She had witnessed interactions between high-powered subs like this one and absolute Masters like Tyler. She had felt weak-kneed watching them, aching for a taste of that supreme Nirvana, a one-on-one interaction where the will of Master and desire of sub melded into an explosive energy of its own, a magical synergy captivating them as well as those watching them.
That power had rolled between her and this sub. She'd seen it in the shift of his eyes, the shudder of that magnificent body. Well, perhaps she'd leave him alone for a few minutes. Or maybe she'd find someone to demonstrate to him just what he was missing.
*
Mac sat down at the sanctuary of the shadowed corner table. Unfortunately, it placed him directly over the room she had indicated. In a moment, he'd move, but he wanted a moment to regroup and refocus before he made an ass of himself.
"Lord Almighty," he muttered. His eyes couldn't help searching out his pixie in the crowd, and now he got an eyeful of the back of her dress, what there was of it. The lack of fabric showed off the curve of her shoulder blades, a mole just on the inside of one that he'd like to kiss, working his way up to a neck so slender one of his hands could circle it.
Two thin straps of green crisscrossed just below the shoulder blades, and then there was the unimpeded bare slope of skin, all the way down to the dimples above her ass before the low waistband deprived him of a view of more. She was wearing a silver waist chain, and there was a tiny tattoo just above the left side of her hip. From here, squinting, he'd guess it was a tiny lavender flower.
She paused, bent to adjust the fit of one boot. She was in the shadows, but because of his position and the dim light of the wall sconce, he alone got a clear view as that skirt inched up and up, stopping just shy of where he'd be able to see the crotch of whatever panties she wore, if any.
Oh, that's good, Nighthorse. Really torture yourself.
She straightened, and then looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes sending a "fuck you" challenge that he felt straight to his testicles. He'd bet he could eat that little pussy until she screamed and spoke in tongues. It wasn't a far leap to imagine her crooking her finger at him, pushing his head down there to smell lavender and woman, the musk of a wet, soft cunt with a flavor of vanilla.
"You keep staring at her like that, hon, we're going to have to get the firehose before the building goes up in flames."
Mac started and focused on the amused face of the waitress now standing at his table, her hip cocked. The discreet gold name tag pinned on her red corset read "Mariah".
"Is she a regular?"
Mariah's lips lifted in a smile. "Something, isn't she? Violet's been mentoring with one of our stronger Doms here for about six months, and she came with friends as a voyeur for awhile before that. She knows about everyone in the place now. I won't swear to it, but I think tonight's her first time on her own. You're a bit out of her league, hon, but I suspect not for long. You go easy on her if you're interested, hear? We protect our regulars."
It was a direct warning and one Mac appreciated. He was the newcomer in The Zone tonight, a welcome but unknown quantity, and she'd just informed him that looks wouldn't get him anything but a boot up the ass if he got out of line. She'd delivered it with smooth, inoffensive professionalism and a sexy smile that didn't dilute the message a bit. He didn't mind, because the message meant he'd be looked after too, if he needed it. The Zone had trained their staff well.
In a Dom/sub fetish club, that attitude from management was worth the price of admission, and the intense screening process. The Zone had a hefty membership fee to go with the in-depth background checks. They went to great lengths to protect the identities and wellbeing of the upper middle class and wealthy clientele which could afford and demanded their extra care.
"You got it."
She nodded, gave his wrist a brief caress before she straightened, went to get his drink. Her latex pants, laced up the back, couldn't help but draw his eyes to her great ass and the accessibility of it. He wasn't surprised by the outfit, because clubs often had wait staff employees equally willing to earn money on the side by being someone's rented sub or Dom for the night, where there were no emotional strings that the dating pool hazarded.
Yes, The Zone went the extra mile and then some to anticipate the needs of patrons and protect their privacy. It was a dangerous, ballsy venue for a murderer to cruise for victims, but one had. Not just once, but twice. The person he was looking for was smart, arrogant, and had money. And she was a woman. His gut told him that, even if the evidence collected thus far didn't yet support it.
His gut also told him that she liked the pickings on these grounds and would keep coming back. Particularly if she believed no one had made the connection, that the obsessively discreet nature of The Zone's yuppie clientele had obliterated her tracks.
But one homicide detective had made the connection. Mac just wished he had figured it out when he'd stood over the first body, instead of the second. But then, he hadn't known the first victim personally.
The thought brought back the intensely uncomfortable memory of the meeting he had arranged with his sergeant earlier in the week, the meeting that had led to his presence here tonight, and the much more pleasant chance encounter with a woodland fairy with violet eyes.
Chapter 2
"I've got a meeting with the captain at ten, Mac." Sergeant Darla Rowe took a seat behind her desk and lifted a brow as one of her top people closed her door before taking a seat before her. She straightened, put her hands on her desk, one folded over the other. "What's on your mind, Detective?"
"We found a second body last night," Mac said, forcing himself to sit back in the chair and ignore the painful knot low in his belly. The dead kid he'd just stood over had had a much worse day than he was having, no matter how bad his sergeant's reaction was going to be.
He'd been working in her squad over two years, and he trusted her. She had a level head, an unfathomable patience for bureaucrats, but no tolerance for bullshit, and she was loyal and fair to her people. He was counting heavily on fair, but he was venturing into territory where fair was often drowned by moral reaction.
"Same MO. Mid to late twenties male. Worked as a stockbroker. Good WASP background, church-goer. He was dressed in a leather thong, dog collar, cuffed spread-eagle to his four poster bed, dildo up his ass, begging your pardon. Bullet in the base of his skull."
"Detective Ramsey said she thought that the murderer may resent the victims' social standing, may be trying to humiliate them." Rowe nodded. "Have we been able to keep a lid on the press?"
"No leaks on the way the vic was found. We've told them it appears to be a sex crime, bullet to the head, but that's all." Mac lifted a shoulder. "Connie has good instincts, but we're still waiting for the official psych profile, and it doesn't mesh to me. If the perp was trying to humiliate them publicly, I'd think she'd have sent pictures to the paper by now."
"She?"
"Nail gouges on the victim's back suggest it, but they were done with gloves on. We're doing DNA checks. In both cases a caller has contacted one of the parents, told them that they have to come right away because there's an emergency at the victim's home. I think she's revealing the truth about the victim, perhaps reenacting a similar trauma that happened to her, or something she wants to reveal about herself but never has gotten the chance or the guts to do it. Just amateur analysis, granted, but it smells right."