Slave to Love (20 page)

Bobby's brows shot into his scalp. “You saying you actually did those things to her?”

Mick shrugged. “Like I said, depends.” He tapped the file as he turned toward his own desk in the Lieutenant's office. “Let me know if you turn up anything on these guys. Oh.” He stopped and returned to lean close to Bobby. “What do you know about Julio Martinez?” he murmured.

“Caro's partner?”

“Ex-partner. Yeah. Specifically, who is he involved with?”

Bobby frowned. “No idea. Why?”

“He came in with a tune-up this morning, and looked like he hadn't slept in a week.”

“Worried about him?” Bobby asked with obvious amusement.

Smart ass.

“I worry about all my fellow officers,” Mick responded evenly.

Bobby nodded. “Yeah. Sure you do.”

Mick ignored the sarcasm and went to his desk. Damn he was tired. He really should carve out an hour or two for a nap this afternoon.

He put in two good hours of work before Caro blew across his mind again like a hot wind.
Where was she
? He glanced at the clock. Almost nine. The morning briefing would begin soon and he hated tardiness. He'd have to punish her when she finally deigned to join them.
Sans panties
.

Oh, yeah. The thought had definite possibilities.

Chapter 12

Caro took a good look in the mirror that morning, and was vaguely startled by what she saw.

She looked perfectly normal. Nothing in her face hinted that anything unusual had happened the night before, or that her entire universe had been turned on its axis, leaving her life careening through uncharted territory toward a black hole of unknown destination.

True, she looked pale and tired. Who wouldn't, after so little sleep for two days running? Mick might be able to pull that off without a crease in his perfect GQ appearance, but Caro's took more of a beating. Still, how could she appear so calm and...
unemotional
...after she'd practically had sex in a public place, and then been raped in her own living room?

No, that wasn't really the truth. She didn't look unemotional. She actually looked...content.

She dropped her forehead against the mirror with a dull thud. What kind of a weird pervert had she become? She'd actually
enjoyed
doing those things! She could have stopped either at any time, and had chosen not to.

Of course, Mick hadn't raped her. Not exactly. He'd warned her beforehand what he intended to do. They'd even discussed it, for crying out loud. By letting him into the house, and not using her safe word, as violent as the encounter had been, she'd given him permission. It was a strange paradox. By her very choice the act had become consensual. His asking and her choosing had negated the evil nature of the deed and made it into something quite different.

Didn't it?

Or did it merely acknowledge Mick's determination, and set forth to accept the outcome ahead of time, regardless of how she felt about it?

She jetted out a breath. No. That wasn’t it, at all. She couldn’t blame this on Mick.

Tim had pegged it exactly right in his explanation. Last night had been about living out her deepest, darkest fantasies. About relinquishing control to someone she trusted to take her places she'd never dared dream of, and keep her safe doing it. She didn't trust Mick one lick when it concerned relationship matters, but sex was a different story. His obvious experience, and the respect he held for her personally, made her certain he would never hurt her physically or demand things of her she didn't crave in some deep, hidden place. A place he somehow instinctively understood better than she ever would.

Too bad his relationship skills were polar opposite from his sexual prowess. She couldn't believe he'd just up and left her last night after...everything.
Again
! What kind of jerk bastard would do that to a woman?

At least he'd called later to apologize. Sort of. Though the message had sounded more like phone sex, and she didn't recall the word 'sorry' anywhere in his broody monologue. She squinted into the mirror again. However, if he actually thought she'd go in to the station without panties on, he was truly stuck in his Master-slave delusion.

Hell, if she had any kind of brains, she'd stop this insane relationship, or whatever the hell it was, before it sucked her even deeper into Mick's over-the-edge fantasy world. If it weren't for the Teddie case, she'd close the door in his handsome face the next time he came around tempting her with his outlandish, kinky games.

Honestly, she would.

Her shoulders sagged. No. She wouldn’t.

Who was she kidding? She
liked
what he did to her. It was thrilling and exciting, and there was nothing she wanted more than to continue sleeping with him. She wanted him. Even if he offered her nothing but the chance to experience his wild, out-of-control passion.

But he
had
offered more. He’d actually offered her the opportunity to fulfill her personal goals, if she accepted his deal. Her body in exchange for her dreams.

Could she do it?

Well, why the hell not? She was a modern woman. Sex didn’t have to be about emotions. She could have the experience of a lifetime with Mick, and advance her career, too. If she were a man she wouldn’t hesitate.

Would he keep his end of the bargain? She thought he would. Mick was all about honesty. Even when it was uncomfortable.

So what if he was a little dangerous? His demands a little risky? She could take it. She could control her emotions as well as he could. She’d be okay.

Wouldn’t she?

A shiver traced up her spine. Okay, maybe she should think this through a bit more. He was a very powerful man, a man who’d already shaken her world to its foundation. But his apparent need to control her set off a red flag. Reminded her a little too much of her father. So far, Mick had only made sexual demands. But would that change? Did she really want to go further down that road with him?

This was not a decision that should be made lightly; it was one that could easily affect the rest of her life, in more ways than one.

Better to take it slow. At least give herself the whole day to consider it, before he demanded an answer tonight.

In the meantime she‘d better get down to the station and do her job. If she could stay awake that long. Even a cold shower hadn't woken her up completely, and her eyes felt gritty no matter how much Visine she squirted into them.

She inhaled two cups of coffee, poured another in a go-cup, and was stuffing Mick's badge and Beretta into her purse when she noticed her outfit from last night peeking out from under the couch. So that's where her skirt and bra had gone. She scooped them up and shook her own badge out of the back pocket. A small white card dropped out along with it.

Funny, she didn't remember getting anyone's business card at Brimstone.

Frowning, she examined it closer.

Made from fine white linen paper, the card bore the barest shadow of a watermark showing a naked woman bound to a St. Andrew's cross. There was just one other thing printed on it: an elegantly embossed website address.

Odd. How on earth had it gotten into her pocket? Someone in the crowded club must have slipped it in there last night. Had he felt her badge? Surely not. The thin leather wallet would have prevented that. Besides, she certainly would have noticed someone rooting around that much in her skin-tight pockets.

She'd have to show the card to Mick when she got to the task force meeting. It could be important.

Suddenly it hit her.

Oh, my God!
Maybe
this
was the way the killer made first contact with his victims—not following them home!

Excited by her discovery, Caro hurried to the station. Despite her reservations over her relationship with Mick, she was eager to share her new theory with him. She was right about the card. She just knew it.

Before Caro got to the conference room, she met Agent Woodruff on the stairs going up. She greeted him with pleasant surprise. Nobody used the stairs except her. “Hey, Tim. Heading up for the meeting?”

“Eventually. Have to go to the third floor first.”

“The Crime Analysis lab?”

“Yep. I left a few parameters for them to run through the computer, see if anything local pops out.”

“Unsolved cases, you mean?”

He nodded. “Cases, parolees, the works. All your local wack-jobs and hack-jobs.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Sounds delightful.”

At the second floor landing he put his hand on her arm to stop her. “How's it going with Detective McGraw?”

She could tell by the way he asked that he guessed exactly how it was going. “Intense,” she answered, studying the linoleum under her feet. The word echoed around the enclosed stairwell like it would in a cartoon.

“You sleeping with him?”

She crossed her arms. “Nothing like beating around the bush, Woodruff.”

He smiled, but didn't take it back.

“That would be against department rules.”

One eyebrow hiked.

“Fine.” She held up her hands in surrender. “Yes. But sleeping's not exactly the word I'd use.”

“Are you okay with it?”

She hesitated, and he didn't rush her. Lord, did she really want to get into this subject with a virtual stranger?

“If you mean am I a willing participant, yes, I am,” she finally allowed.

“And what if that's not what I mean?”

She sighed. He wasn't going to let her off that easy. Well, what the hell. If she couldn't level with an FBI psychologist, who could she level with?

“All right, I’ll be honest. He's showing me a side of myself I'm not sure I like. It’s...scary.”

Tim regarded her seriously. “I was afraid of that.”

“Of what?”

He leaned back against the cement wall of the stairwell. “Part of my routine when I'm called in to help on a difficult case is to do a kind of profile on the lead detectives involved. To find out if they have any personal baggage or history which could bias their investigation—consciously or unconsciously.”

Incredulous, she asked, “You profiled Mick?”

“Just a sketch, based strictly on information already in his file.”

“And?”

“And I found some things that...concern me.”

Great. This couldn't be good news. Not that she was surprised. A complex man like Mick had to have lots of hidden depths—good and bad. “Such as?”

Tim rubbed a hand over his mouth. “You realize, I can't divulge anything that's not public record, no matter how much I might want to. Not unless I thought you were in
imminent
danger.”

She blinked. “What are you talking about? You think I'm in danger from
Mick
?”

He shook his head. “Please, don't misunderstand. I don't necessarily think—” He swore under his breath. “Okay, for instance, did you know Detective McGraw's father is in prison? Or was, until a few months ago. For killing his mother and her lover.”

Shock glued Caro to the spot. “You're kidding me.”

“The father caught them in bed together and shot them both with his hunting rifle. Then he carved up the guy pretty good. Mick had been outside playing, but came in and was standing in the door. He saw the whole thing.”

She got her mouth to work—barely. “How old was he?”

“Ten.”

“Oh, God.” She dropped to the top step and sank her head back against the rail, staring up at Tim. “Oh, God.”

“There were some other things that came out at the trial...”

“I'm not going to want to hear this, am I?”

“I think you should, at least what I'm allowed to tell you. McGraw's background was rough. His father rode with a really tough motorcycle club which was big-time into leather and some serious bondage.”

“You mean like at Brimstone?”

“Brimstone is just play time dress-up. This was the real deal. Things apparently got ugly on several occasions. The father has a pretty foul rap sheet, which grew longer even after they put him in Corcoran prison. Assault and spousal abuse are just the tip of the iceberg.”

A dawning horror seeped through her. “What about child abuse?”

“He seems to have been indifferent to the kid.”

Thank God.

Caro sat in silence for several minutes, digesting all the information and its implications. “And you think Mick has the same tendencies for violence as his father?”

Tim's gaze didn't waver. “You tell me. Does he?”

“Of course not. At least...”

She lapsed into thought again. This explained so much about Mick. His carefully controlled, almost anal by-the-book behavior on the job, his impenetrable emotional barriers, his predilection for edgy sex. He had so much to prove to society, so much to overcome within himself. He definitely had his share of inner problems. But violent and abusive?

She shook her head. “No. He's not like that. He would never—”