A deep groan rumbled through him. Never one to surrender his alpha tendencies, a vision of her standing over him in black latex had him fisting his hands. Despite his warning, he found himself walking toward her. With every step, blood rushed to his groin. “Smack it on your hand.”
Whap!The smack of leather against bare skin filled the silence. “That’s a good sting.” Her voice had dropped.
His cock started pulsing. “Awakens the nerves.”
“Put out your hand,” she commanded.
Stryker rarely took orders from anyone, but he found himself lured by her bossiness and held his out, palm up.
She cracked the whipped against his skin, the sharp sting sending streams of pleasure through him.
“I should be punishing you for what you did to me, not the other way around,” he rasped out.
She faced him full on and stared straight into his eyes. “Maybe you should.”
Their breathing had changed, the roar of it thundering in his ears. He needed to tamp down on the mounting arousal, but his feet were cemented in place.
Tap-tap-tap.“Stryker, can I sanitize the room?” asked an employee.
Emerson hung the whip on the hook and marched out, leaving him with a burning desire to take her up on her sexy offer.
They entered the office and he shut the door.
“Where’s Mavis?” she asked.
“Smoke break.” Stryker sunk into a guest chair and opened the laptop.
When she dropped into the seat beside him, he became hyperaware of her essence. She smelled like a field of wild flowers. He didn’t remember her smelling like that when she’d arrested him. Back then, she stunk of rotten eggs.
“You’ve got multiple businesses to run,” she began, “and you’re doing this out of—”
“Obligation.” Stryker leaned back in the chair. Her wavy golden hair tumbled down her back, those big brown eyes with a soulful gaze, and her hot, tight body commanded his complete attention.
“So helpful.” Pausing, she glared at him. “Captain Perry said you can speed up the process, but I haven’t made any progress with the first murder, which happened last month. We had a wiped-down crime scene. No cell phone, no laptop. I couldn’t find any social media accounts or next of kin. The victim, Gloria Stanton, worked as a bartender at Good Times Bar-n-Grill in—”
“Arlington,” he replied.
“Right. Bar staff and patrons knew nothing about her. Most only knew her first name. Said she was a listener, not a talker. She lived alone in an older apartment complex with no surveillance. Her neighbors said she was quiet, kept to herself. I need to know if she was a member here.”
“Got it. What about her car?”
“There’s no record of her having one. Her landlord said she’d lived there a few months. She listed an emergency contact that went nowhere. This poor woman was totally alone.”
“The killer probably knew that about her.”
“Since both women were found strangled and wearing a wedding gown, I’m focusing on April Peters’s case.”
“Understood,” Stryker said. “I’ll analyze her cell phone data, search the dark web for postings by the killer. Sometimes these psychopaths upload pics from their crime scene. I can also check the Internet for police reports on similar murders.”
“That’ll be great.”
“Not all tonight. This takes time.”
The tight lines around her eyes softened. “Of course.”
“Let me show you what I found.” Stryker started the video. “Volume is pointless with the crowd.”
In unison, both he and Emerson leaned close, their shoulders brushing against each other. She moved away, the space leaving him cold.