With no idea what he was walking into, he put in the pass code and stuck his head in through the reinforced door. No smoke, so nothing was on fire. No screaming. No scent of anything but the fresh bread his Marissa had baked earlier.
“V? You here?” No answer.
God, it was too fucking quiet.
Down the hall, he found V and Jane’s room empty and in a mess. The closet door was open and there were things gone from the hangers, but that was not what really got his attention.
He went over to the leathers and picked them up. Nice Catholic boy like him didn’t know much about BDSM, but it looked like he was going to be learning firsthand.
Taking out his cell phone, he hit V, but didn’t expect an answer. He guessed GPS was going to have to come in handy once again.
“Seems like old times.”
Manny focused on the computer screen as he spoke. Hard to say what was the most awkward part of sitting next to his former colleague. With so much to choose from, the silence between them was an Easter-egg hunt for three-year-olds, everything badly hidden, ready to be found and captured.
“Why do you want to review the digital files?” she asked.
“You’ll see when we get there.”
Jane had no problem locating the right program, and a moment later the live image of Payne’s room came up on the screen. Wait, the bed was empty . . . except for a duffel bag.
“Wrong one. Here it is,” Jane murmured.
And there she was. His Payne. Lying against the pillows, the tail end of her braid in her hands, her eyes locked on the bathroom as if maybe she were imagining him still in the shower.
Damn . . . she was beautiful.
“You think,” Jane said softly.
Okay, now would be a great time for his mouth to stop working independently.
He cleared his throat. “Can we go back about a half hour?”
“No problem.”
The image reversed, the little counter in the lower right-hand corner draining down in milliseconds.
As he saw himself checking her over in that towel, it was too frickin’ obvious that they were attracted to each other. Oh, God . . . that fucking hard-on so gave him another reason not to look at Jane.
“Wait . . .” He sat forward. “Slow down. Here it is.”
He watched himself back into the bath in a rush. . . .
“Holy . . . crap,” Jane breathed.
And there it was: Payne up on her knees at the bottom of the bed, her body long and lean and balanced perfectly as her eyes focused on the bathroom door.
“Is she glowing?”
“Yeah,” he murmured, “she is.”
“Hold on. . . .” Jane hit forward, running the images in proper order. “You’re testing her sensations here?”
“Nothing. She felt nothing. And yet—go back again . . . thanks.” He pointed at Payne’s legs. “Here, though, she clearly has muscle control.”
“This isn’t logical.” Jane played and replayed the file. “But she did it . . . oh, my God . . . she does it. It’s a miracle.”
Sure the fuck looked like one. Except . . . “What’s the impetus,” he muttered.