“What did you do last night, beautiful?” I murmur, as I crawl up Clarice’s relaxed body. She stirred when I had entered our hotel room moments ago, stretching her arms above her head, her tits pressing against the soft fabric of my white tee she must’ve put on before going to sleep.

Eyes still closed, she put her hand over her mouth as she spoke. “I sat at the café across the street and snapped some pretty cool photos while people watching. Come no closer if you want to live, Bri. My morning breath will kill you.”

“I can think of worse ways to die,” I tell her, removing her hand and kissing her deeply.

She gives in for a few seconds before she pushes at my chest, and I let her wiggle her way out from under me as she dances over to the bathroom. From my view from the bed, I can see her shapely legs and the roundness of her perfect ass peeking out from beneath my shirt as she bends over the sink, brushing her teeth quickly.

She prances back to me on her toes before hopping onto the bed on her knees beside me. “Wanna see?” she asks.

I reach for the bottom of the shirt, saying, “I always wanna see.” But she bats my hand away, giggling.

“The pictures I took, silly,” she clarifies, and I grin, placing my hands behind my head on the pillow as I enjoy the hopeful look in her eyes.

“Of course I do,” I reply, and she squeaks as she reaches across me to the nightstand, where her camera is resting. With her knees on one side of my body, while she balances on one arm on the other side as she stretches for her equipment, I can’t help my wandering hand as I slide it up the back of her thigh, palming the luscious globe of her ass. I massage the healthy amount of meat there, seeing her arm holding her up give out momentarily before she catches herself. I smirk to myself, knowing my touch affects her, before she sits up on her knees and swats my hand away.

She scoots until she’s lying cuddled up close to my side, her head using my bicep as a pillow as I place my hand back behind my head. She pushes a few buttons on the black camera, and the big screen on the back of it below the viewfinder glows to life.

“Wanna play a game?” she purrs, and I turn my face to rest my nose at the top of her head, breathing in her scent.

“What kind of game?”

“It’s a game Lyra and I play when we’re being creepers. We make up stories about the people who pass by. We played it last night as I was snapping these pictures, so it’ll be interesting to hear what you see when you look at the person in the shot,” she explains.

I smile against her hair. She’s the only person who can get me to slow down enough to lie around and play a silly game, especially when I have an open case to handle. She doesn’t even have to try to force me, either. I agree willingly, without a struggle, just because it’s something she wants from me. If Clarice wants to play a game, by God, I’m gonna play that damn game as long as she wants. Anything to spend time with her and make her happy.

“Okay, how about this guy?” she prompts, showing me a photo of a man in his late twenties dressed in a tuxedo. She zooms in a couple of clicks, and I see he’s holding an umbrella over a woman’s head as she gets into a yellow taxi.

“Hm. They’re going to an opera, or more likely a Broadway show, seeing how we’re in New York. He doesn’t really want to see it, but if he wants to get under that expensive skirt she’s wearing, he has to put in the effort,” I answer.

She chuckles. “We said he was her kept man, seeing how she looks to be quite a few years older than him.”

“Good one.” I nod, and watch her flip to the next picture.

“All right, this lady.” She zooms in again. This woman is in a black trench coat carrying a black leather bag. Her dark hair is sleek, falling almost to her ass.

“Dominatrix. She’s on her way inside the hotel to meet up with her pudgy, hairy John who has hired her to walk on him with her stilettos while telling him he’s a bad little boy,” I reply, and she lowers the camera to her chest as her head tilts back and she bursts into laughter.

“Oh my God. That is so close to what I said! I instantly thought of Angelina Jolie in Mr. and Mrs. Smith.” She turns her head enough to look me in the eyes briefly before hers fall to my lips. I lean over and press a gentle kiss against hers, and then pull away, indicating the camera with a chin lift.

“What else you got?” I ask, and she smiles, obviously loving that I’m playing her game with enthusiasm.

“Here’s a good one. What about this couple? We had a juicy story for them,” she questions eagerly, flipping to another picture and zooming in.

They’re directly across the street from where she sat at the café, which means they were at the entrance to the hotel where we’re currently staying. Their bodies are half hidden behind a car as it passes by. The woman looks so familiar. She’s wearing a simple but well-fitted gray dress, and her hair is in a ponytail. Her face is clean of all makeup, and she’s very pretty. But it’s when I take a closer look at the man that I realize who they are. The man is in a nice tailored suit. His hair is perfectly quaffed, and his beard is groomed to the point it looks painted on his face.

Jean LaRue and Quincy Herald.

“Holy fuck!” I sit up abruptly, pulling the camera out of her hands and pushing the button I saw her using to zoom in on the photo.

“What is it?” Clarice asks, her voice full of concern.

“Baby. Holy shit. That’s them! That’s who I’ve been looking for. She’s the missing person, and he’s the guy who kidnapped her,” I say excitedly, hopping out of bed and grabbing my cell from the nightstand, where I’d set it before crawling into bed with her.

“Well, that’s definitely not the juicy story we had for them,” she gripes, pouting as she plops back on the pillow as I call Seth.

“What’s up, man?” he answers, sounding groggy.

“I need you to get out of bed and hustle over to your spaceship,” I tell him, referring to the giant computer setup he has in his apartment.

“On it.” I hear the rustling of sheets as he hurries out of his bed, and I vaguely hear Twyla asking if he’s okay. “Everything’s fine, doll. Go back to sleep,” he tells her, and then the sound of his computer chair being rolled back fills my ear. “Okay, what you need?”

“The hotel I’m at, the Fleur de Lis Hotel in Manhattan. What can you tell me about it?”

He types rapidly, and after a minute says, “Son of a bitch.”

“What?” I bark, my adrenaline pumping through my system.

“It’s not public record, so I had to do something not quite legal. But it’s a boutique hotel owned by none other than Jean LaRue,” he replies, and I set the camera down on the mattress before pointing a finger at Clarice, giving her a grin before jerking my fist back in a silent Yes!

“How the hell did we not know this shit?” I ask Seth.

“We only searched for LaRue Hotels and Suites, because that’s the only thing they had in the information from his profile. It doesn’t come up as a place of residence for him. And the way I had to dig, it’s like he kept it as a secret location. A hideaway,” he explains, all the while typing on his keyboard. “Motherfucker. There he is!”

“What?” I bark again, hating I can’t see what he’s pulled up on his screen.

“Tapped into the surveillance. Guess he didn’t think he needed to turn them off here if it was unknown he owned the place. He’s there… and…” He continues to type. “Looks like they’re in room 703.”

“Got it. Thanks, Seth,” I say, and hang up. Hurrying to the foot of the bed, I pull my boots back on and quickly tie them. I move over to the safe in the closet and punch in my code, pulling my handgun out and tucking it in the back of my jeans.

“What’s happening?” Clarice asks, sitting up on the bed, her face showing an uncharacteristic amount of worry I’m not used to seeing on her.

I take two strides, reaching her and wrapping my arm around her lower back. I pull her to me in one scoop, her soft front molding to my hardness. “You found her, baby. You saved her,” I tell her, and I kiss her fiercely before letting her go and moving toward the door. “She’s here, in this hotel. Right under our goddamn noses.”

“Can’t you… like, call the police or something?” Her voice is small, and it makes me turn back to face her.

My brow furrows as I take in her uncomfortable expression. “It’s all right, lover. This is what I do. You know this. I’m invincible, remember?”

She smiles weakly, then forces out a laugh, waving her worry away. “Of course. I’m being silly. I must be close to pluggin’ or something, going all girly on you.”

I stride back over to her and engulf her with my large frame. “I like it when you worry about me, beautiful. Be as girly as you want. But I promise nothing’s gonna happen to me.” I rock her back and forth for a few moments until I feel her relax. I hear her breathe in my scent where her head rests on my chest, and I kiss the top of her head.

“You’re my best friend, Bri. Don’t go gettin’ dead, okay?” she whispers.

“I won’t. Gotta live in order to get my reward for a job well done.” I pull back and wink, making her smile.

“Okay. Well then, go save the day, big guy,” she orders, and I smack a kiss to her lips before turning and hurrying out the door.