“I’ll be fine. I’ll text you in the morning when I’m up. What time is our flight to Kansas City?”

“About noon. We should leave here around nine thirty. Have a good sleep in and enjoy a leisurely breakfast. We’ll take you out via the parking garage to ensure we don’t have any more unwelcome pests chasing you as you depart. I’ll work with their security.”

“Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She smiled as she opened the door to her room.

He caressed her shoulder. Then, as she slipped into her room, he headed down the hall. The door shut behind her.

Inside the room, Mystery raced for the desk against the left wall. Nothing lay on the walnut surface except a small task light, a pad of paper with the hotel’s logo, a pen, and her charging phone. She reached for the device and texted her father that she’d returned to her room, and after a little encounter with the press, she was fine. He quickly replied that he was glad she was safe. He loved her, and they’d talk tomorrow.

Relieved to finally be alone, she wandered into the bathroom, shedding the dark auburn strands of her wig. The bob had brushed her jaw and chafed her nape for hours. She felt a ridiculous urge to scratch her scalp.

She tossed the wig on the counter and removed all the pins before fluffing her own long, dark hair back into its usual tousled waves. She removed the evil blue contacts sticking to her eyes and ditched them in a case with some saline. Hazel orbs blinked back at her in the mirror. The clothes came next, and she exchanged them for a robe to peruse the room service menu. Once she’d made her selections and called, she glanced at the clock. She’d have plenty of time to shower before the food came.

By the time she emerged from the steaming tile box all clean and her face freshly scrubbed, Mystery felt her tummy rumble. She tossed on her exotic garden tank nightie with its admittedly girly cheetah trim and shrugged into the robe she’d strewn across the bed earlier.

In the last thirty minutes, night had become a black chasm with only the Dallas skyline to her south to light up the world. At least the view was pretty. She flicked the switch on a table lamp to its dimmest setting, softly illuminating the elegant space, and meandered over to the desk to retrieve her phone. A quick text to let Heath know she was all right might be in order. He worried, bless him.

But when she sashayed that way, she found a photograph on the gleaming surface. It hadn’t been there before her shower.

The image was of her blindfolded, hands bound, and wearing the little sparkly dress she’d been kidnapped in more than six years ago. It had been taken in the shack that had been her prison.

Mystery stared at the picture in horror. Her blood ran cold. Who the hell would have left this in her room? How had they sneaked in during her shower? The only person who could possibly possess this image was the captor who’d paid for her abduction.

With trembling fingers, Mystery lifted the photo, blinking, staring. Holy hell . . . She needed to do something. Say something. Call the police.

Almost automatically, she flipped the picture over, looking for hints or clues. Her blood froze. In big black letters on the back of the image sat five chilling words.

RETURN TO ENGLAND OR DIE.

*   *   *

AXEL cursed himself up and down as he slammed through the house, combing it from head to toe, inside and out. Nearly thirty minutes later, he was still scratching his head. How the hell could she have gotten dressed and out of the house in the time it took him to peel off a condom, wash up, and throw on his jeans?

But that’s exactly what had happened. He’d looked high and low—kitchen, TV room, bedroom. Nothing. His mysterious lover had fled, taking every shred of her existence with her.

“Fuck.”

No, he hadn’t expected to spend a lifetime with her, but he’d also thought he’d at least get to learn her real name, peer into the true color of her eyes, run his fingers through her natural hair, and find out why the hell she’d completely rocked his world. Before he let her do it again.

Besides the great sex—pretty much the best he’d ever had—something about her kept tugging at his memory. She’d looked familiar, and he couldn’t figure out why. He didn’t like unsolved problems and surprises. Too often they ended badly.

With a sigh, Axel slammed the door to his bedroom and headed back to the kitchen. At his side, his cell rang with a special tone he’d know anywhere.

He tensed. “Hello, Misty.”

On the other end, she hesitated. He usually only called her by her given name when she’d disappointed him. In every other situation, he—and everyone else at Club Dominion—called her Sweet Pea.

“Have I displeased you, Axel?” Her naturally high-pitched voice sounded even more Betty Boop than normal.

No doubt, his irritable attitude had put her on guard. He already had enough problems trying to keep her from hiding behind her walls. She didn’t need his attitude to shove her behind them even more.

“No, little one. I’m just in a craptastic mood. It has nothing to do with you,” he assured her. “I’m sorry.”

Dom 101: Hold a tight leash on your emotions. Control yourself and your sub. Keep your shit together.

He’d barely spoken to Sweet Pea and he was already doing a shitty job.

“It’s entirely my fault. I’ll behave. Well, as much as I’m capable.” He forced himself to joke with her. “Do you need something?”

“I just wondered if you’d seen her since she’s in town.”

“Who?” Axel mentally sorted through the possibilities. Callie had returned from her honeymoon with Sean and Thorpe recently. Gia Denning was still away with her husband, Jason, probably beaching somewhere exotic. None of the female club members he could think of had recently been away. Who the hell else would Sweet Pea be talking about? “Since I haven’t seen any of my female friends today, I’ll go with no.”

Sweet Pea sighed with a hint of annoyance. The woman had a huge heart, even if she was a bit naïve. And she usually had almost unlimited patience . . . unless orgasm depravation was involved. Other than that, he could think of very few subjects that pushed her beyond her usual placid smile. “Okay, what pop culture reference am I missing?”

“It’s all over TMZ. Mystery Mullins arrived in Dallas last night.”

Axel dismissed the gossip at first. She’d been a beautiful girl when he’d rescued her, and he was glad that he’d been able to prevent someone from snuffing out her bright light. They hadn’t spoken more than a few words after their awkward night in Cerro Gordo. So it wasn’t as if he expected her to look him up for a meal or a drink just because she’d jetted to the city.

A drink. Hold up there . . . Mentally, he tripped over the thought again. Then his world tilted.

A beauty with fake hair, hiding her real eye color, and masking her face behind a shit ton of cosmetics had picked him up in a bar, seeming as if she couldn’t wait to be with him. Why would someone go out of their way to proposition him, yet hide everything about herself?

Suddenly, Axel thought he had the answer.

“Did TMZ post any pictures of her?” he barked.

“Yeah, and video, too.”

Axel raced back to his bedroom and shoved the door open. Fuck, the place still smelled like the sex he’d had with her, and that made him hard all over again. He hadn’t been done with the woman. Once more wouldn’t have been enough. Probably not even a hundred times more. He’d been dying to restrain her, spank her, explore every inch of her skin, clamp her nipples, and hear her scream for him again.

If she’d been Mystery Mullins, then his desire for more didn’t surprise him at all.

He grabbed his tablet off his nightstand and quickly surfed to TMZ. Tapping his toe while the site took its sweet time loading, he let out a mental string of curses that would have made a sailor blush.