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He peered down at the darkened picture of the disfigured body of the second victim. Her long blonde hair was matted with coagulated blood, her eyes open in vapid terror. Her torso was twisted, no doubt her spine snapped in two. Whatever horrors the girl had experienced before her death, was evident from her expression, one of sheer terror. “Is anyone from the clubs talking?”
“Talking? Not a single person admitted to seeing either one of our victims at any of the kink clubs or even on the street.” Grant glanced down at the pictures. “The hand stamp on Ramos is definitely from a kink club, but nobody’s saying a word. The girl? No idea. No one has ID’d the body yet. Maybe she’s a club member of Noir.”
“Club Noir? Exclusive club, one catering to various acts of kink.”
“You know the place?” Grant asked as he winked.
Montana shrugged. “I know of it. Remember the bust we made about a year ago, the kid who’d run away from home?”
“Vaguely. That sounds like half the cases we work, brother.”
“The girl was two days shy of her twenty-first birthday. She woke up next to a john, his bloody corpse had been decapitated.”
“Oh yeah. How the hell could I forget? You think this is the same guy after all this time?” Grant asked. He took a step back and shook his head. “The young lady was never the same. That I do remember.”
“No one could be,” Montana said quietly. The case had infiltrated his sleep, demons calling to him, guiding him toward a darkness he’d never wanted to see again. Sucking in his breath, he could trace the slaughtered girl’s haunted face in the picture. The killer was a monster.
“If I remember correctly, the john was some newscaster from Channel Twelve.”
“Weatherman with a wife and three kids.”
Grant exhaled. “You think the cases connect?”
“That I don’t know.”
“Detective Givens?”
He’d never be able to forget the past or the horrors he’d seen. Through his nearly twenty years in the department, Montana had seen his share of nasty crimes, but the heinous methods in which the last two victims were mutilated would forever give him nightmares.
“Detective Givens?”
Grant pushed his arm. “What’s up, Marla?”
“There’s a call. A Jade Deveneaux?” Marla’s voice seemed nervous.
Montana forced himself to look away from the wretched pictures. Very interesting. “And?”
“She asked to speak with you. She said she has some information about the recent murder. She said you’d want to talk with her.”
Looking up at Grant, Montana smiled. “I’ll take the call.” Finally a break. As he stood his body swayed, a myriad of visions sweeping into the back of his mind. He rubbed his eyes, pain settling into his temples.
You’ll never catch the murderer. Never!
This was nothing but a test, one he was no longer certain he could survive.
* * *
“I’m certain you’ll approve. She’s exactly what you asked for, sir.”
“I’ll be the judge. Bring her to me.” Christopher Worth fingered the glass, studying the prisms of cut crystal, imaging the next few hours. He’d paid good money to secure a submissive for the night. The club understood his needs. Club Noir knew his tastes. They hadn’t failed him yet. Unfortunately, his usual selection had disappeared. He’d suspected she’d realized he was a sadist with a penchant for the extreme. Few women could tolerant his merciless tendencies, fewer still time spent in his playroom. He merely glanced at Ryan, a minion in the club’s employ and nothing else. The young man’s face was far too eager, as if the pudgy young man had become infatuated with the game at hand. Then again, he was once such a creature. No longer. Now he was nothing more than a beast.
Chuckling, he took a sip of his whiskey, savoring the flavor. The club offered the finest in entertainment as well as the most superb liquor. He eased back in his seat, taking a puff of his cigar.
“Yes, sir. Would you like to meet the chosen submissive here or in your stateroom?”
The chosen submissive. As if the woman was nothing more than a commodity. He gazed at the diminutive man, studying his features. The club had managed to secure staff who simply faded into the woodwork, men and women who were born to serve, but certainly couldn’t withstand any aspect of BDSM. Still, finding those who knew their place was yet another draw. “Allow me to see how she interacts with the crowd. I’m in no hurry.”
“As you wish, sir.”
