by P Nelson
“You’re an asshole.” Calla grabbed the offending donut.
“I’m telling your master about your potty mouth.” The grin he gave her was pure evil.
“It doesn’t count.” Calla lifted her chin. “I’m under duress.” She sighed to make her position clear, Calla opened her mouth and bit into the first donut she’d had since a teenager. It was amazing. She chewed the crunchy outside and chewy inside. There was a hint of the raspberry jam from the middle. Perfection.
“You and Flynn are survivors, Calla.” Joe told her in a matter-of-fact tone. “The rest is bullshit.” He waved at the phone she had left on the table. “When you find someone you’d be willing to spend a day on a fishing barge for and then take a two-day train journey across the whole province. That’s something worth fighting for.”
“I’d do way more than this for Flynn.” Calla swallowed her donut.
“Exactly.” Joe grinned at her like she had gotten the right answer. “And you will do a lot more for him. If the two of you want to make it through this shit storm, sacrifices will be made on both your parts.” Calla watched Joe select another donut. She was normally the one handing out advice. She realised that even though Joe had been hanging around the club for months and she had completed his psych evaluation, she knew nothing about him.
“How did you become so wise?” Calla inquired taking a bite out of the donut. She had started, might as well finish. Joe finished his second donut and stared at her.
“Once a long time ago, I found myself in a similar position as Flynn.” An old sadness crept into Joe’s eyes Calla had never seen before. With women, he always appeared to have a pick of the subs in the club. “But she couldn’t take the heat and I had to let her go.” He finished in a tight voice. The whistle of the train sounded and a second later the sound of metal grating filled the air.
Joe chose another donut and Calla stared out the window at Prince Rupert. Everyone had their skeletons.
&
Flynn thought his brain might explode. He stalked into the kitchen to find something to eat. Linkin must have made the food order because it looked like every cold cut from the local deli stacked inside the fridge. He needed meat and carbs. The caveman was bawling for blood and Flynn had no way to appease him other than with a big fucking deli sandwich. It was almost noon. The deadline he’s given to his lawyers.
The ringer on his phone sounded at one minute to the hour. Fuckers.
“You better have something.” Flynn ground out leaving he phone on speaker and placing it on the counter next to the fridge.
“Yes.” The lead lawyer from this morning sounded relieved. She must have worked her ass off and pulled every string in her arsenal. Flynn didn’t feel bad for her. He paid for her house, summerhouse, winter vacations, kid’s education and the two luxury cars sitting in her driveway. He expected results.
“Talk.” Flynn chose deli meat he wanted in his sandwich as a distraction. He piled up the wrappers next to the phone.
“I can confirm she’s protecting a person, not a dossier.” Flynn stopped searching in the fridge and closed the door. This was news.
“Any names?” His tone mild. He asked even though he knew what the answer would be.
“No names. All Alwen will say is the person is a whistle blower from Banroch. He witnessed something illegal during the early negations of that old pipeline deal with Enbridge.” She explained. Flynn shook his head; it was all coming together now.
“They wouldn’t have set up a special prosecution and laid formal charges on me because of the word of one guy.” Flynn pointed out.
“Alwen said this person’s testimony is key to her case and their life will be in danger if their identity comes out.” The lawyer sniffed showing how ridiculous she thought the threat. “Somehow our Queen’s Council thinks you’re going to gun down this asshole.”
“I’d rather know what he thinks he saw.” Flynn’s mind raced. “He’s got to have collaborating documents. It doesn’t add up.”
“You’re right and we’re going after the witness identity and their testimony this afternoon. They can’t prosecute you without giving you information on your supposed crimes. It’s beyond ridiculous.”
“I pay you to get the job done.” Flynn opened the fridge back up again reaching for the pickles and mustard. “Good work. I didn’t expect you would get anything out of the prosecution.”
“We’re the best of the best, Mr Banroch.” She stated without a hint of irony in her voice.
“Get back to work.” Flynn responded and pressed the button to end the call. He stared at the selections of deli meat he made from the fridge for a second before reaching over for a bakery fresh baguette. The act of constructing the sandwich gave his hands something to while he studied what his team had uncovered.
A person. Not a dossier or a smoking gun. Although Alwen believes her witness might hold a gun pointed right at him. Flynn had given a lot of attention to the days when the pipeline had been on the table. He’d read through his old notes and even had Arthur dig up some old files. There was nothing out of the ordinary he could remember.
It had been a case of a company trying to sell a decaying asset needing millions of dollars worth of upgrades for an inflated price. Nothing out of the ordinary there. That was business. Shady or not. Using a knife he found in one cupboard, Flynn sliced his creation in half. Perfect. He shifted focus to his phone and dialled Arthur. While it rang, he placed the sandwich on a plate and picked up his phone.
“Arthur here.” His brother’s harried voice came over the line.
“I need personnel files from anyone who had anything to do with the Enbridge Pipeline project from a few years back.” Flynn went back into the big living room he had converted into his war room. Set the sandwich beside his laptop and held his cell just in front of his face.
“OK. I’ll get HR to organise everything.” It sounded like Arthur was writing a reminder.
“Do it right after this phone call.” Flynn sighed. He still needed work to rely on people around him. He gave orders and people obeyed. But if he wanted to have a life outside Banroch after all the dust had settled, Flynn was big enough to realise he needed Arthur as more than just a figurehead in some department that received a lot of press, but didn’t do anything. “The prosecutor says they have a whistle blower. Most likely it’s an ex employee of Banroch. One around to see the details of the project.”
“Oh.” Arthur sounded like someone had sucked all the air out of his lungs.
“Yes, oh.” Flynn sat down and stared at his sandwich. “I need to know who thinks they saw something and why. Right now the special prosecutor is fighting any release of information regarding the evidence against me by saying revealing her source endangers their life.”
“Shit.” Arthur swore. “That’s ridiculous. You’re one of the most ethical men in the top fifty of Forbes most successful CEOs.”
“If you’re reading the papers, I like to beat women.” Flynn reminded his brother.
“Everyone knows that’s bullshit.” It was nice to have Arthur defending him for once.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m getting roasted in the court of public opinion. And Alwen is using everything she has to keep public opinion on her side. Right now the public will accept just about any story written about the deviant CEO who uses his power to abuse women and covers it up with his deep pockets.”
“I’m sorry this is happening to you.” Arthur sounded genuine.
“I’m not.” Flynn took a deep breath. “Get me those files. I will eat a sandwich.”
Chapter 14
“You wanted this on your own turf.” Flynn commented staring out the window at the crowd of people gathered around the art déco building on Vancouver Harbour his great grandfather had built.
“This is not my patch.” Linkin bit out. “A dungeon. With whips, chains and leather. That’s my patch.” He scanned the crowd and held a radio received to his ear with two fingers.
�
�You have changed.” Flynn glanced over at the man who held his safety in his hands. A man he trusted with his life. “A good sub is the answer to everything.”
“It is. Speaking of which your sub was on the over nighter from Jasper last night. She’ll get in this afternoon. I have a car ready to whisk her from the train station to Whistler.” Linkin held up his hand. “We’re clear.” A path cleared in front of Flynn’s door.
“I want to meet her. It’s been almost three days since I saw her.” Flynn would not move until Linkin agreed.
“You’re going against my express advice.” Linkin shrugged his shoulders. A human gesture from the man who acted cold as ice. “But you sign the cheques.”
“Let’s see what special prosecutor Alwen has to say and hopefully I’ll still be signing those cheques.” Flynn looked back out his window. Linkin opened his car door and the sound of people shouting accusations and questions bombarded the inside the vehicle. The morning they announced the charges against Flynn a small, but vocal local morality group protested in front of the Banroch building. They had remained irritating, but harmless presence. Each one investigated by Linkin’s firm to ensure they had no links to the now defunct Supplicant’s of the Lord Church who tried blackmailing Master Dillon and other members of the BDSM community.
Linkin opened the back passenger door of the Bentley and Flynn stepped from the vehicle. Perception was everything. The cars carrying the special prosecutor and her team had arrived twenty minutes before. His own lawyer’s only minutes before them. Flynn wanted to make everyone wait. Some would say it was because he could. The reality was he wanted people talking about what his strategy was rather than the actual alleged charges.
With his dark sunglasses in place and ridiculously expensive suit as armour, Flynn strode through the crowd. He scanned the onlookers. He wasn’t afraid of them. And he ensured they realized it by staring down the people who shouted the most absurd of slander at him. Every one of them shut their mouths.
The familiar doorman wearing a stylish uniform based on the ones from the original opening day of the building, smiled and nodded his head in greeting.
“Good morning, Chapman.” Flynn acknowledged the elderly gentleman in the same way he had his entire working life.
“Good morning, Mr Banroch. Bit of a hullabaloo.” He commented.
“And then some.” He smiled at the man who had worked for Banroch Industries his whole life. These were the people Flynn was fighting for right now. The main entrance to the building was full of people. Flynn took a second for him to realise people had come down here to show their support. He ambled to the elevators, Linkin behind him and greeted people by name. They smiled back, told him to fight. By the time the elevator doors closed on the reception area of the building, Flynn needed to gather his emotions.
“You have good people behind you, Flynn.” Linkin commented staring up at the old fashioned hand ticking off the floors to the top. Flynn cleared his throat several times, but didn’t comment. Flynn paying people well to do good work was one thing, loyalty was something very different.
“Showtime.” Linkin announced before the bell rang showing they had arrived at the executive offices. Flynn rolled his shoulders and focused. This was his world, and he was taking it back. The doors opened and his long-time secretary stood waiting for him.
“I thought I gave you indefinite paid leave.” Flynn questioned exiting the elevator. She fell into step behind him.
“And do you think Arthur would’ve lasted half so long with that milk sop he keeps around as an admin? She might bake cookies for everyone, but she’s hopeless at actual work.” She handed Flynn a folder. “You can spank me later.” The comment went unanswered. The executive boardroom looked like a standoff. On one side was Flynn’s pack of lawyers looking like they were about rain down hell on the smaller group of federal prosecutors. The show of force Flynn wanted. His secretary opened the glass doors to the well-appointed boardroom and didn’t stop to acknowledge anyone.
“I hope this will not take long. I have lunch reservations.” He commented in a tone meant to carry around the room, but not appear outright hostile. Everything about Flynn right now was for show. He stood at the head of the long black glass table, he undid the buttons on the front of his suit jacket and sat down in the chair. He raised an eyebrow. “You requested this little rapprochement. Proceed.”
Alwen appeared taken aback by Flynn’s attitude. If she thought to find him cowed into gratefulness for this meeting, she was dead wrong. She took a minute to gather her wits, shuffling papers in front of her a few times. He heard one of his own lawyers snort.
“Mr Banroch. Someone has made some very serious allegations against you.” Alwen started.
“Some very serious charges have been laid against our client by your office. Charges that seem to have no evidence to back them up.” Sophia was all over Alwen. They didn’t call his lawyers a pack of pit bulls for nothing. Even though Flynn watched the proceedings with a keen eye, he forced his back into the leather chair and appeared to relax. Sophia wasn’t the only one who wanted a piece of Alwen.
&
“You know I hate you right?” Calla commented as she helped Joe fold the bed away. The train rocked, and she stumbled for the umpteenth time. Train travel had seemed like a delightful way to travel across Europe. No driving. See the sights. Now she hoped nothing in life led to her to get back on a train. The bed was comfortable in First Class. In fact the amenities wonderful. The problem was she couldn’t sleep. Every little noise interrupted her nightmares of being parted from Flynn again.
“I’ll get coffee into you and your tune will change.” Joe finished getting the beds tucked away and sat down on the made couch seat.
“Nope coffee will not make me hate you any less.” Calla plunked down on her own seat and stared at the beautiful landscape rushing by.
“You need to stretch your legs?” Joe offered looking towards the door to the hallway. He didn’t like her going out into the main car. Someone might recognise her. Joe wanted no problems when they arrived at the station in Vancouver. For the moment, their journey had been quiet. Considering the media had linked her to The Cage as the resident psychologist, people recognized her professional connection to Flynn, but not her personal one.
“Please?” She questioned and reached for the hoodie she had bought in Jasper last night while they waited for their connecting train. She pulled her hair back and stuffed it into the battered the baseball cap she had been wearing while out in public.
“Yeah, maybe we need fresher air.” Joe nodded to her, and she sat on the couch with her small purse in hand. She waited while he checked down the corridor. Voices spoke outside her door, but Calla ignored them. Joe was strict about the rules. Curiosity got marks killed. He told her the first night in Prince Rupert. Stay where he left her. Unless her gut told her danger was coming. Then hide. Do not under any circumstances try to rescue him. Hide and call the police.
Calla tried listening to her gut, but she had faith in Joe. And he seemed to have faith in her.
“All clear.” Joe stuck his head back into the small cabin. Calla jumped up happier than she thought about the prospect of leaving the small cabin. “Remember anyone looks at you odd. We’re back here.” He pointed at the doors she had closed and locked.
She tried not to feel bitter about her lack of personal freedom or space. But it was hard even though Calla realized it was for her own good. Joe didn’t need to remind her how close she had come to being a victim of the Reverend killer. At night sometimes before she fell asleep Calla relieved the moment she walked out of her office at her shared practice and had a gun pointing at her. Her terror while putting pressure on Nick’s gunshot wound. As she begged him not to die and prayed Thea would escape the serial killers clutches.
“You all right in there?” Joe questioned. She was still staring at the closed cabin door.
“Yes. The last few days have taken their toll. Nothing coffee and breakfast
containing no donuts will solve.” Calla tried to smile.
“Any breakfast that doesn’t contain donuts is a waste.” Joe remarked and waited for Calla to walk ahead of him to the dining car.
“It amazes me you have such a great body and you eat crap.” Calla commented moving from one car to the next. She had glimpsed what she believed was an eight pack under his black t-shirt yesterday when he stowed their packs in the overhead compartment.
“Do I need to inform your master you’ve been checking out other Doms?” His tone light.
“If you want me to inform him you threatened to spank me.” Calla responded in a sweet voice. The dining car was full of people and the smell of food made Calla’s stomach grumble. She would have to get back to her diet regimen once back in Vancouver. It was impossible to eat healthy on the road, especially when eating next to an overgrown five-year-old.
“Wherever is fine.” She heard Joe tell the hostess. The woman beamed at him before turning her attention to Calla. The smile didn’t stop with Joe, which Calla found unusual. Instead, the grin became wider.
“Please follow me. I’ve saved a special place.” She informed them both. Calla chanced a glance back at Joe. His eyes tightened, but it was only a minute change of expression. But she had read it. Calla shrugged her shoulders and followed the hostess. The woman led them down to the end of the car to a table set for two. It was at the end of the room and afforded the most privacy of the tables. Joe’s expression turned into a frown.
“Thank you.” Calla said with haste and sat down with her back to the car. Calla knew Joe would want to observe everyone else in the dining car. Joe hesitated like he wanted to say something, but sat down instead.
“Can I get you something to drink?” The woman asked, her smile still in place.
“Coffee please.” Calla ordered trying to get a read on Joe.