Dangerous (The Complete Erotic Romance Novel) (42 page)

“Yes, Rex.” Kendra appreciated that she wouldn’t have to call for a cab and wait on a chilly corner. She repeated her gratitude, wanting him to understand how relieved she was by his choice. “Thank you again.”

He lifted his sunglasses and studied her. “It has to be about mutual pleasure, Kendra, or it’s not a game anymore. You need to protect yourself and use your safe word whenever the game is too much. No master will be disappointed with your honesty.”

Kendra smiled at him. “Okay. Thank you.”

“And thank you.” He smiled back at her. “You’ve reminded me of something too important to forget.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There’s a connection between you and Reid. It’s not very common in my corner of the world for people to make an emotional bond, not where personal pleasure is the card that trumps everything. But when you find that connection, you need to protect it. I’m glad you admitted to me that Reid’s absence ruined the scene for you.”

“Why?”

“Because that changes everything. Such a connection is a gift, Kendra. Not many people can bear the weight of another person’s secrets.”

Kendra realized he was talking about himself as much as her and Reid. “Your partner. What’s he or she like?”

“She’s beautiful, and so is the son she’s given me this year.” Rex’s smile softened. “We haven’t played our old games since his birth and I wondered whether things had changed too much between us. A baby can change everything.”

“But you have a connection,” Kendra guessed.

Rex nodded. “And it would be stupid to let it go without even trying to save it.”

“Maybe the game just needs to be modified,” Kendra suggested. “Maybe you need to talk about it.”

Rex nodded. “Maybe. She’s very submissive: she might just be waiting for me to make the first move.”

“I thought that was the master’s job.”

“It is.” Rex winked and got out of the car, coming around to open the door for her as if he really was a chauffeur. He offered his hand and Kendra took it.

“Thank you, Rex,” Kendra said, gripping his hand tightly. She reached up to kiss his cheek. “I hope everything works out with your partner.”

His smile turned wicked. “I’ll be back at regular intervals to check on those contracts, Miss Jones. Don’t imagine that I won’t be happy to help out with your training next time.”

“Thank you, sir.”

They smiled at each other, then Rex offered a business card. “Call me if you ever need anything. Don’t worry about the time.”

What could she request from Rex? A good spanking. To be bound helpless. To be drilled from the back. Kendra smiled, knowing she wouldn’t be calling him for any of those things so long as she had a contract with Reid.

Maybe she could ask him for information about Reid.

It would be presumptuous, but she was tempted. Kendra put Rex’s card into her pocket, then realized she hadn’t asked the obvious question. “But why did Reid cancel?”

She expected Rex to say that Reid was simply pushing her boundaries, but he shrugged.

“I don’t know. He’ll have to tell you that himself.” Rex strode around the car, got back into the driver’s seat, and then drove away.

Kendra stood on the curb watching him go, unable to stifle a shiver. It was the cold air slipping beneath her coat, she told herself, not a feeling of dread. She pivoted and walked to the first cab in the line of waiting vehicles, wanting only to get home.

When the cab was en route, she called Reid.

His phone was turned off.

What was going on?

* * *

The stranger stood just inside the door of the rented room, regretting he had to abandon it so soon. His plan was coming to fruition quickly, more quickly than he’d anticipated, and even though he’d looked forward to this moment for year, he couldn’t help but feel that it was slipping away too fast.

He wanted to savor his vengeance.

But he could do that after they locked up Reid Stirling and threw away the key.

He smiled, tossing the keys to the room in his hand. He scanned the room one last time, verifying that he hadn’t forgotten any detail, and knew it was just right.

He was going to miss the wall of photographs, but there was nothing for it.

He tossed the keys in the air, caught them, and then turned to leave. He listened against the door but the corridor was silent outside. He slipped out quietly, moving like a shadow to the exit and disappearing into the darkness of the street.

He blew a kiss to Miss Jones’ bedroom window, then turned up his collar against the wind. It had been a while since he’d broken into a hotel room.

But it was the perfect place to leave the keys.

* * *

Moynihan could read them all.

It was his gift. He knew what suspects were thinking before they realized it themselves. He knew when they lied. He usually knew why they lied. He certainly knew when they were telling only part of the truth.

But Reid Stirling was different. It clearly was key to his business and to his success to keep his thoughts hidden, and he was good at it.

Good enough to challenge Moynihan. Good enough to make Moynihan doubt his own impressions. With another man, Moynihan would have believed him shaken, if not devastated, when confronted with the sight of the victim in the morgue. Now, he sat with a composed Stirling and wondered if that had just been what the man wanted him to think.

Was he hiding his emotions? Or did he not have any? Moynihan’s strongest impression was that of relief. Because his wife had been found? Because it was over? Because he thought he’d gotten away with murder?

It was almost impossible to be sure, and Moynihan didn’t like that one bit.

He was honest enough with himself to admit that he didn’t like the smooth affluence of Stirling. The man was polished, in every possible way. Stirling’s watch probably cost more than the detective earned in a year. He probably had six of them. A dozen. And he’d discard them without much consideration. His suit had to be custom-made, bespoke tailored, probably in New York or London, and it was probably one of dozens. It made Moynihan yearn for a financial security he would never possess.

And yet, he heard his grandmother reminding him that money didn’t buy happiness.

It wouldn’t be all bad to give money a chance to prove that right or wrong.

He frowned at his notepad. “So, you never thought your wife was dead, Mr. Sterling?”

“No. I thought she had left me.” His tone was flat. Bleak.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because she told me she was going to.” He looked up, meeting Moynihan’s gaze steadily. Unflinching. Because he would lie, or because the truth was hard? “Because she left a note saying that was what she was doing.”

“You never looked for her?”

“Not at first. I filed a missing persons report the next day, and the police looked for her. It was after a week that I became concerned.”

Moynihan could understand this. Whenever Rox packed up and left him, she went to her mother’s. She’d last five, maybe six days, before the two women started to drive each other crazy.

Before he started to look like the better alternative.

Still, he asked. “Why?”

“I thought she would have come back by then.”

“Because she’d changed her mind?”

“Because she needed money.” His voice was hard, then his eyes narrowed. Moynihan caught a glimpse of the truth of that marriage. “I never doubted Alana’s determination to end our marriage, not once she told me of it. I
did
doubt that she would enjoy life without the ability to spend whatever she wanted.”

“She never asked for a settlement?”

The other man shook his head. “I figured it was a matter of time. I assumed she was angry when she told me, and that she’d come back to arrange the details. At the very least, I expected to hear from a lawyer she’d hired.”

“But you never did?”

Sterling shook his head again.

“But still you didn’t think she was dead?”

“Alana loved life. Even after seeing her in the morgue, I have a hard time believing that she’s dead.”

“So, you thought...”

Stirling winced. “That she’d found another man who could support her. Maybe one she loved better.”

Moynihan didn’t blame him for wincing, not if his wife had been as opportunistic as that. Had he known before the marriage? How much had it pissed him off to learn the truth? “Was yours a happy marriage, Mr. Stirling?”

“I thought so, until that day.”

“The last day you saw her?” Really? He’d learned the truth that late?

Had he reacted vehemently? Or was he lying? He seemed to be an observant man—had he really missed something so key?

Or had he not wanted to know the truth?

Stirling nodded, then drummed his fingers on the table. Moynihan noted the impatient gesture and wondered at it. “We argued, for the first time.”

“About?”

“Her spending habits.”

“You thought she was spending too much money?”

“I didn’t understand why she was shopping so much. It seemed to be a compulsion, not something that gave her any real pleasure.” Moynihan let his brows rise. He was thinking about that watch. Stirling’s impatience leaked into his tone. “I could afford her shopping, detective. I just didn’t understand the point. I made the mistake of asking.”

“Mistake?”

Stirling drummed his fingers more quickly. “She was volatile that day. You have to understand that Alana was never angry or agitated. She was always calm, invariably agreeable. I asked her about her spending and thought my tone was reasonable, but she began to scream at me.”

“Scream?”

“Scream.” Stirling’s lips tightened.

Moynihan made a note to ask the help about the screaming. “A sore point?”

“Apparently so. I’d never seen her like that before.”

“How well did you know your wife before you married?”

“On that day, I would have said less well than I had believed. She could have been a different woman.”

“And what was the gist of your argument?”

“She believed I owed her the opportunity to spend whatever she liked, that it was her due.”

“Due for what?”

Stirling smiled slightly. “For putting up with me, I suppose, although until that day, I hadn’t realized I was such a challenge.”

Moynihan felt an unexpected sense of camaraderie with the other man. Sometimes when Rox let loose, he wondered if they were living different versions of the same events. “Did she make specific accusations?”

“Yes.”

“Which were?”

“That I didn’t know her, which certainly seemed to be the case in that moment. That I didn’t love her.” Stirling averted his gaze, clearly considering his next words, then locked his gaze with Moynihan’s and leaned forward. “That I didn’t own her,” he said with heat.

“A strange choice of words.” And one that had hit a nerve, unless Moynihan missed his guess.

He could guess why.

It was time to shake this man’s confidence.

“Is it?” Stirling asked tightly.

Moynihan reached into the file folder he’d brought and pulled out a large photograph. He snapped it onto the table in front of Stirling. “Look familiar?”

It was a photo of the leather collar the victim had been wearing when discovered.

Stirling caught his breath, but didn’t deny recognizing the collar.

Which meant he realized it could be traced. It was a custom piece, made right here in town by a woman who specialized in such toys. She’d already verified Stirling had bought it for his wife.

“It looks like a gift I once gave to Alana.” He leaned back in his chair, watchful and guarded again, reminding Moynihan of a cat on the hunt. “Where did you get it?”

Moynihan declined to answer. “A gift?”

“We were consenting adults, detective, in the privacy of our own home.”

“It didn’t look like she was consenting at the end.” Moynihan added another photograph, an impulsive and deliberate choice to shake the other man.

Stirling audibly caught his breath. The image was of his wife’s naked body, collared and bound with rope, cast in the undergrowth of a forest.

His shock was naked for a telling moment.

Moynihan immediately wondered if that had been a deliberate choice.

“When did you see it last, Mr. Stirling?”

“I haven’t seen it since I gave it to her. She didn’t like it, and it disappeared into her closets.”

“Closets?”

“She routinely converted bedrooms into additional closets, detective. I think she was up to four.”

Because of the compulsive shopping. Moynihan suspected the lady hadn’t been picking up trinkets at Wal-Mart, and his mind boggled at the cumulative cost of four bedrooms full of designer clothes and shoes and purses.

He’d have confiscated Rox’s credit cards.