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“I think Gilbert Drake could be, given the right set of circumstances. And there may be others. Some of the anonymous letters she received last year didn’t mince their words. Slitting throats and rivers of blood and what have you. Then again, putting something on paper, or saying it over a telephone line, and actually doing it are two very different things.”
“And the American man?”
“Harmless. I did want to ask you something, though, Edward. Off the record.”
“Yes?”
“This business with the dog. I’m playing it down in front of the home secretary. No need to create undue anxiety. But I don’t like it.”
“And you have no leads?”
“No. What do you know about the family dynamic?”
“Not as much as I’d like to,” Sir Edward said truthfully. “Mrs. De Vere is a frustratingly closed book. I know the rumors. There’s tension with the daughter. Apparently she loathes her mother, but that may be exaggerated. She still lives at home.”
Commissioner Grant rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“So did the dog.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sergei Milescu rearranged the pillows on the bed. Lying back, he checked the angle of the flat-screen television over the fireplace, making sure that any images would be clearly visible to someone lying flat on their back. This would be the first time he’d had sex in Sir Edward Manning’s flat. Everything had to be perfect.
Sergei glanced at the clock on the wall: 6:23 P.M. Edward would be home soon, awaiting his pleasure. He’d given Sergei his keys this morning.
“Get everything ready. The game starts the moment I walk through the door.”
Sergei could hardly believe it when Edward had suggested a night of role reversal. For months Sergei been angling to shift the dynamic between them, to establish himself as more of a boyfriend and less of a plaything. Just when he’d begun to think it was hopeless, that the old bastard would never change, Edward had not only agreed to have sex at home but had actually offered to let Sergei dominate. For days now, the young Romanian had been quivering with excitement at the prospect. But as the moment of truth drew nearer, he shook as much from fear as from arousal.
What if I fuck it up?
I can’t. I can’t fuck it up.
This may be my only chance.
The door to the apartment opened, then closed. Sergei heard the thud of Edward’s briefcase hitting the floor, followed by the quiet rustle as he removed his jacket and shoes.
“Where are you?”
“In here.”
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Sir Edward Manning felt a frisson of excitement shoot through him as he entered his bedroom. How long had it been since he’d brought a lover back here? Years, certainly. He couldn’t remember the last time. But neither could he remember the last time a boy had excited him as much as Sergei. It was that intoxicating combination of hatred and desire that did it. Sergei Milescu thought he hid his hatred, but it was as obvious to Sir Edward Manning as the rock-hard dick between the young Romanian’s legs, and every bit as arousing.
Am I being foolish, bringing him here? Allowing him to take the lead?
Probably. But it’s the danger that makes it so sweet.
“Nice place.”
“Thank you.”
“Take your clothes off and lie down on the bed.”
Edward hesitated, taking in the various props around the room. There was a video camera on a tripod in the corner, and a spool of rope in plain view on top of the dresser.
“No filming. In my position I can’t allow—”
