Tickle His Fancy: Trident Security Book 6 (Trident Security Series)

by Samantha A. Cole

  Blushing, Fancy stood, but before she could move away, Brody’s hand on her elbow stopped her. “Hey. I didn’t mind at all. Haven’t you figured out yet that I’m interested in getting to know you better? And no, that’s not why I offered the security system. Okay, scratch that. There is a little part of me that saw it as an excuse to see more of you, but your safety trumps everything.” He gave her a sad, puppy dog look. “And I really do love your baking, so please don’t send me away.”

  That last part made her chuckle and roll her eyes as he had probably intended. “Fine. You can stay. At least until I’m done here.”

  “Good. Then I’ll follow you home.” He took another bite of the tart, ignoring her startled look.

  “Um, you don’t have to do that.”

  He licked the fork, and her eyes followed his tongue involuntarily. “Um. Yes, I do. And before you ask why, I’ll tell you. Because I’m a gentleman in the security business, who would hate to see anything happen to you before I had a chance to take you on a date. And because my momma would slap me upside the head if I didn’t.” He placed a hand over his heart. “Please don’t make my momma do that.”

  Her laughter spilled forth. What was it about this man that made her feel lighter than she had in years? His brown eyes danced with amusement as his grin made his dimples appear. Oh, Lord, that smile was devastatingly handsome—actually, the whole man was devastatingly handsome. And for the first time since her husband died, she wanted a man to kiss her.

  Pushing the thought from her head, she finished covering the cupcakes and put away the foil and wrap. “Okay. God forbid I get you in trouble with your momma. You can follow me home.” She pointed a finger at him. “But don’t expect me to invite you in. It’s late, I need sleep, and I don’t invite men into my home until at least the third or fourth date.” Well, at least she wouldn’t if she ever went out on a date.

  His eyes shot up. “So, does this mean you’re willing to go on a date with me?”

  She shrugged coyly. “Maybe. You’re starting to grow on me. One of these days I might say yes.”

  “Then I look forward to that day, sweetness.”

  Chapter 5

  The Dom sat in his car, staring at the entrance to the club. The submissive bitch should be coming out any time now. Her dominant boyfriend was working at the hospital, and, instead of being a good sub and staying home on a Monday night where she belonged, she’d sneaked out and come to the BDSM club, The Devil’s Dungeon. It wasn’t one of the high-scale, private ones because she had been banned from The Covenant and was only allowed in Heat with her Dom. Well, tonight she was going to get what she deserved for being such a naughty slut.

  He thought back to all the gossip he’d been hearing the past week and a half. Word of the missing Christie Lawrence, aka Clementine, had spread among the members of several BDSM clubs, including The Covenant, and the few people who’d met her before were worried about what had happened to her. He was the only one on this earth who knew what did happen to her. She’d screamed, cried, begged to be let go, and, in the end, she’d begged to die. And he had been all too happy to oblige her.

  Clementine had stayed alive longer than the first sub he’d brought to his lair. That bitch had been new to the lifestyle, and while he had seen a blurb in the newspaper about her disappearance, it seemed as if no one had connected her to the munch she’d gone to. That’s where the Dom had met her. There were munches at least once a month in various places in and around Tampa. They were events where newbies interested in BDSM could meet and talk to those experienced in the lifestyle without play. Introducing her to his world had been fun at first, but she hadn’t lasted long. It was then he’d decided to seek out more experienced subs.

  If he were honest with himself, he desperately wanted to tell everyone what had happened to Clementine and the other bitch, and where their destroyed bodies were located—in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico. But that would be the end of his fun and games. This time, however, he planned on leaving Heather Davis where she would be eventually found. If he couldn’t let people know who was putting these whores in their place, at least he could let them admire his work.

  The unmarked door to The Devil’s Dungeon opened and out walked his intended target wearing her slutty clubwear. Her hair was messier than when she went in, and her face was flushed. It was clear she’d played—and not with her Dom. Well, you bitch, you’re going to be playing a lot more over the next few days.

  Starting his vehicle, he waited for her to climb into her little sports car and then followed her home.

  * * *

  Holding on tight to the “oh-shit” strap behind his head, Brody grinned at Marco, who was laughing, as another green-looking Omega team member puked his breakfast into a barf bag. This time, it was Morrison, who was retired Army and a former LAPD SWAT sniper. The chopper they were all in was spinning and tilting as if it was caught in a tornado. Brody had known damn well what the pilot, Tempest Van Buren—call sign Babs for “bad-ass bitch”—was going to do once they were in the air, so he’d held off eating his morning treat from Fancy’s bakery. But it was waiting for him in his office.

  It had been four days since he’d found Fancy working late that night, and this morning she had finally caved when he’d asked her to tonight’s Tampa Rays vs. Cleveland Indians baseball game. She’d been a lot more talkative over the past few days, and once he’d heard she was an Indians fan, he knew he’d have to call in a few favors to get good seats. She didn’t know it yet, but they were going to be sitting right behind home plate. That was one of the best things working for Trident—the perks and contacts.

  Abbott was the next to puke on a fast incline followed by a nasty drop in the stealth helicopter, and Marco glanced at his watch then nodded. Brody spoke into his headset. “Babs, take it down. Time to take these pansies on their run.”

  Several groans came over the air as Van Buren acknowledged him then cranked her disco music on high. The beat of the Bee Gees singing “Stayin’ Alive” thumped through the bird as it tilted back toward the Trident helipad, and everyone leaned to the side from the Earth’s gravity. From overhead, the compound appeared to be what it had been before the Sawyer brothers bought it—a bunch of warehouses, formerly owned by drug dealers. Trident had added the heliport and a track with an obstacle course to the north. To the south, there was a shooting gallery designed to look like a small town’s main street, and a five-story training building where many of the walls could be moved to vary the setup. The entire compound was surrounded by a security fence and on the other side of that were several hundred acres of woods.

  The first warehouse was where The Covenant was located. No signs were advertising the private BDSM club, and it was hard to gain membership. An interior fence line separated the club from the rest of the buildings that housed the Trident offices, bunk rooms, maintenance garage, gym, storage, and a panic room. The last warehouse had been converted into four large apartments, one for each of the Sawyer brothers—Ian, Devon, and Nick—and their significant others, and Ian’s goddaughter, Jenn.

  Babs set the helicopter down with practiced ease, and the Omega team scrambled to get the hell off, just in case she decided to take flight again. They didn’t need to worry, though, because the female pilot was already shutting down the engine. Heads low, everyone cleared the rotors before standing upright again. They all looked nauseous, but Brody and Marco were not going easy on them today. As he shouldered his fifty-pound pack which matched theirs, Brody barked, “Let’s go you pansies! Packs on and fall in. We’re going on a nice, long run—sixteen klicks— and then you’ll get the break you’re going to be begging for.”

  “What the fuck’s a ‘klick’?”

  Brody forgot Foster had always been in law enforcement, without a military background, and wouldn’t know what a klick was. “Klick is military for kilometer. Sixteen klicks is just under ten miles.”

  A few dirty looks and groans were sent his way, but no one argued. The
six-man Omega team lined up with Abbott on the far end. Brody wasn’t worried about her lagging behind. In fact, she would probably be pushing the other guys forward. “Move out!”

  They headed for the west fence line and Marco jogged ahead to place his hand on the security scanner which would open the gate leading to a trail in the woods. Brody shut it again after everyone was through. With their current business and past missions as SEALs, the original Trident team took the compound’s security seriously. There were plenty of hi-tech measures, along with armed guards at the front gate, and Ian’s rescued dog, Beau, who had been trained by a company that supplied dogs to the military and private security companies.

  Soft footfalls and the sounds of nature were the only things he heard for the first few miles, then the heavy breathing started. It was only 0900 hours, and they wanted to get this run in before the temperatures rose into the nineties. At least the hundred-degree marks had eased off over the past few days. He eyed the team. McCabe, Abbott, Reese, and Knight were no longer green, but Foster, Mancini, and Morrison still had an ugly tint to their faces. Foster stepped to the side to puke again, but as soon as he was done he quickly rejoined the ranks. Brody knew Ian and Devon were trying to decide who was going to head the Omega team, Foster or McCabe, and it was going to be a tough decision. Both men had strong leadership abilities, and where one was lacking, the other made up for it, and vice versa. They came from two different backgrounds—Foster from the Secret Service and McCabe from the Army Special Forces—with both similar and vastly different advanced training.

  By the time they circled back, everyone was drenched in sweat. A cooler of bottled water was waiting for the overheated runners in Ian’s Oasis, the “backyard” Angie had designed for Boss-man as a birthday present. It ran the length of the warehouses and was located between the buildings housing the apartments and the gym. The asphalt had been removed, and sod had replaced it, then an outdoor kitchen, multiple sitting areas, cooling sprays, a fire pit, and a koi pond with a waterfall had also been added. There were many nights when everyone had gotten together there just to chill.

  Each team member dropped their packs, grabbed at least two bottles, and crashed in a seat. Marco flipped the switch to activate the cooling spray which was tucked under the eaves of both buildings. Several people removed their soaking wet T-shirts, including Abbott, who was wearing a black sports bra underneath. Brody glanced at her. She was in top physical condition and had an impressive body, but he found himself thinking he preferred Fancy’s softer one. He’d spent many a morning jacking off to what he imagined the delicious baker looked like under her chef’s whites. The only time he had seen her in regular clothes was the other night. She’d been wearing a comfortable pair of jeans, which had only enhanced her curves, and a blue V-neck tee that had given him a teasing hint of her cleavage. The memory had his dick twitching, and he forced the image from his mind. Now was not an appropriate time to be getting a hard-on about the woman he couldn’t wait to have in his bed.

  Cracking open a second water bottle, he guzzled half of it as Marco’s and his cell phones alerted them to a message from the office. Instead of checking his own, Brody just raised an eyebrow at his buddy who was reading the text. Standing, Marco tilted his chin in the direction of the offices. “Ian wants you and me in there. Something’s up.”

  Brody stood and addressed the team before following Marco. “Hit the showers. You’ve got an hour before you’re due on Main Street for some target practice.”

  Striding into the reception area on his teammate’s heels, Brody shivered as the air conditioning hit his sweat-covered skin and shirt. Goosebumps appeared on his arms. After he found out what was going on, he’d hit the showers over in the gym since the Omega team would be using all of the ones in the bunkrooms upstairs. Colleen stopped them from heading to Ian’s office, instead, telling them everyone was in the conference room. On the way, Brody veered off into his war-room and grabbed his cinnamon rolls, taking a huge bite of one as he walked down the hall and entered the room where everyone else had gathered.

  He was surprised to see Detective Isaac Webb from Tampa P.D. with Cal Watts from the local FBI’s SWAT team sitting at the long table with Devon, Ian, Marco, and Boomer. Webb was a tall, slender black man in his forties, while thirty-seven-year-old Watts was about four inches shorter at five foot ten, stockier, and had red hair. The former was wearing one of the Tampa PD golf shirts the department let their detectives wear in warmer temperatures, instead of a suit and tie. But Watts apparently was off duty at the moment, unless the bureau had changed its dress code to include cargo shorts, Metallica T-shirts, and sneakers.

  Brody wiped his sticky hand on his wet shirt then realized that was just as bad, so instead he gave them a short wave. “Sorry, guys. What’s going on?” He took a seat between Boomer and Marco and pulled one of the laptops in front of him. Whatever was up, he was probably going to need some intel.

  Before anyone answered, Ian stood and shut the door then sat back down. There was no mistaking the grim expression on his face. “This stays in this room for now, but I’m sure it’ll be getting out soon enough. It seems as though we have a big problem. Cal is here off-the-record.”

  At the others’ curious looks, Cal stated, “Isaac took Jake’s spot on our Tuesday night basketball games at the ‘Y’ so we know each other from there. He’ll explain what’s going on.”

  They all knew Jake Donovan had gone to the local YMCA for bi-weekly games before he’d headed out to San Diego to get the west coast team of Trident up and running. It had been a win-win decision for everyone to send Jake because he was in a Dom/sub committed relationship with Ian and Devon’s younger brother, Nick, who was on SEAL Team Three stationed out there.

  Webb cleared his throat. “Dispatch got a call this morning about a missing person. A woman who I believe you all know. Heather Davis.”

  Boomer and Devon groaned while Brody rolled his eyes. This was the “big” problem? Seriously? Heather was the biggest bitch in the world. When Devon’s wife, Kristen had first come to the club as a guest, she had gotten into a knock-down, hair-pulling fight with Heather and another sub in the women’s locker room. The two bitches had been bullying none other than Trident’s secretary, Colleen, when Kristen had interrupted. At the time, Colleen had been very timid and shied away from controversy. She also hadn’t been working for the team back then. Heather and the other sub had already been on probation for bullying, and their memberships had been revoked that night. Kristen ended up being dubbed “Ninja-girl”, and a few months later, Colleen had been hired by Ian, which her Dom/fiancé, Reggie Helm, was grateful for. Even he had seen the positive changes in his woman. Since they first met, the two women had become good friends, and Colleen had flourished under the training and watchful eyes of the Trident employees. She now knew how to defend herself and even had a concealed weapon license to carry a gun.

  “Knock it off, assholes, and listen to the man.” Ian’s tone had them all pausing, then sitting up straighter. If they had been in the club, everyone would have said it was his Dom voice, but in this setting, it was his “I’m your Lieutenant, and you just fucked up” voice. It was obvious he was already privy to whatever was going on.

  Webb took over again. “Well, whatever issues you had with Ms. Davis, I can assure you she’s missing, and she’s not the first.” Brody’s eyes flashed to Marco and saw his friend also made the connection to Kayla London’s missing friend from Heat. “Her live-in boyfriend, Dr. Scott Harrison, got home from a shift at the hospital, which, due to a multi-vehicle crash, had him in the ER until 2:00 a.m. When he arrived home twenty minutes later, he found Ms. Davis’s car parked in the driveway as he expected it to be. However, she wasn’t at home. He went back outside and saw her car was locked with her cell phone in the center console—her purse was missing. He called 911 when she didn’t return by eight this morning. Now, typically this wouldn’t have raised any alarms, and everyone would assume she ran off or something,
but, as I said, this isn’t the first one with the exact same circumstances. I’ll get to the others in a moment. What did differ this time was one of Ms. Davis’s high heeled shoes was found under the car by the driver’s door when the patrol units first responded. According to Dr. Harrison, he had no idea where she’d gone last night and thought she was staying in. The last time he spoke to her was just after 6:00 p.m. by phone.”

  He slid an 8 x 10 photo of the missing blonde onto the table, followed by another of a different woman—this one was a brunette. “Christie Lawrence, age twenty-eight, missing for three weeks now. Last seen at a bar down on the Riverwalk by some friends a little after midnight. She drove home and disappeared. Her car was locked with her cell phone inside. Her purse was missing, too.” Christie was the one some of them had already heard about. Brody studied the photo—she was a cute girl. Webb tossed a third picture on the table for the team to see—this woman had black hair. “Melody Barnes, age twenty-five, missing for six weeks. Last seen leaving her job as a waitress at 11:00 p.m. And once again, her car was at her condo and locked—cell phone inside. No purse.”

  Devon crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Okay. So we have three missing women, and since you haven’t said you found any bodies, they are still just considered missing. I understand your concern because the similarities and circumstances don’t bode well, but what’s it got to do with us?”

  Sitting forward, Ian rested his elbows on the table. “You already know Heather is a submissive in the lifestyle.” He pointed at the photos. “The brunette is a submissive and a member of Heat. And the other one attended her first munch a few days before she went missing. One of her friends went with her, but they weren’t together at all times so she doesn’t know who Melody spoke to, but she was there as a potential submissive to the lifestyle.”

  “Oh, fuck.” Boomer slid the photos closer to inspect them better. “Are you telling me we have some nutcase kidnapping submissives?”