Property Of (7 page)

“Not today, you were wearin’ it on Tuesday.”

“How did you know I was wearing perfume on Tuesday?”

“My partner came back smelling like a beautiful woman after your first encounter.”

“He’s . . . he’s your partner?” I wailed.

“He has been for goin’ on six years.”

My eyes swung to his desk and the photo of the beautiful brown-haired woman with two smiling kids, and I felt ill.

“I’m sorry, I have to leave,” I replied quickly, then bit my lip before I burst into tears over the fact that my dream man was married. God, I felt like an idiot. “How did he even recognize me behind these glasses?” I whined.

“I’m thinkin’ it was the spandex.”

I looked down at my outfit, which did consist of spandex running pants in black and another pink, zip type athletic top. Shit, I was practically dressed identical to yesterday.

“I have to go. Thank you again,” I rushed out as I turned to leave.

“I’m sure he’ll be right back,” Reed jumped in as I moved away from him.

“So? He can come back or not come back. What do I care?”

Reed’s eyes were gleaming with hilarity, no doubt because I’d mucked up his partner’s shirt again.

“You got a card with a number so I can call you about that ride-along?” he asked with a grin.

“I, um,” I sputtered, thinking I should avoid Reed since Vaughn was his partner. After thinking about it for a moment, I figured what did it really matter now. I’d been intimidated by Vaughn because I was attracted to him and I’d imagined all sorts of naughty things between the two of us. Since he's married, there was no reason to be intimidated.

“Ok, yeah, I’ll leave my card.”

I dug one out of my purse, handed it to Reed, and then decided to make a hasty retreat before Vaughn came back. As I made my way toward the exit, for some bizarre reason I had to know Vaughn’s full name. It was the final piece of information I needed about the man to build his character. A name said something about the owner, and for that reason, I had to know his. Turning back to Reed, I called out to the detective.

“Detective Reed? I, uh, I wanted to make sure I give credit in my book properly so I’ll, um, I’ll need your partner’s name for my research.”

Reed smiled as if he could read my mind, and I was glad I was hiding behind sunglasses. If he could see my eyes, he’d see the misery I felt at knowing the man I’d fantasized about was married.

“Vaughn, Detective Dallas Vaughn,” he replied with a knowing smirk.

God, that was a great name.

“Thank you,” I answered then hurried out of the office.

Of course, he’d have a beautiful wife, two beautiful kids, and a name that even sounded like a romance novel hero. “Men like that don’t exist, mom? They do, they’re just taken.”

I sighed in despair that Dallas Vaughn wasn’t available then I remembered suddenly, he’d winked at me and ogled my ass while he was married. “Shit, mom’s right. I’m spinning my wheels, looking for a fictional man that doesn’t exist.”

***

“Don’t say a word,” Dallas grumbled when he sat down at his desk.

“Now, why would I say anything?”

Dallas ignored Reed as well as his wet shirt. He hadn’t replaced his backup from the last disaster and was stuck wearing the coffee covered mess.

He was still pissed for reacting the way he had when he heard Sandra Dee say she stocked her fridge for her man. In the past four days, his mind had kept drifting to the girl-next-door when he should have been working, and when he walked in and saw her standing there, he took it as a sign to proceed. He figured, fuck it, he didn’t have time for a relationship, but he wasn’t gonna ignore the fact that everywhere he turned, there she was. If he couldn’t get her out of his mind, couldn’t stop thinking about her cupid lips and big green eyes, there was a reason. Except now, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it because he didn’t mess with another man’s woman.

“What the hell was she doing here?” Dallas finally asked out of curiosity.

“It’s the damnedest thing,” Reed chuckled. “Seems your Sandra Dee, who I’d like to point out is more of a Sandra Bullock, is one of them romance authors. She came in to discuss police procedure for a book she’s writing.”

“Jesus . . . Please tell me you don’t agree to help her,” Dallas asked with a sigh. The last thing he needed was a constant reminder of what he couldn’t have.

“Oh, I agreed all right. I’m gonna take her out with me once I get the okay from Cross. A man my age doesn’t often get the chance to spend a day conversing with an angel.”

“The hell you are,” Dallas bit out fiercely. “We don’t exactly interview law-abiding citizens. She’ll end up hurt or worse.”

Reed thought Vaughn’s outburst was telling, which made him even more determined to get the okay from Cross. “I’m not stupid, Vaughn,” Reed egged Dallas on. “I’ve got a few interviews with an eyewitness to that drive-by shooting over at Shady Park that should interest her, I think.”

Shady Park apartments were a safe haven for criminals. Officers who went there during the course of an investigation did it with eyes in the back of their heads and their hand on their gun. Vaughn knew this, of course. Reed watched as Dallas’ eyes became intense and his jaw ticked at the mention of Shady Park in his Sandra Dee’s future. Reed chuckled at Vaughn’s obvious display of irritation and decided to let him know he was joking. “Rein in your temper, for Christ sake, I’m only kidding.”

Dallas stared his partner down, then broke eye contact as he picked up his phone. “What’s her name?” Dallas asked as he punched in the code to retrieve his messages. When a business card landed on his desk, he picked it up. The card was light pink with the name Nicola Grace Royse printed across the front in fancy script. It didn’t escape his attention the card was as feminine as the owner was.

Tossing the card back to his partner, Dallas pushed images of Nicola Royse and her firm ass, full lips, and silky hair that he wanted to bury his hands in out of his mind and listened to his messages. When he got to the third, his eyes shot to his partners.

“They found a foreign hair on Stacy White-Cline’s body,” Dallas told his partner. “It’s dark-brown and our victim was blonde. They’re sending it off for DNA analysis.”

“About fuckin’ time we got a break in this case,” Reed responded.

“It’ll take months for the DNA to come back. But it’s something,” Dallas agreed.

“This guy covers his tracks like a pro; we need all the help we can get. If dating websites are where he stalks his victims, then there’s no trace of him. It’s as if he’s able to delete all traces from the sites and their lives.”

“That’s because whoever we’re dealing with is a computer expert,” a tall man, dressed in a black suit that couldn’t have spelled out FBI any clearer than if he’d had the words tattooed on his forehead, replied.

“Who are you?” Dallas bit out as he stood from his desk.

“Agent Dane Parker, FBI,” the man answered, pulling out his badge.

“Is there a reason you’re showing up unannounced and uninvited?”

“I’m on a special task force investigating The Harvest Killer. Your Shallow Grave murders pinged on our radar. I’m here to take over the investigation until we can ascertain whether we’re dealing with the same man or not.”

“The Harvest Killer hangs women on poles like a scarecrow. How the hell do you figure it’s the same killer?” Reed asked in anger.

“Serial killers are known to change their MO,” the agent replied. “Your Shallow Grave Killer leaves them in fields just like the Harvest Killer. It’s possible this is his home base and when he’s not traveling the highways, killing at harvest time, he’s quenching his thirst for the kill at home.”

“So I’m supposed to do what exactly? Hand over our investigation and play nice while you’re in town? Is that what you’re tellin’ me?” Vaughn seethed.

“It became our jurisdiction the minute it tied to our case,” Parker informed Vaughn. “I’ve already met with your lieutenant and he knows the score. He assures me you’ll cooperate fully with our investigation.”

“Right,” Vaughn growled, looking back at Cross’ office. “Tell me, Parker, the minute you figure out this case isn’t connected to yours, are you gonna hightail it out of here?”

Parker grinned at Vaughn because he knew the man already had ideas of running him out of town. “My priority is the Harvest Killer, so yeah, Vaughn, I’ll get out of your hair when I’m done. Though, we’ll assist in an advisory capacity once we’ve determined the cases aren’t connected. Until then, the investigation is ours.”

Reaching across his desk, Dallas grabbed the Shallow Grave file and shoved it into Parker’s hands.

“Have at it, hotshot,” Dallas grumbled as he headed for his lieutenant’s office.

“Hey, Vaughn,” Parker called out as he watched the detective leave. When Dallas turned around, his jaw ticking as he tried reigning in his temper, Parker replied, “You’ve got something on your shirt.”

Dallas didn’t knock on his lieutenant’s door: he barged in unannounced and found the man on his phone. Cross looked up and narrowed his eyes at Dallas before he bit out, “I’ll have to call you back, baby. Apparently, Vaughn has a death wish.”

Dallas crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Cross to hang up. As soon as he ended the call, Dallas thundered, “You brought in the fuckin Feds?”

“I don’t answer to you; you’d be wise to remember that, Vaughn,” Cross barked out. “The captain and I want this bastard caught. We sent what we had two months ago and they showed up unannounced this morning, spouting off this was now their case, and that it’s tied to the fuckin’ Harvest Killer.”

“How the hell do they figure it ties into their case? Agent Parker’s explanation reeks of manipulation of the facts.”

“Captain Daley said hand it over, Vaughn, so I handed it over. That’s how it works. If our government says it ties in, then it fuckin’ ties in,” Cross growled.

“Bullshit,” Dallas snapped back. “Captain Daley hates government interference more than you do.”

“That may be, but he isn’t balking this time, so play nice with the feds, Vaughn, or look for another job,” Cross advised.

“Right,” Dallas seethed and then turned on his heels and headed for the exit. He might back off since his hands were tied, but he’d keep a close eye on Parker. Something wasn’t jiving with their bullshit explanation and Dallas hated unanswered questions.

***

Dark Prince opened his browser and read the last email Taryn Rivers had sent him for the third time. She was perfect. Long legs that could wrap around his hips as he pounded into her, lush, full breasts he could clamp to bring her more pleasure, more pain. An ass that could handle any strap or crop he owned. But his favorite part was her hair. It was the perfect shade of blonde. Not so light that is was like snow, but it had glimmering shades of gold throughout that made it perfect. Staring at her picture, he felt his cock lengthen when he thought about putting Taryn in a cage, about strapping her to a St. Andrews cross as he broke her in. His blood heated to a boiling point as he thought about his hands wrapped around her neck, squeezing until she lost consciousness. It was time to find her and bring her home.

He opened the detailed information on her email and copied the IP address, dropping it into a program he designed. He’d written this program specifically for his own needs so he could find his slaves easily without waiting for them to correspond. He liked to watch them from afar while he messaged with them, to make sure they fit his needs. However, he didn’t need to watch Taryn to know he’d finally found the perfect slave. She’d responded to his orders quicker than any slave had before. She’d wanted to please him, didn’t question his commands, just answered him quickly, seemingly truthful, and had no hesitation taking a picture for him.

When his program finished searching and came back with a business address instead of a residence, he frowned. He’d given specific instructions for her to follow, one was to take a picture of herself and send it back to him within ten minutes. A picture that required her to be shirtless with the words “Master’s Good Girl” written on her chest in lipstick and she’d done it with a minute to spare. How had she done this at a coffee shop? Was she piggybacking off their wireless system?

Dark Prince opened each and every email she’d sent the night before and noted that the IP address was the same. Hitting reply to her last email, his jaw ticked, and his breathing increased as he typed his instructions. He needed her at home, not out at some fucking coffee house where there were witnesses. He’d been careful, put safeguards in place to remain undetected, and he wasn’t about to risk being seen with his future slave by approaching her in public. He needed her at home so he could claim her for his own.

Hitting send, he opened the program that allowed him access to Plenty of Fish and Sub Seeking Dom incognito. Opening Taryn’s profile on both sites, he routed all her messages to his computer as well so he could keep an eye on who she was interacting with. If anyone got too close before he had a chance to secure her, he’d just have to take care of that problem as well.

***

Women have been disappointed by men since the dawning of time. Sure, there’s been a good one every thousand years or so—ok, maybe not that long, but it feels that way. However, for the most part, they have left women wanting.