The Murder That Never Was (Forensic Instincts 5)

“Good. Now, first I take what you offered in Chicago. But different. No pleasure. Pleasure would have been for Isabella. Pain is for Emma Stirling.” Another cruel smile. “But much pleasure for me.”

He stuffed the napkin back into her mouth. Flourishing the knife, he began to cut her Lycra top and sports bra, starting just above her breasts and slicing downward until he’d reached her waist. Then, he peeled back the layers and stared at her naked breasts.

“Beautiful,” he said, ignoring the way Emma shrunk as far into the mattress as she could. “Just like I knew.” He cupped both breasts in his huge palms, and Emma swallowed back her vomit.

He bent to take a nipple in his mouth. Emma cringed, squeezing her eyes shut.

Slava’s cell phone rang. He ignored it, lowering his head until Emma could feel his hot breath against her skin.

The phone kept ringing, over and over, stopping only to start ringing again.

Slava angled his head to see the caller ID and then leaned over to grope at the nightstand, muttering a few choice words in his native tongue. Emma didn’t have to know Russian to know he was swearing.

A temporary reprieve.

Bless whoever was on the other end of that call.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Slava kept one of his hands clamped on Emma’s breast, furious that Max was calling right now. All he needed was an hour, one hour, with this gorgeous bitch, and he’d be sated. He’d have taken all her body had to offer and then some. He’d have punished her in ways that excited him even further. And he’d have oozed every ounce of pleasure out of his body and every ounce of life out of hers.

One fucking hour.

Why was Max calling? He knew that Slava had landed, checked into his hotel, and was surveying the necessary areas in Upper Montclair. He also knew that Slava didn’t like—or need—anyone to check up on him. So what the hell did he want?

Snatching up the cell phone, he answered in Russian, his voice rough, gravelly, and pissed. “I’m busy.”

“Whatever you’re doing to her, it stops now,” Max commanded.

“How…?”

“One of your new flunkies called me. He was trying to reach you for further instructions. He saw you take the girl, and he assumed you were on your way up here, which is exactly where you should be.”

“I’ll leave soon.”

“You’ll leave now. My private jet’s already on its way. It’ll land in Morristown, New Jersey in less than an hour. Get yourself to the airport and get on that plane—with the girl, who’d better be intact.”

“She’s one of them.”

“I assumed so. Which is the only thing that turns your blatant disregard for my orders into something I can live with. She’s crucial to safeguarding my work and to ensuring my freedom and yours. So stop thinking with your dick, and think with your brain. We need to know everything she knows—and we need it before she’s too traumatized to provide it. I’ll do the interrogating. You’ll provide the incentive. That part should entice you.”

“Maybe.” Slava’s anger waned a bit. But not enough. He wanted absolute control over Emma Stirling’s body and her life. “Let’s say I do what you’re asking and you get what you need. Then what?”

“Then she’s yours. Do with her as you please. I don’t give a damn. But for now, I need her alive, healthy, and talking. So get your hands and your instruments off of her. Tie her up, throw her in the van, and drive to the airport. Your reward will be as sweet as you want it to be.”

Cupping Emma’s breast, Slava pondered Max’s promise and then reluctantly withdrew his hand. “Fine. But don’t forget what I’m owed, or I’ll be happy to remind you.”

Hutch was beyond frustrated.

He’d been in solution mode since Casey had called and blurted out the details of the crisis with Emma. He’d burned up the phone lines, setting the process in motion by appealing to his ASAC, who’d called the ASAC in the Albany Division—the division that handled Vermont. As shit luck would have it, their SWAT team was out of town training. The SWAT supervisor was willing to call them back, brief them, and devise a tactical plan. Then, given that the United States district attorney would be prepping the warrants, they would travel to Lubinov’s compound and be ready to move in. Hutch had stressed that this was exigent, but he knew that SWAT wouldn’t budge without those warrants.

So, despite all his hard work, he was facing a brick wall that he knew Casey

would refuse to accept.

It was time for a blowout with his stubborn, reckless girlfriend.

Casey answered on the first ring. “Finally,” she said in greeting. “What do you have for me?”