Cuffed & Collared Page 2

  “Okay, Mr. Ramsey, let’s back-up and talk about Mr. Bennington in terms of what happened prior to today.”

  He angled his head toward her. She was sucking on the end of her pen, riveting his eyes to her lips. They were free of lipstick, yet as bright and lush as any he had ever seen. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean what can you tell me about your friend’s social life? Was he seeing anyone?”

  “No, no one lately. He hasn’t actually dated seriously since the break-up.”

  “But when he does date, where does he go to meet women? What does he do to relax?”

  Kyle struggled to come up with a useful answer. The truth was, he didn’t know much about Jazz’s sex life. “When he wanted to relax, he golfed with me. Other than that, he worked very hard. As partners at Mayberry, we keep very long hours. I suppose he met women the same places I do, through friends, at charity events, the occasional professional meeting, sometimes the health club.”

  “I see.” She nodded and wrote, the pen going in and out of her mouth depending on whether she was speaking or he was. He couldn’t bring himself to look away. “What kind of women was he attracted to?”

  Kyle frowned. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Sergeant. What does this have to do with his murder? You can’t think a woman did that.” The idea was ridiculous and repulsive. His friend had been tortured and mutilated.

  The cop didn’t answer right away. With pursed lips, she gazed at him as if weighing her answer. Finally she said, “Actually, I do.”

  Flabbergasted, Kyle sat back in his seat. “With all due respect, Sergeant, that’s crazy. How could a woman overpower him enough to tie him to the bed? Or do you think he was drugged?”

  “We’re looking into every possibility. But to be honest, because I really do hope you, as Mr. Bennington’s close friend, have answers I desperately need to catch his killer, I believe he knew the woman who killed him. He either let her in or brought her here and allowed her to tie him up. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t know at the time she planned on killing him.”

  “You’re saying he was having kinky sex with her, and it got out of hand.”

  “It didn’t get out of hand for her. She intended to kill him from the moment she met him, I’m betting.” With a sigh, she crossed her arms on the table and leaned into him. “Look, Mr. Ramsey, I’m going to take the chance of telling you something I shouldn’t, something confidential. Mr. Bennington appears to be the second victim of a killer who struck only two weeks ago.”

  The shock continued to grow. He could hardly take in the implication of the Sergeant’s words. “Are you talking about a serial killer?”

  “Yes, quite possibly.”

  “I can’t believe it. And you still think it’s a woman?”

  “Yes, even though it’s very rare for a woman to be a serial killer. It fits in this case.”

  “How so?”

  “For one thing, all the evidence in both cases points to compliance by the victim, at least initially, with the killer. Was your friend gay?”

  “No!” The denial came out too forcefully, and Kyle realized it made him seem defensive when really it was a function of how overwhelmed he felt by the entire thing. “No,” he repeated more evenly. “I’ve known Jazz since prep school. Nothing he ever did indicated he was gay, and he did a lot to demonstrate he wasn’t. Besides that, we have another good friend who came out to us in college. So he knew he could have told me and it wouldn’t have mattered.”

  She gave him a small smile he read as approval. “Fair enough. The other victim also appeared to be straight, so if neither victim was inclined to get naked and in bed with a man, it means the killer was a woman.”

  She stopped abruptly and gnawed at her lower lip. It drew his attention back to her lips, damn it all. He felt his body go hot, and even though his tie was already loosened, it was as if something were making it hard for him to get a decent breath.

  “Go on, please,” he choked out, in order to put his attention back where it belonged.

  “There’s something else.”

  He could sense her reluctance to continue. “Tell me,” he urged, and without thinking, he leaned forward and placed his hand on her arm. All he got was a handful of soft leather, yet his cock pulsed in response to touching her. Her eyes widened, then narrowed again, and her cheeks flushed. Those ripe lips parted, and the point of a pink tongue darted out to wet the lower one. She stared at him for long seconds before pulling away from his grasp and standing.

  “The other victim belonged to a certain type of club,” she said in a breathless voice while she peeled away her jacket and tossed it on the chair she’d just vacated.

  Kyle’s gaze was immediately drawn to the hard nubs pushing out the thin fabric of her blouse. So, he wasn’t the only one hot and bothered in the room.

  “What kind of club?” He watched her pace the length of the table.

  “A club where men can go for a little—discipline.” She turned on her heel and gave him a pointed look.

  “I’m not following you.” Was she talking about a health club? He and Jazz belonged to the same one, and he couldn’t remember his friend picking up a woman there recently, although it was possible, even likely.

  “I guess that means Mr. Bennington never mentioned being a member of a special club, then.” She was stopped, one hip cocked in a fuck me stance. At least, that was the message he was picking up.

  “No, he didn’t. You’re being deliberately vague, Sergeant.”

  She quirked her lips. “Yes, I suppose I am.” She walked toward him and placed her hands on the back of her chair. “Let me be blunt. Was your friend into the BDSM scene?”

  “BDSM, as in bondage, discipline and sadomasochism?”

  “That’s right. Particularly, did Mr. Bennington enjoy being dominated and punished by women?”

  Kyle laughed. He couldn’t help it. The idea was so absurd he threw back his head and laughed out loud. The sound was almost a hysterical one given the raw emotions bubbling inside him. He managed to control himself, however, before it degenerated into a fit.

  “Sorry, Sergeant, but you don’t know how ridiculous your question is. Jazz was a brilliant litigator who tore his adversaries to shreds. He was ambitious and thrived on the kind of stress that would send most people screaming down the street. He was a born leader, too, and the type of guy who frankly always looked for women who needed to be taken care of. He liked being the strong one in a relationship. It was part of what broke up his marriage. He was overbearing. You’re way off base with that idea.”

  “Mmm,” was her reply. “Well, the other victim was described in much the same way. He was a banker, a little younger, and not as well established, yet very much cut from the same cloth. However, on his lunch breaks, at night, and on weekends, he frequented a club and went to private parties he found on the internet where he would strip down and let a woman first tie him up, then beat him up. Nothing too heavy, of course. The law frowns on this sort of thing even when it’s consensual, at least with respect to the club. What happens in private is harder to track.”

  Outraged, Kyle shot to his feet, all concerns about his attraction gone, along with his nascent hard-on. Something had finally overridden his desire. “You are way out of line, here.” His voice was hard and loud, and he didn’t care. He had stood in horror, looking at his battered and bloody dead friend. He wasn’t going to stand by while some cop implied that Jazz had asked for it.

  “Calm down, please, Mr. Ramsey. I know this is hard to hear, but I need information in order to find the killer.”

  “You won’t find him by thinking Jazz wanted to be tortured.”

  “Her,” she corrected in a stern voice. “And I’m not saying Mr. Bennington agreed to what was done to him. To the contrary, I’m saying he may have had a need to be dominated by women, which was exploited by the killer. I’m not making any personal judgments about your friend’s sex life.”

  “The hell you aren�
�t.” He took two steps around the table so he was mere inches from her. He tried to ignore the pull of her eyes and the smell of her heat. He really did try, and his failure stoked his temper. “I’m a lawyer, Sergeant, and as such I’m warning you to be very careful about the accusations you make about my friend.”

  She snorted contemptuously before gathering up her things. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Ramsey. This interview is now over, and you are free to go.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she said with emphasis. “We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions.” She turned and walked away.

  “Wait a minute,” he called after her.

  She stopped and looked at him from over her shoulder. “What?”

  “You’re wrong about Jazz. He wasn’t like that other guy, and if you pursue that angle thinking he was, you’ll never find Jazz’s killer.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Ramsey, but this is my job. I’m actually quite good at it.”

  “Not this time, Sergeant Malloy,” he couldn’t help saying. “And I won’t stand idly by while my friend’s killer runs free.”

  That got her attention. With a hard look, she said, “If you’re suggesting you’re going to involve yourself with this investigation, I would strongly advise against it.”

  Kyle folded his arms across his chest. With a sense of growing purpose, he felt stronger than he had since finding Jazz. “You know, Sergeant, you’ll find I’m much like Jazz was. I don’t take orders very well, and I don’t take shit from anyone.”

  A teasing smile played across her lips. “Neither do I, Mr. Ramsey. Stay out of my case, or you’ll discover just how little shit I do take and what I do to those who try to give it to me.”

  Kyle watched her walk away, down the hall toward the bedroom. His teeth clenched over her high-handed orders, and his hands curled into fists. He was determined to look into Jazz’s death himself, because he was not intimidated in the least by Sergeant Malloy’s threat. But he was something else. He was excited by it and that fact just made him angrier.

  ****

  Less than an hour later, Kyle stormed into his condo, flung his keys on the counter, then stopped dead in his tracks. Overwhelming emotion, grief and anger, froze him to the spot. His body shook with the effort it took to keep himself under control before he realized he didn’t have to anymore. Here in the safety of his private world, he could let go.

  He hated living alone, apart from his daughters, his marriage broken beyond repair. But at that moment, he was glad no one was here to see him break down into the kind of tears he’d learned to suppress in early childhood. He bent at the waist and pressed the heels of his hands against his watery eyes. A sob ripped past his lips, and again, he was grateful to be alone in his misery.

  Losing people he loved through old age, accident, and even illness was always hard. This was different. Murder was a kind of violation he’d never expected to deal with. Wrapping his head around the fact, accepting that Jazz was gone for good because someone chose to rob him of the rest of his life was impossible.

  As Kyle stood, rocking with his grief, he fought to regain some semblance of rational thought. He wouldn’t do Jazz any good falling apart. He told himself all of this, and yet the tears insisted on having their time to spill out and wring him dry.

  Long minutes later, he was finally done. With shaky steps, he headed for the wet bar and poured a couple of fingers of scotch. He downed that quickly and refilled the glass before stumbling to the couch. He slouched bonelessly into the cushions, sipping the second drink even though he wanted to knock it back, too. Hollowed out as he felt from his crying jag, getting shitfaced and being hung-over the next day at work wasn’t going to help his friend.

  Neither would focusing on his residual anger at the cop in charge of the investigation. The woman had been infuriating, believing Jazz had conducted a kinky sex life that had led to his death. How dare she suggest such a thing? The pull of attraction he’d felt in her presence only served to add to his ire. She was flat out wrong in the direction she was heading, and he was an idiot for wanting her on any level.

  With his head pressed against the back of the sofa, he pictured the last time he’d been with Jazz in this very room. They’d tied one on months ago when they had nothing better to do on a Saturday night. The evening had devolved into a bitch session, no other word for it, about their ex-wives, how much divorce sucked, and the difficulty of finding women to date or even just fuck given their heavy workload. Or, at least Kyle had complained about his dry spell. He’d also confessed to his best friend that the stress of the divorce and work was getting to him in a way it hadn’t ever before.

  Jazz had suddenly fished around his pants’ pocket and handed him a business card. “I’ve got just the thing for you, my friend.”

  Kyle had reached for the card and narrowed his eyes to focus on the tiny writing in stark black against a snow white background. There was simply a name, an address, and a phone number. He raised his eyebrows.

  “Club Nemesis? That’s the goddess of divine retribution. So, what is this? A strip club or something? Not my style since college, you know that.”

  “Not a strip club. It’s different,” his friend had claimed with a sly, drunken grin. “When you get tired of being the big shot litigator, stop by. You’ll sleep like a baby afterward, I promise.”

  Kyle had tossed the card aside dismissively when Jazz wouldn’t divulge more. The memory of that night jarred him out of his miserable stupor. What had he done with the card? Reaching over to the side table, he yanked open the drawer. The card lay inside, slightly crinkled. Snatching it up, he studied it again with his more sober eyes. There still wasn’t anything to indicate what the club was like or what relevance it might have. Yet a feeling grew in the pit of his stomach that this piece of information might be critical to solving Jazz’s murder.

  He should call the cop, Sergeant Malloy. Of course he should, but first he’d look into the club himself. He was a man who got things done, and at that moment, finding who killed his friend was paramount.

  Chapter Two

  “Hi, Pops.” Regan sauntered into her father’s living room and was gratified to see him sitting in his wheelchair watching television. There was something very comforting in this mundane predictability. It was especially true given the long, wretched day she’d had.

  He turned the large wheels of his chair with the power of his massive arms in order to see her. “It’s past ten, and I bet you skipped dinner again.”

  “Since when don’t peanut butter crackers out of the vending machine chased down by a cold cup of coffee count as dinner?” she asked.

  “Since it’s your dinner we’re talking about, not mine,” her father retorted. Jack Malloy had been a cop for more than ten years before a drug dealer put him in that wheelchair while resisting arrest. “Lucky for you, I ordered take-out.”

  She had meant to only make a quick check on her father before going upstairs to her apartment on the second floor of his duplex, but the smell of Chinese food lured her into the room. “I suppose a few spring rolls and some sesame chicken wouldn’t hurt.” Sitting down on the sofa, she snatched up a carton and a pair of chopsticks to dig in. It was just what she needed. Bless her Pops.

  Muting the TV with his remote, her father asked, “Got something big going on down at the station, have you?”

  “A serial killer,” she replied with a mouthful of food.

  Her father’s eyes went wide. “Christ, Jesus, you’re not serious?” Unlike her mother’s side or her cousins, the Callaghans, her father was recent to America, having immigrated as a child. He still had a bit of Irish in his voice.

  When she nodded to indicate she was indeed serious, he shook his head in dismay, although a glimmer of excitement lit his eyes. It gave Regan great satisfaction, knowing her work added some meaning to her father’s otherwise restricted life. With dead legs and a dead wife, he worked hard to keep active and intereste
d in things and not wallow in the house.

  “We haven’t had such a thing around here since the Strangler. You’re sure?”

  Regan swallowed hard. “Why does everyone keep asking me that question?” Like her lieutenant. Fuller was a good cop and a good boss, but he was skeptical of her theories. “I’m as sure as I can be with only two victims. The M.O. for both murders is too similar and two bizarre for it to be anything else, unless we find a close connection between the vics to indicate it was directed solely at the two of them,” she conceded.

  No such tie between Morales and Bennington had been uncovered, however, and her gut told her one wouldn’t be. Although the men were of a type, a rare type in her experience, they were too dissimilar to imply a personal relationship between them.

  Her father pursed his lips and nodded gravely. “There’ll be hell to pay when it gets out. I still hear talk of how frightened women in this city were fifty years ago.”

  Regan bit a spring roll in half, chewed, and swallowed. “Well, this time women appear to be perfectly safe.”

  “Ah, crap, are we talking little boys, then?”

  “No, grown men, and Pops, the killer is a woman.” She grinned at her father’s astonishment and quickly filled him in on her theory.

  “What kind of man wants a woman to hit him?” he mused.

  She had been wondering the same thing since Morales’ death, and she had no real answer yet. It was simply kink as far as she could tell. The images of her two victims popped up in Regan’s head, and because their killer had been careful not to touch their faces, they remained as gorgeous in death as they had been in life. She would have been happy to let either of them into her bed and into her body. Would she have been willing to tie them up and hit them, too? Sure, she felt a little thrill every once in a while when she took down some punk on the street, but this was different. It was cold-blooded—no, make that hot-blooded—and supposedly arousing.