Chapter Four

Teegan leaned in and lifted a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth when she heard the reporter say serial killer. So they’d given him a name now: Mummy Man. Well, it did fit him. She knew enough about the culture of kink to know about breath play. Her research on serial killers had led her to kink sites. Understanding how stalking, kidnapping, and bondage could be so interconnected had always intrigued her. She knew there were people with fetishes and they roleplayed stalking and kidnapping scenarios, but there were also those who thought nothing of taking things a step further by indulging in the real thing. There was no consent where that was concerned.

It usually started innocently enough. They would see someone who fit the look they wanted, spotting them going about their daily life in a store, at a library, maybe on a street corner. An innocent, polite smile would convince the stalker there was a connection. Thus the hunt began until it escalated into full blown kidnapping and takedown.

In the beginning it had surprised her that researching kink would open her up to the mindset of those who found pleasure in taking another’s life. She wasn’t sure why she was so interested in the criminal mind, only that she was. She was in her element when she was exploring the hidden corners of the criminal psyche, delving into darkness most people would do anything to avoid. But there was one rule she never broke: don’t let the killer get inside your head. More than once they’d tried and more than once she’d remembered that rule and stuck to it. She was strong, disciplined, determined, and on a mission.

She got up and took the bowl to the sink, rinsed it out and put it in the dishwasher. She looked out the window and for a moment the feeling that she was being watched made her frown. She leaned in, peering out the window as if she might see something in the darkness of the woods around her house. There was no evidence of any light coming from a flashlight, no obscure shadows lurking in the darkness. I’m just being paranoid. Perhaps too many hours of poring over books about killers was catching up with her.

That thought brought to mind her message to Black Rose. She wondered if perhaps he’d responded by now. More so, if he had, what did he say? She trotted up the steps to her office, one of her favorite spots in her house. Notebooks and pens were neatly arranged on a desk blotter, next to her laptop. A bookshelf along the opposite wall housed a variety of fiction genres, textbooks, and reference books on serial killers.

She booted up the laptop and walked over to the window. This time the hair on the back of her neck stood up. She couldn’t shake the prickly feeling that someone was watching her. She swallowed hard and hurried back to her desk, then sat down and pulled up the Black Rose blog. Nothing. She checked her e-mail. Her heart quickened when she saw an e-mail with the subject line ‘Spyware’. Oh shit. He knew.

Six months ago she had tried her hand at setting up spyware on his computer. She’d been unsuccessful and had thought no more of it. Until now. She gulped and clicked on the message.

Miss Crugar, how wonderful of you to come out of hiding and finally reveal yourself. I was wondering how long it would take you to contact me. Being that you had no problem attempting to voyeuristically intrude upon my personal space, I’m certain you’ll have no problem meeting me face to face. We will meet downtown tomorrow morning at The Beanery coffee shop, where we will explore your obsession with me. You will arrive at nine and you will not be late. You will come alone. You will tell no one. Tardiness or defiance will not be tolerated and will be met with severe consequences that I will delight in administering personally. If I have to come looking for you, I will make sure you regret it.

Most Sincerely,

Thomas Wentworth

“The audacity. What a pompous asshole,” she hissed out to the empty room. “You arrogant jerk!” After the wave of anger passed, it suddenly hit her he had used a name and not the moniker Black Rose. There was no hint of fear. If that was his real name, he simply didn’t give a shit about her knowing his identity. Balls of steel.

Along with the surge of anger that clawed at her insides, there was an element of fear. How did he know her name? He knew about the spyware and no doubt he was displeased about that. She had hoped that perhaps they would correspond from a distance, but she had certainly never expected him to meet with her. His willingness to do so made no sense. He must have some reason to be confident that she wouldn’t go to the authorities. What could she really say though? She wasn’t aware of anything that conclusively connected him to the spate of recent murders, and nothing that proved he was a serial killer. But she might have his real name now. She Googled Thomas Wentworth and a plethora of information came up, including a photograph.

The first thing that struck her was how handsome he was. In the first photo he was impeccably dressed in a black suit that did nothing to hide his athletic physique. Sandy blonde hair laced with deeper copper undertones framed a face that looked like it had been hewn by Greek gods just to torment the opposite sex. A smirk twisted the full lips. His jaw was darkened by several days’ worth of stubble. Almost a beard, but not quite.

She bit her lip and shifted restlessly in her chair as his blue eyes gazed back at her. It was as if he was reaching through the lens of the camera and touching her…intimately. The gush of heat between her thighs had her imagining what it might be like to be touched by him.

Despite his stunning looks and apparent wealth, there was something dangerous about him that made her core clench in anticipation. Anticipation of what, though? She’d fucked with a powerful man and now it was time to pay up. The only question was: what was he going to require of her?