their relationship, could she ever forget him? It wasn’t likely. She’d probably spend the rest of her life trying only to be left dissatisfied, craving the intensity he provided and comparing every other man to the one who was looking her in the eye right now.

  Striker

  “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to research Victor and see if he has any ties to anybody in the tobacco industry. Even if he isn’t directly responsible, he could have hired someone to scare you just for kicks. Guys like Victor pack huge egos and they don’t take rejection lying down.”

  He stood and grabbed a chair to sit next to the woman he worked for. He was a man on a mission to find dirt on the man Claire’s father had tried to force her to marry. He wasn’t quite sure where to start but he was sure of one thing: he didn’t send that box that had been delivered. He would leave no stone unturned when it came to keeping the woman who had wormed her way into his heart safe.

  He hadn’t crossed the point of no return with her yet. Killing the cop responsible for setting his father up was something he could live with. Her finding out he had strategically planned her demise wasn’t.

  He still stood a chance of redeeming himself if he could find out who sent the box of tobacco leaves, or even the kitten. He would pin it all on that perpetrator, assuming it was one guy. One thing was for sure: if she found out he was responsible for sending her the picture of the dead woman, he would lose her. She would never believe that he had nothing to do with the other incidents. He had played on her fear too perfectly, using the arrival of the bloodied kitten to his benefit. Now, if he wasn’t careful, it would all blow up in his face. He had no intentions of letting that happening. He would stop at n
othing to make sure he didn’t lose her now.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Agent Turner

  Agent Turner and his partner made their way out of the social worker’s office, holding tight onto the file that could possibly provide them with the breakthrough they so desperately needed. Both of the agents were well aware it sometimes only took one tiny clue to blow a case wide open.

  They eyed the worker making her way back from the coffee shop and crossing the street. Though she kept her head down as if she had no intention of acknowledging the agents, Agent Turner mumbled a quiet “thank you” in her direction. Her fleeting eye contact informed him that she had heard him and that she held no remorse for breaking protocol. Sometimes in life, doing the right thing meant doing it the wrong way. In other words, the end result justifies the means.

  The agents made their way into the coffee shop and he was glad when Rene told him to grab a booth and start going through the file they had obtained. His partner knew him well enough to know that he was itching to delve into the new information.

  He could feel his hands almost shaking with the anticipation of solving this case and getting a killer off the streets. He couldn’t undo the death of Steven Haze but he could possibly stop a madman from killing any more innocent women. He always took cases personally and the responsibility he shouldered for keeping the citizens of Louisville safe, was one he took very seriously.

  Rene made her way over to the booth and set his coffee down, sitting across from him probably so she could read him better. He knew that she took her ownership of him very seriously. She worried about the fact that he didn’t sleep or eat well at times due to the guilt he felt over crimes that were not his fault. He also knew that even though she wanted the case solved as desperately as he did, she also wanted to secure his wellbeing. The thought brought a smile to his lips.