Part 15 (2/2)

Even though Gabe had met the Moreau woman on a case before Angel had become his partner, why couldn't she accept that part of his past and let it go? Angel had seen pictures of Simone Moreau. She looked exotic, mysterious, and apparently she oozed sensuality from every pore, according to what other guys on the force had said. The woman had the physical perfection of Angelina Jolie with a French accent and the sensuous mystique of every man's fantasy.

In truth, Gabe's visit to Simone bothered her more than it should have-and it had nothing to do with the case.

”d.a.m.n it, Angel. Why'd you have to go there?”

She deleted Gabe's messages. All of them. After pouring a stiff shot of Vodka, she gulped it down as she stood in her kitchen and played Manny's recorded voice in the dark.

Only this time she pictured Gabe's fierce blue eyes staring back at her.

Outside Chicago 1:10 AM.

Angel didn't have to call Cronan back for him to get the message loud and clear. Her silence said it all. He'd p.i.s.sed her off. Although he wasn't exactly clueless on why, he hated the awkwardness of the rift between them. He'd made the distance between them worse.

He got her point. They were partners, not solo artists. Why couldn't he get that through his thick skull? But he had valid reasons for going to Simone, too. His judgment had not been flawed. The only reason he second guessed what he'd done had been the feelings he hid from Angel-feelings he had for her since before she met Manny.

When Angel took off without saying anything after the concert, her unexpected move had left him holding the bag. That wasn't like her.

Reporters had already camped outside the civic center and were waiting to pounce on a sound bite from Ethan. When the lead detective appeared at the side of the musician, the media jumped all over that. Cronan knew the chief would expect an a.s.s to chew on top of the latest news of the investigation on Monday morning, first thing. He could provide the a.s.s, but new developments would be slim pickings.

Cronan had escorted Ethan to his residence and tucked the guy in for the night like a friggin' nursemaid. Being on the receiving end of Rachel's snipes of unprofessionalism didn't help his mood either. The publicist had already targeted Angel after she met Ethan for drinks. In Rachel's mind, his partner going AWOL only justified her resentment, and she wasn't above sharing her thoughts.

Too bad for him. The woman talked nonstop. Good thing he didn't feel obligated to listen. After getting an earful that could've caused a brain bleed, Cronan didn't feel like going home. He got in his vehicle and drove until the city lights and the interstate were in his rear view mirror. Now his high beams lit a ribbon of asphalt that he followed, unsure where the road would take him. Scrub brush whipped in the breeze as he sped by miles of fence posts, guided only by the light of the moon.

Given the late hour, he hadn't tried texting his contact for the underground fight club. Whatever they had booked would be over. Although getting his brain hammered might have done the trick to distract him from his misery, he had his doubts that the hurt in Angel's eyes would go away that easily. She had a way of haunting a man.

So far he hadn't found an antidote.

After he'd left Chicago suburbs behind, Cronan drove until he saw a familiar sight, one he hadn't realized he'd been searching for. A single red light glowed ahead, cutting through the darkness with purpose, like a beacon. When barbed wire fences turned into an impressive stone wall, an estate lit by security lights hovered in the dark on the horizon.

He made the turn onto the private drive, and after he pulled up to the guard station, Cronan didn't hesitate. He gave his business card to the armed man in uniform who eyed him with suspicion.

”I need to see the boss lady,” he said. ”Tell her it's...important.”

He'd come to see Simone Moreau-and until he drove onto her estate, he hadn't realized why. Cronan had to look at this case with an open mind and not a.s.sume anything. He'd been preaching that to Angel, but he could use a good dose of objectivity, too. What if Olivia had never been into ball gags and handcuffs? It made him wonder how she'd crossed paths with Simone. Did Olivia find her own way to Chez Moreau or had Ethan or someone else introduced her? He had a hunch that whoever had a vested interest in painting Olivia as a BDSM player, they'd have a strong connection to Ethan. Someone in his inner circle was either protecting him or they were obsessed with a guy who was a cog in their wheel.

Or maybe Ethan had his own motives.

Angel would argue against his leap to Ethan, but that's what motivated him to drive to Simone Moreau's again. He had questions that only Simone could answer. She'd cooperate with him to a point because of their history, but her real loyalty would be to her very private s.e.x club members, many of whom were the wealthy elite of Chicago.

He drove through the gates of Chez Moreau and parked. From the moment he entered the mansion, he had an armed escort dressed in Armani. One of Simone's security guys ushered him through the Moreau gallery of erotic art and past the parlors where her unreserved clientele indulged their darkest desires. Under normal circ.u.mstances he might have pretended he didn't see the exotic leather and chain crowd or hear the manic rhythms of smacking flesh and the moans of pain and pleasure, but Cronan kept an eye out for any familiar faces linked to the case. The faces he could see, that is. Tonight, many of the guests wore elaborate jeweled masks.

Cronan stopped when he saw a gray-haired woman dressed in an evening gown. Alone she would not have demanded his attention, but the woman had company. She watched two men with a young woman grappling naked on the floor at her feet. The clothed woman was Evelyn Carmichael, the wealthy patron who had attended Ethan Chandler's performance the other night. She hadn't bothered to hide her face with a mask. Neither did her boy toy, Joaquin Salazar, who was the aggressor. He followed her orders as she gave them from her wingback chair.

The only light in the room came from a fire in the hearth and candles that surrounded them. Bare skin slick with oil reflected the light and undulated in and out of shadows. Only the young couple doing their bidding wore disguises, glittering eyewear of feathers and gold carved head gear. The girl's skin was pale and looked luminescent in the flickering light from the fire. Salazar and the other man were darker. Both men were hard. Their stiff c.o.c.ks bobbed as they moved.

The guy in the mask got to his knees and mounted her from behind. With his hands on her hips, he thrust into her hard. The smack of flesh on flesh and the girl's breathy moans echoed in the room as he shoved harder.

Cronan turned to leave, but stopped when he saw that Evelyn Carmichael had other intentions. She had her boy Joaquin crawl up behind the guy with something in his hand.

”Stick it in deep. Don't rush it, Joaquin.” The older woman leaned to the edge of her chair, but when the guy reacted to the intrusion by flinching and slowing down, she yelled, ”No! Don't stop f.u.c.king her.”

The guy winced and cried out as Joaquin shoved a slick, dark-colored device into him, but that didn't bother the old woman. She c.o.c.ked her head to get a better look as her boy worked. When Joaquin was done, she smiled and spoke to the guy in the mask, who grimaced through the pain as he kept up his end of the bargain.

”Indulge us, dear boy. Do as you're told, and you'll be paid extra as promised.” To her consort, she raised her voice. ”Improvise, Joaquin. You know what I like.”

Repulsed, Cronan turned to go, but he stopped when he saw Evelyn Carmichael look up. She caught him standing in the hall, but recognizing him didn't stop her. In fact, it inspired her to demand more of her companion.

”She has a lovely mouth, Joaquin. Give her something to remember you,” the woman said in a low voice. To Cronan, she said, ”I see you're a voyeur like me. Care to join us? Joaquin will do whatever you ask. To them...or you.”

”My place could use a fresh coat of paint. When can he start?”

The smug satisfaction on the older woman's face vanished. She didn't look pleased, and Cronan had nothing more to say to her. Evelyn Carmichael might have started the party, but her escort got to finish it with his own enthusiasm on the girl. No guy did that on orders to please someone else. The old woman and her money provided the private setting of consenting adults where she turned loose her dog and got off on the aftermath of his carnage.

Cronan left, wis.h.i.+ng there was a way he could *unsee' something.

The old woman had a twisted and cruel side to her nature that made Cronan wonder even more about Ethan. Given Evelyn Carmichael's link to Simone, her avid interest in the violinist had to come from more than her love of the arts. Joaquin Salazar knew how to follow orders and didn't question them, even when those orders inflicted pain on someone else. How far would Salazar go to keep his generous mistress happy?

Mired in thought, Cronan had been distracted by the odd pair and didn't realize he'd been led to Simone's private quarters. An elaborate wood carved four-poster bed with lush bed linens dominated the expansive room. A crackling fire s.h.i.+ned its light onto the crystal chandelier and with erotic art in oils adorning the walls, her room felt like a cross between a fine museum and the Playboy mansion.

”Hey, I didn't come here for-”

Before Cronan finished, his escort smiled and said, ”Ms. Moreau will be with you shortly. She invited you to enjoy a beverage at her private bar while you wait.”

Cronan heaved a sigh as the guy left, then took his suggestion. He poured a snifter of Cognac and downed it in one gulp. The potent liquor burned his throat and mellowed him to cruising speed. He poured another, but after a door closed behind him, he heard the soft rustle of fabric.

”I knew you'd be back.” Simone's low voice and French accent always got to him. ”It is good to see you, Gabriel.”

He turned to catch his first glimpse of her. It took all his willpower not to react to the way Simone entered the room.

”I can...see that.” He swallowed another gulp of Cognac.

As Simone walked into the room naked, Cronan stared at her tight nipples and flushed skin, trying to hide his reaction. Epic fail. The woman knew how to make an entrance that could get a rise out of any man. Her robe lay on the floor near the door. She'd done it to shock him and keep him off balance.

It worked.

”I have cleared my evening for you.” Simone shoved him onto a sofa and straddled his lap. She nuzzled his ear as she tugged at his tie and whispered, ”Tell me your fantasy, and I will make it happen, whatever you want.”

Her dark hair smelled of coconut, and her pale skin felt warm and soft. A shudder ran through Cronan as she pressed her body against him. When she kissed him and forced her tongue into his mouth, he didn't resist. He couldn't. But as her fingers undid the b.u.t.tons of his s.h.i.+rt, and she slid her hand over his bare skin to tease the tight nub of his nipple, he grabbed her wrist.

”I came to talk.”

”Always you talk, Gabriel. I offer you what any man would want and you...talk. There are better ways to use your mouth.” She pouted, but that didn't last long. When she reached for his arm to restrain him, she said, ”Perhaps you like a woman to be...strong with you. This, I can do.”

”Do I look like a guy who plays games?” He glared at her until she let go.

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