by Sophia Reed
And because I wanted her. What I want, I get. It was infuriating that she'd managed to stay out for more than a day after I decided to pull her back.
At the same time, it was part of the game. Building the desire. Building the need to win.
I walked through the room, looking at the spreader bars and racks, the cross and the bed with all the restraints. Slowly I went through and cleaned and cared for every piece of leather, from the hood that could zip closed for breath play, the blindfolds and earplugs and ball gags, penis gags, duct tape. Put them together and they spelled out sensory deprivation but of course I had a tank as well.
There were plugs and dildos and crops, whips, slappers, paddles, hairbrushes. Rope, handcuffs, leather cuffs, collars, nipple clamps.
None of it lightened the anxiety. It was like walking through an adult superstore, the porn version of Walmart.
The most powerful tool I'd have when I got Annie here would be her brain. Her nimble mind that had thought its way in and out of undercover operations but wouldn't be able to think its way free of me.
I couldn't wait to find her.
12
Annie
Mark called.
The job hadn't gone away in the least for me. I might not be currently working, not have infiltrated any special group, but I had the same mindset and definitely my circumstances were weird enough to fit in with my usual undercover life.
So when the phone rang, I froze, terrified it would be my mother. It could be PD, telling me all was forgiven and to come back early and we'd kiss and make up and they'd give me a new assignment. Stranger things happen.
Or it could be PD saying they'd actually been reviewing my case while I was on extended leave – which I wasn't, not quite yet, but I only had another couple days – and they'd decided it would be most expedient just to let me go before I came back. Why wait? They were going to can my ass anyway.
But the real fear was that it was my mother. That my father had relapsed. Had another heart attack. Was already gone. Was trembling on the edge and the entire family was waiting for me and where the hell was I this time? What was wrong with me?
The last of those questions might have been more my own interpretation of my life than anyone else's but I didn't think so. My sisters certainly thought that, but my sisters didn't have this number.
Neither did Mark. So when I picked up the phone and saw his number on the screen, fear turned to rage. Wherever he’d got it, someone somewhere had put a whole lot of people's lives on the line.
The fact that they hadn't, the fact that in reality I wasn't on assignment and just out of touch, didn't matter. If they did it now, they could do it when I was undercover.
It's not his fault.
Only it kind of was. Back when I first went under I told Mark I'd be out of touch. He didn't get it. The questions he asked proved he didn't get it. We operated in two very different worlds.
"But if I need to reach you, who do I call?" he'd asked.
You don't.
"But what if there's an emergency?"
I didn't have an answer for that. He could go to PD and ask my commanding officer to get a message to me but chances were slim the CO really would. Because that put everybody at risk and that was the thing I couldn't get across to Mark or to my mother.
If they compromised my cover, they put a whole boatload of men and women in blue at risk. Not just me.
And while we were on that subject, what exactly were they going to be relating that was so important that they had to put my life at risk? Not that it wasn't already, but when you're neck-deep in alligators, it's not helpful to have somebody toss a running chainsaw into the swamp with you.
"Mark. How did you get this number?"
There was a pause and I thought he might hang up. I thought that would be the best for everyone concerned, actually. I loved him, even though it probably didn't seem like it. But we weren't right for each other.
We weren't ever going to be.
"Mark?"
"What the hell's the matter with you?" he demanded. "I came home and found you gone. It's been a week and a half and there's been zero from you."
I took a deep breath and looked out the window at the Vegas Strip. The far end of it, but still. "Did you call just to ask me that?"
"No. Do you love me at all?"
The question wasn't unexpected but it still threw me. "I love you. I have always loved you. I still love you."
"Then why – " he started and I cut him off.
"But you don't seem to get it. I tell you when I'm undercover you're not going to hear from me and if the operation takes six months, you might only see me once or twice and that's a huge risk right there and you say, 'Uh huh, got it, how often are you going to come spend the night? And where do I call you if I can't find the peanut butter?'"
"That's not fair." There was heat behind his words.
"No, it's not. To either of us. And maybe I exaggerated, but it's like that. I tell you that by contacting me you'd put me in danger and you act like it's impossible for us to survive without daily contact and that if I just think it through, I'll find a way. I purposefully don't give you my number and you got it from – who?" Not the police. They knew what I was doing. Samuels might have, but he was gone, and anyway, he'd been the one to sell me to Cole.
"Your father," he said, and the world dropped out from under me.
"It was a heart attack," Mark said.
I couldn't stop sobbing. Couldn't catch my breath long enough to get the facts. Dad was in the hospital, that much I got, though at first I thought that it was too late. At first I'd thought that he was already gone.
"How bad is it?"
"Bad. He's weak. He's exhausted. I know that sounds obvious but he just fought through the last bunch of shit and now he's fighting through this. I know you'll call the hospital and I know they'll be reluctant to tell you the truth, but will you believe me?"
I swallowed so hard I knew he could hear it. "Yes." Mark didn't lie. He wasn't overly sympathetic or caring, he put his own profession and his own needs ahead of pretty much everything else. But he wouldn't lie.
"I think his chances are fifty-fifty."
Cautiously I said, "That sounds better than I thought."
"Yeah," Mark said, and I could suddenly picture him, standing in his scrub pants and nothing else, his chest bare and strong. He'd be holding the phone to his ear with one hand, the other up behind his head as he ran his hand through his hair, back arched, feet bare. Unintentionally sexy AF.
There was silence between us for a few minutes and then Mark said reluctantly, "Look, I got your number from your mom. She's pretty much broken by this. You get it, right? I can tell her that the chances are even, I can tell her the truth because she asks and she wants to know."
I wasn't sure about that but I didn't say so. She wouldn't, for example, have ever wanted to know the truth about me.
"But the half people hear when they're terrified is the dark half. You know that."
I did. It was so hard to talk. "Yes." It came out a whisper.
"I took her phone. She doesn't even have your number in it, love."
Love. I'd always loved hearing him call me that. "She – wait, what?" Without thinking about it, I was starting to move around the room of the Extended Stay America, putting things back into my suitcase.
"I know," he said, as if I'd only evidenced surprise. "Your dad has your number, and it's not under Annie."
Lily? I thought wildly, but Dad had no way of knowing what I was called on that last job. Nobody did but Jesse and the men I rode with. "What is it?"
"Cupcake Bakery," he said.
I frowned for a second, wondering if we'd just figured out some of the problems behind dad's health scares, then slowly I understood and sat down on the ratty couch and started laughing.
"Love," Mark said. "Don't cry. Tell me where you are and I'll – "
"I'm not crying," I said. "It's wonderful. He's always called me Cupc
ake. Cuppers. Stuff like that. It's from the Newhart Show when they were all in Vermont running an inn."
Mark had no idea what I was talking about.
"There was this really rich heiress who got mad at her family and ran away and got a job as a maid and her new boyfriend who was the epitome of late 80s or early 90s slick preppy cool, he called her Cupcake and Cuppers."
Mark clearly thought I'd gone hysterical. He started to say about three different things, then paused. "Oh. That makes sense."
"But it wouldn't to anyone else."
"That's for certain."
There was another silence between us but this one wasn't as tense. I remembered why I loved this strange serious man. We'd both changed. He'd become – in truth – more arrogant. Probably that meant he'd be a great doctor. I'd become more secretive. I'd leave it for someone else to decide if that made me a great narc.
"Can you tell me where you are? I don't think you're on assignment."
He wasn't stupid and he didn't have any wish to see me dead. Some of my paranoia really was paranoia. I still would be getting a different phone and I probably wouldn't give him the number but we could worry about all that later. I'd give the number to my father – please, please let him survive and need it – and he could put it under Stephanie Vanderkellen for the character's name on Newhart. If Mark wanted to find me, he'd have to watch enough seasons to figure out Stephanie was the real name of Michael Harris's girlfriend. For now, I really wasn't on assignment and there was no reason he couldn't know where I was. It certainly wouldn't reveal anything about Cole to him.
"I'm in Vegas," I said, and waited while he processed that as best he could.
"But not on assignment." It was a statement.
"No. I'm here because – " Fuck it would take too long to tell him everything here and now and anyway, I wasn't ever going to tell him everything. Certainly nothing about Cole St. Martin and being sold. "I'm here because someone in PD thought there was someone here who could help me."
I waited then, to see if he'd make the connection.
"With your problem."
"Yes."
"Did – he or she?"
What was I supposed to tell him? "It's complicated," I said. At least that was the truth. "I haven't found him yet."
Confusion on the other end of the phone and then Mark said, "Isn't that where you went last time?"
"Yes. But the place is hidden." Please don't ask me anything else.
He was silent for a beat, then said, "Like for celebs and shit?"
I blew out a breath. "Exactly." It was hidden. Technically, I wasn't lying. If he'd just stop asking questions. "Mark, I need to know about my dad."
"I'm sorry," he said instantly and he really did sound it. "I shouldn't be asking you questions right now. I think we need to talk though. Okay, let me fill you in on your dad."
And he did. It wasn't end of the world bad news, but it was bad enough. "You need to get here if you can, though," he said, as if I weren't already on my way.
His next words stopped me cold. "For your mom."
The blood pounded in my ears and my vision blurred. "You just said there was a good chance he's going to make it through this!"
"What? No, I don't mean that. Shit, it's a good thing I'm going to be a doctor and not a chaplain."
"Especially since you don't believe in God," I said. "Please explain."
"I meant, because your mom needs support while your dad goes through procedures and heals."
I took the phone away from my ear and looked at it. It was the first time I had ever done that. "What are you talking about?"
Now he sounded surprised. "What do you think? You're your mother's rock."
I started to giggle. He had a nerve asking me what I was taking. "You're out of your mind."
But he didn't even laugh at that. "You really don't know, do you? You're the one your mother depends on. She knows you make smart decisions not snap decisions. She knows you're brave and resourceful. She knows you're interested in more than what your kid ate for lunch. She depends on you, Annie."
The world did a fast spin around me and let me settle again.
Wow.
"I'm on my way," I said.
13
Cole
She was back in Seattle.
No word. There hadn't been any communications from her since she left. I started to think maybe I’d made a mistake granting her temporary freedom to work things out.
No. I don't make mistakes.
I wasn't in the habit of worrying, either.
She'd be back in my control. Soon.
And then she'd be sorry she caused me even a moment's worry.
14
Annie
My dad recovered.
By the time I got back to Seattle, driving a rental and changing it out at major airports along the way, he was back on his feet and being forced to march around the hospital halls with his trusty sidekick, the IV pole. He was in a terrible mood, having done this before. I couldn't blame him. It was a rerun.
My mom greeted my return as if I were one of the neighbors who had suddenly felt herself indispensable and showed up at the hospital to help. She was so nonplussed and unimpressed I began to wonder if Mark had made the whole thing up, the idea that my mom depended on me to be the sensible one.
If he had, it was kind of sweet.
But if he had, I wanted to now. Both so I could think him sweet and so I could not make a fool out of myself by trying to be helpful in a family that still didn't get me or really want me.
PD sent me to the department shrink, this time in person. They called it PTSD and trauma-assessed something or other. Seeing the shrink in person was supposed to be a step up the ladder of important shit but it just meant I had somewhere to go on those long afternoons while Mark was working and I had nothing to do. The psychologist kept urging me to be honest with her, which finally got on my nerves enough that I yelled at her that I was being honest.
I was.
I was being totally honest about everything I told her. I just couldn't tell her everything. She worked for the damn police. She ought to get that. Maybe she did. Because she released me to return to duty. I ended up in-house but it was temporary. I'd seen the orders and I believed them for a change.
Nothing much had changed. Kids were still dying. Drugs were still flowing.
I'd be out there on the street again in no time.
15
Annie
"Cupcake, you've got to go home."
I was nodding out on the chair beside the bed. I'd driven straight through from Vegas to Seattle, which is something it's illegal for truckers to do, so it's a long way. I didn't know how many hours because I'd been pretty much focused on nothing but getting through the next mile and the mile after that. I stopped for coffee. I stopped for fuel. I stopped to pee.
And those were the only times I stopped except when I traded out one rental car for another.
Mark had told me during some phone call or another that yes, my mother did depend on me. So I told him she didn't seem to and he laughed at me, which made me almost hang up but I waited until he stopped and said, "Children rely on their parents. They still get mad about the very things they need advice on."
"You're saying my mother wants me to be a fairy godmother who can wave a magic wand and make everything all right, not tell her the hard stuff in between?" It sounded silly, but I was one of the two people in my family who reacted to problems, setbacks, emergencies and illnesses by looking instantly at what the next step was. Which was great and logical and all, but rubbed everybody the wrong way because they wanted to wail and bitch and worry and grieve or whatever the situation called for.
The other person in my family who did that was my father. Of course.
"No," Mark had said firmly though I could hear the laughter in his voice. "No one wants to see you as a fairy godmother. Trust me on this."
I may have giggled.
"But yes, she wants your lo
gic and she wants to know there are decisions to be made and that things aren't always going to be stuck in a moment of trauma, whatever trauma that currently is. At the same time, the idea of moving on from where things are - That scares her, babe."
I didn't like babe anywhere near as much as love.
"After all, when things change, they could become worse."
That made me drive faster. On the way to Seattle I got three professional courtesy passes from fellow police officers and one stern warning to make certain I didn't take anyone with me when I grayed out and wrecked the rental.
Now I was dozing in a wildly uncomfortable chair beside my father's bed. Mom had finally gone home to sleep, driven by Sarah. Where my other two sisters were I didn't know.
"I like it here," I mumbled, which made my dad laugh.
The next instant he sobered and pushed himself up in bed. That looked like it hurt, but in a kind of sore muscle way. "And what about home? Do you like it there?"
Sometimes I understood why the females in my family didn't like talking to me. It was like talking to dad and he was always direct.
"What did Mark tell you?" I ran a hand over my eyes. If I left now, I'd be running away from the conversation.
"More than what he meant to." He was watching me closely. "He's a good man, Annie. But you don't have to marry him if he's not the right man."
I scrubbed both hands over my face this time. "I'm not sure there is a right man."
"Is there a right woman?"
"Dad!" I looked at him, shocked, waiting for the little smile to flit across his face but it didn't. "It's not that. Sheesh."
He waited.
I waved my hands. "How do I find someone who gets the job? Who gets the space the job takes up in my life? Who gets that I'm not ever going to begrudge that space? How do I find someone who understands that I do this because it's necessary, it's needed, it's important, and I know it's dangerous, but I'm willing to live with that and die for it if I have to? That I love my life and I love being alive but not at the risk of other people's lives?"