Emalee spent nearly two hours digging into the seedy side of New York’s underground sex clubs, from the safety of her office computer. She found more places than she could even imagine that specialized in BDSM, bondage, and swinging. She found three clubs that specialized in the type of sexual training the doctor had described his former patient being involved in, all of which were close by The Western Club.

“Hey, you busy?” Victor asked as he turned the corner of her office, catching her off guard and causing her to slam the lid to her laptop shut.

“No, not at all, what’s up?” she asked hoping her voice sounded steady and calm.

“We got the ID back on our victim. His name is Derek Anderson, he’s a single dad with a four-year-old son, lives at home with his parents, and get this, he’s an exotic dancer who just happens to work at…”

“The Western Club,” Emalee finished as he nodded his head.

“So, I suppose we have even more reason to speak with Banton,” she said, stepping away from her desk, and paced her way to the storeroom, where she kept her cameras and equipment.

“We also found the girlfriend of Patrick’s patient. Her name is Yvette Campbell and she works at a day spa as a massage specialist. She’s scheduled to go in at two o’clock,” he called after her as he walked around and opened her notebook again.

Emalee stepped out of the backroom just as Victor sat down at her desk, looking through the pages she had open on the computer. His amusement increased as he flipped from one club website to the other then glanced up to his partner.

“I would never have considered you as one who would be into the kinky stuff,” he teased her, laughing as she came around the corner of the desk and shut the computer top again.

“Don’t be an ass,” she snapped. “I was looking up places that could help us find out who’s behind these attacks.”

“It looks like you found some interesting places. Should we check them out before we meet up with the girl?”

“I highly doubt they would be open this early. Besides, I have no intention of going into a place like that with you. I’d rather sit in the car and wait.”

“I thought you were the one who wanted to go on assignments?” he asked as he leaned back in the chair. “A good investigation cannot be conducted from the safety of the front seat. Sometimes you have to actually get your hands dirty to find a clue. If you’re not up to the work…”

“I’m up to it,” she interrupted quickly before they started arguing about her staying in her place and leaving the hard work to the more experienced professionals. She heard enough of that the day before.

“Then let’s go check these places out.”

“It’s ten o’clock in the morning, they wouldn’t be open this early.”

Victor stood from his chair and leaned closer to her, his breath brushing her bangs across her forehead as he lowered his voice.

“You’d be surprised how many people have a sexual appetite this early in the morning,” he told her, his words sending warm chills traveling down her spine.

Victor smiled a half-grin to her as he walked away, picking up the notepad she had been writing on as he made his way to the door.

“No better time than the present to get this over with,” he called back to her as he turned the corner and disappeared down the hallway.

Emalee narrowed her eyes after him, he was only doing this to make her uncomfortable enough she’d ask to be taken off the case. Well, if that was his goal, he’d have to come up with something better than this. She was determined to put her embarrassment behind her and move forward. Mr. Victor Armstrong, Adonis Extraordinaire, was about to get knocked on his butt by this photographer.

Three clubs down and this one was the last one they were going to visit today. Fortunately for Emalee, the other three were not as active as Victor had insinuated. They left their investigation and questioning generic, as they were led through each building and their bars, dance floors, and private rooms. Nothing in any of them left her feeling like they were in a sex club, but this last one was different. To begin with, the lobby was set up as a doctor’s waiting room, several chairs lining the walls around a reception desk. The floor was tiled in a light brown and the walls were two-tone brown and beige. There were pictures of very attractive couples on the walls wearing little if any clothing and posed in erotic positions.

The receptionist was dressed in a pair of very short pink shorts, a white tank top that left little to the imagination, and white stiletto heels. Her shoulder-length red hair was curled in soft ringlets and her face was painted so much she looked like a china doll. There were five men waiting in the lobby as they walked in, one an elderly man around sixty, with a long grey ponytail hanging down the middle of his back, black leather pants, and a matching biker jacket.

The other four were younger, Emalee estimated to be between their mid to late twenties, one Hispanic, one Asian and two Caucasian. They were dressed in everyday attire of jeans and pullovers or tee-shirts. They all turned and stared at her with interest as she walked in next to Victor. Out of instinct, she wrapped her hand through her partner’s arm and stepped a little closer to him as they approached the receptionist. Fortunately for her, Victor didn’t seem to take offense to the gesture as he began speaking to the woman.

“Armstrong, we have an appointment with Harrison,” he told her, catching Emalee off guard.

“Yes sir, he’s expecting you. Follow me please,” the receptionist said as they walked through the double doors behind her and proceeded down a short, wide, tiled hallway.

“We have an appointment?” she asked in a soft tone as she let go of his arm. “Since when?”

“Since about an hour ago,” he whispered but chose not to clarify further.

They stepped into a room at the end of the hall, as the deep tone of a male answered the receptionist, when she announced them.

“Vic,” the man said, standing up from a large oak desk, smiling as he came around the corner to shake hands.

Emalee looked surprised as the redhead left the room, but not before giving Victor an appreciative once over.

“Miles, thanks for seeing us on such short notice,” Victor said, shaking the hand that reached out for him. “This is my partner, Emalee Peker. Emalee, this is Miles Harrison. He’s an old friend from way back.”

“Way back my ass,” the man said, winking a hazel eye at Emalee. “I was one of Vic’s trainers back at the academy. Not an easy task, considering he came into the course with a chip on his shoulder that had to be knocked off.”

He waved a hand toward the sofa sitting beside a wet bar. Emalee sat down with Victor close by her side, and shook her head when Miles held up a bottle of dark liquid.

“So, you were a cop?” she asked with a slight narrowing of her eyes.

The man was tall and muscular, certainly the same stature as the instructors she remembered from her academy days, with sandy brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes. He was handsome, and his smile was friendly, but she was finding it hard to imagine a former cop being in charge of a place like this.

“Let me guess, what’s a nice guy like me doing in a place like this?” he laughed as he handed Victor a glass of the brown stuff and a bottle of water to Emalee. “To tell the truth, Miss Peker, I often wonder that myself. So, what can I do for the two of you?”

“We’re investigating a murder and an assault that appear to be connected. We were wondering if you could give us an insight into the victims.”

Victor sat his drink down on the glass table without drinking it and pulled out his notepad, as Miles swallowed a large mouthful of his drink.

“My clients have complete anonymity here, I can’t give you details on any of them. What makes you think they were from my crowd anyway?”

“We don’t,” Victor answered. “But they were found close by and from the condition of their bodies, they appear to have been restrained and beaten. We have one victim fighting for his life with bruises on his genitalia.”

“My clients are taught how to restrain and inflict punishment for pleasure, but not to the point of leaving marks or killing. In fact, when things get too rough, my trainers step in and put a stop to it. The trainees either comply with the rules or they are evicted. With patience and diligence, my clients learn to master the techniques they desire, whether it be bondage, punishment, role-play, whatever.”

“Exactly how do your clients learn these techniques?” Emalee asked, forcing herself to remain calm.

She was not going to give Victor any more ammunition for convincing Sweeny she wasn’t right for the case.

“With very close supervision, Miss Peker. I have over a dozen trainers who specialize in specific areas of sexual deviation. Each trainee signs up for a lesson, let’s say bondage for example. Then the trainer in charge of that area meets up with them and a partner and teaches them how to use the restraints in various ways. Once the trainer feels they are ready to be let out on their own, then they are allowed to be alone, but we record everything for their own safety. If things get out of hand the trainer puts a stop to it immediately.”

“So, the trainee brings someone with them?” she asked with a frown as Victor continued to make notes.

“Sometimes, but usually they meet up with someone in the private bar and agree to take lessons together. We have had a number of successful unions of couples who have learned their lessons well and moved on.”

“What do you mean moved on?” Victor asked.

“They either become trainers or move past the club and return to their normal lives, with a bit more knowledge on how to strengthen their relationship.”

“How many lessons do you teach the couple?” Emalee continued.

“That would depend on what they want to learn. If they are interested in one area, again take bondage for example, then there are six lessons in all before they are let go on their own. If they want training in other areas, toys, spanking, groups, same-sex, or whatever, then the lessons continue until the individual, and or couple, feels comfortable enough to experiment privately. If a person desires to know everything we teach, then it will usually take between eight to ten months, more depending on the level of their ability to learn and the amount of money they wish to invest in the lessons.”

“And how much do you charge for these lessons?”

It was crazy, Emalee thought with a frown, learning all this stuff was one thing, but paying for people to teach you to have perverted sex was…obscene.

“Let’s just say I make a very, very good living.”

“Where do you find your clients?” she continued, eyeing him over from head to foot.

He wore a tailor-made silk suit, his hair expertly trimmed, his cologne was pleasant but reeked of money and his recent manicure had left his nails with a high buff.

“They find me,” he chuckled softly as he sipped his drink. “Anyone who wants to learn how to enjoy sex to the fullest extent of pleasure, know where I am. I screen my clients carefully and they all go through a battery of blood tests and background checks. Everyone is clean, both physically and socially.”

Miles paused for a moment as he took another sip of his drink, glancing over the rim of his glass to the young blonde.

“I wonder Miss Peker, what would I find if I screened you?”

“About a year ago,” Victor began after softly clearing his throat. He saw the disgusted look on his partner’s face and knew she was about to give his friend at least one piece of her mind and wanted to stop it from happening. “A young man found his way into the hospital from injuries similar to those of our victim’s. His girlfriend told the doctors they were taking lessons in sexual foreplay and it got out of hand. His genitalia was bruised significantly by marbles. Is that something you teach here?”

“No, Vic, it is not. Whenever we have clients who want to engage in a rougher style of play than what we teach, we dismiss them from the club immediately and ban them from re-entering.”

“Have you ever had a couple like the ones we’ve described?”

Miles was quiet for a few moments as he swallowed another large drink from his glass, drawing a deep breath before he stood and walked to his desk opening the lid to his laptop. He pressed several buttons in quick succession as the printer next to him began spitting out papers, one at a time.

“I’m going against my own policies,” Miles said, as he took the papers off the printer and stacked them together. “But I think I know who it is you’re looking for. A little more than a year ago, we had a young man here who continuously kept going outside the box and straying away from the lessons. He went through one partner after another, until he came upon a young girl who liked the dangerous side of his mood. We eventually had to dismiss them from the club for going beyond the extremes.”

“Do you know where he lives?” Victor asked, accepting the papers his friend handed him.

“I know where he used to live, but his addiction to sex got him kicked out of his condo. Last I heard, he had moved in with his girlfriend and lost his job, which is funny, since he used to work for his father, who owns a chain of warehouses.”

“Was that how he paid for his lessons?” Victor asked, briefly glancing through the pages in his hands.

“Probably, I never ask my clients where their money comes from. We’re like a country club here, exclusive, invited by invitation only and very expensive. The only difference is our eighteen holes have nothing to do with golf.”

“You said you teach your clients to master restraints,” Victor continued, as he interrupted the look his friend gave the woman sitting beside him.

He pulled out some of Emalee’s photos that showed the injuries of Gotum Sevati’s wrists, neck and ankles.

“Have you ever seen marks like these?”

Miles took the photos and looked at them with a slight frown. He flipped slowly from one to the other as he studied each one with the eye of a skilled professional, though Emalee wasn’t certain which profession he was leaning heavier on, his current one or his former.

“I can tell you these weren’t created by cuffs or ropes,” he finally answered, leaning forward in his seat toward his guests. “See where they have broken the skin? This could only be caused by a wire, most likely a speaker wire, thin and strong. I would wager to say it had a protective coating on it, or the wire would have severed the limbs, as tight as it had to be to make these marks. They were not used for pleasure either. This victim was tied tight enough to cause significant pain. His death wasn’t a very pleasurable one.”

“Thanks for the information, Miles,” Victor said with that half-grin that made Emalee’s heart flip again.

“Before you go, how about a tour?” Miles asked as he stood up. “I’m sure Miss Peker would like to see that we aren’t the backstreet brothel she’s contemplating us to be.”

“Some other time perhaps,” Emalee said quickly. “We have another appointment to go to before the day is over.”

“Suit yourself, but remember,” Miles said as he stepped close to her side and raised her fingers to his lips, kissing each one in turn. “The door is always open.”

“We’ll be in touch,” Victor told him with a low, menacing tone to his voice as he placed a protective hand on Emalee’s back and steered her toward the door.

“By the way,” Emalee said as Victor opened the door. “Have you ever heard the names Derek Anderson or Gotum Sevati?”

“Anderson is a common name but Sevati…that’s one I would remember if I’d heard it. You can ask my secretary, Sara Rippley. She knows everyone who comes here.”

“Thanks again, Miles,” Victor said shaking his hand one last time. “If you think of anything else…”

“I know, don’t hesitate to call. I remember the drill, in fact, I’m pretty sure I’m the one who taught you.”

“That you did, old man,” Victor laughed as he and Emalee walked back down the hallway that led to the waiting room.

The room was nearly deserted when they reentered it, with only one young man and the skimpily dressed woman behind the desk, to occupy the spaces between illicit photos. She glanced up as they approached her, smiling at Victor and completely ignoring Emalee.

“Miles said you could help us out with a question we have,” he said, playing on the woman’s interest.

“Anything you’d like. I’ll be more than happy to help you with,” she answered, making Emalee roll her eyes.

“Have you ever had a client by the name of Derek Anderson or Gotum Sevati?”

The woman smiled as she began clicking on her computer for several seconds.

“We don’t have anyone, past or present by those names. I’m sorry, but maybe if I find something I could call you?”

“Certainly,” he answered handing her one of his business cards. “You can reach me day or night.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she cooed as Emalee pushed him toward the door in a rough gesture on his shoulder.

“Come on,” he chuckled as they walked back to the black sedan. “You had Miles drooling over you, the least you could do is let me have a bit of fun with his secretary.”

“I would think you had better taste than that,” she snapped as he unlocked the door and quickly sat down.

“Oh, I have much better taste than that,” he said to himself as he opened the door and climbed in behind the wheel.

Emalee took the papers Miles had given to them and scanned over them, frowning when she saw the name at the top of the page.

“What was the name of Patrick’s patient?” she asked, glancing up as Victor turned to look at her.

“Kevin Friedman. Why?”

“That’s the same name as Miles’ client.”

“Interesting coincidence,” Victor said. “I wonder what else will link us to this man’s involvement.”

“Maybe more than we suspect,” Emalee said, stacking the papers together again and looking out the side window. This day was beginning to prove to be anything less than ordinary.

Passion Flower Day Spa was far less the elegant establishment they were expecting, as they found the address, and parked in the only available parking stall in the small lot. The building was old red brick with a great deal of graffiti on the sides and back. The windows were covered by a shiny film, that reflected to the world outside, nothing that was happening inside. The door was a weathered reddish-brown and the sign hanging above it was worn and faded.

Victor adjusted his shoulder-strap holster and gun, before buttoning his jacket across his large chest. He looked around the area with interest and Emalee noticed the formal, stern detective she had started this investigation with, was back. He was ready for anything that might happen, and his attention was alert to every sound that echoed around them.

Emalee paused for a moment outside the building as Victor reached for the handle. The look in his eye warned her to stay in her place and let him do the talking, a fact she was all too willing to do. They stepped into a world far different from the one they had just left. The reception area was painted in a bright white with colorful large flowers painted among the stark cleanliness. The furniture was an assortment of vinyl chairs in maroon, burgundy and navy blue. The floor was a deep rich wood with matching crown moldings, baseboards, and chair rails.

The soft scent of fragrant oils filtered their way out of the open doorway, which led to a hall of closed doors. Victor glanced to Emalee then back up as an attractive young brunette joined them. She wore a long-sleeved light pink smock, that was pulled tightly around her slender waist, revealing the deep cleavage at the neckline. It was more than apparent the only thing she wore under the jacket, was her cream-colored pants. She smiled at them as she handed them two glass goblets of ice water from the silver tray she carried. then waved to the chairs to have a seat.

“Have you been here before?” she asked them, turning and walking to the small brown desk near the front door.

“No,” Victor said, setting his glass on a black table between two seats.

He pulled his badge out and flashed it to her, watching the welcoming expression she held on her face turn to horror.

“I’m Detective Armstrong, this is my partner Emalee Peker. We’re here to see Yvette Campbell.”

“She’s with a client right now,” the girl explained in a small voice.

“We’ll wait.”

Victor sat in one of the navy chairs as Emalee sat next to him in a maroon one. They watched the young woman flip through one page of her appointment book after another as the time ticked by. She answered the phone once, and adjusted her top twice, before the sounds of a door opening down the hall echoed through the stillness.

A tall slender blonde stepped out ahead of a short stalky man with a bald head. He looked content and oily as he smiled to the blonde, patted her on the bottom, and walked to the door.

“Same time next week, Mr. Gooding?” she cooed as he nodded cheerfully.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said, then left the building with an off-tune whistle escaping his smiling lips.

The brunette looked anxiously from Victor to the slender blonde then cleared her throat softly.

“Yvette,” she began, causing the blonde to look at her before she had the chance to leave the room. “These people are here to see you.”

Victor stood and walked to the woman, removing his badge as he approached her. Yvette Campbell was nearly six feet tall, in her black stiletto heels, and wore a pair of dark black stretch pants. Like the young brunette who had welcomed them, she wore a tight pink smock with the outline of nipple piercings straining against the thin fabric, assuring them she was topless beneath.

“We’d like to have a word with you, regarding your boyfriend, Kevin Friedman,” Victor said, slipping his badge back into his jacket.

“What’s he done this time?” Yvette said with a very sour tone.

“Is there someplace we can speak in private?” Victor asked, watching as Yvette drew a deep sigh, then nodded her head toward the hallway.

The three of them walked past six closed doors to the end of the hall. Yvette opened the last door and stepped in. Inside, was a small kitchen area with a table, and six chairs that matched those in the front reception area. A tall black fridge, microwave and sink lined the back wall while the sidewall held a rack of clear bins. Inside were an assortment of condoms, oils, what looked like metal clips, and packages of batteries. On long pegs beside the bins were packages of vibrators, anal beads, leather riding crops and whips, that looked like leather floggers.

Emalee sat in a chair across from Yvette while Victor sat next to her. They waited as the woman opened the fridge and pulled out three bottles of water, passing one to each of them and sat down.

“So? What’s Kevin been doing?” she asked, unscrewing the lid to the bottle.

“It’s not so much as what he’s doing, but what he’s done,” Emalee began, drawing the woman’s blue eyes off Victor. “We’d like to speak with him. Do you know where we can find him?”

“Last I knew, he was going to Canada to live with some aunt or something,” Yvette answered. “He got arrested about four months ago for assault, and his parents were so angry, they shipped him off to the religious side of the family.”

“Who did he assault?” Victor asked.

“Me,” she answered, moving the collar of her smock aside to show a long pink scar that ran from just beneath her ear to her collarbone.

“Why did he assault you?” Emalee asked with a concerned frown.

“We got into a fight about his addictions and he tried to kill me. His father paid me fifty thousand dollars and all my medical bills if I’d drop the charges. He promised to have him removed from my life forever, so I did. He didn’t like what his son was doing or how his life had turned out, but he also didn’t want people to know his only kid was in prison.”

“What kind of addictions did he have?” Victor asked with a frown, as he took out his notebook and began writing on a clean sheet of paper.

“The usual, drugs, booze, but mainly sex. He was addicted to it. Not just any kind of sex, but the dark, perverted kind. The harder and rougher it was, the better he liked it. He was getting way too sadistic for me and when I tried to leave, he tried to kill me. Fortunately for me, the knife was dull or else he would have succeeded.”

“About a year ago, he was taken to the hospital for injuries he sustained during sex,” Victor continued. “Can you tell us more about that?”

“What’s to say? A friend told him that pearling was a great way to enjoy sex, but instead of just having it done, like anyone with more than two brain cells would do, he decided to try it out first. He took some beads his friend gave him and inserted them into his dick. It was fun at first, I mean sex was really great and the orgasms were outrageous, but after a while, it just wasn’t enough. He wanted a bigger kick, so he used marbles. They got stuck and he wasn’t able to come or go if you know what I mean. He ended up getting really sick and it caused a lot of swelling in his balls. He nearly lost his kidneys because he couldn’t pee. We went to a party, and he was in so much pain, he got wasted on crack and skidded face-first down the stairs. We called the paramedics and got him to the hospital, where they had to operate to get the marbles out of his dick. He lost one of his nuts during all of that. It took him over a month to clear up all the infections.”

“Why would he do something like that?” Emalee asked her.

Yvette shrugged her shoulders with a sneer on her pretty face.

“For kicks, why else? He liked sex, the weirder it was, the better he liked it.”

“What do you mean by weird?” Victor asked, obviously unaffected by the woman’s story, even though Emalee was feeling rather nauseated.

“You know, bondage, whips, nipple clamps, dildos, stuff like that. I mean it was fun and the lessons were amazing, but after a while, he couldn’t get enough. He was kicked out of the club we were going to and got fired by his old man, who cut off all income, even his credit cards, but it didn’t stop him. We started making films and selling them online, so it gave him enough money to buy more toys and junk. Things were going great until he started in with the drugs and booze. At first, it was just a joint here and there, and some whiskey or tequila, but then he moved up to crack and meth. When he started shooting up, that’s when I tried to leave.”

“You said the lessons were fun,” Emalee asked picking up on the woman’s conversation. “Where did he learn his tricks?”

“There’s this place, a really nice place called Miles High Club. They teach people like Kevin how to play. That’s where we met. I’m a lesbian by heart, and my girlfriend talked me into going there to have some fun. Kevin was rich and handsome, and after a couple of nights, he talked me into joining him in a session. It was great, I mean women are my thing and always will be, but having a dick was really off the wall. I had never been with a man until I met Kevin and he was huge, bigger than my usual dildo. It was fun being tied up and getting whipped, and I loved the nipple clamps. I liked being told what to do, and I really got off on the punishment. They have a room with these tables and stuff that’s like a torture chamber. Oh God, that was fun. I loved the barrel. It’s where you get strapped across this wooden barrel and you get your ass beat until you cum.”

“What about your girlfriend?” Emalee asked, hoping to get her off the subject of torture and punishment. “How did she feel about you being involved with Kevin?”

“At first it pissed her off, but after a while, she joined in on the fun and pretty soon we were doing threesomes. We moved into Kevin’s flat in Soho together, but after he went all weird and shit, she left. After he tried to kill me, she came back and helped me get on my feet again. She’s the one that got me this gig. It’s fun and I make a butt-load of money, so I’m not complaining. Life is good since Kevin left.”

“Did you or Kevin ever hang out at the mission district?” Victor asked, jotting notes in his little book.

“Yeah, his dad has some warehouses there. Kevin liked going to one of the places. It’s where we did a lot of our films. It was abandoned so we could do whatever we wanted, we just had to avoid all the bums. He set up a room in his dad’s old office with chains and whips. He made a lot of machines himself, like a dildo on the end of a drill, now that was great, really fast to make a hard orgasm.”

“What happened to the stuff after he was arrested?” Emalee asked, glancing at Victor who had picked up on the same line of thought.

“Nothing. It’s still there I guess. He had cameras all over the place to catch every angle, then he would take the films to this chick he knew named Dharma…something. She was into editing and would put the films together, and help us get them online. We sold thousands of copies of each one.”

“How many films did you make?” Victor asked.

“About forty, I think.”

“Was anyone else in these films with you?” Emalee asked with a slight frown.

“Yeah, we had my girlfriend, Tracy, and then Kevin used some of the guys he knew. Friends, guys from the clubs we went to, plus some chicks from his past. Once, just for the hell of it, he picked up a hooker and took her back there. He made a whole film of her being whipped and punished. He used every toy he had on her, spent like six hours fucking her. When he was done he paid her five grand and let her go.”

“Did she agree to make the film?” Victor asked with a stern look.

“Hell no, it would have taken his fun away. He picked her up and took her back to a motel where he screwed her, and afterward when she was getting dressed, he gagged her and blindfolded her and took her back to the warehouse. She was tied up and blindfolded the whole time, so she never knew where she was, or who all was there.”

“Were you a party to this?”

“No,” Yvette said with a look that was almost angry. “He used his friend, Carter. The movie was a big hit though, it had both of them screwing her and beating her. It was nearly two hours long and he sold each copy for fifty bucks. He made a huge haul on it and said he wanted to do more just like it, but he never did.”

“How long ago was that?” Emalee asked with a feeling of disgust boiling inside her.

“About six months ago I guess, just after Tracy moved out. He was pretty pissed at her but found his new addiction to be more distracting.”

“Who is Carter? How did he meet him?” Victor picked up the line of questioning again.

“He’s an old friend. He works as a stripper at a club not far from the warehouse where he used to make the films. A place called the Western.”

“Alright, Miss Campbell, that’s all we have for now,” Victor said, closing his notebook and slipping it back into his jacket. “If you should happen to think of anything else that may help us, please let us know.”

He handed her a business card and stood up, followed close behind by Emalee.

“What do you want with Kevin anyway?” Yvette said eyeing the card with interest. “You never told me what kind of trouble he was in.”

“We’re not sure he is in any,” Victor answered. “We’re investigating a homicide and an assault, that has pointed toward your boyfriend’s hospitalization.”

“You think Kevin’s involved?” Yvette said with a frown as she stood up from the table.

“Do you think he’s capable of such acts?” Emalee asked as she locked her gaze with the tall blonde across from her.

“If you would have asked me four months ago, I would have said no, but now…” Yvette absently touched the scar on her neck and frowned.

“We’ll be in touch if we need to ask you any more questions,” Victor said again and walked back down the hallway toward the main entrance.

“You know detectives,” Yvette said before they reached their destination. “If Kevin’s back in town, the one person who would know about it would be Carter. He was Kevin’s best friend and companion in most of the movies he made. He knew Kevin since they were kids. If anyone knows what he’s capable of, or what he’s doing, it would be Carter.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Victor said as they opened the door and walked back out into the early twilight hours.

“What do you think?” Emalee asked as he pulled the black sedan out of the parking lot.

“I think we need to see Banton sooner rather than later,” he answered with a heavy sigh. It was beginning to look like another very long night.