Victor sat at Emalee’s desk reviewing the notes from the hospital. Derek Anderson’s surgery had gone well, but the doctors were keeping him in a coma until they were certain the danger was over. He had suffered multiple rib fractures along with a punctured lung and ruptured spleen, a bruised kidney, and an inflamed liver. He had more than a dozen lacerations across his chest, back, and abdomen and his wrists and ankles were bruised as well as his neck and throat. His genitals had been injured and swollen from what the doctors termed as amateur pearling.

Based on information from his parents, he had been the victim of multiple threats against him from an unknown assailant. His car had been broken into twice and tools had been stolen out of his trunk. He was concerned about letters left for him at work and on his car. According to his parents, he hired a private investigator to follow him around for the past two weeks and believed he knew who it was threatening him. He was planning to put a stop to it when he returned to work, but he never showed up. That was four days ago. Based on information from the doctor, it was believed his wounds were sustained over a period of three to four days.

Trying to locate Heather Miller or her brother was more difficult than either of them expected. The names were far from unique and their family had moved away years ago, making the search even more difficult. They had managed to pull up background checks on Alex Gibson and Carter Jennings, but they had come back showing nothing of importance. Alex was a trained ballet dancer and had just recently graduated Juilliard. He had been married a little less than three months and had just put a down payment on a condo in Long Island. Carter Jennings's background didn’t turn up anything of interest, no additional jobs or education, no wife or significant other, no siblings or children, only an elderly father living in a nursing home in Chicago.

The coroner had sent over a preliminary report on Gotum Sevati, and like Derek, he had multiple lacerations, fractures across his ribs, and bruising in the same areas. His penis had been abused so severely, that the coroner reported the nerves and urethra had been ripped apart in a very violent act. He had the same amateur pearling, as well as puncture marks across his inner thighs left behind by a needle. The toxicology reports were still out and at the moment they were left with more questions than answers.

“I got in touch with Friedman’s aunt,” Emalee said as she joined him in her office, two Styrofoam cups of coffee in her hands. “She said that he was taken to her by his father about four months ago but disappeared from the monastery they put him in two days ago.”

“A monastery?” Victor asked, taking the cup from her, and leaning back in the chair. “I wouldn’t have considered him monk material.”

“It’s a place where the priests try to cure addictions through prayer and self-cleansing. According to his aunt, he was responding well with the treatment. He was even beginning to feel sorrow for the way he had treated people in the past. The monks told his aunt that he had been writing letters to his former friends and associates, asking for forgiveness. The patients are only allowed one visitor a week and that’s for ten minutes. They don’t want to contaminate the mind of the patient who is undergoing treatment. The aunt said she didn’t go to visit him on Sunday, because his time was already taken by an old friend.”

“Does she know who?”

“The monks wouldn’t tell her, because it is against their policy, in case the visitors are from outside the church’s faith or family circle. She said there are no outside phones, internet, or television, so the patients literally have no choice but to obey the treatment the monks inflict. All the aunt knows is that the head priest contacted her the day before yesterday, to say that Friedman had escaped sometime during the night.”

“How easy is it to leave the place?” Victor asked as he took a sip of the hot coffee.

“Apparently, it’s locked up tighter than Fort Knox,” she answered as she perched herself on the edge of her desk. “The aunt said the monastery has a strict regime that has to be followed to the letter. Every morning they wake the patients, have prayer and breakfast before starting on chores and counseling sessions, then they have supper and prayer before locking the patients in their rooms at night. They rise at five o’clock A.M. and go to bed at seven. The priest told his aunt he was at supper and prayer the night before last and was in his bed when they locked down for the night. By morning when they made their rounds to wake the patients, he was gone.”

“How did he get out?”

“He was able to get a key off one of the monks, during prayer, and unlocked the doors after lights went out. They found a bag of food missing from the pantry, along with one of their robes, and the backdoor was left unlocked. He then walked twenty miles to a nearby hotel, where he stole a car and simply drove across the border as a monk on a mission.”

“Then he couldn’t be the killer,” Victor said with an exasperated sigh. “According to the doctors, Derek Anderson suffered his injuries over a period of three to four days, and Gotum Sevati was about the same length of time. That means the torture started two weeks ago.”

“So, where does that leave us now?” she asked setting her cup on the desk and sitting down in the chair opposite her partner.

“Back at square one,” he grunted.

“If the maid at the Friedmans’ is to be believed, and I don’t see any reason not to, then he was there yesterday when his mother said he was in Canada. After seeing that house, I can believe anyone could live there and never be found out, especially the boy his parents didn’t want. He was so far away from the rest of the house, he could have been there for months and nobody would have known about it.”

“I think I want Yvette Campbell brought in for questioning,” Victor told her. “Anna said she called him and he left very upset. The next thing anyone sees of him is when he’s killing the trainer.”

“The way Miles described him, he almost sounded possessed.”

“Or high.”

“Have you watched that tape you stole yet?” Emalee asked kicking her shoes off and lifting her feet to the desktop.

“I can’t, it needs a VHS and there isn’t one available.”

“I have one back at my place.”

“Is that an invitation?” he smiled that smile that drove her senses racing through her veins.

“You can watch it. I have a date with my sister, Michelle. We’re going to the Western tonight, remember? I’ve already called Banton and told her we were going undercover for the night, so my place is yours until I get back.”

“I still don’t like the idea of you going without backup,” he grumbled.

“I’ve already knocked you down twice, do I have to do it again in order for you to stop worrying about me?”

Victor smiled, rubbing his tender abdomen.

“No, that’s alright, I’ll take your word for it. Just be careful.”

“I’ll have my gun with me and my sister who always carries mace. We’ll be fine.”

“Then you need to be aware of the dancers you’re watching out for. See if they act strangely or if there are any special customers they seem to hang around with.”

“Don’t worry, I plan on taking a notepad and pen with me.”

“I thought you didn’t need a notepad?” he joked with her.

“I don’t, but it may calm you down enough if I do.”

“Keep your phone handy and see if you can snap off a few pictures without getting caught. We need some evidence of what’s going on over there.”

“We also need to get in touch with Dharma Strand and the Millers. I don’t think we should confront Jennings until after tonight. Maybe I can learn something from him if he doesn’t think I’m a cop.”

“Just be careful. If he is involved in all of this, I don’t want the coroner calling me just because you got on his bad side.”

“Why, Detective Armstrong, it sounds like you…” she paused remembering what he had told her the night before.

“Care?” he asked softly. “I do, more than I should, and not just for my partner.”

“Armstrong, Peker,” Sweeny said entering the office and looking around at the comfortable seating arrangements. “Don’t let me interrupt your investigation.”

“Okay,” Emalee shrugged, knowing her captain wouldn’t take offense.

“Funny Peker, how would you like a week as a traffic cop?”

“What’s up, Cap,” Victor said, interrupting the old argument that had been playing out for the past three years.

“I just got off the phone with the commissioner,” he began sitting down on the sofa. “She thinks it would be prudent for you to go undercover at the Western Club. I’ve already arranged it with Banton and it should only be for a few days. Once those lonely women get a whiff of you, they will be spilling the beans on who killed Sevati.”

“You mean Victor’s going to be dancing?” Emalee asked, fighting the urge to laugh.

“Hasn’t he told you of his past life, Peker? I thought you were partners?” Sweeny asked with a humorous smile.

Emalee shook her head as Victor glared at both of them.

“Never mind,” he told the two, taking a drink from his coffee.

“But it’s such a great story,” Sweeny said, then turned to Emalee and smiled. “Your partner here used to be a stripper before he joined the force,” he clarified with a twinkle in his eyes.

“What?” Emalee gasped, looking at Victor as though he had just sprouted a third head.

“I was an exotic dancer when my mom died,” he said with a wicked smile that had her heart beating like war drums. “It paid good money and I needed it for my sister.”

“That’s why the commissioner thinks you should go undercover. You know how to dance, you know the business and you have the body - or so I’m told - to pull off an undercover story. In return, Banton has agreed to have Peker come in as a club photographer, so you’ll have each other as backup. I’m assigning Kelly and Richardson to take over the leg work while you’re shaking your stuff. You start tonight, so I suggest you get things wrapped up here and get over to the Western. She’s expecting you.”

“Tonight?” Emalee gasped. “But my sister and I were going to go check out the place without anyone noticing us. We need to see what the other strippers know about the attack on their coworkers.”

“Good, have your sister go without you. It’s a great idea actually. She can snoop around and ask the workers what happened to the other two dancers. In the meantime, you’re expected for rehearsals at three o’clock,” Sweeny said smiling at Victor who glared back at him. “Don’t want to keep the ladies waiting,” he chuckled as he left the room.

“Now what?” Emalee asked.

“We do as our boss tells us,” Victor said with a grunt. “If I’m going to be dancing, I need to shave.”

He stood up and started for the door.

“But I like the beard,” Emalee grumbled. “It’s going to be weird to see you without it.”

“I can leave the beard,” he said with a deep sigh. “But I can’t have any other hair…anywhere.”

Emalee stared at him for a moment, then comprehended what he meant and turned a deep scarlet.

“Come on,” he told her with that half-grin he’d been using a lot lately. “I’ll drop you off at your place. Better grab your camera bag if you’re going to be the club photographer.”

The ride back to her apartment was quiet as they both considered what lay ahead of them. Emalee had never taken photos of strippers before and wasn’t sure what to expect, but that was only one of her concerns. Seeing her partner, the man who admitted that he had feelings for her, on a stage dancing and stripping was an event she would never have considered.

“You’re very quiet,” Victor said, as he pulled to a halt in front of her warehouse-apartment. “Anything wrong?”

“Not really,” she lied. “I was just thinking…maybe you could use some help shaving. I mean, reaching your back could prove difficult.”

“I don’t have a hairy back,” he smiled. “And I need a trimmer as well as a razor.”

“I have my brother’s upstairs if you want to use it. I’m sure he wouldn’t care. Truth is, I think he just keeps it here to avoid his wife asking why he doesn’t use it himself.”

“So, you’re willing to help me shave all the bits and pieces? It could prove embarrassing,” he teased her with a wink that made her heart skip again.

“I didn’t say I’d help shave everything, just the common areas.”

“Okay,” he laughed. “I guess I could use some help. It’s been a very long time since I had to go to these extremes.”

They walked silently into her apartment, anticipating the evening that lay ahead of them. Emalee hurried up the stairs to her guest room and found her brother’s razor, trimmer, and robe and took them back downstairs. Victor was busy at the counter making a fresh pot of coffee when she returned. He had turned on the radio she kept by the stove, filling the apartment with the soft sounds of her favorite jazz station. He turned as she came to stand next to him and frowned at the large blue robe draped over her shoulder.

“What’s that for?” he asked.

“I thought it would be easier for you if you had something to cover up with,” she answered, setting her items on the counter.

“You said you didn’t want to help with the more intimate areas.”

“I don’t, but I assume you need to shave your legs? I just thought you’d want to save your dignity.”

“Somehow I doubt I’ll have any left after this assignment is over.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” she smiled.

She watched as he tossed his jacket on the back of one of the barstools, then unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt and pulled it off over his head, just like the night before. She blushed slightly as she looked at the light brown hair across his chest. The night before, she wanted to know what it felt like and now she was going to get her chance. Too bad it was for a reason other than what her libido was beckoning.

“Let’s just hope Woods and the others don’t hear about this and try to check out the show,” he told her as he sat down at the counter.

Emalee laughed as she thought about the ribbing his coworkers would give him if they knew he was going undercover as an exotic dancer.

She took a large mixing bowl from the cupboard and filled it with warm water, then took a washcloth and towel from the armoire in her make-shift bedroom. It was the moment of truth, she thought, the time she would get to touch the body of this Adonis.

“Do you want to trim it yourself?” she asked, offering him her brother’s shaver.

“Go for it,” he said sitting up straight on the barstool.

Emalee smiled as she put fresh batteries into the back of the razor and sat down across from him.

“Let me know if this hurts,” she told him as the soft hum erupted from the box in her hand.

Gently, she reached out and touched the hair covering his strong muscles, fighting the urge to moan. It was as soft as she anticipated and for a moment she allowed her fingers to travel through the length. With a deep breath, she began sliding the tip of the shaver across his firm chest, biting her lower lip as the hair began to fall to his lap and onto the floor. Within a few short moments, he sat hairless in all his male masculinity. The stubbles left behind by the trimmers, tickled her fingertips, as she brushed the loose hairs from his skin, and she found her breath escaping her lungs in soft pants.

“Do you want to shave it?” she asked, her tone quiet and slightly husky.

“You do it,” he told her gently, his own tone matching that of hers.

Again, she drew a deep breath and filled her hand full of the soft scented shaving cream, she used for herself. Baby oil and lanolin. At least his chest would be soft, she thought as she smeared the foam across his muscles. Gently, she slid the razor across his skin, removing the remnants of hair from his magnificent chest.

“You’re very good at this,” he told her as his tongue slipped out to wet his dry lips.

“I’ve had a lot of experience,” she told him after clearing her throat and standing up, taking the bowl of dirty water to the sink.

“You shave a lot of men’s chests?” he asked, his eyes locked on her as she moved about the kitchen.

“No. I meant personally. I have to shave every couple of days so I’m pretty good at it.”

“I see,” was all he said as his mind began to run wild with images of her smooth body beneath her work clothes.

Emalee returned with a cup of coffee and an éclair from the night before and sat both in front of him.

“You’re really going to leave the facial hair?” she asked in a hopeful tone as he carefully bit into the pastry, memories of the night before invading their minds.

“Unless you think I should shave it,” he said, looking up into the blue eyes that stared back at him.

“No, I like it. I think the other women will too.”

“Their opinion doesn’t matter,” he told her with that damn half-grin.

“You should probably get finished,” she told him with a soft cough.

“I’m going to need help with my legs,” he said as he popped the remains of the chocolate dessert into his mouth. “I don’t have the experience you do.”

“Alright,” she told him as her libido began jumping for joy at the thought of seeing him without his pants on. “Go change into the robe.”

With a wicked grin, Victor stood up and unfastened the belt around his waist, pulling it free and tossing it to the counter between them. Slowly, he moved his fingers to the button holding his pants closed and unfastened it, then pulled the zipper down. Emalee tried to look away but her eyes refused to move, his movements were mesmerizing, and he had her held tightly in them as his willing prisoner.

He stepped back from the counter and kicked his shoes off, slowly and methodically slipping his pants across his firm hips, allowing them to fall to the floor at his feet. Emalee’s eyes widened at the sight of him standing in her kitchen in only his black stockings and tight blue briefs. He looked magnificent, a true Adonis if ever she had imagined one.

“Come here, Emalee,” he whispered, and she had no choice but to obey.

She walked closer to him, her legs shaking and her palms sweating. She could smell the scented shaving cream as she closed the distance between them, but the odor was lost to the masculine musk he radiated. He reached out a hand to her and pulled her into his embrace, then began moving with her as the music played on from the small radio on the counter.

Her mind was reeling as he moved against her, his hands sliding down and capturing her hips, kneading them and caressing them as he pulled her closer to him. The rock-hard evidence of the mood pressed against her belly and for a very brief moment, Emalee thought to retreat, but when his lips moved to her neck she lost all desire of anything but him.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered against her ear as his hands moved to the waistband of her pants, his fingers gently slipping beneath the fabric.

“Victor,” she began, unable to form the words of what she wanted to say on her tongue.

“Tell me you want me,” he begged in a soft whisper as he slipped her earlobe between his teeth and began sucking gently on it.

“Yes,” she moaned, sliding her hands up to his strong shoulders.

Without a second thought of what might happen, Emalee felt her feet leave the floor when he lifted her higher against him, his hands supporting the bottom of her hips as her legs wrapped around his waist. Before she knew what he was doing, she felt the firm mattress of her bed against her back, as he laid her on top of it, his lips claiming hers in a gentle urgency that demanded her full attention.

Emalee didn’t care what was happening, she didn’t care that he was her partner or that things could get really awkward afterward, all she wanted was to feel his incredible body against hers. She reached between them for the buttons of her shirt, but he captured her hands in his and raised them above her head. Slowly, he moved his lips down her neck. She gasped at his erotic actions, as he began to bite the buttons off her shirt, spitting them across the end of the bed. She was panting, her breath heaving heavily inside her chest when he let go of her hands and pulled her to a sitting position.

His smile was warm and endearing as he removed her shirt and unfastened her bra. By the time he laid her back down to the covers spread out across her bed, she was moist with anticipation and need. His mouth fell to the erect nipples of her firm breasts as he sucked them into his mouth, flicking his tongue across the imprisoned tips. She vaguely recognized the sound of her zipper as he pulled it open, but there was no doubt about the warm strong hand that slid beneath it. He pressed against the silky material of her panties as he began to caress her hidden treasure, his mouth begging her for more.

Victor’s mouth continued to move. Down her sternum, across her tummy to her navel. His fingers found their way below the lace trim of her panties and he moaned as he caressed the soft, hairless lips of her labia. Emalee couldn’t resist any longer, the moan that escaped her throat was deep and filled with an urgency that made his blood boil. He had wanted her since Sweeny first introduced her to him, he didn’t care about the consequences of their actions. He wanted her, and he knew she felt the same about him.

As his lips moved further down her body, his hands began to slide her pants across her hips and down her long legs. He sat up only momentarily to remove her shoes and toss her pants aside. Without further thought, he hitched his fingers into the lace of her panties, and removed them in a single fluid movement down her legs, leaving her completely naked beneath his eager gaze.

Emalee blushed as he leaned over her and pressed his lips between her legs, kissing the smooth skin over and over until the moment turned her blood volcanic, and she felt like she was melting beneath his touch. Victor gently opened her labia and slipped his tongue between, exploring and teasing her clitoris. As his teeth tenderly clamped down on the swollen bud, she felt the need build to dangerous heights, but as the tip of his tongue began to caress it, the flood gates opened, and she cried out to him.

Her body began to convulse, her legs spreading further apart to accommodate his fingers as they slipped into her tight canal. For a moment there was a twinge of pain, but it was forgotten on the next beat of her heart. Her head was swimming and she felt like her insides were exploding, as she arched her back beneath him, her fingers wrapping in the length of his hair, holding him to her as her body drained the heat from her in a few passionate moments.

Before she knew it, her legs were lifted around his hips and she opened her eyes in a flash of pain, as he plummeted into her in a swift movement that left her quivering from the event. Victor stared at her for a moment in disbelief, until the muscles of her vagina twitched and clenched around his hard shaft, and he lay down across her. His movements were deliberately slow and steady as he allowed her to adjust to the size of him inside her.

A few heated moments passed before she relaxed beneath him, allowing him to pick up speed. Emalee moaned as he began to rock against her, the length of him filling her in a way she had never imagined possible. Just as her blood began to explode inside her veins, she felt it. The heat of his ejaculation filled her up as he growled a primal sound of release, tipping her over the edge again and she clung to him, her hips lifting to meet him as she cried out his name.

As they lay in the euphoric splendor of the afterglow, Emalee slowly began to come back to reality and felt him stiffen above her as he rose to his elbows. She could feel the heat filling her cheeks, and knew without a doubt that she was blushing, as she never before had.

“How is this possible?” he asked her gently.

“I have two brothers,” she shrugged, hoping she sounded less affected by the fact of her virginity than she really was. “They would have killed anyone who came this close to me.”

“Good thing I carry a gun,” he smiled, then tenderly kissed her lips for what seemed like an eternity.

She could feel him harden inside her again and moaned into his mouth.

“Any regrets?” he asked her, his lips a breath away from hers.

She shook her head softly, as his lips claimed hers again and he began to thrust into her, renewing the flames she thought had been extinguished by their conjoined climax.

Body to body, volcanic thunder melting into liquid fire, they clung to each other as their hearts became one, their bodies taking and giving what the other so desperately needed.

As they lay embraced an hour later, Emalee realized what she had secretly been hiding the past three years. She was in love with her Adonis, the man who drove her crazy with his stubborn pride, the man who she secretly dreamt of night after night. She would move heaven and earth for him as quickly as she had surrendered her virginity. He was the man who held her by the hand, by the heart and guided her through a world of passion and promise with expert gentleness. But was there a future for them?

Was it possible to continue loving him when he was not just her partner but technically her superior, or would their careers destroy any chance of happiness for them? That thought made a permanent home inside her conscience as their day turned into evening and the investigation continued.