Killing Time: The Bonus Collection (4 page)

“It wasn’t your fault. I know we always thought you two should be closer as you were sisters but you are in no way responsible for what your sister decided to do. Am I making myself clear?”

I nodded though I knew she couldn’t see me through the phone. “Yes, I understand that but perhaps if my career wasn’t the only thing I seemed to care about, she would have been comfortable talking to me about what was going on in her life. How do you live a life like that? Model by day and kink by night? I may not know anything about Rory Krieger but when I am through, he’ll wish he’d never been born.”

“
Je t’aime
. Be safe and do me a favor: don’t take on the Krieger family. It will only destroy you in the end. Just…let it go. What ever happened, I’m sure there were no signs of foul play and everything, including Trésor’s death, is entirely her fault.”

I was a lot of things but I wouldn’t allow my sister’s reputation to be sullied by our own mother. Before I could retort, there was a click and I stared at my Android phone. My mother had ended the call.

Chapter Two

GRAYSON WAS MORE THAN HAPPY
to take me to the nineteenth Precinct where we were immediately greeted by Officers’ O’Reilly and Wozniak. Although Detectives, they both appeared in their late twenties or early thirties, were fit with tall, lean muscular builds. They both smelled like money, though perhaps that came from working in a neighborhood where nothing but wealth existed and little else.

“Miss…” Detective Wozniak trailed off with gentle gray-blue eyes.

“Segler-DeMarche,” I stated in a soft voice.

“If you and your fiancé could please follow us to our office, we can talk about your sister’s file in more detail.”

I nodded as Gray slid an arm around my waist and we followed them into a large space that resembled an interrogation room more than it did an office. A dark haired gentleman sat with his back to us at the large table and it wasn’t until Gray and I were seated across from him did I get a good look at him.

He was extremely good looking with model-looks, a purposely cultivated five o’clock shadow that made him appear edgy and slightly dangerous, immaculately dressed and a natural air of the ultra wealthy. Not one of a self-made man but someone who’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth yet was intelligent enough to carve out his own destiny and empire. He hadn’t even made a pretense of bringing a high-priced attorney because he knew he didn’t need one.

“This is Rory Krieger, your sister’s…lover. He wanted to be here when we showed you the photos from the scene of the accident.”

“Wait a minute? What do you mean the ‘scene of the accident’?” I repeated like a goddamn parrot. “I thought my sister’s death was considered suspicious circumstances,” I murmured.

O’Reilly and Wozniak glared at one another before they turned toward me. “No. Your sister’s death has been ruled a suicide, Ms. Segler-DeMarche. The scalpel was found in her hand. Her legs were bound in ankle cuffs but her wrists were free of any restraints. We don’t know where she procured the scalpel but we are following it up as a possible lead. From the arterial spray and the way the slice was administered, we are ninety percent sure it was self-inflicted. We have to wait for the autopsy to come back but we are almost
positive
it is going to agree with our findings.”

I stared from the two detectives and my gaze rested on her “lover” as they called this sadistic looking son of a bitch.

He was tall and lean, I could tell that even though he was seated. His skin, the color of alabaster, confirmed he lived most of his life at night as opposed during the day. His hair was dark brown with natural black cherry striations of color and his eyes, they were penetrating and icy blue mixed with pale green. They were an usual eye color but that only added to the allure of his face which had a straight, masculine nose, perfect cheekbones and slightly full pink lips perfect for kissing and other naughty habits he no doubt indulged in with the kind of kink and perversity he was into.

“Did you do it?” I questioned in an accusatory manner. I couldn’t help it though neither Detective said anything.

His clear blue-green eyes faced mine without a flicker of guilt. They were so penetrating, I found myself looking away shortly after I’d asked the question. “Did I do what? Murder my submissive? Why would I do that when Trésor and I had been together for two years? I loved her very much.”

I laughed out loud. I was beyond tired and the combination mixed with a feeling of being drunk almost created an out of body experience. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about love you sick fuck. You beat my sister and had her locked in a fucking cage when the police found her body. What was she
doing
in there?”

Rory studied his perfectly manicured nails before his eyes met mine again. “It was a form of punishment. I can assure you Trésor and I had a perfectly healthy TPE. I never used her as a pet and she was never involved in any pony shows. Yes, I did whip her with a paddle because it’s what doms do to subs when they have misbehaved. I also put her in the cage but tonight was her last night. She wore a chastity belt that was affixed with two dildos—one for each hole and she was not allowed to derive any sexual pleasure from the experience because her clitoris was covered with an iron plate built into the device.

“I assure you I am not sick and our relationship was completely consensual. Perhaps you don’t understand the BDSM community but she was treated better than many, many subs. I never shared her with my friends, she did not attend any orgies except as a voyeur and she was allowed to have her own career. Though we practice TPE, it was not a twenty-four seven deal. We had our vanilla moments but she craved the pain I inflicted upon her because in her mind’s eye, pleasure and pain are—I’m sorry,
were
—the same.”

“Excuse me, sir, if I am a bit confused because personally, I’m just a meat and veg man myself and don’t really get into kinky sex but you mentioned…uh, T…P…E? What does that mean?” Wozniak inquired as he wrote furiously in a little notebook he had on the conference table.

I would have asked the question myself but I was seething. “What’s he doing here anyway? I thought you wanted to talk to me about my sister’s death?”

O’Neill cleared his throat and glared at me with killer hazel-brown eyes. “Perhaps you weren’t aware, Ms. Segler-DeMarche, but your sister had a will and she listed Mr. Krieger as her next-of-kin. She had money, bonds, and jewelry which she bequeathed to you—”

“TPE stands for total power exchange, Detective,” Rory interrupted with a cruel streak running through his even toned voice. “As for what she has given to her sister, I have control over her assets and you can be assured I will gladly hand them over to you.”

This monster glared at me now with his crystal blue-green eyes and I wanted to rise from that table and rip his throat out. “I don’t want you to give me anything. I would rather deal with the attorney who drew up her will.”

Rory laughed at my assessment before he shook his head and looked at my fiancé with pity. “Your sister’s attorney was my attorney so you would still have to put up with me.”

We stared each other down and I still wanted to wipe that smug look off his face. The tension in the room was so thick it could be cut with a butter knife.

Wozniak picked up his notebook and placed a thick manila folder on top of it. He proceeded to open it though my gaze was half-locked on that open folder and half on the intense gaze of Mr. Krieger.

“Ms. Segler-DeMarche,” Wozniak began, “your sister was found in the basement of Mr. Krieger’s Park Avenue penthouse at approximately ten this morning. Her throat had been slit and Mr. Krieger was the gentleman who found her body. There were no signs of a struggle as Ms. DeMarche had been dead for approximately six hours, give or take, according to the forensic investigators. Her body was already in an advanced state of rigor mortis due to the warm temperature of the basement.

“There was just the one fatal injury, the slice around her throat, but her body also showed signs of sexual assault. There was semen found in her vagina and traces of a flavored water-based lubricant in her anus. Mr. Krieger has already given us a blood sample and has assured the semen will come back as a genetic match for his own.

“There were no signs of forced entry and at the time of your sister’s death, Mr. Krieger was on a transatlantic flight back to New York from Munich where his parents’ reside. He was not only seen on the plane by various witnesses but he has also provided us receipts from both Munich Airport and JFK, where his flight landed, along with his boarding passes. He is not a suspect and as the housekeeper, a Ms. Helga Creutzen, had stepped out during your sister’s murder, she is not a suspect either.”

My heart began to sink at the thought of what all of this meant. Perhaps my sister had killed herself but it just didn’t make any goddamn sense. She was happy, wasn’t she? She lived her life the way she wanted to and seemed to have the best of both worlds—drop dead gorgeous model by day and kinky submissive at night—so why would she take a scalpel and slice her own throat?

I didn’t realize my hands were shaking until I observed them on the metal table. I snatched them away and held them in my lap. I bit my lip and looked down. There was nothing else left to say. I didn’t want to see the photos the police were so eager to show me. I couldn’t remember Trésor that way.

An arm wrapped around my shoulders and I glanced at Gray. His face was a mask of pity but it wasn’t genuine. He’d never really loved anyone; I doubted he truly loved me but I made a nice piece of arm candy and I was intelligent so that was considered a nice bonus.

My voice cracked when I opened my mouth to ask a question but something about the way Mr. Krieger continued to stare at me felt incredibly disarming and not in a good way. I wanted to hate this man who must have been involved with my sister’s death but he was very good looking and possessed a certain
je ne sais quoi
…for a freak.

“I think it is time I took my fiancée home. It’s been a long night and no doubt this news has really affected her.” Gray handed a starched white business card to Mr. Krieger. “Have your attorney contact ours and we can go over setting up a time and date to have someone pick up Ms. DeMarche’s items she left for her sister, is that okay with you?”

Rory’s look of anguish—complete and genuine in his case which made my conflicted feelings about him soften though only slightly—changed. His face transformed into a mask of extremely controlled anger as one of his elegant dark eyebrows arched arrogantly.

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible. The moment I found out about Trésor, I called my real estate agent and placed the apartment on the market. I can’t live there anymore and my personal effects have already been moved from the residence. We have prospective clients coming by to see the place tomorrow so I would have to accompany Ms. Segler-DeMarche back there tonight. She can fetch her sister’s belongings and I will have my driver deliver her to your home,” he explained in a cold detached manner.

“Where are you staying?” I inquired though it was none of my business.

“The Waldorf Astoria as my family has a permanent suite there at their disposal.”

Naturally,
I thought.

Gray leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I’m not comfortable with you going off with him. I’ve heard things about him from my brother and he isn’t to be trusted.”

“You heard the police,” I whispered back. “He wasn’t in the country when Trésor was murdered. Her stuff is all I have, goddamn it. I will be back before you know it.”

He smiled, his blue eyes glazed over as if he were thinking about other issues. “Hurry back.”

Gray kissed my cheek, stood and left the room without a word.

The large impersonal box known as O’Neill and Wozniak’s office seemed to close in around me and I suddenly felt claustrophobic and disoriented. My breathing had sped up slightly and I didn’t really like being here trapped with these three men, regardless whether two of them were NYPD Detectives or not.

O’Neill leaned over and gave me his business card. “If you have any questions or concerns, please give us a call at that number. In the meantime, we will try to get this taken care of as quietly and discretely as possible. Your sister’s body will be returned to the family when the medical examiner has ruled out any issues of foul play.”

“I thought…you said it was a cut and dry suicide.”