TB reached out for the picture and turned it so the image was square with his vision. It was him. Carrying a blissed-out Flame wrapped in a blanket and taking her into an elevator. And there was no mistaking the look on his face in that picture. Tenderness. Care.
Way beyond care.
His fingertips held the photo down on the desk, almost gently. But inside, he was seething.
Answering Waters' unspoken question, he murmured, “That elevator goes to the Resting Room off of Tabitha’s office. She has it in case of any sort of incidents. Sometimes Doms and subs need to be separated, or someone has an involuntary reaction to something or needs medical help.”
Waters stood and came over to the desk. He leaned down on the top of it with his fists. “Who else was around you when you took her to the elevator?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Think. The area doesn’t look very crowded.”
TB closed his eyes. A deep inhale, a slow exhale, and he reconstructed the scene. “There were several people there. Tabitha, one of the dungeon masters named Tripoli, and a sub named Medusa was just coming out of one of the rooms with her Doms, guys known as Loki and Gilgamesh.” TB opened his eyes to meet his team leader’s gaze. “Maybe a couple of other members. I honestly don’t remember. I just needed to get Flame to the Resting Room. I was focused on her and her only.”
“I thought you said she responded well to you.”
“She did. I’ve never had a sub respond to me like her. Once the scene was over and my brain had a chance to register what had really happened…”—he swallowed—“I freaked out. I had to get away from her. I needed somewhere safe for her to be so I could bolt.” TB ran his hands through his hair and leaned back in the chair, tilting it off balance. “The fucker was there, right fucking there, and I don’t remember.”
There was silence in the room for several minutes.
It doesn’t matter that you didn’t know. You left her vulnerable. You made the same mistake as Waters did with Kubrick.
Waters stood up. “You had no way of knowing.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“You’re sounding like me from a few months ago,” Waters warned him. “Let that shit go right now. Blaming yourself will only get you an extremely high tab at the bar and one step closer to a twelve-step program. Trust me. I know from experience.”
Waters perched his ass on the edge of the desk. “There’s something else. Steel made the connection while you were out of the room.”
TB looked up at him. “What?”
“When did you start talking to Flame about her book?”
He considered the question. “About seven months ago, I think. Sometime in December. Tabitha would know the exact date she asked me if I’d talk with her, and then I connected with her online a day or two after that. I’d have to check my chat records.”
“The first girl that went missing? It was December seventeenth. Midas was able to confirm by the check-in records from The Library.”
“Okay. So?” TB knew there was something he was supposed to be understanding, but his thoughts were in complete chaos.
“TB. Think about the pictures of the girls,” Waters encouraged. “Now. Picture Flame.”
It took a nanosecond for TB to remember Nemo’s observations. “Flame looks similar to all the girls who have been taken.”
“Yes,” Waters confirmed. “Red hair. Small. Curvy. Based on what small pieces of info I have from Kubrick, the superfan escalated to stalker around the time she discussed with her readers online about writing a BDSM-themed novel. And the first disappearance, according to Midas, occurred just a couple of days after you hooked up with her for research purposes, something she talked about with her readers online as well.”
“What are the fucking odds?” TB whispered.
“Really? Probably not that high. Stalking behavior doesn’t just start. It evolves. He’s likely been building to this for a while, staking out her home longer than she thinks. My guess is when he discovered you entering the picture, it pissed him off. Couldn’t get to her with you around, so he settled for replacements. I bet each girl he took can be linked somehow to something you did in connection to her. Something that upset his plans.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Go hang out at the club with Flame. Talk to people. See what you can find out.”
TB was conflicted. If the stalker and the kidnapper were the same person, flushing the bastard out this way would work the fastest. But it put Flame at an awful risk.
“Talk to me, TB,” Waters pushed.