“Only a few months. David’s my cousin, distantly. When he heard I was relocating to the Boston area, he offered me a place to stay. He knew I was leaving a bad relationship and was a bit unsteady financially.”
“Are you into the Femdom scene, too, Mr. Cohen?” JoJo interjected.
Cohen gave them a crooked smile. “No, I’m gay, actually. Such a scandal it is in our conservative family. David didn’t care, though. He understood what it was like to be different.”
“Okay,” Regan replied. “Let’s go back to Mr. Foster ‘hooking up’ with a woman. How did he find women who suited his needs? Did he belong to a club?”
“No, he told me once that clubs were too bush-league. He wanted the real thing, so he had these connections through the internet.”
Regan cocked an eyebrow at her partner, who immediately nodded to confirm that she was in the process of securing a warrant to impound Foster’s computer. “Go on, please?”
Cohen lifted and dropped one shoulder. “That’s all I know. I met one or two, but I didn’t catch more than a first name. They’re all pretty careful not to reveal themselves. People don’t understand them, you know? They have to worry about their reputations, because they get labeled as freaks and weirdos and perverts.”
Freaks and weirdos and perverts? Oh, my, that was about right. Regan, herself, was seriously questioning her own freaky nature. Had she really whaled on Kyle like some sadistic bitch hours ago? Yes, she had, and her cunt still ached sweetly from the multiple orgasms the experience had led to. She wasn’t certain she had the right to distinguish herself from the killer she hunted, except that while Kyle was red and achy, he wasn’t bleeding. And he was pleased with her actions, not dead like Foster or the others. Those differences had to mean something, didn’t they?
In the meantime, she needed to concentrate on finding the killer, not obsess about her sex life. “You don’t know who he was going to hook up with tonight, but you weren’t supposed to be back here yourself?”
“No, I was going to spend the night with my new boyfriend, only he turned out to be an asshole, so I packed up and came home.” His face scrunched up in obvious grief, and his eyes became wet with unshed tears. “At first, when I saw the alarm was off, I thought maybe he had someone over still, even though it was kind of late for him. David likes a good night’s sleep. I almost went straight up to my room, except I didn’t want to scare him by suddenly popping out this morning. I checked around the first floor and his bedroom, instead, and when I didn’t find him, I decided to check the dungeon.”
Cohen rubbed his arms as if cold. “Because I was afraid I’d be interrupting something, I opened the door just a tad and listened. When I didn’t hear anything, I called down for him, and when that didn’t work, I made myself walk down the steps.”
The tears started to fall now. “I smelled it before I saw him. Oh, God, it was awful!” He hugged his waist and bent over his knees. “Who could do such a thing? They must be crazy.”
Yes, crazy, and dangerous and out of control. Time was running out.
****
“Shit!” Regan grabbed a handful of napkins and swiped at the dollop of salad dressing that had dripped on her pants. She was tired and stressed, and the gallons of coffee she had consumed since waking at four that morning weren’t helping in the least. Little wonder she was having trouble getting a fork to meet her mouth. Oh, well, at least she was wearing her clothes from the previous day, so the overall grunginess of her appearance was not harmed by the addition of a food stain. Given it was Saturday, there were also fewer detectives running around the place to rag her over it.
A familiar pair of legs came into view as she tossed the greasy wad of paper into her waste basket. “I have something that might cheer you up a bit,” JoJo said when Regan looked at her.
Interest peaked, Regan sat forward in her chair. “What?”
JoJo sat in the visitor’s chair beside the desk and held out a piece of paper. “This is a copy of an e-mail to Foster from a month ago. There’s nothing about anyone he was going to meet last night, and the cousin was right about his not being a member of Nemesis, but this looks like a connection.” She shrugged. “Then again, it’s not exactly a rare name. It could be someone else.”
In response, Regan slowly shook her head, her eyes peeled to the e-mail address of the sender. She felt that kick in her gut she got when she sensed a case was about to crack wide open. She lifted her gaze to her partner. “Pick her up.”
An hour later, Regan stood in an interrogation room, arms folded across her chest and legs braced as JoJo led in an angry Pamela Williams, a/k/a Mistress Cleo. The Domme wore a raincoat belted around her waist, undoubtedly because she was dressed for work underneath it.
“I should have known you were a cop,” the woman spat out.
“I was working undercover,” Regan replied in a mild voice. “We’re trying to catch a killer.”
“Huh! You won’t find one by dragging me down here like this. You’re making me stand up good clients, regulars.”
“I’m sure Veronica will take care of them. Have a seat.” Regan tossed her head toward one of the chairs. She made it clear by the tone of her voice that it wasn’t a suggestion.
Cleo curled her lip in response, but yanking out one of the chairs, she did as she was told. She crossed her legs, causing the coat to drop open and confirming that she was indeed dressed for play.
“Who’s going to make up the money I’m losing?” Cleo demanded, her voice still hard and pissed. If she was involved with the murders, she didn’t sound guilty or afraid.
Regan had become quite adept at reading suspects over the years, and Cleo was giving her the wrong vibes for a guilty person. She found her building excitement over cracking the case start to falter. Nevertheless, there seemed to be a connection between this woman and the latest victim. She had to pursue the possibility that the killer was in the room with her. She tossed the copy of the e-mail onto the table.
“Did you send this message, Mistress Cleo?”
Cleo hesitated for a second before picking up the paper and reading it. For the first time since entering the room, she looked uncertain. “Yes, I did.” She bit her lip. “Why?”
Regan placed her palms on the table and leaned on them. “Because the man you sent this to is the third man to be tortured and mutilated and killed in the last few weeks by a woman who likes to play the game a little too well.”
Cleo’s eyes went wide, and the piece of paper slipped from her fingers. “Dead! David’s dead?” Regan could hear the horror and disbelief in the woman’s voice. If it was an act, it was a damn good one. Then, again, play-acting was part of Cleo’s profession.
“You knew him?” Regan prodded.
“Hell, yes, I knew him. He and I got together a couple of times. He has this killer set-up in his home.” Her gaze left Regan’s, and she looked off into a corner of the room. “We had a fine time. The man knew how to take pain.”
“Apparently too well,” JoJo replied in a cold voice.
“What?” Cleo turned to look at the detective. “Now wait just a minute. Am I here because you think I killed him?”
“David is the third man killed by a woman who is obviously a devoted and experienced Domme with a lot more than consensual fun and games on her mind.”
Regan picked up a file from one of the other chairs and slapped it on the table for dramatic effect. It wasn’t Cleo’s criminal record, but the record of the man who’d featured in her childhood.
“You told me in the dressing room, yesterday, that the law doesn’t help little girls as well as it should,” she reminded the suspect. “I did some reading while I was waiting for you to come in. Your stepfather did some vicious things to you, didn’t he, Pamela, before your mother found the courage to go to the police?”
In Cleo’s eyes, Regan saw fear and hurt creep past the anger for a moment before the woman put her emotional shields back in place. “Why bother to ask me? It’s all in there, and the asshole got his while serving in Walpole, so what does it matter anymore?”
“It matters if you’re taking your revenge on other men.”
Cleo laughed, a harsh, dismissive noise. “I get my revenge every day at the club and on my own time with guys I meet on the internet like David. It helps me deal with the memories, I don’t deny that, and the guys are begging me to do it. It works out real nice that way. But if you think I’ve gone crazy and am killing people, think again. I’ve got two babies to take care of. No way I’m going to let some man goad me into prison for the rest of my life.” She leaned toward Regan and locked eyes with her. “If that happened, then my asshole stepfather wins, doesn’t he, because he’ll have ruined my life for sure.”
Damn it! Regan hated how much sense the woman made, and worse, she hated how much she believed her. Still, Cleo, through Club Nemesis, was the only known connection to all three victims. “Okay, Cleo.” She pulled away from the table and paced thoughtfully. “I can see your point. Tell me, though, how well did you know David Foster?”
Cleo sat back in her chair. “Not well enough to know his last name. We only met a couple of times at his place, and that was it. I’m not looking for a relationship, and neither was he. I haven’t seen him in three weeks, at least,” she added in anticipation of Regan’s next question.
“What about Eugene Morales and Joseph Bennington?”
Cleo blinked at her and didn’t answer for several seconds. “I know those are the two men who were killed recently if that’s what you mean. I listen to the news like everyone else.”
“They were club members.”
Cleo shrugged. “Not my clients, but I heard a couple of the girls talking about it. You know, after the murders.”
“What did they say?”
“They were freaked out, weren’t they? A couple of nice regular clients who tipped well. The kind of guys you like dealing with, because they’re into the scene but not in a self-indulgent way. That gets old real quick even when the money’s good.”
Regan stopped her pacing and leaned against a wall. “I don’t understand what you mean.” She really didn’t, and she wanted to know, to understand this lifestyle, even though her question wasn’t necessarily being driven by the investigation. It was more personal than that.
Cleo made a face. “See, some clients go way over the top during the scene, wailing and crying and begging forgiveness. Like they’re in some bad morality play or something. It’s hard to take them seriously, and for sure, you don’t respect them.”
“You respect others who don’t carry on so much.”
“Uh-huh,” Cleo confirmed with a nod as if the point were obvious. “A real submissive is strong and has pride. There aren’t many people who can acknowledge they need domination and discipline, demand the pain, take it and draw strength from the experience. You have to admire people like that.”
“You admire these men even as you torture them?” It sounded like a huge rationalization to Regan, and yet, didn’t she feel the same way about Kyle? Was she trying to justify her perversion?
Cleo bristled at the question. “I don’t torture. When I finished with David, he walked me to his door and kissed me good night.”
“If you kick a puppy, it will whimper at your feet and lick your hand.”
“It’s not like that!” Cleo slammed her palm on the table as she rose to her feet.
Regan straightened, alert for possible trouble. On the other side of the suspect, JoJo showed the same posture. “How do you know?” Regan demanded. How did Regan? After all, Kyle had done the same to her not so long ago. Guilt gnawed at her belly once more.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Cleo answered after a few moments of silence. She looked at the floor and rubbed at her forehead with her fingertips. Her head angled toward the e-mail still lying on the table.
“The person who did that to David is not a Domme. The Dominant respects the submissive and is humbled by the trust placed in them. Such trust is not to be abused.” Cleo’s eyes met Regan’s. “You’re searching for a killer among the wrong people. The person who did these horrible things is a psycho who has no respect or empathy for her victims.” Her gazed dropped. “I may have issues to work out. I won’t deny I entered the lifestyle and my profession for that very reason. But the people I’ve met, like Veronica and David, have taught me how to do it right.”
“Perhaps,” Regan conceded because what this emotionally scarred woman said made a lot of sense. She also was fading rapidly as a viable suspect in the killings.
Placing her palms on the table, she leaned forward. “I can’t ignore how the killer was able to access the victims through the Femdom connection. Whatever she may be psychologically, the victims saw her as a Domme. Can you think of anyone in your world who may have, shall we say, gone over to the dark side?”
Cleo shook her head. “No, but I’ll try.”
Try. That was all any of them could do, and Regan hoped to hell the killer didn’t strike again in the meantime.
Chapter Nine
Kyle stared at the phone number he had found on the internet over the weekend and debated with himself. Regan had been more than clear about his staying away from the sex therapist. The woman was a possible suspect in the murders, and his Domme didn’t want him interfering with the investigation or getting into harm’s way. He had his orders.
The problem was Kyle didn’t take orders. Not since becoming an adult male had he allowed another to control his personal life and not since making senior partner had he knuckled under in his professional life.
Except, he was voluntarily submitting to someone else now. He had handed Regan the reins of his sex life. Even sitting in his office, he thought of her constantly, at least at a low level, because his body ached. And so did his cock. It strained against his pants, egged on by the raw flesh of his ass rubbing against the relative softness of his boxers. More than once throughout the day, he had been tempted to relieve the pressure in the men’s room. He hadn’t, of course, because his body belonged to Regan.
The question was how far did her control extend to the rest of his life? Obviously, she had no say over his work life. Being one of the top litigators in the country was a source of tremendous pride and fulfillment he would never relinquish, and he would never expect Regan or any other woman to demand he do so. No, the gray area was those aspects of his personal life that didn’t involve sex. Was he willing to do Regan’s bidding outside of bed?