Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
No, I have to investigate this lead on my own. As soon as I’m done here, I’ll head to Club Empire and try to get a name for my mystery dom. The club is notoriously private because of its high-end clientele, but I’ll flash my badge and threaten a warrant if I have to. Never mind what it would take to convince a judge to give me a warrant based on a vision and what barely qualifies as circumstantial evidence.
But first, I have to get this ball over with. I’ll find the chief, making sure he knows I’m here as ordered. I’ll pretend to schmooze with the donors, and the first chance I get, I’ll slip away.
I drift through the sea of socialites, my high heels striking a rhythm on the polished floor. There’s a band on a stage at the far end of the ballroom, and soft classical strains float above the crowd. I pass a highly decorated officer in her dress uniform, looking stiff and out of place as she studies the passing faces as if she’ll be quizzed on them later. I nod to her, and her gaze sweeps over me—up, down, and away. Once she saw my gown, she clocked me as another civilian.
I accept a glass of champagne from a passing waiter to have something to occupy my hands. There’s a dark cloud forming over the room. . . more than just the oppressive energy of the crowd. Under my silken wrap, my bare arms prickle.
It’s as if I can sense someone watching over me. Not just anyone. Him.
There’s a noticeable split in the middle of the room, with cops on one side and wealthy philanthropists on the other. I walk the space between them alone. I pass a flock of ladies in gorgeous gowns. One of them turns and does a double-take when she sees my dress before narrowing her eyes.
“Is that Versace?”
“It was a gift,” I say and turn away.
My head’s still filled with images of the crime scenes. The marks that decorate the victims’ arms from elbows to wrists. The same marks on my own arms.
This is my favorite type of tie.
Little bird. . .
My instincts are leading me to my dom. I’m itching to leave this place and search him out, but I’m also dreading it. If I’m right, and he is the killer, that means I was alone with him. I let him tie me up.
I let him hold me.
And then, he left and killed someone. Someone who had happened to harass me that very night.
Is the mystery dom him? The one watching me? The one who’s been stalking me? Is he watching me, even now? Is he responsible for these murders? If so, how many times has he killed? Will he kill again?
Am I his next target?
I have to find him. I have to know.
I’m almost to the edge of the room when I stop in my tracks. There’s a lingering scent here. A familiar cologne that takes me back to the room in Club Empire. Woodsy and fresh, it grounds me.
And I know. . .
He’s here. My dom. The number one suspect in two murder cases.
I spin in a slow circle. Where is he?
I have a vision of him, a large shape moving through the crowds. His powerful presence makes people move out of his way. In a room full of important people, he rules supreme.
It’s the same presence that made me respond to him when we were alone in a private room at the club. The weight of his gaze, the overwhelming sense of him. His cologne mesmerized me, the scent following me home, hovering in my bedroom. Haunting me.
There. A dark-haired man, standing head and shoulders above the rest. Tall and solid, built like a warrior of old—the same size and shape as the blurred figure in the footage I was given. He has his back to me, but. . . could it be him? A bunch of people surround him, men in tuxedos and women in beautiful gowns with scarlet red lips. They all want his attention, but he’s aloof, untouched by their wit or gossip.
Or maybe I’m fooling myself. Maybe I’m going mad. My visions and instincts are a curse and a blessing, bringing me into a crime scene to relive the details. But I’ve never been so embroiled in a case before, the intimate details saturating my waking moments and my dreams. The mystery dom, whoever he is, has obliterated the lines between my work and real life. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in such close contact with a murderer. Not since that night in Elyria and the horrors that happened there.
“Detective Ramos,” someone calls. I’m half relieved to have a direction to turn, a touchstone to keep me grounded in the here and now. My relief turns to dread when I see Chief Jordan waving me over. Time to glad-hand with the brass and donors. My nerves are on fire, my skin crawling at the thought of touching them, even if it’s to shake hands.