“I’m trying to decide if it’s good or bad that we haven’t run into anyone in a uniform looking for Callie,” Thorpe said suddenly.
“I’ve had the same question, but I have to think it’s good.”
“I know she managed to leave the airport without a hitch, but how do we know someone hasn’t already found Callie and . . .”
Captured her? Killed her? Sean swallowed. Fuck, Thorpe was all but reading his mind. But he didn’t want to voice any of those fears. “We just need to keep looking. Stay strong and be persistent. We have one thing going for us that no one else does.”
Thorpe lifted miserable gray eyes to him, looking like the gloomiest day. “What? Give me anything to feel good about.”
Sean was no cheerleader, but in this case, he refused to believe anything except they’d gotten a jump on the asshole hunting her down for one reason alone. “Callie isn’t just a case to either of us. She means something. Hell, everything. We know her desires, her habits, her secret yearnings. She can’t bury all those parts of herself forever. When she needs . . .” Sean nodded, willing Thorpe not to lose faith. “When she comes up looking for a sense of home or connection or affection—whatever—we’ll be waiting.”
But twelve hours later, he was losing hope. They’d hit even the worst of the worst places downtown. Terrible, seedy, dirty, filled with the dregs of humanity. He couldn’t picture Callie here. She’d shine too bright, be too beautiful. No way she could hide here for long.
As they continued pounding the pavement, they stumbled across a motel with a blinking turquoise neon sign that proclaimed it Summer Wind. Given the fact that this was Vegas, it had to be a nod to one of Sinatra’s classic tunes, but its faded façade made Thorpe stop in his tracks.
“Callie’s favorite season,” Thorpe murmured.
“‘Summer’ was her safe word, too.” Sean swallowed, hope brimming.
Thorpe zipped a sharp stare in his direction. The knowledge looked like it hit the big Dom right in the gut. “It fits. We have to look here.”
It was a crapshoot, but Sean totally agreed.
The place looked beyond run-down. It had to be cheap. But it seemed like the first place in over twenty-four hours that made sense for Callie to have come.
He and Thorpe pushed their way inside. Wow, it was easily one of the crappiest motels he’d ever seen. The windows hadn’t been washed in the last two decades. In the lobby, the carpet beneath his feet was sticky. The air reeked of cigarettes, vomit, urine, and cheap disinfectant. Rent by the week or the hour—apparently the management wasn’t picky about how long anyone stayed as long as they paid.
Inside stood a woman who was probably in her late thirties but had lived so damn hard she’d easily be mistaken for fifty. She lounged against a scarred white Formica countertop permanently stained yellow, wearing a thrift store castoff of a tank top that showed cleavage wrinkled from too much sun. The woman’s lined lips wrapped around a slim smoke and she sucked in hard before blowing the smoke his way with a bored stare.
“You two looking for a room?” Her voice rattled from her lungs. “If you need more than an hour for your ‘business,’ you might have to come back. We’re pretty full up.”
Beside him, Thorpe choked, looking ready to throttle the woman. He sliced her his most displeased Dom face. In seconds, the woman lowered her cigarette and stared at him warily.
Sean stepped between them, shooting Thorpe a glare that told him to be fucking reasonable. “No. We don’t need a room to share. Or any room at all.” He reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out his badge. “FBI. I’m looking for someone.”
The bleach blonde with the gray roots looked ready to piss her pants. “I swear I told Johnny to be careful who the hell he hired. Who is it, the new repairman? I suspected he might be a con man, but I didn’t know.”
“Focus, woman,” Thorpe snapped. “We’re asking the questions. You will answer us precisely and honestly. You will not speak unless spoken to. If you’re dishonest, we’ll have problems, you and I. Is that clear?”
The woman gave a rattled bob of her head. “Um . . . yeah.”
Thorpe turned to him with a grim smile. “Proceed.”
The situation wasn’t funny, but Sean repressed the urge to grin. Thorpe had gotten the woman’s attention, that was for sure. After a handful of words, she couldn’t wait to give him a healthy dose of respect. He supposed Thorpe’s commanding presence was one reason so many subs sought him as a Dominant. And it was probably one of the reasons Callie had latched on to him. Deep down, she needed to believe that someone watched over her, looked out for her, and would rein her in if she’d gone too far. She ached to know that someone could save her if push came to shove. But Callie was so damn headstrong that whomever she turned to would have to truly exert his control before she’d heed it. Thorpe would have no problem doing that. He’d relish it.
The thought niggled at his brain as he withdrew a recent picture he’d printed of Callie, one he’d clandestinely snapped on his phone at Dominion. She wore a little Mona Lisa smile, her full, rosy lips somehow taunting and affectionate at once, tempting him. Her eyes glittered with life and vitality. Her glossy black hair shone against her pale cheek. Inch after inch of the most unspoiled skin he’d ever touched drew his stare all the way down to the hint of her cleavage. His memory supplied the rest—sweet pink-berry nipples, flat belly, slender hips, sleek thighs, snug pussy. Sexual power in a petite dynamo of a female.
Thorpe nudged him. “Get on with it.”
Pulled out of his musings, Sean nodded, then sat the image down on the counter in front of the desk clerk. He held his breath.
Her eyes flared with recognition, and she looked at him, suddenly in a hurry to be forthcoming. The apprehensive glance she slid Thorpe’s way explained why. “Yeah, I know her.”
“And? Go on. When did she check in?” Sean demanded.
“Two days ago. Middle of the night.”
Bingo! “Go on.”
“She was dragging a red duffel. I think she’s a blonde now.”
He and Thorpe exchanged a glance. She’d disguised herself, as they’d suspected. But his excitement was reflected in the other man’s gray eyes. They were finally getting a lead on Callie. Sean’s heart pumped. His skin tingled. Hell, even his cock engorged. Instinct told him they were close.
Thorpe braced his hands on the counter with deceptive calm. He stood tall and imposing. His mood stretched tighter than wire suspending a bridge. The woman’s jaw went slack as she stared up at him, blinking so rapidly, Sean was surprised her false eyelashes didn’t take flight.
“You’ll tell us everything you remember,” Thorpe commanded. “Now.”
The woman bobbed her head again. “Sh-she asked for a corner room near the stairs. I happened to have it. She asked about a place to eat and somewhere to find work. I sent her across the street to the diner.”
The one that had seen better days decades ago and had a collection of homeless drunks littering the parking lot.
“She’s waitressing there?” Thorpe barked.
“N-no. My cousin Marty runs a club about two blocks down and he’s always looking for pretty girls, so I sent her there.”
“Did she go?” The Dom’s voice dripped ice.
“Yeah. She’s working until two a.m. Marty . . . um, called me to thank me about an hour ago. After less than three shifts, she’s already a customer favorite. He called her a gold mine.”
Thorpe gritted his teeth, and Sean could only imagine what was running through the man’s head. Probably the same what-the-fuck thoughts dashing through his own.