Mercy(White Collared Part 1)(15)

In one day, she’d lusted over two inappropriate men and kissed one of them. What did that say about her feelings for Tom, the man she’d committed herself to more than two years ago?

And what would tomorrow bring?





Chapter Seven


Thirteen Days to Elections . . .

HOLDING TWO CUPS of black coffee, Kate nudged her boss’s office door open with her knee. Phone glued to his ear, Nick stood with his back to her, facing the wall of windows overlooking the Detroit River.

Since it had been raining when he’d picked her up from her apartment at eight this morning, he’d bypassed the bar and drove her straight to work, claiming he’d return her to her bike at the end of the day. She had a feeling it was going to be a constant battle with him. Her bike gave her the freedom to come and go on her own terms, a luxury most people took for granted. Not her. But on a gloomy day like this one, she didn’t mind having a warm, dry car to transport her to work.

Dressed more casual than usual in navy slacks and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he paced the length of the windows, stopping when he noticed Kate. His face was deep red, his eyes dark with rage. “Did you see the morning news?” he hissed into his cell. “Someone on your force is leaking details of the crime to the press.” He pointed at the chair.

She set the coffees on the desk and bent to take her iPad from her briefcase. As she settled into her seat, she caught him watching her with an intensity that singed her. He quickly looked away, his lips pursed in response to what he’d heard from the other end of the phone.

Her insides heated like she’d downed a double shot of vodka, warmth pooling in the pit of her belly and then spreading lower to a distracting area she’d rather not think about at work. Since last night, she’d replayed their kiss over and over. Gotten herself off countless times with her hands, her vibrator, and her fantasies—each more depraved than the last. In every one, she hadn’t allowed Tom or anything else to stop them from fucking all night long.

Then at some point she’d conjured up something she’d only read about in the dark of night as she lay in her bed. A ménage à trois. Her between two men. And not just any men.

Nick and Jaxon.

Her pussy contracted in the first stirring of orgasm as she recalled her fantasy of them torturing her naked and defenseless body with their tongues, lips, and teeth.

She blinked away the porno playing in her head and took a tentative sip of her coffee, its bitter taste cannon-balling her back to reality.

To keep her mind off sex, she took the opportunity to check out his office. Not surprisingly, it was one of the biggest in the firm. While not a corner office, the sunlight brightened the space, and the cherry wood and chrome furniture gave the room a modern feel. His degrees from the University of Michigan and a couple of framed magazine covers he’d graced hung on the mocha-tinted walls.

She had laminated copies of those same covers in a file back at her apartment.

“Of course it’s on your end,” Nick said, taking his seat behind the desk. “We have nothing to gain from leaking that information. I expect you to plug the leak or I’m going to speak with my friend the attorney general about the inexcusable actions of your men.”

He hung up, shaking his head and swearing under his breath. “I knew it would happen. The media jumped on the kink bandwagon so quickly that I haven’t had the chance to prepare a counter campaign.”

She pulled up the local news on the Internet. The headline read “A Different Shade of Marriage,” with a big picture of a popular leather store that offered products such as whips, floggers, masks, and clothes for the metro-Detroit BDSM community. “Couldn’t you hold a press conference? Steer the media away from the whips and chains angle?”

“It would be like adding fuel to a fire. We have to find another suspect.” He frowned and clenched his fist, drawing attention to his nails, which were bitten down to the quick. “If we can find someone else who wanted her dead, we could at least get the media off his back.” He sighed, rubbing his temples. “But to tell you the truth, I don’t know why anyone would want her dead. She was the sweetest woman I’d ever known.”

His eyes went glassy, as if he held back tears. It occurred to her he’d known Alyssa for several years. This loss was personal. It wasn’t only about saving his friend but finding the true murderer of his other friend.

“Maybe someone set the crime scene to frame Jaxon for the murder,” she offered.

“Would you like to see the photos? If not, I completely understand. They’re even more graphic than the one you saw at the police station.” He lifted a large manila envelope and out slid the photos face down into a pile on his desk.