18

John felt Savannah’s muscles spasm around his cock as she came, and let himself go. He climaxed hard and long, shooting his semen deep into her welcoming sheath. As if marking her as his. As if by doing so he could prevent another man from laying claim to her.

Seconds passed, before his body’s spasms subsided, and his brain started to function again. Slowly, he rolled off her and came to rest on his back next to her, his eyes aimed at the ceiling.

What had he done?

If he could flog himself, he would. Because he deserved a severe beating. He’d taken advantage of Savannah, of her vulnerability. And not only that, he’d fucked her like an animal, without finesse, without tenderness, without concern for her likes or dislikes. He hadn’t whispered tender words to her, goddamn it, not even dirty ones, when he’d made love to her. Made love to her? He shouldn’t be allowed to call it that. Because he hadn’t behaved like a lover, he’d behaved like a caveman, like a wild animal engaged in rutting. Shame flooded him. This wasn’t how he’d imagined things playing out.

Sure, he could blame the fact that she’d almost been kidnapped tonight and that he’d needed to reassure himself that he hadn’t lost her. But it was more than that. It went deeper. Savannah had gotten under his skin, appealing to that part of him that he kept hidden. The part of him that was all vampire, all animal, all alpha. And had he not kissed her during the entire time, had he dared lay his lips onto her neck or any other part of her, he would have bitten her. And lost her. Because she would have pushed him away in horror. Because what could be more frightening than realizing that the man she was in bed with was a dangerous creature who lusted after her blood?

Had he been a gentle, tender lover, maybe then he could eventually have revealed what he was and shown her that she didn’t have to be frightened of him. That a bite could be a loving experience. But the way he’d behaved tonight, the way he’d fucked her with almost brutal passion, had made that impossible. She would be crazy to believe that he was capable of tenderness and love.

With a sharp intake of breath, he sat up and swung his legs out of bed. He couldn’t allow this to happen ever again. Or his chances of winning Savannah were equal to nil.

Winning her? Was that his plan? When had he made that decision?

He let out a shaky breath. He had no reason to believe that Savannah was even interested in him. She was probably already regretting having slept with him. Or why else wasn’t she saying anything or reaching for him? Why else was there this awkward silence between them? He didn’t dare look back at her, not wanting to see the look of regret on her face. Instead he reached for his boxer briefs and stood up. He pulled them on, keeping his back to her, while he looked around for the rest of his clothes.

His eyes fell on the chest of drawers. On top of it stood a framed photo of Buffy. He froze in his movements. He’d seen pictures of Buffy before, but this one was different. This one was taken by a professional, it was posed. And there was something about it that drew him to it. Something about the photograph was familiar. He’d seen it before, even though he knew with certainty that this photo hadn’t been in the police file. Not in Buffy’s.

“This is it,” he murmured to himself. The connection.

“What?” Behind him, he heard Savannah sit up in bed.

He turned around to her, his eyes taking in her naked body. God, she was gorgeous. Her hair was tousled, her body glowing with perspiration, and her eyes were full of passion. But then she pulled the duvet to cover herself, as if embarrassed. Regret. Yes, he saw it now. But for the sake of Buffy, he had to push that disappointment aside.

He reached for the photo and showed it to her. “When did you get this photo of her taken?”

Surprised, Savannah stared at it for a moment, then she said, “Two or three weeks ago, why?”

“Because I think this is the connection. This is the missing link I’ve been looking for.” He put the photo back on the dresser then reached for his pants. “Get dressed.”

“Where’re we going?”

“To my office. The other police files are there. I need to look at them to confirm my hunch.”

She jumped out of bed, suddenly not concerned about her nudity. “What hunch? John? What do you see?”

But he didn’t want to give her false hope, in case he was wrong. Though he didn’t think he was. “I’ll explain when we’re in my office, and you can see it for yourself.”

While they got dressed, they didn’t speak. However, John couldn’t help but steal glances at her as she dressed in jeans and slipped into a tight turtleneck sweater. Again, no bra. Did this woman not realize what she was doing to every healthy man by wearing no bra? Could she not see that when she moved, her breasts would bounce ever so slightly, tempting every sane man to touch them, to squeeze them? Could she be so innocent that she didn’t realize that even a turtleneck sweater that revealed no cleavage, no skin, couldn’t hide her sexiness? Couldn’t hide her delectable curves. Couldn’t hide that body that was made for sin. For sex. For him.

Savannah didn’t bother freshening up her makeup or wasting time in front of the mirror to fix her hair, instead, she simply combed her fingers through it a couple of times, and then looked at him. “Ready.”

He’d never seen any woman get ready this fast, particularly not after sex. He was more than just a little impressed.

“Let’s go.”

“You’re not wearing a shirt,” she said.

Fuck! He felt like an idiot. He motioned to the bedroom door. “Living room.” Then he pointed to the picture. “We need to take that with us.”

While Savannah took the picture out of the frame, John finished dressing. Moments later, he was ready.

They drove in silence. Traffic was much lighter now, though it got busier when they reached the Mission. Many popular restaurants, bars, and nightclubs were located in the neighborhood, making driving challenging at any time of the night.

John drove into the parking garage underneath Scanguards’ headquarters and parked in his assigned spot. He knew it was against the rules to take a client into the building this way, since he was bypassing security where she would have to sign in. But there was no time for formalities right now. Besides, she wasn’t a client. Not an official one, and the less people knew of her presence, the better.

They reached his office without incident. John opened the door and ushered Savannah inside, glad to see that Deirdre had left. However, she’d stuck a post-it note to his computer.

You could have called me back. D. P.S. You’re welcome.

Apparently Deirdre was a little miffed that he hadn’t let her know whether he’d been able to reach Savannah in time. He grabbed the note and crumbled it up, but not before Savannah had seen it and managed to read it.

“A problem?”

“No. Just a colleague.” Or rather a passive-aggressive protégée. He’d deal with Deirdre later. Maybe a little thank you for her help would smooth things over.

He pulled out the police file he’d stashed in his top drawer and opened it. Then he leafed through it, and pulled out the photos of all the missing children, lining them up along the edge of his desk. Savannah watched him wordlessly.

When he was done, he looked at her. “Put Buffy’s photo next to them.”

She pulled it out of the handbag she’d brought—not the one she’d had with her during her meeting with the kidnappers, but another one.

When Buffy’s photo lay next to the pictures of the other children, John took a moment to look at every photo. Not all of them had the same background, or were staged like Buffy’s. Some hadn’t been taken by professionals, but clearly by the family. But seventy-five percent of the pictures were like Buffy’s: professional, posed in the same fashion, and, most importantly, they showed one thing in the background that had drawn his attention in the first place.

He pointed to it now. “See this?”

Savannah leaned closer. “What am I looking at?”

John tapped at a spot in the right hand corner of Buffy’s photo, then did the same on several of the others. “They all have the same blue background color, which I suppose is a popular background for staged portraits, but look closer.”

Savannah’s gaze switched from Buffy’s photo to those of the other children, then she suddenly stared at him, her mouth agape. “A tear.”

He nodded. “Yes. Photographers store different backgrounds on rolls, then roll them down behind the person they’re photographing to change the backgrounds. What are the odds of more than one photographer having a blue background that shows a little tear at the same spot?”

Savannah pulled up straight. “All those kids… they had their pictures taken by the same photographer.”

John nodded. “That’s the connection.”

Savannah pointed to the other photos, the ones that looked like snapshots. “What about these children?”

“I bet, once we call all families, we’ll find out that they all saw the same photographer, but just like you, they didn’t give the police the professional photos and gave them snapshots of their kids instead.”

Slowly Savannah nodded. “I never thought of giving the police the framed photo. I had so many of Buffy that I’d taken myself.”

“Exactly.”

“So what now? You think it’s the photographer?”

“We’ll find out. You remember the name and address?”

She nodded quickly. “Of course.”

“Good, then let’s start with him.”

“Her. The photographer was a woman.”

“Okay.” It didn’t matter. A woman could just as much be involved in a child trafficking ring as a man. In fact, it was an even better front. The parents wouldn’t have seen her as a threat. “I’ll get one of my guys to call all families and find out if they all went to the same photographer. Can you write down the name and address for me?”

She pulled out her cell phone. “I should have it in my calendar.” She started scrolling through her phone, but before she got to the entry on her electronic calendar, the door was ripped open.

John’s gaze shot to it. Samson stood in the door frame, annoyance in his expression. And the fact that he’d stormed down to the second floor, rather than called to summon John to his office, wasn’t a good sign either. Something had just hit the fan.

“Samson.”

When Samson saw Savannah, he stopped in his tracks. “Excuse the interruption.” He nodded at Savannah, a tight smile on his face, then looked at John. “Do you have a minute, John?”

It wasn’t a question. It was an order.

John walked around the desk and followed Samson out. He looked over his shoulder at Savannah. “Back in a second.” Then he pulled the door shut.

Samson walked to the end of the corridor, where he stopped and turned around. John joined him a moment later.

“What the fuck, John?” Samson snapped.

Though he could guess what Samson was upset about, he wasn’t about to volunteer any information. He had to assume that his boss didn’t know the entire score, so it was best not to give him any more reason than he already had to chew him out.

“What are you referring to?”

Samson pushed him against the wall, his face only inches from John’s. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” He let out a huff. “Using the twins to work a case Scanguards sent back to SFPD, and making them believe it’s their final practical assignment? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“How did—”

Samson moved a step back. “Oh please! You do know that Damian and Benjamin are in constant competition with Grayson, or don’t you? You didn’t stop to think that they would rub it in the moment they got a chance? And you know what Grayson did? He came running to me, complaining that he wasn’t getting nearly as interesting a case to solve for his assignment as the twins.” Samson put his hands on his hips. “Imagine how surprised I was when I heard what the twins were working on: a child trafficking ring. And the person who gave them the assignment: you!” He jammed his index finger into John’s chest. “Care to explain what the fuck you’re up to?”

John cleared his throat, trying to buy himself time. Apparently Samson wasn’t having any of it.

“My patience is wearing thin!”

“Listen, Samson, I know you didn’t want this case, but I couldn’t just turn it down.”

“Couldn’t you? That wouldn’t have anything to do with that woman you’ve been fucking, would it?” Samson sniffed, making it clear how he knew.

Maybe he and Savannah should have taken the time to take a shower after sex, but there just hadn’t been any time. Following this lead was more important than worrying about what his boss and his colleagues thought.

“It’s about the children. About little girls who’re vulnerable. Little girls who’ll go through hell if we don’t find them in time. I can find them. I can bring them home.” He clenched his jaw. “And if I have to quit Scanguards to do that, then that’s what I’ll do.”

Surprise flashed on Samson’s face. For a moment, he stood there in stunned silence. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re willing to leave us for a case?”

“It’s not just any case.” It was about a little girl he was starting to care about as if he had a right to do so.

“It’s a case that has nothing to do with us.” Samson suddenly lowered his voice. “There’re no vampires involved. You said so yourself. Even Donnelly didn’t think this had anything to do with preternaturals.”

“That may be the case. But these people are monsters nevertheless. So they don’t have fangs, they don’t bite, they don’t suck their victims dry, but, by God, these people have less humanity in them than any of us.” He kept his gaze steady, meeting Samson’s eyes. “I found a lead. I know I can take them down. Please, Samson, you know what it’s like. You’ve been in their shoes. When your daughter was kidnapped—”

“Stop!” Samson raised his hand. “Not another word.” He took a few deep breaths, the memory of his own daughter’s ordeal reflecting in his eyes. He ran his hand through his raven-black hair. “You’re not playing fair, John. You know we don’t have the manpower.”

When John opened his mouth to protest once more, Samson continued quickly, “But because I know what these parents are going through, and because I know you mean well, I’ll give you forty-eight hours to take care of this.”

Forty-eight hours wasn’t enough time to solve this case, but he’d take it, and then ask for more later. “Thank you, S—”

“Under one condition,” Samson interrupted.

John held his breath.

“Grayson and Ryder will join you and the twins.”

Fuck!

John swallowed. “Grayson?”

Samson pulled one side of his mouth up. “You left me no choice. If I don’t put Grayson on this case, I’ll never have peace in my home again.” He made a motion as if wiping one hand on the other, ridding himself of an issue. “He’s your problem now.”

“Samson, you can’t—”

“I can and I will,” he said and pivoted. He was already marching toward the elevators, when he added, “And John, if Grayson gets into trouble, I’ll hold you responsible.”

Samson disappeared in the elevator. John heard the doors close, while he stood in the corridor, frozen. The good news was that he had two more bodies on his team. Ryder was a very capable young hybrid and would come in handy. The bad news was he’d have to deal with Grayson, the boss’s son. He was arrogant, entitled, and manipulative, which made being his supervisor a pain in the butt. Had those been his only defining characteristics, he would be hated by everybody. But Grayson had also inherited his father’s charm, and could wrap anybody, man or woman, around his little finger if he wanted to. Which made it hard to be mad at him for very long.

When it came to women, Grayson was like a modern-day Casanova—he hadn’t yet met a pretty face he didn’t like. And it wasn’t just women his own age who were susceptible to his advances, older women fell prey to him too. Which meant John had to keep him on a tight leash so he wouldn’t put his paws on Savannah. Otherwise John would have to teach the pup a lesson about coveting another man’s woman.