by Loki Renard
Savage held her as she cried, not truly understanding her pain. There was a gap between them, a fissure that had cracked open the moment he'd made the phone call that had led them to their current place.
“So what now?” Zora addressed the question to his chest. “Do I stay home and cook and clean? Work on my drinking problem with the other desperate housewives?”
“That depends on you,” Savage said. “You know you can be useful when you're willing to work, but frankly, I don't think the trust is there anymore.”
“Your trust, or theirs?”
“Look,” Savage said, deftly avoiding answering the question. “Why don't you take some time to settle down and settle in. Right now you're exhausted. You couldn't be happy if you tried. Let's just see how things go, all right?”
***
With little choice but to comply, Zora did try to settle down and settle in. She really did. Every morning Savage got up, put on one of the uniforms that made her want to jump his bones every time she saw him wearing it, and went to work. Most days he was home by seven in the evening and they would have dinner together, sometimes at one of the three restaurants Fort Thistle boasted.
Days passed into weeks, and Zora watched Savage turn back into his old self. The frustration that had dogged his every day 'free' on the outside was gone, replaced by confidence and action. She liked his old self, but she did not like her new self, bored and bitter. She could not precisely put her finger on the problem. Savage was right; she'd stood in front of him and demanded to be taken to domestic bliss. And within twenty-four hours, he'd delivered on that wish. And now she was unhappy. Unhappier than she'd been in Iron Horse, which was pretty damn unhappy.
Savage didn't seem to notice, which was rather unlike him. He was working on a new mission, one that had him very distracted. That left Zora with a lot of time up her sleeve, a lot of time for – activities. With no work to do, she was left to her own devices pretty much all day, and on the evenings when Savage had meetings she sometimes found herself with more than twelve hours to fill. She filled those hours in a myriad of ways.
Chapter Five
It came to pass that there was a knock on their door one evening about six weeks after their reluctant return to the military fold. Savage was dozing in his armchair after a satisfying dinner, so it was Zora who opened the door.
“Martin Holt, what a pleasant surprise!” Zora smiled through her lipstick. She was trying out some new things, attempting to blend in with the other ladies she saw about the place. None of them would have been seen dead without makeup, so Zora figured she better plaster her face on occasion too.
“You're looking well, Ms Matthews,” Martin Holt noted.
“Thank you kindly,” Zora replied, dipping into a small curtsey, flaring her floral apron as she did so. She'd taken the time to have her hair dyed platinum blonde and set in a bouffant. It was all very 1950's, but the 1950's were back in style anyway, so some of her passive aggressive message was somewhat lost in translation.
“Brett, honey,” Zora called over her shoulder. “We have company.” She lifted her eyes to Martin Holt and his smooth face. “Please, won't you come in?”
Martin Holt came in. Zora asked if she could take his hat and coat. He pointed out that he was not wearing a hat or a coat. He then proceeded to walk into the lounge, shake Savage's hand and seat himself on the couch.
“Would you like a cup of coffee? Tea? Perhaps a macaroon?”
Zora played hostess to perfection, but Martin Holt spurned all offers of beverages and sustenance, preferring to, as he put it, get to the point.
“How can we help you, Mr Holt?” Savage asked the question, joining in the general point getting.
“Well,” Martin Holt said, glancing meaningfully at Zora for a long moment, and then returning his gaze to Savage. “Someone broke into the dress shop and stole all the heads from the mannequins.”
“Someone...” Savage repeated the first word of the sentence, and then stopped. “And this is a matter for my attention because...?”
“I believe Ms Matthews may have been involved.”
“Oh no,” Zora interjected. “Maybe it's just a publicity stunt. For Halloween. Headless horse-ladies or similar.”
“Halloween isn't for another three months,” Martin Holt pointed out.
“Maybe it's a dry run for a Halloween publicity stunt.”
“It isn't.”
“Maybe it is, but it is classified,” Zora hypothesized.
Martin Holt drew a deep, barely patient breath. “There are no classified operations being run out of the dress shop.”
“Maybe it isn't actually a dress shop. Maybe it's a...”
“Ms Matthews,” Martin Holt interrupted. “A woman matching your description was seen lurking in the vicinity prior to the event.”
“A woman matching my description in what respect?”
“Blonde, sunglasses, blue dress...”
“That could have been anyone,” Zora said quite correctly. “Why would you assume that it was me?”
“Because none of the other ladies here have a reputation for trouble making.”
“That's unfair,” Zora said, turning to Savage. “Don't you think that's unfair?”
“It does seem unfair,” Savage agreed, making her smile. “Zora has been remarkably good since our arrival here.”
“Yes, she has,” Martin Holt agreed. “A little too good, wouldn't you say?”
“Brett talked to me and made me see that I could have everything I wanted here,” Zora said, smiling sweetly. “I have no reason to cause trouble anymore. So let's not lose our heads over one little dress store prank. It was probably teenagers. Youths. Youths are very troublesome. Underdeveloped frontal lobes, you know.”
Martin Holt stood, ignoring Zora rather rudely, so she thought. “If you do come across any information relating to this incident, Captain Savage, please do get in touch.”
Savage nodded. Zora escorted Martin Holt out of the house in order to make sure he didn't forget to take the coat and hat that he hadn't brought with him. She kept a beatific smile on her face right up until the moment the front door closed behind Martin Holt's back.
The smile fell off her face when a sharp slap caught her right across her right bottom cheek. She turned, hands clutching at her posterior to find Savage looming over her with one of his most stern expressions on his face.
“Where are the heads, Zora?”
“How should I know?” She couldn't help but giggle as she responded. To be interrogated over heads, oh the hilarity.
“That's precisely the sort of thing you'd do,” Savage said. He was right. It was precisely the sort of thing she would do. In fact, it was precisely the thing she had done. Head done. Heh.
“No, not me,” Zora denied. “They're just running around like headless chickens, blaming the first person they come to. That's their problem. It's wrong headed.
“Are you going to start lying to me, Matthews?”
Zora composed her features. “I think you're getting ahead of yourself, Brett.”
“Zora....” Savage growled her name as he took her by the wrist. “I know you're up to something. Now, out with it.”
“I'm not up to anything,” Zora insisted. “I'm being a good little house bitch, just like you wanted me to be.”
The swearing was the final straw. Savage didn't like lies, but he liked swearing even less.
“It has been far, far too long since your last spanking,” he growled, drawing her over to their couch, which Zora had insisted on covering in plastic because it fit with the whole depressing housewife theme. It was one of many passive aggressive little décor choices she'd made over the previous weeks, most of which seemed to have gone right over Savage's head. The man did not have an eye for subtlety, that was for certain.
She struggled against his grip, but there was no way of escaping. She ended up over his lap, her dress flipped up over her waist, his hard hand clapping against her panties.
“What did you do with those mannequin heads?”
Squirming as her bottom heated up to uncomfortable temperatures, Zora kept her mouth shut. She had no intention of telling anyone what had happened to the heads. Besides, Martin Holt would figure all that out soon enough.
Before the spanking could kick into high gear and really toast her behind, there was another knock at the door. Savage looked up, and then helped Zora to stand. “You are going into the corner, miss,” he said firmly.
“I am not!”
There was another knock at the door. Louder this time.
“Police!” A masculine voice boomed from the other side of the door.
“Oh, it's the police,” Zora said. “Must be serious. Maybe its related to the super secret mission you're not telling me about. Maybe the heads are related to the super secret mission you're not telling me about.”
Savage scowled at her as the police once more pounded on the door.
“If they scratch my paintwork, they're going to have to come back, strip, sand and re-paint it,” Zora said, pretending to care.
“Look,” Savage said, sighing deeply to himself. “Just stay put. All right? Can you do that?”
“Maybe,” Zora said. “I'm not sure I have clearance to do that though.”
He aimed another swat at her bottom and she danced out of the way as yet another round of door pounding began.
“COMING!” Savage shouted out. “Look Zora, you stay here in this corner or it's going to be your ass.”
Savage gave Zora a final glower as he let go, and hastened to answer the door where he found a military policeman waiting impatiently.
“Evening,” Savage said. “How can I help you?”
“We have a warrant for Zora Matthews.”
“For the head prank? This response is overkill, don't you think?”
“For breaching the data center.”
“That is ridiculous,” Savage said, dismissing the charge out of hand. “That place is fully monitored. Zora hasn't been there. She doesn't even know where it is.”
“Sir.”
The MP held out a photo. Savage took it, his expression growing dark as he looked at the image of the processing unit of the data center. There were dozens of monitors, and in front of every single one of them was a mannequin head. He squinted at the image.
“What are the bits of paper stuck to their mouths about?”
“Puns, sir,” the MP said gravely. “Every head had a head related pun glued to its lips.”
Savage swore inwardly. Damn Matthews, why couldn't she just be a normal brat and act out by shopping too much, or getting lippy? Why did every damn thing she did have to be as outlandish as it was outrageous? Choking the thoughts down, he addressed the policeman again.
“Do you have any evidence that this was Zora?”
The officer gave him a blank mechanical look. “I've been told to detain her. You understand, sir.”
“I do,” Savage said, scowling to himself. “Zora!”
There was no answer from inside the house. He felt a sinking feeling as he went to check on her. He hadn't expected to find her standing in the corner, that level of obedience was far too much to ask. But he had reckoned on her at least staying in the house and preferably staying clothed. Neither one of those expectations had been met. Zora's dress was lying in a heap on the floor and Zora herself was nowhere to be seen.
“Goddammit, Matthews,” he muttered to himself.
“Where is she, sir?” The MP was growing impatient, which rather got on Savage's nerves. One would have thought the man could muster a little respect, a little patience.
“I'll bring her in,” Savage said, stalling for time. The palms of his hands were tingling with the need to smack the heck out of her backside, and when he found her that was the first thing he was going to do.
“I have to take her now, sir.”
“Well that's going to be difficult, because she's no longer here,” Savage admitted. “She must have slipped out whilst we were talking.”
The MP barely reacted to the news. “Then I am going to have to ask you to come with us, sir. Martin Holt would like a word with you regardless.”
“Fine,” Savage agreed. “But what about Matthews?”
“We have other units on patrol. They'll pick her up.”
Savage did not share the man's confidence, but he was being given little choice in the matter. He would have to go and answer to Holt on Zora's behalf and hope like hell that Zora didn't get herself into too much more trouble before she was caught.
Conducted to Holt's office, Savage was not pleased. Their first meeting had taken place on his home turf and had been somewhat informal. This meeting was much more official. This meeting might have consequences for Zora Matthews, perhaps serious ones. It all depended on what sort of man Holt was. So far he had seemed congenial and genuinely personally interested in their well-being, particularly Zora's. This would be the test of his goodwill.
“We have a problem, Captain Savage. Ms Matthews is out of control,” he spoke calmly, but correctly. Savage was privately impressed by Martin Holt. He was a man who did not easily lose his temper or become flustered.
“She has never been in control,” Savage replied. “The only time Zora behaves herself is when she's knee deep in it. Expecting her to sit at home was always a recipe for disaster.”
“I'm inclined to agree,” Martin Holt said. “But orders were orders. She was not cleared for work. And now she's in trouble again. It might be time we discussed a more permanent strategy for dealing with Ms Matthews.”
Permanent strategy. Savage did not at all like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”
“She was given freedom, Captain Savage, and she used it to tweak our noses. If you have a dog that wanders, at some point you have to kennel the thing.”
“You want to lock her up?”
“I don't want to, but what choice do we have? You have a job to do. You're due to deploy very soon. What will she do then, alone and unsupervised? There have to be consequences, Captain Savage.”
“This was a prank,” Savage argued. “A stupid, attention seeking prank, but it will be dealt with. All she needs is a damn good spanking, and then, a job to do. Something that will keep her busy.”
Martin Holt beamed with sudden amusement. “A spanking?”
“Trust me, it can be very effective.”
Martin Holt's smile faded slowly. “It seems a rather juvenile approach, if you don't mind me saying.”
“I got that woman through her first mission with a hot ass, and she worked like a pro,” Savage said bluntly. “You can't jail her, she won't stay there. Sooner or later she'll break out and then I don't know what she'll do. I'm trying to get her to trust that she can be safe here, that this is home. A cell is not a home.”
Savage had little hope that Martin Holt would understand. Holt wasn't old fashioned. He was of the new school, men who believed in talking and drug therapy, not firm handling and hot bottoms. Silently, Savage despaired. It seemed as though there was just no way of containing Zora's wildness long term, and now she'd gone and pulled the tiger's tail.
Then Holt surprised him.
“You know,” Holt said, snapping his fingers. “I think I might have a solution of sorts. One that does not involve Ms Matthews' incarceration, and one that involves corporal punishment. Allow me to make a call.”
***
Whilst Martin Holt was making a call, Zora was jogging in the park. She had taken the liberty of changing quickly into a tank top and shorts, which gave her the edge of looking particularly generic. In her studies of the civilian womenfolk of Fort Thistle, she'd noticed that many of them enjoyed partaking in exercise. They also enjoyed partaking in the husbands of other women, but Zora was not at all interested in that sort of past time. She had not fought so damn hard for Savage just to let her heart wander.
The jogging wasn't so much for her personal fitness as it was for blending in. She'd seen the
military police at the door and thought it best to skedaddle as quickly as possible. Nobody stopped a lady out for a jog and she managed to pass by two separate patrols without arousing anything in the way of suspicion.
The park was a very pleasant place, well grassed and largely lightly wooded, save for a stand of trees at the very far end. All sorts of nefarious activities took place in the trees and Zora intended to add to them.
In the largest oak, there was a tree house. It was old and dilapidated, but it provided visual shelter from the ground below and almost nobody used it on account of it was thirty feet up and getting to it was almost impossible. There was no ladder, only a series of small wooden handholds nailed into the tree. Much like the tree house they led to, they were not in good condition. Some of the nails had rusted out and one only discovered that when putting one's weight atop the wooden block.
There were a few close calls and Zora felt a serious sense of vertigo as she made the climb, but her determination to escape punishment gave her the motivation needed. Sweating with exertion and more than a little bit of stress, she finally crawled onto the wooden platform, her arms and legs scratched by bark and twigs. In the back of her mind she was faintly aware of the fact she'd have to make her way down at some point, but that was not what immediately demanded her attention. What immediately demanded her attention was the task of slipping a little minibar-sized bottle of brandy out of her brassiere.
Unscrewing the stop, she tossed it back in two shots, clearing her throat with a guttural gargle as the brew slid down to her stomach and lit the familiar fire.
“Hell yeah!” She whooped defiantly into the night. Another successful escape. That was worth celebrating. And there was another little bottle of brandy nestled in her bosom. She upended it into her mouth and once more cried out with glee before sinking to the dirty platform in a fit of self-congratulation.
It wasn't precisely clear how they managed to find her three hours later. All Zora knew was that she must have dozed off on the platform. When she came to full consciousness, there were lights down below and a long ladder was being extended up toward her.