Page 23 of The Maverick

“There was a writer’s conference last year. I gave a talk on erotic tension and power exchange. Some guy showed up three different times during the weekend but never came to a signing. Just watched. Kind of glassy-eyed.”

“You remember his name?”

“No badge. But I think he used a fake name when he asked for a photo. Said it was for his wife.”

Hawke’s gut twisted. “And you let him take one?”

She gave him a look. “I was in a packed room. I smiled and moved on. I didn’t hand him my address.”

He didn’t like it. But she wasn’t wrong.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping. “There’s a line in one message. You missed it, but I didn’t.”

She stilled.

“He wrote, ‘You keep hiding the truth, but I remember that scene. I remember the one that wasn’t fiction.’”

Her eyes narrowed. “Which message?”

Hawke pulled his phone and opened the screenshot. She took it, scanned the text, then handed it back.

“I didn’t write that scene. At least… not in a book.”

“You acted it out?”

She nodded. “At the club. It was one of the more intense ones. I used the premise in my notes but never published it. No one saw it except the Dom and the Dungeon Monitor.”

“Who was the Dom?”

She hesitated. “He played under the name Julius.”

Hawke froze.

“That mean something to you?” she asked.

He nodded once. “There was an incident a few months ago. A sub filed a complaint. Said her Dom used non-consensual language mid-scene, took it beyond agreed limits. She didn’t name him directly, but the description matched Julius. We never got proof.”

“You think he’s our guy?”

“I think it’s time I had a long talk with him.”

Vanessa leaned back. “You’re sure he’d escalate like this?”

“I’ve seen quieter men go darker for less.”

He watched her eyes flick away, toward the fireplace, the flames just beginning to catch.

“You need to prep for the possibility that this person knew you before you were watching,” he said. “Before your radar was up.”

“I’ve always had my radar up.”

“No,” he corrected, “you’ve always had walls. That’s not the same.”

She didn’t answer. He stood, walked to the kitchen, and pulled a legal pad from the drawer. Set it in front of her with a pen.

“Write it down. Every name you can remember, even if it feels stupid. We cross-reference it with the list Reed’s building from your email accounts.”

She took the pen, but didn’t start writing.

---