Safeword (7 page)

“What’s your fucking point?” Ben growled. My pulse raced and my skin tingled, the air of
breakthrough
licking at me, tantalizing and just out of reach.

“It was
your
vulnerability when you heard Lane cane Gavin and saw the movement in the corner of your eye.” Laura knew we’d both, during the attack, done our best not to see what was happening to the other, to not let Lane sear such sickening images in our minds. But glimpses from the corner of our taped-open eyes―blurred shapes, sounds―those had stuck. They still haunted. She continued. “It was
you
unable to break free and save your sub, keep him from harm, keep Lane from violating his limits. It was
you
bound by your hands from your playroom ceiling.
Your
cuffs,
your
cane,
your
toys Lane used, and you not only couldn’t stop him, you couldn’t project your vulnerability anywhere else but at yourself. And you believe that makes you a failure as a Dom.”

Somewhere from the bookshelf in the corner behind the couch, a clock ticked. The small sounds of traffic from the street below floated up to the windows. A horn, muffled and distant, signaled the world went on outside this room. But not for me. My world was Ben. His jaw was clenched, eyes stormy black, nostrils flaring as he tried to maintain control. I’d only seen him lose his composure one other time: when my brother Cole and another CSI tech had gotten him down from Lane’s restraints.

“It’s okay to admit it happened to you, too, Ben,” Laura said softly, leaning forward to fold her hands on the desk blotter. Her eyes were kind and warm, the eyes of not only a skilled therapist, but a friend. “You’re not at fault for any of it.”

“I made the appointment with Lane,” he gritted out. “It
is
my fault.”

“You told Gavin he hadn’t made Lane a killer. Neither did you, Ben. You did
nothing
wrong. You’re still a Dom, still a powerful man. But unless you believe you’re human too, you won’t find your topspace again. A Dom is only as good as his willingness to listen to his sub’s needs. You’re not listening.”

Ben released a pent up breath, his fingers loosening around my hand. Despite this, his body language screamed “cornered animal.” “Which means we’re still not ready for a real scene, Laura.”

“Agreed,” she said. “But the reason behind that has to be understood before it can be worked through. Gavin’s making good progress. He deserves credit for that.”

“That he does,” Ben answered softly, looking at me with fond, though pained eyes. “But this is something I’d rather discuss in our private sessions, if you don’t mind, Laura.”

I tried to ignore the sting of his words. I understood he didn’t want me seeing his weakness and translating that into an inability to handle me through total submission. Many Doms felt the same. They didn’t tend to confide their fears and worries to their subs, even collared ones. No, Doms as a group tended to speak to other Doms about their uncertainties. In this case, Laura was not and never would be Ben’s sub, so unburdening to her wouldn’t jeopardize any facet of their relationship.

“Gavin?” Laura interrupted my thoughts. “How does that sit with you?”

I looked at my knees. “I’d love to be able to help Ben the way he’s helped me, but I understand him not wanting me to know some of this. If it means he’ll someday accept my submission again, I’m okay with that. The details of his recovery are his to share with whomever he wishes. Or not share.” The words were thick, and my throat tried to reject them, but I swallowed and forced them out.

A small chime sounded. “That’s our time, gentlemen,” Laura said, standing. She walked us to the door. “I think we’ve gotten somewhere today, boys,” she smiled conspiratorially, speaking as our friend and not our therapist. “If you need me for anything, you know where to find me.”

“Give my best to Steven, Laura,” Ben said politely, speaking of her Dom, a friend of Ben’s. As we walked to the elevator, he was subdued, his usual easy manner very much absent. I wondered what was going through his head, but dared not ask. It was enough for me that he still held my hand. Once in the shelter of the lift, I turned to him, hand around the inside of his elbow, his shoulder snug against my chest.

“I love you,” I murmured. I didn’t know if he needed to hear it, but I needed to say it. He gave me a brief, stilted smile.

“I know.”

WE HIT a wall. Arnold’s killer was no closer to being identified, and what evidence we had showed nothing. Still pending were the insurance listing of the contents of Arnold’s house and the DNA tests, on which, with each passing day, I hung more hope than was healthy. The potential of failing Arnold sat heavy in my gut. Keeping my temper in check grew more challenging. When I realized I was struggling not to bite off
Myah’s
head, I knew something had to change.

“I’m going to hound Cole to put pressure on the lab people,” I muttered, grabbing my coat and stalking out the precinct door before she could reply or follow. I found my brother squinting at his computer in his office, finger-pecking the keyboard.

“Hey, bro,” he greeted warmly, smiling at me with his baby face and dimples that had garnered him a number of clingy ex-girlfriends before Myah had tamed him. “Everything okay?”

“No,” I growled, shutting his door and plopping in the chair in front of his desk with a frustrated huff. His creepy menagerie of formaldehyde-preserved science experiments loomed on shelves to the side, and I squirmed. Of all the places to escape my discomfort and frustration at work, this might’ve been my stupidest choice.

Cole sat back, blowing a breath as he assessed me. I knew he was trying to figure out how to approach my mood, since it was so volatile lately. I saved him the effort.

“When’s the fucking lab going to get done with the DNA tests on the Stevenson case?”

He relaxed then. Work frustration, he could deal with. While he’d been great after my attack, had shown no judgment or shock, the aftermath hadn’t been easy for my family, him included. Once I’d become convinced Cole, the brother I was closest to, didn’t care, Myah had nearly smacked me upside the head.

“Just because he doesn’t let you see it doesn’t mean he isn’t outraged and horrified by what happened to you. He freaks out in private so you can concentrate on yourself, not him. And trust me, he does freak out.” This only made me appreciate Myah all the more. She dealt with the whole situation on so many fronts—work, our friendship, her relationship with my brother and family. Remembering her steadfast support now made me feel that much worse about her being the reason I’d fled my desk.

“If my lab had working equipment,” Cole said, “we’d have had it done by now. State backlog is a lot worse than ours. But our PCR machine is broken, and repairs are scheduled but slow in coming. Without it, we’d have to extract the DNA by hand and you’d be waiting just as long. Trust me, big brother, we sent it off with a rush and a glare if they sit on it. It’s coming.”

“It’s been two weeks!” I protested.

“The average time frame is three to four weeks, unless they’re really swamped. It’ll get here soon.”

“Can’t you call them? This is the last potential lead we have before the case goes cold.” I pleaded with my eyes, and he pursed his lips, studying me.

“Fuck, Gavin.
Everybody’s
case is a rush.”

My mood soared well past irritability into cold fury. “Arnold was a
cop
, Cole. Just like our father. Our brothers. You and me. But he was also a friend, one of the few I had left. If you can’t call me in a favor for this, then how fucking bad does it have to get before you
will?
”

He met my tirade with silence, then reached for his desk phone, using one of the memory buttons to place the call. I sat tersely while Cole finagled a promise out of his contact at the state lab to bump it closer to the top of the heap. When he hung up, he leaned forward on his desk, clasping his hands.

“It’ll be within the next forty-eight hours. Best I could do.”

“Thanks,” I said gruffly, preparing to leave.

“Sit down,” he barked. I instantly complied, startled by his sharp tone. “What the fuck, Gav? Spill.”

“Huh?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“You have
never
played for any kind of sympathy for your situation. If anything, you get pissed when someone genuinely empathizes with you. So you’re going to tell me what’s in that screwy brain of yours, and you’re going to like it.” He leaned forward, jabbing a finger at me to emphasize his point.

My lungs deflated like a balloon against the business end of a needle. “We got nothing on Stevenson’s murder, Cole. This is my last hope, or I’ve buried a friend without bringing him justice. There’s just....” I turned away, jaw clenched. “One witness, an elderly lady with poor eyesight. An ex-wife who, while not responsible, is actually glad he’s dead. Mud samples that went nowhere. Fibers too common to point to anything. But we could be sitting on a smoking gun, Cole. Fucker left
DNA
behind. We
never
get that lucky. Not since those forensics shows hit the big time and perps know better now. I can’t fail on this one.”

Cole perused my features. “Okay. That’s reasonable. This one’s close to home. What about the next case? And the one after that? I understand your position, bro, I do. But if you get this wrapped up,
this
bent over a few more days’ of waiting, you’re going to land yourself in an early grave. You can’t save the world, and even if you could, it’s not going to bring back Lane’s victims. It’s not going to undo what you went through.” He said it kindly, but the words were a bucket of ice water on my head.

“That’s what you think I’m trying to do?”

“You’ve been hell bent since you went back to work. Both homicides you were assigned were solved before we could even write up the evidence.” He paused, lowering his voice. “I’m worried. What can I say? You’re my favorite brother.”

I snorted. “Yeah, look at your choices. Preferring me over Mason and Shawn is like saying you prefer chocolate ice cream to steamed rice and dry toast.”

“I don’t want to see you forced to quit a job you love because you can’t handle it anymore. The ultimate revenge on Lane is to live your life as normally as you can.”

“You’re right,” I blew out a breath. “I can’t solve them all. But I can solve this one.” I pleaded with my eyes for him to understand. “I only need one breakthrough. One.”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I know,” he assured me calmly. “Go home to Ben. You’re fried. Go do something relaxing with your boyfriend.” I must have gone quiet thinking about how nice going home to relax with Ben would have felt if not for the strain of being in the same room together, the painful silences, the brooding. “Get that wistful look off your face, Gavin.” Cole smirked. “If you’re thinking kinky things in my office, I’ll ban you for life.”

I grinned back. “Nope, but if you want me to tell you about the time—”

“Ahh, la-la-la,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “Get. I have to work.”

I rounded the desk and leaned over, giving the top of his head a kiss while he flailed an errant hand to smack me.

“Missed,” I laughed, dancing out of the way. “Sunday at Mom and Dad’s?”

“Yeah, for the weekly ‘marry her’ orders. Wouldn’t miss it.”

My cell blared Muse’s “Undisclosed Desires” at top volume as I left the building, the cold sucking my lingering humor right out of my lungs. It was one of my favorite songs, and I let it play for a few beats before answering.

“DeGrassi.”

“Gavin.” Myah’s voice was all business. “We got the insurance list back, and there are some discrepancies in the evidence inventory. Specifically, one hand-held video camera, an iPad, a digital camera, and a video game system, XBox 360. Seems Arnold just updated his homeowner’s insurance list after Christmas and the iPad and video game system were gifts for Billy.”

I whistled. “Lucky kid.”

“Well, he didn’t see Billy often, so I’m betting he spoiled him every chance he got. Not like he lived rich otherwise.”

“That’s true. And all that stuff is small enough to be carried away, with a little juggling and a heavy coat to hide it.”

“So I’m going to pinpoint pawn shops around Stevenson’s house and work my way outward. You want half the list now or wait until tomorrow?”

I checked my watch. Just after six. What was waiting for me at home? A silent dinner and maybe a movie about JFK? Pass. Ever since that day in Dr. Ribaldi’s office, Ben was reticent, standoffish, and the strain was wearing very thin.

“Give me twenty minutes to get back and I’ll take half. We can concentrate on this while the lab gets their shit together. Cole got them to bump us up, and we should know in a couple days, max.”

She agreed and rang off, and I called Ben to inform him I’d be late. He sounded distracted, but not irritated. Maybe he could hear the purpose in my voice again.

New life in the case did wonders for my mood. I’d heard the lift in Myah’s spirits from the brief conversation, too. If we had to search every pawn shop in the city, we would.

§§§

PAWN SHOPS are the worst. The owners are reluctant to speak to cops about anything, and the patrons are worse, even if they’re the epitome of law-abiding at the moment. Tightened state regulations ensured more pawn shops complied with laws surrounding stolen goods purchases and records were better kept, but that didn’t mean they wanted to show us anything. The items we were looking for were also high turnover. iPads usually lasted a day or two, and the same went for video game systems, especially one only used a few times. We struck out at so many places, I was hard-pressed to remember being interested in this line of inquiry.

“This sucks,” Myah grumbled as we exited one of the sleazier places. The night before, we’d split up and had such trouble getting the owners to talk to us, we figured a united front would work better. Not that we wanted to intimidate them into clamming up completely, but being nice was getting us nowhere. The most recent try had ended with the shop owner’s vague denial of having any similar items in stock to verify serial numbers followed by an offer to have Myah test out the St. Andrew’s Cross in the back. I’d frozen at the mention, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Myah go red with anger. Last thing we needed was a complaint to the boss, so I’d stepped in.

“That’s more my speed, buddy, but only if you’ve got a whip to go with it. And I haven’t worked on my swing in a few weeks.” I’d leered at him, hoping I pulled off a Dom vibe, mimicking Ben’s inherent calm and absolute expectation to be obeyed. The owner didn’t need to know he was talking to a sub. “You’d do nicely for target practice.”

His eyes had flickered with dismay. “I don’t know nothing, man. Got none of what you’re looking for in the store now, and haven’t for a few weeks. We were cleaned out of shit like that before Christmas, and when we do get it, it never lasts long.” The owner had crossed his arms over his chest and glared. A quick look around had proven he wasn’t lying, so we left a card on the counter.

“I find it hard to believe he had no sales of that kind of merchandise since before Christmas,” I groused to Myah as we climbed in the car. But we couldn’t get a look at his books without a warrant, and other than trial and error, we had no reason to suspect that specific shop had the goods. On to the next.

“You, my amazing partner, are a total badass.” She grinned, adjusting the heat registers for maximum dispersion. “Is that what Ben acts like when he’s doing his Dom thing? Because it was awesome. I’d do anything you said if you demanded it of me like that.”

“Are you hitting on me?” I laughed. Once a week or so, one of us accused the other of getting too fresh. Ever since I’d come out to her, it had become a running joke.

“You’re goddamned right, if you promise to talk to me like that. No wonder you’re so frustrated Ben’s backed off.”

“Talk to Cole. Maybe kink runs in the family.”

We looked at each other a moment while I stopped at a four-way stop sign, then both spoke at once. “Nah.”

It felt good to laugh for what felt like the first time in weeks, months even. Unfortunately, it didn’t last. The radio crackled to life.

“Dispatch to unit fifty-eight.”

Myah grabbed the mic. “Fifty-eight to dispatch, go.”

“Ten-seventy-nine reported East Cedar Avenue, Webster Groves.” Another notify medical examiner. Myah wrote the address in her pad as the dispatcher rattled it off. I did a quick U-turn, pointing the car toward I-170 South. “Residence is owned by Douglas Halloran, officer at St. Louis County Fourth Precinct. Report to on-duty supervisor for special instructions.”

Myah and I exchanged glances.

“Shit,” she swore under her breath. “Unit fifty-eight, en route. Special instructions acknowledged.” She dug out her cell and speed dialed Kittridge while I flipped on the lights and siren, whipping through traffic too slow to move over. I listened to her half of the conversation as best I could while concentrating on driving at higher speeds. Thankfully, the weather had warmed and the snow of the previous week melted away, so the threat of sliding into the median was less imminent. Myah did not look happy when she rang off with the sergeant.

“What?”

“Looks like the vic is Halloran, according to responding officers. They called Fourth before it was passed to us. We’re sharing jurisdiction.”

“Okay.” I drew out the word, waiting for the bad news. It was hinky sharing jurisdiction, but it sucked less when it was with other County precincts than with city police or staties.

She blew out a breath. “Your favorite person has been assigned.”

I tightened my jaw as a car in the left lane panicked at the sight of me and slowed way down before finally getting over to the shoulder. “Myah, I’m kind of driving here. Spell it out. Who is my favorite person?”

“Trent.”

It was a good thing my grip on the wheel was already constricted, my teeth already clenched. My reaction would have been much less stoic otherwise, and I could ill afford to land us on the divider wall at such a speed. Trent Sawyer, my former partner and the reason my marriage ended—or one of the several reasons—was most definitely not my favorite person.

“Just fucking peachy.”

“Kittridge wanted me to tell you, if you don’t want this, he’ll pull us off, but it’s got similarities to Stevenson’s case.”

My stomach took a jump off the high dive, bottoming out somewhere on the floor of the car. “What kind of similarities?”