Dying to Please Read online

  When Sarah woke again, her head was still pounding, worse than it had been when she went to sleep. That awful foggy feeling was back, but this time she didn't have to wonder what was wrong. She knew; Densmore had drugged her again. Whatever it was had to have been in the soup.

  But why drug her again? He had her tied, and helpless.

  She lay very still, fighting the grogginess, willing herself to throw off the effects of the drug. She mustn't let this happen again.

  She couldn't afford to lose any more strength by refusing to eat or drink, but she couldn't escape if she was unconscious all the time, either.

  She was too cool, and she shifted uncomfortably but, with her hands tied, was unable to pull the covers up around her shoulders. She could feel air moving on her bare skin—

  Her mind seized, paralyzed by the awful realization. Densmore had removed her clothes. She was naked.

  CHAPTER 30

  “SURPRISE!” HIS VOICE WAS GAY, PRACTICALLY BUBBLING with good humor. “I know you're awake, I didn't give you nearly as much this time. Stop playing possum and open those pretty eyes.”

  Filled with a horror she could barely even begin to comprehend, Sarah opened her eyes and stared at him. Night pressed against the windows, telling her hours had passed, hours in which she'd been unconscious and totally at his mercy. All thoughts of placating him, of pretending to go along with him, had utterly vanished. “What have you done to me?” she asked hoarsely.

  He was sitting beside her on the bed, fully clothed. He blinked at her. “Done? Why, nothing. Why do you ask?”

  “My clothes—”

  “Oh, that. They were dirty. My goodness, this was the second day you'd worn them, plus you slept in them. Pulling them off . . . let's just say the logistics were complicated, so I cut them off. They were ruined, anyway.”

  She held her horror, her gut-wrenching fear, at bay and stared down the length of her naked body. The covers were all thrown back, exposing her. But her legs were still together, still tied so she couldn't move them. She hadn't thought she would ever be grateful she was restrained in such a manner, but in this case . . .

  She took several heaving breaths, fighting free of the nightmare that had begun sucking her down. “Ruined?” she managed to gasp.

  He made a face, and gestured toward her groin. “You know. You really should have told me you were in the flowers. I wouldn't have allowed myself to become so excited. It was a disappointment to have to wait, but I made do.”

  In the flowers . . . ? He must mean because she was menstruating. If that had put him off, she had never before been so grateful for her cycle. But that also meant he had looked at her, and she wanted to weep with humiliation. She didn't, she fought off the urge, fiercely reclaiming her control. Then she looked down at herself again; she saw the wet, sticky drops on her stomach, splashed across her thighs, and she almost vomited.

  She forgot about control, her mind going blank and her body arching, madly fighting the restraints in her need to get his unspeakable filth off her body. “Get it off!” she shrieked. “How dare you! How dare you!”

  He actually looked bewildered. “What's wrong? What is it?”

  “You jerked off on me, you miserable bastard!” She began to sob, futilely straining to break the nylon cords. “Wash . . . it . . .off!” She screamed the last word at him.

  “Don't take that tone with me, young lady,” he said sharply.

  “You touched me!” She was roaring in her fury, her utter outrage. “You looked at me! You had no right!”

  “Stop that. Stop it right now. I understand your modesty, but surely you realize your current state has only delayed the natural progression of our relationship. I knew the moment I saw you that you were meant for me. You belong here, with me. We'll be so happy, my dear. You'll see. I'll give you anything you want; I'll treat you like a queen. Look, I've already given you this ring. The stone needs to be reset, but the color and shape are perfect for you. I knew as soon as I saw it that this stone was too good for that tacky woman. I'll take it off in just a minute because I know you're allergic to jewelry, but I wanted you to see it first. When I have it reset, I'll have the band lined with something that's hypoallergenic, so you can wear it.” He lifted her left hand as far from the mattress as he could, given the bonds around her wrists. “See. Isn't it gorgeous?”

  She stared at the ring he'd slipped on her finger, at the huge yellow diamond surrounded by smaller white diamonds. She knew that ring. She had marveled at the size of the center stone every time she had seen it, on Merilyn Lankford's finger.

  The bottom dropped out of her stomach in a sickening rush, as she looked into the smiling face of a killer.

  Cahill checked his watch, scowling. It was getting late, almost time for the mall to close, and he was damn tired of showing these photographs to tired shoppers and shop employees. Something was nagging at him, something he couldn't quite place. He'd been without sleep more hours than he cared to count, reminding him of certain missions he'd been on in the Army, and all he wanted was a chance to sit down somewhere quiet and think. There was something Densmore had said that bothered him, but he'd gone over the conversation again and again in his mind, and nothing had clicked. Still, it was there. He knew it—whatever “it” was.

  Thursday was ticking to a close. Sarah had been at the Densmore estate only a little more than twenty-four hours—okay, closer to thirty hours, not that he was counting—but it felt as if days had passed since he'd talked to her, and the lack of contact was gnawing at him. Maybe that, rather than anything Densmore had actually said, was what bothered him. He was worried about her, he knew she was there, so he naturally associated his uneasiness with Densmore. Yeah, yeah, he knew the psychology. Too bad he didn't believe it.

  He stopped a well-preserved woman, probably in her sixties, with that put-together look that shouted “money.” “Excuse me, ma'am, but we're trying to locate this man. Do you recognize him?”

  He'd try calling Sarah one more time, he thought. If he didn't get to talk to her, he would present himself at the gate and demand to be let in. He could say he had a warrant for her arrest. Something.

  The woman took the photograph and briefly studied it, then handed it back to Cahill. “Why, yes, I do,” she said coolly. “I believe it's my banker.”

  “Thank you,” Cahill said automatically, biting back what he really wanted to say. Another William Teller fan. Ha-ha. He was too tired for this shit—“Wait a minute. What did you say?”

  Her eyebrows slightly lifted to suggest she was less than impressed with his attitude in particular and himself in general; she repeated, “I believe that's my banker. He has a certain distinction, a way of carrying himself. And of course there's the hair.”

  Cahill wasn't tired anymore. Adrenaline was surging through his system. “What's his name?”

  “Trevor Densmore. He owns—”

  Cahill didn't wait to hear what Trevor Densmore owned. He was running for the exit, his heart pounding in sheer terror as he dialed Wester. He burst into the night air and sprinted across the parking lot to the city Impala he was driving.

  “I've got an ID,” he barked into the phone when Wester answered. “Trevor Densmore. He's a banker. He has Sarah, God damn it. He has Sarah.” He unlocked the car and got in, starting the motor and putting the transmission in drive before he had the door closed. The tires squealed on the asphalt as the car rocketed across the lot toward the exit.

  “What do you mean, ‘he has Sarah'?” Wester snapped.

  “He hired her. She went to the estate yesterday afternoon, and I haven't been able to get in touch with her since. I'm on my way over there now.”

  “Doc, don't you go off half-cocked, God damn it! We have to do this right. I'll get a search warrant—”

  “I talked to him on the phone this afternoon,” Cahill snarled. “It's the same voice that's on the Lankford tape. I knew something was wrong, something bothered me about him, but I didn't fucking put it together.�€