However, she wasn’t naive enough to give voice to her analysis. “Yeah, well, you needed to spice things up anyway.”
He kissed her thoroughly. It was a comforting clash of tongues and lips, a reacquainting of what they’d almost ended and a confirmation that they hadn’t. When he pulled away, she rested her cheek against his chest. “I need coffee and food before we have any more drama. I’m not cut out for this kind of precaffeine excitement.”
He smoothed a hand down her back. “I have a caramel macchiato waiting for you in the kitchen that’s probably cool enough for you to chug it.”
That sounded good. “Okay. Let me get dressed. You and I have some negotiation to do before we do another scene.” She was sure he would prefer to talk while she was naked, but that wasn’t going to happen. Part of her wondered if being naked last night had short-circuited her brain. The litigator in her needed clothes to function. At least around Keith.
He let go slowly, and she sensed his reluctance. They were leaving his comfort zone, but he wasn’t protesting. He got points for that.
Behind her, the drawer was open. Now that her tears were gone, she could clearly see that it was empty. Her socks and stockings were still there, but her bras and underwear were all missing.
He headed toward the door. “I picked up some more of that Greek yogurt you like. Do you want it with cereal or fruit?”
She whirled and regarded him, hands on hips so he knew she meant business. “What did you do with my underthings?”
He paused in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder. His brows were drawn together, a severe look that only accented the dangerous air he liked to affect. “What?”
“My bras? My underwear?” She exhaled hard through her nose. “I’m not in the mood for games. My blood sugar is getting low, and I really need to eat. Just tell me where you put them.”
The expression on his face changed, melting to that inscrutable special-agent-in-charge look. He swept the room visually. A cold chill raced down her spine.
“I didn’t touch your clothes. I never opened your drawers.” He inspected her bed and bathroom before he slid completely into work mode. “Stay here.”
While he did his thing, she mentally recounted her activities from the time he’d left Thursday night. She’d wallowed for about ten minutes before anger took over. She’d double-checked her doors and windows. Then she’d done her laundry, folding everything neatly and putting it away, a kind of thumbing her nose at both Keith and the stress causing her to go a little crazy. Plus the thought of someone touching her possessions kept nagging at the back of her mind. She hadn’t been able to go to sleep until she’d washed her clothes.
A weight lifted as she realized she wasn’t losing her mind. Somebody had indeed been inside her apartment. Though terrified, she felt a bit vindicated.
Waiting wore on her nerves. She checked all the drawers and her closet, looking to see if anything else was missing. With dread coiling low in her tummy, she dumped her laundry basket. The only items inside should have been the clothes she’d worn to bed Thursday night and a towel from her Friday-morning shower.
Her panties were missing from the hamper as well.
Keith returned and let her know with the shake of his head that he’d found nothing. “Everything’s the same. Your clothes from yesterday are still folded on the kitchen counter. Including your underwear and bra.”
She gestured to the pile at her feet. “My panties are missing from the dirty laundry as well. Why on earth would someone break in and steal my underwear?”
The expression on his face said too much. She’d worked a few cases in Violent Crimes, enough to recognize the beginning stages of having a stalker.
“I’m calling Malcolm.” He already had his cell in hand.
She leaped for it and caught his wrist. “Not Malcolm. How can we explain you being here?”
Keith lifted a brow. “You want to keep us a secret?”
Since he seemed surprised, she wondered whether his sense of survival was still intact. “Yes. Malcolm will kill you if he finds out you’re training me. I know he made you promise to stay away from me.”
Jaw set in a mutinous slant, he studied his phone. “That was a long time ago. Things have changed since then.”
“He’s still my brother and your best friend. I just think, on top of everything else, you shouldn’t rock that boat.” She knew he and Malcolm were on speaking terms. It had taken her brother a long time to forgive Keith, and she didn’t want to be the one responsible for straining those bonds.
Keith’s stiff shoulders let her know he wasn’t happy about keeping things under wraps. “Dustin, then. We need to keep this in-house. It could be related to a case you’re working on.”
She swallowed. Dustin was the best choice. He knew how and when to keep his mouth shut, and he would know this could be related to one of Keith’s or Malcolm’s cases. Sometimes criminals did target family members.
By the time she agreed, he had already dialed Dustin’s number. She paired leggings with a longer shirt so that nobody would be able to see whether she was wearing panties. Her only pair wasn’t clean. Wearing yesterday’s bra wasn’t a big deal, and she didn’t really have a choice about that. Just being near Keith made her nipples pointy.
Though they both wanted to maintain the crime scene, Katrina insisted they put away all the bondage toys and stow his bag in a closet. Dustin might figure out what was going on, but he didn’t need to see something she considered private.
Thirty long minutes later, she sat on her sofa, drinking the cold coffee Keith had brought, and haltingly answered Dustin’s probing questions.
“When did you first notice the items were missing?”
She appreciated that he didn’t smirk or smile at the item description. “This morning. I went to get dressed after showering. I opened the drawer, and that’s when I realized they were missing. Everything was here when I left for work yesterday morning.”
“How many?”
She shrugged. Who counted their bras and panties? “At least twenty pairs of underwear and six bras.”
“What kind? Regular or lingerie?” He looked at his notepad, but she knew he was studying her every reaction.
“Do you really need to know that?” The prosecutor in her searched for a way that information could be used to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt.
He regarded her calmly. “Taking your underthings can indicate a desire for control. On the plus side, they weren’t shredded or destroyed, so whoever did this hasn’t reached a violent stage. Knowing what he or she has taken is helpful in profiling.”
“A mixture. They even took a pair from the laundry hamper.”
“Nobody was here yesterday when you arrived home?”
Katrina flicked her gaze to Keith, who stood as a sentinel behind the chair where she’d first discovered the joys of nipple clamps while straddling his lap. From there, he had a sweeping view of the common areas of her condo and the windows overlooking the parking lot. “Keith was waiting outside.”
Dustin didn’t miss a beat. “Does he have a key?”
She shook her head. “My parents have a key, but that’s all.”
“Do you keep one outside for emergencies?”
“No.”
“Are your keys ever out of your sight?” He looked around as he asked the question, no doubt searching for where she kept her keys when she was home.
She helped him out by pointing to her key rack. “When I’m at work, they’re either in my briefcase or locked in a drawer in my desk.” She ran her hand over her eyes. “Yesterday I had the feeling someone had been in my car while it was parked downtown.”
Keith perked up. “You didn’t tell me that.”
A little residual anger stirred. “You didn’t really give me a chance. Plus you didn’t actually believe me when I said someone had been in here Thursday night.”
Dustin touched her wrist, bringing her back to the moment. She focused on
his kind eyes. “What happened Thursday night? Was that the first incident?”
Thinking back, she realized it wasn’t. “Last weekend, when I got home from my cousin’s house, my front door was unlocked. I was sure I’d locked it, but Keith said I probably forgot, and I let it go.”
She described the incident, relating only the relevant details. He didn’t need to hear anything about her relationship with Keith. Then she told him about her car.
Keith wandered across the room to the kitchen. He sipped coffee and stood at her counter. He set down his cup at the mention of her car. The sharpness of ceramic against granite clanged through the air.
It wasn’t like there had been time to tell him about the weirdness of somebody cleaning out her car. She hadn’t thought about it after he’d told her to undress. Dodging the suggestion of anger in Keith’s gesture, she adjusted an outside seam on her leggings. “I find it odd that someone would want to break into my condo just to move around a lamp or take my clothes or clean my backseat. It doesn’t seem like a normal stalker thing to do.”
“No,” Dustin agreed. “But stalkers aren’t normal. I’m going to need access to your cases. I’ll file formal requests Monday morning, but if you have anything on you, I’d like to get a jump on it.”
Katrina nodded. Keith hadn’t planned to let her work this weekend anyway. “My briefcase is in the closet.”
“One last thing before the team gets here to sweep your place.” He leaned forward, keeping his tone low. “Have you asked anyone else to train you?”
Surprised at his question, she considered the implications. Since she’d only asked Keith and Dustin, she didn’t see where that information was relevant. “What does that have to do with anything?”
He shrugged. “You ask someone, or if you’re overheard by someone you didn’t ask, you’re automatically a target. It could explain the disappearance of your underwear, though most pervs prefer used clothing to freshly laundered.”
“No, I haven’t.” She glanced over at Keith, but he was busy with his phone.
Dustin lifted a brow, and his gaze sidled to Keith and back. “It’s just a coincidence that you’ve had Rossetti over that many times in one week?”
Heat crept up her neck, and she felt her cheeks flame. “Dustin, don’t go there.”
“You have about ten seconds to finish that line of questioning.” Keith’s quiet warning sounded loud in the tenseness of the room. “Malcolm just pulled into the parking lot.”
Katrina started. “I told you to keep him out of this.”
“Sweep team is here too.” He pocketed his phone and regarded her with a firm look. “It’s ludicrous to think he won’t hear about this, and that he wouldn’t be pissed if it came from someone other than me or you. Now answer Dustin’s question so he can move forward.”
As usual, he had a point, and he hadn’t actually agreed to keep Malcolm in the dark. She turned back to Dustin. “Mostly coincidence, yeah. On Saturday he gave me a ride home from Layla’s, and we watched a game. Thursday is my parents’ bowling night, so they weren’t home. I was afraid. I called Keith because he lives the closest now that Mal is all the way in Ann Arbor.”
She trailed off, thinking of the way he’d dismissed her fears and accused her of fabricating an excuse to get him over here. Her doorbell chimed. She jumped, and her heart raced. It took her a moment to remember to breathe. An intruder wouldn’t ring the doorbell or knock. He’d just let himself in. She hated feeling so vulnerable and helpless. With Keith, feeling that way had been empowering. This was vastly different.
Dustin gripped her chin, something a Dom would do, not an agent questioning her. “Yesterday? Trina, don’t be vague. I need to know.”
She swallowed her fears. With Dustin and Keith here, nothing would happen to her. “Keith agreed to train me. But Dustin, you need to keep that private. Mal can’t know.”
KEITH JOGGED DOWN the stairs and pretended that rage and fear weren’t doing a tango in his stomach. He felt like an ass for ignoring her concerns. Of course Kat wouldn’t make up an intruder just to lure him to her place. She’d come right out and asked him to train her. When he’d refused, she’d asked Dustin. That rankled, but it proved she wasn’t being manipulative. He had to stop letting his distrust of all women tarnish his view of Kat.
Just because she wanted to change the terms of their association didn’t mean he could categorize her with the rest of the conniving females in his life. Though she hadn’t said it yet, she wanted more from him, and foreign parts of him were voting to let her have it. Other parts were firmly entrenched in horror at the idea of having an emotional attachment to a woman. If he didn’t watch it, he would begin treating her with the same callous passive-aggressiveness with which he usually approached a woman. He’d already slipped up a couple times, and she hadn’t let those incidents pass without comment.
The way her face had paled when the doorbell rang clutched at his dormant heart, evidence that organ wasn’t cold and dead. He wanted to kill the bastard who was doing this to her.
He disengaged the dead bolt and opened the door to find Malcolm standing on the other side. Darcy stood beside him. Darcy’s hasty ponytail and the fact they both wore sweats told him they’d jumped out of bed and rushed over when he’d called.
Mal’s scruffy face couldn’t camouflage the hard glint in his eyes or the firm set of his jaw. “Where’s Trina? Is she okay?”
“Upstairs. Living room. Brandt’s questioning her now. She’s shaken, but she’s holding up.” It had been hell listening to her answer questions, watching her try to keep it together, and not being able to do anything. Now that Malcolm was here, that would change. “Did you bring the equipment?”
“It’s in the car. We’ll install as soon as the sweep team is done.”
Keith didn’t hold out much hope they’d find anything. He’d already searched the place. In the parking lot beyond the small front yard, an FBI van ignored the NO PARKING signs. Three agents emerged, more than the FBI would normally send. This was a sensitive case. Who knew what criminal had set his sights on her and for what reason?
“They’re here. It won’t be long,” Keith said.
“Good.” Darcy regarded them coolly. “The last thing she needs after being violated is to endure this. Malcolm, go up there and hug your sister. Hold her hand and let her know you’re there for her. Believe me, it makes a difference.”
Darcy viewed law enforcement the same way Keith regarded pretty much anyone who wanted more than a professional relationship. He didn’t judge her for that. Malcolm ushered Darcy up the stairs, and Keith stepped outside to brief the forensics crew.
It had never occurred to Keith that he should hold Kat’s hand or sit close to her for moral support. Darcy’s directive had illustrated just how bad it would be for Kat if he tried to have more than a Master/slave relationship with her. Nowhere in his past had anyone taught him what it meant to be empathetic or caring. He could identify those behaviors. He knew what they looked like, but he didn’t know when or how to apply them. Now that Darcy had said something, the signs stood out with neon clarity. Kat deserved a man who didn’t have to be told she needed a hug.
Without letting his personal failings get in the way more than they had, he briefed the analytic team and set them to work.
Chapter Six
Katrina shaded her eyes as she peered up the ladder. “Darcy and I are going to go pick up something for dinner.”
Malcolm adjusted one of the night-vision, motion-activated cameras he and Keith had installed. This one covered the area leading up to her front walk and a portion of the parking lot.
“She’s been craving Chinese.” Malcolm finished something off with his power screwdriver. “I could go for something Mandarin, extra spicy.”
For as long as she could remember, she’d regarded her brother with a sort of hero worship. Though he was only two years older, he’d always looked out for her. Growing up, they’d almost never fought about anything.
She felt a little guilty for sleeping with his best friend behind his back, but she could rationalize it by telling herself she was keeping the secret to protect their friendship.
“You’re not leaving.”
Katrina whirled around to find Keith standing a few feet behind her. A spot of grease smeared the corner of his shirt, and his face sported a day-old beard. The coarse stubble only made him look that much more foreboding.
The entire day, he’d been close, but he hadn’t said much, and he hadn’t touched her once. This wasn’t how she’d imagined this weekend unfolding.
A soft wind blew hair into her face. She swiped it away with one hand. “Why not?”
“It’s not safe. Because I said so. Pick whichever works for you.”
This wasn’t the first time he’d leveled an order at her like this, but it was the first time she realized he’d topped her in small ways the entire time she’d known him. Now that she recognized what he was doing, she wasn’t sure she liked it. In the bedroom, she could accept it. Outside of that context, it rubbed her the wrong way.
“Neither of them works for me. I refuse to let fear rule my life. I’m hungry, and so is Darcy. I’m sure you are as well. None of us has had much to eat today.” After the agents had left, she and Darcy had cleaned the fingerprint chemicals from everything and straightened up the general mess. Keith and Malcolm had scoped out locations for cameras and set about installing them. “Besides, whoever did this isn’t after me. They want something I have.”
Those emerald eyes bored into her like lasers, cutting through any sense of security she’d gained from having a house full of agents invested in making sure she was safe. “He took your underwear. It’s personal. He’s after you.”
That thought shook her far more than she cared to admit. All week, she’d been sweeping her concerns under the carpet. Now that pile of crap moaned and groaned. She stomped it back down. “Regardless, I refuse to live like a prisoner. I’ll be in public. With Darcy. I can kick ass if I need to.”
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