Broken Bonds Boxed Set 1-3 (11 page)

“The section is already highlighted,” I tell him.

He reads aloud. “She tortured them by binding their arms with Viennese cord.”

Avery’s head jerks back, her shock evident. “Then you already have a suspect.”

Handing me back the tablet, Quinn scoffs. “Yeah we do. If you count four hundred year-old dead countesses.”

Avery looks to me for clarity, but then she holds up her hand. “You know what, not my field. You guys handle the perps.” She digs out a folder from her satchel and hands it to Quinn. To me, she says, “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of doing a bit of my own investigating. I was curious about why someone would select a specific rope from a specific country; like Vienna. It just seemed too particular.”

As Quinn flips the file open, his eyes scanning the document inside, he says, “Where did you find this?”

She beams. “The Internet. Simple search pulled it right up. Pretty strange, don’t you think? I’m not sure if it has anything to do with your case, but it seemed worth mentioning.”

Curious, I move closer to Quinn’s side and take a look at the page. “Viennese Rope Gala,” I say, and look up at her.

“It’s an annual bondage and rope fetish event. I checked it out; it’s pretty intense. For the rope enthusiast in us all.”

But her words are starting to fade as I’m drawn within myself, my mind linking aspects together.
Bondage
.
Rope
.
Suspension
. An image of the vic inside, hung from the ceiling, merges with memories of last night at the club. I hear Quinn’s voice, but can’t discern his words.

“Shibari,” Avery says, bringing me out of my musings, and suddenly a vise-like grip squeezes my chest as the puzzle piece rattling around my brain slides home. “It’s the main attraction, why the hardcore bondage patrons attend the event. It appears there’s a whole subculture within the bondage world centering around it.” She shrugs. “Anyway, I just thought it was interesting. It may not tie back to your UNSUB at all.”

“No, this is good, Avery,” Quinn says as he closes the file. “Some good detective work.”

She laughs. “I’ll tell the Internet you said so.” Her gaze sweeps over me, her pretty features drawing together. “Sadie, are you all right?”

I’m calling attention to myself.
Don’t
. I school my face into what I feel is a neutral, calm expression, even though my heart is battering my chest. Stomach acid is rising to my throat. I can only focus on my breathing; in, out. Even breaths. In, out.

“I’m fine,” I say, nodding. “I’ll look more into this. Thanks, Avery.” I start to walk away, but Quinn catches my arm.

“Where are you going? The car’s that way.” He motions in the opposite direction.

Avery saves me the interrogation by cutting in. “I hear I have a lot of work waiting for me.” She gestures toward the apartment building. “I’ll get back to you on my findings as soon as possible.”

Quinn offers her a faint smile and his thanks, then his attention is back on me. Moody hazel eyes assessing me closely. I just can’t do this right now—I can’t
be
here.

“I think we should split up,” I say. His forehead creases as he continues to stare down at me, expression wary. “We’ll cover more area if you check out the weaponry shops, and I follow this new lead.”

He crosses his arms. “I wouldn’t exactly call this a lead, Bonds. What are you going to do? Track down a list of all the attendees of that rope event and interrogate them?”

No. Just one.

“It may turn out to be nothing.” I hold his unyielding gaze, infusing myself with strength I don’t feel. My legs ache, like they’re going to buckle under the pressure bearing down on me. “But we can’t afford to overlook anything. The UNSUB is devolving, Quinn. Two more bodies. We don’t have time to even argue this point.”

He sighs a heavy grunt that comes out sounding as exasperated as he appears. He looks past me, at the gathering storm clouds in the distance. “Yeah, okay. You’re right.” He glances at me then. “I’ll touch base with the task force. Get updates and head to the first shop. You keep me abreast on anything you uncover. Even if you think it’s not worthwhile, I want to know.”

“I will,” I say. He continues to stare at me, as if there’s more he wants to add, his eyes probing like he can suss out the many thoughts jumbling my brain. Quinn hates being out of the loop. But this is one knotted loop I have to unravel on my own.

“You need a ride back to the station?” he asks, and I shake my head.

“No time. You go ahead; I can get my car. My apartment is close to here.” And so is Colton’s.

Finally, he releases me from his penetrating gaze. “Forward me that sketch,” he says as he turns and walks toward his car.

Once I’m free of Quinn’s hovering presence, I dip between the adjacent complex, my route already mapped out. I stuff the suit in my bag, check my holster and secure my SIG, unclipping the leather clasp. Then I head straight for the man who may have the answers. Whose sudden appearance in my life may not have been chance.

My gut knots just thinking about last night…

A flash streaks the dark sky, followed by a loud
crack
and a long rumble of thunder. The oncoming storm steals my thoughts for the moment, and I wrap my arms around myself as the first raindrops begin to fall.

I can’t think about last night. Not now. I’m a professional. Right this second, I’m Agent Bonds—not the woman who craves the touch of a possible serial killer.

B
efore I came
to work as a profiler, before I was an agent for the State—I was a cop. A Trooper just starting out, but one who swore an oath.

I believe, in our profession, we can lose sight of that oath.

I’ve been guilty of doing just that over the years; I’m not an innocent. We sometimes bend the law to meet our needs—whether or not it’s in the interest of justice, we decide we’re the final say in how that justice is delivered.

It’s a very gray area. And I live in that gray area, but I believe I do try my best to always uphold my Oath of Honor.

I’m thinking about this now, as I approach Colton’s apartment—number 518—soaking wet, my drenched clothes cold and clinging, because I feel my oath is about to be tested. Mostly the part where I swore I’d always have the courage to hold myself accountable for my actions.

Will today be that day? Truthfully, if it is, it’s been a long time coming.

When the aftermath of what happens here is investigated by Quinn’s team, will Quinn blame himself? Scold himself for not following that hunch deep in the pit of his gut that something was amiss?

All those answers ride on this moment.

I stop in front of the apartment door, sweep my matted bangs aside and roll my shoulders back. Suck in a full breath. Instead of knocking, I pull out my phone and send Colton a text. It will be traceable. I suppose I’m making the decision right now to keep my oath…even if once I enter, I fail.

I may not have the strength to face my demons, but I’ll answer for them.

Colton’s hands on me…his touch. Caressing my body. His lips roaming, tasting. His husky voice vibrating against my skin as he seduces me.

I clear my head of the unsolicited images as I hear footsteps from inside the apartment. For one, quick second, I expect the roommate to answer the door, before I process the fact that I just sent a text to Colton. Then, the door opens and his ice-blue eyes greet me.

His mouth tips up into a sexy, knowing grin. Arm braced high on the doorjamb, he blocks the entryway, his gaze devouring me. “Agent Bonds,” he acknowledges my soggy, dressed down appearance. “I have to admit, when I said find me when you’re
wet
, I didn’t mean from the rain. Though this works for me, too.”

A vicious shiver races along my skin, and I try to ignore the pounding of my heart. The erratic beats drown out my hurried breaths. I’m focusing too hard on controlling them, my will tested as my whole body aches to be lost to him.

“Mr. Reed,” I formally address him. “This isn’t a social call. I have a few more questions I need to ask. Can I come in?”

And like that, his open expression shifts, closing off. But nearly as quickly, he forces his features playful. He’s controlling this game.

Nodding his head toward the living area, he opens the door wide, allowing me to enter. I rest my hand over my SIG just beneath my jean jacket as I step across the threshold.

“Is your roommate—Jefferson—home?” I ask, my gaze sweeping the tidy, quiet apartment.

Colton walks to the leather loveseat and makes himself comfortable for the interrogation. “Not today,” he says, and pats the space beside him. “I’d offer you a towel…but you’re too damn sexy all wet.”

I stay rooted to my spot. “I prefer to stand. Thank you.”

Obvious annoyance tints his face at my refusal to participate in the banter. “What’s this about, Sadie? Why the cop-like approach. Is it because it’s the daytime? Because we’re not in the club?” His arctic gaze travels over my body very evidently. “Is it the clothes that make the girl? Crime fighter by day, sultry sex kitten by night. Because really, both do a damn fine job of turning me on.”

I can feel myself losing my footing. If I drag this out, I’ll only give him the upper hand. He knows exactly how to wear me down, and if I let him, he’ll win. But only if I let him. The problem is: I’m unsure whether or not I want him to, as twisted as that is.

Peeling off my jean jacket, I expose my weapon. Assuring he sees it before I toss the soaked garment to the floor and pull my shirt down over my belt holster.

“That the best intimidation tactic you got? Am I supposed to be coerced by the gun or the wet T-shirt.” He smiles. “Want to see my tactic?”

I back up a step as he makes a move to stand—but he stops, releasing an abrupt laugh. Shaking his head, he says, “Let’s just get this part over with. I know you have a job to do. So do it.” He runs a hand through his disheveled black hair, relaxing back into his seat. “I’m getting anxious to move on to more…interesting things.”

For all my training, all those years invested in detecting human behavior, when it comes to Colton, I find myself unwilling to employ mind games. Simple psychological variables: personality traits; psychopathologies and behavioral patterns. Age, race, childhood—comparisons to the profile. They all muddle my thoughts as I analyze the man before me.

I could go at this with the best interrogation strategies I have in my arsenal…but I’m already biased. It’s now personal. Rip the Band-Aid off. Everything out in the open. Because if he is the UNSUB, he’s already mastered the art of performance.

One last deep breath, then, “Why the Blood Countess?” I hold his intense stare, don’t blink. Neither does he. “Was your choice to emulate Bathory primarily based on me, or was she already a part of the scheme, and I just happened to fulfill an important role?”

His eyebrows knit together tightly. “I have no fucking idea what you’re asking me.”

All right. Now I at least know his angle; he’s not giving anything away. Wants to continue to play the game.

Slowly, I move closer to him, stopping before the coffee table in the center of the room. A solid object between us. “I could spend a few hours digging for the answer, but I’m wet and tired. Just tell me, Colton. Have you ever attended the Rope Gala in Vienna?”

His eyes beam, lips twisting into a suggestive smirk. “I’m impressed. You’ve been doing your homework.” He stands and pushes his hands into his pockets. “Of course I’ve gone. It’s the top underground Shibari themed event for over the past two years. Anyone who takes Shibari as a serious art form attends.” He cocks his head. “But something tells me you already knew this. So what are you really asking?”

The moment of truth. I’ve gotten the answer I came here for—the one that was supposed to set me free. Reveal exactly who Colton Reed is, and why he fused himself into my life.

Only it’s not enough. It’s circumstantial. I could break down all the evidence, analyze every piece of the puzzle through a psychological microscope and link it back to him, but I know it will never hold up. It’s just us—Colton and me—who are teetering on this weak fact…and all I truly have is suspicion.

Even Quinn pointed out how weak the lead was, but I had to follow my instinct. It was instinct, wasn’t it? Suddenly, as I stand here damp and vulnerable before Colton, I question how much of it was my own fear.

Do I want him to be the UNSUB? Do I
need
him to be?

“On your last trip, did you bring any special rope back with you?” I ask.

“No.” His face dims as he takes one, then two steps closer. “I shipped it to myself. But just the threads. I make my own rope.”

My lips part, next question poised on my lips, but he rushes me before it’s set free. His arms circle me and he clasps my arms behind my back, his face inches from mine.

My lungs struggle to accept air as his body presses hard against mine. My cold, wet shirt stings my skin. “You’re working that serial killer case,” he says evenly, almost an accusation.

Words fail, but I manage to nod my head once.

The twist of his lips is the only indication I may have a chance to gain control. But then with swift reflexes, he secures both my wrists with a thin rope. Panic flares.

“I saw it on the news today,” he says as he continues to twine the rope around my wrists. A clipped grunt slips past his lips as he yanks the knot tight. “Piper was a victim, and I heard there are more.”

“There are. Four,” I say, my voice raw.

He keeps his arms banded around me, his muscles strained as he holds me against him even though I’m not trying to escape. “I’ve been doing some thinking today about why you first came to the club; whether it was really for you, or your job. I admit, I had a moment of doubt about us. But then I realized there’s no way this can be connected.” He smiles down at me. “You’ve been showing up at the club for over three months—way before the first body was ever found.”

He had doubts about us. About me. That revelation slays me.

“Only now,” he says, bringing his face closer still, his low words whispering his minty breath across my lips. “I assume something you discovered brought you to my door. And how convenient for you.”

I absolutely do not want to give in to him, but I need to keep him talking. “Why is that convenient for me?”

Holding the rope between my wrists firmly with one hand, he uses the other to relinquish me of my belt holster and gun. It falls to the floor, and he kicks it aside.

“Because,” he says, hot breath drawing me in, “you need a way out. A scapegoat. And if I’m a bad man, that’s the perfect excuse. Last night terrified you, and tonight would’ve been your undoing. You fear the loss of control, Sadie. But you can’t look at it like that.” His face is so close to mine, his body heat pressing so hard against me. “It’s not loss; it’s a power exchange. And I’m not stripping you of yours, I’m empowering you with mine.”

Confusion twists hot and vicious within me, taunting me. I shake my head. “That’s not why I’m here, Colton. The evidence leads to—”

“What evidence?” He slips his free hand between my thighs, drawing a gasp from my mouth. His skilled fingers caress me purposely, tenderly. And I want to close my eyes, just let go… But he keeps me grounded with his voice. “Rope? You found some rope? Vienna is well-known for rope-making, Sadie. Do you think I’m the only ropework enthusiast who knows this? Their industry specialized in it for hundreds of years. Hell, even I did my research. I only use the best.”

Trying to avert my gaze away from him, I stare at a painting hung along the wall. The reds splashed across the canvas. The shades sending a thrill coursing through my body and mingling with his touch. He’s feeding me what I want to hear; that’s what the terrified side of me screams. But the other half—the rational part—wants to accept the logic. It wasn’t really a lead; Quinn said so.

And I’ve done the research, too. Viennese rope was used ages ago by Bathory herself because, as Colton stated, it was the city’s commodity, and one of the Countess’s mansions was located in Vienna. It’s as simple as that—a convenience.

I’m looking in the wrong place. And now I’m trapped.

Colton watches this internal struggle play across my face. His eyes brighten. “There you are, goddess. Come back to me.”

Again, I shake my head, over and over. And I feel a hot tear slip from my eye.

He rests his forehead against mine, stopping my movement, and releases a heavy exhale. “I am flattered, though. The fact that you presumed I was meticulous enough to be your killer—that’s a surreal kind of compliment coming from Agent Bonds. But still”—he pulls away and looks into my eyes—“you came alone. I don’t know if that excites me or angers me. What if I had been him, Sadie? I mean, what the hell? Do you have a death wish?”

I gulp down my fear. “I don’t.” I haven’t fought all these years just to be taken down by one vain psychopath.

He eyes me questioningly. “If I was your Dom, I’d punish you for that. Putting yourself in danger. But I’m not, and it’s not my place to issue penance.” He sighs. “Unfortunately.”

A dark shiver wracks my body, but it’s not at all unwanted. Rather, the thought of Colton inflicting pain—delivering punishment—consumes all my senses. Heat blooms in my core, sinking me further into the unknown of my psyche.

He notes the change; the loosening of my muscles, the heaviness of my eyelids. My body giving itself over to him, fully. A low growl erupts from his mouth as his eyes ignite with need.

Then his hand is in my hair and gripping, pulling my head back to where I can only see him. His other arm anchors around my waist as he lifts me off my feet and sinks his teeth into my neck. I gasp air into my lungs at the same time I try to release a scream, the sound coming out strained. He backs me against the wall, my bound hands making rough contact.

“Colton…” I get out past his merciless assault on my body. “I can’t…I’m still on the clock.”

He breaks away and catches my gaze, his chest heaving, fisted hand still entangled in my hair. “Then this is the last place you should’ve come, goddess.”

That’s all the words between us. In a heated frenzy, I’m away from the wall and in Colton’s arms. My being rages, demanding to be set free, but it’s a losing battle. He’s won.

I’m placed on my feet for just a moment, long enough for him to drop to his knees and undo my jeans. He yanks them down with unguarded intensity, the wetness from the rain making them tug roughly against my skin. His hands slide up the length of my leg, coasting surely and greedily to reach my inner thigh.

I stare down at him as his fingers tenderly test and explore, the rough pads sampling me through the thin barrier of fabric. My head tips back, and I’m torn—fear trickling through me like a stream flowing over a jagged-edged waterfall, warring with the desire craving his touch.

I sense him rise before me, then he’s a breadth away. The rope around my wrists loosens and my arms fall free. My muscles twitch, aching from my fight against the restraint.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice a guttural plea. And I do. I open my eyes and take in the exquisite man that will be my ultimate undoing. “You have the power to stop this at any time. It’s all yours.”

Then, with delicate grace, he brings my hands between us and slowly winds the rope around my wrists. My body trembles, the word
stop
dancing on my tongue…but it’s just a thought. I don’t voice it as he continues to hold my gaze, unwavering, and raises my bound wrists to link them around his neck.

“Say it.” His eyes close, the moment stretching out as he waits for my assent.