Probably because he would much rather be hav**g s*x with Genevieve than focusing on its darker side. Or maybe the problem was that he wasn’t digging deeply enough, that he was simply scratching the surface of a topic that needed to be explored in depth.
Violence was endemic in these sex shops and bars—he’d read enough police reports to understand that. And yet a lot of people in healthy relationships came here too—a fact that made the job of tying everything together that much harder.
With a resigned sigh, he shoved his camera into his case and pulled open the blacked-out door. Maybe a look inside would help him figure out what he was missing.
But as he wandered the rows of magazines and videos and novelties, he found himself at a loss. There was nothing here that he wanted to put in his documentary, nothing here that helped him understand—or explain—the elusive tie between sex and violence that permeated this city like bourbon at Mardi Gras.
Impatient, he turned to leave and was halfway to the door before he caught sight of the largest display of bondage and S/M items he’d ever run across. For a moment, he froze—his mind’s eye already taking in what the display would look like on film.
Whips and paddles. Clips and cuffs and satin ties. A truly awe-inspiring collection of leather wear and blindfolds all displayed against dark purple silk. His fingers actually itched with the need to pull out his video camera and record the display—along with the thoughts pouring through his brain. Here was what he’d been looking for—a perfect example of how closely pleasure and pain could be intertwined.
In his head he was already rearranging the documentary, leading off with this display and a voice-over that talked about the violent edge of consensual sex. He could imagine the words clearly, could imagine his voice asking what happened when things got out of hand? When safe words weren’t listened to? When pleasure became unbearable pain?
He winced at the thoughts crowding his brain, images of the dead women running through his mind despite himself. But it doesn’t have to be like that, a little voice whispered in the back of his head.
It didn’t have to be black-and-white.
Good and evil.
Pleasure and pain.
He told himself he was disgusted, that he wanted to focus entirely on the evil that could be done with such “toys.” But as he got closer—close enough to touch—he couldn’t help thinking of the pleasure they could bring as well.
Reaching out, he ran a hand down a series of satin ties. They were soft, silky—amazingly cool and pleasurable to his touch. Unwittingly, a picture of Genevieve flashed into his head. She was nak*d, bound hand and foot by the long lengths of black satin as he ran his hands and lips and tongue over every inch of her willing body.
His c*ck hardened—as much at the idea of overwhelming her with pleasure as at the thought of such blatant dominance. Shuddering, he let the ties fall back into place and wondered what was happening to him.
He’d enjoyed sex for his entire adult life—he didn’t know many men in their thirties who hadn’t. But until now, his idea of experimentation had pretty much been limited to the places he made love and a few basic toys. This, he thought, as he ran his hand over a black satin blindfold—this was taking experimentation to a whole new level.
He shouldn’t want this—shouldn’t need it. He never had before. And sex with Genevieve was already more mind-blowing than anything he’d ever experienced. It should be more than enough for him. It was more than enough for him.
Yet even as he told himself that, his eyes fell on a series of Japanese rope bondage items, and he nearly came in his f**king jeans. He wanted to turn away—to walk away—yet he didn’t. He couldn’t.
He wanted to see Genevieve tied up for his pleasure—for her pleasure. Needed it with an intensity that completely blew him away. He didn’t know why—couldn’t explain his reasoning to himself, let alone to anyone else. But he needed to dominate Genevieve.
To take her over completely, even as he gave her the most incredible orgasms of her life.
To make her his in every way possible, even as he kept her safe.
The whole thing might be a moot point; it was very possible that she’d never speak to him again after how he’d acted that morning. But if she did …
He picked up one of the long white satin ropes. If she did, he would die to see her as he’d imagined. To make her come again and again. And to hell with the consequences.
Before he could change his mind, Cole piled a bunch of stuff on the counter and paid for it quickly. Then reached into his pocket for his cell phone as he headed for the door.
He wasn’t going to be happy until he’d fixed this thing between Genevieve and himself. Wasn’t going to be happy until he was back in her good graces—a feat he deemed nearly impossible after he’d basically told her to go f**k herself.
But he needed to fix this, needed to fix them. Sure, this whole thing had started out as nothing more than a way to find his sister’s killer, but somewhere in the middle of everything, he’d begun to fall for Genevieve. She was so strong, so self-assured, so innately kind, despite the harsh words they’d exchanged the last time they’d seen each other.
He started to dial the precinct number—he still had it memorized after all these years—but again he hung up before the call could go through. Damn it, she’d been the one to blow things totally out of proportion. The one who’d refused to trust him. Instead of calling her, he should drag her out of that damn precinct and paddle her sweet ass until she believed that he wasn’t the killer. Until she acknowledged that, despite their inauspicious beginnings, there was something between them that couldn’t be ignored.
Of course, that probably wasn’t the best course of action if his goal was to get her back in his bed. But this silence between them had gone on long enough—he wanted to hear Genevieve’s voice, to explain himself better than he had before. To try to convince her to give him another chance.
Hitting redial before he could change his mind, he waited impatiently for the desk sergeant to answer the phone.
* * *
Genevieve clicked through her email quickly, her mind whirling with the facts and suppositions associated with the murders she was investigating. The FBI profiler she and Shawn had spoken with yesterday had just emailed the profile of the killer—and it was just ambiguous enough to make it feel like they were searching for a needle in a very large haystack.
White male, thirty-five to fifty. Upper-middle class. Successful in his chosen profession, which was probably artistic or service-centered. Above-average intelligence. Had his own ethical code, one that allowed him to commit these murders and still believe he was in the right. Evidence that he’d lost someone very important to him at some point in the last few years led to controlled sadism and the need to be in charge. The rape and sodomy only underscored the anger, the need to control the victim and her world.
Frustration ate at her, even as she told herself she was being unreasonable. The profiler had done his best—had given her exactly what she’d needed to help make her case. But she wasn’t satisfied with the report, and probably wouldn’t have been with anything short of a map with a huge red X marks the spot.
Scrolling through a dozen or so messages that had come in since she’d last checked her email, Genevieve searched for anything that had to do with her murders. But there was nothing from Jefferson—nothing that pertained to the murders at all. Just notification of two court dates in cases she’d closed months before, some information about cases she’d recently closed and an invitation to check out a new store opening at Canal Place.
Rolling her eyes, she clicked on the last email on the list. It was addressed to her, and though it was from an address she didn’t recognize, the subject line—COMING SOON—made her curious enough to check it out.
Skimming it, her mind still on the killer’s profile, Genevieve was halfway down the text before she realized what it was she was reading. Heart pounding, breath shallow, she went back to the top and started again. Read it through once, then again and again.
“Shawn!” she called, her voice low and urgent.
He glanced up immediately from the time line he was putting together. “What’s wrong?”
“I need you to come look at this.”
“Sure. Just let me—”
“Now!”
He was around the desk in a flash, his eyes intense. “What’s going on?”
“I think this is from him.” She pointed at the computer screen, then read along with him as he focused on the email.
Genevieve,
I apologize for my silence the last few days, but things have been quite busy around here. Leaving you hanging after my phone call was inexcusable, but I plead a very full plate, as you will find out soon enough.
I must admit I’m a little disappointed in the progress you’ve been making. I expected a more worthy adversary. Though you look like a wet dream, I know you are both extremely intelligent and extremely capable. High case-closure rate, strong witness for the defense—for a little while I feared I might have met my match.
But, forgive me for saying so, you seem stumped. No new leads, no evidence, nothing to lead you to my doorstep. Once again, I will confess to being disappointed. I’ve spent a lot of time imagining you here with me, your body mine to do with as I wish.
I would take my time with you, make it as good for you as it would be for me. After all, we’re quite well matched, aren’t we? You look like the type to not just tolerate pain well, but to enjoy it too. How fortunate, then, that I am enamored with causing it.
I know what you’re thinking. You’ve seen those poor creatures I’ve already been to work on. They were nothing, really, simply practice for my greatest work. Practice for you.
I left you clues with the girls, clues that—if you are smart enough—will lead you to me. Of course, you’re still missing one. Poor girl, she’s been out there, waiting, for nearly three days now. Wondering, I’m sure, how long it will take you to find her.
I hope you find her soon. I’m getting restless, this need I have to feel you under me growing with each hour that passes. And while I want to wait for you, to experience all that you have to offer me when I am at my most passionate, I fear that if you do not move quickly, I will be forced to secure another plaything.
She will, of course, be nothing compared to you, just a dalliance to keep me busy until we finally meet.
Work fast, Genevieve. My craving for you is growing.
“Son of a bitch!” Shawn’s fist hit the desk, and the eyes he turned on her blazed furiously. “How can you be so calm? That bastard just threatened you!”
“It seemed more like a promise than a threat,” she answered coolly, proud of how composed her voice sounded when she was shaking apart inside.
“I don’t give a shit what it was. He’s not getting his hands on you.”
“I certainly hope not.” She looked over the letter one more time and tried desperately to ignore the chill skating down her spine. “Shawn, you’re missing the most important part.”
“No, I’m not.” His mouth was grim as he looked at her. “There’s definitely another girl out there, one who hasn’t been discovered yet.”
“We need to find her.”
“I know that.” He picked up his phone, dialed a quick number.
“Who are you calling?”
“Roberto. He and Luc can get their asses back here and help us figure out what the hell is going on.”
Genevieve stood, strode over to the murder board, where she’d tacked a map of the French Quarter. The first three dump sites were clearly marked and, not for the first time, she studied them for some kind of pattern. There wasn’t one, at least not one that she could see.
She traced a finger from Jackson Square to Jean Lafitte’s bar to the senator’s house for what felt like the millionth time. “They’ve all been on the east side of the Quarter so far,” she mused. “So does that mean that this one will be too? Or will he have branched out?”
“There’s no guarantee the body’s even in the French Quarter, Genevieve.”
She glanced at her partner over her shoulder. “Sure there is. He wants me to find her, and I only get cases from the Quarter. Outside, it’s a different police station, different homicide squad.”
When the phone rang, they both jumped, and Genevieve stared at the receiver as if it was a snake. She knew she should pick it up, to find out if the bastard was calling to follow up on his note, but all she really wanted to do was run away.
But Shawn was having none of her cowardice as he gestured her over to the desk.
“Answer it,” he hissed. “And hit speaker so I can hear too.”
With a shudder, she followed his directions. “Delacroix.” Her voice was clipped, furious, but she couldn’t stop it any more than she could stop the fine tremor that shook her normally rock-steady hand.