“Fuck, Sawyer.” This time, it was the owner of one of the public clubs, which tended to be a little lax in the security and house rules departments. “We don’t have the staff for that.”
“I know, Tim. But you can spread the word and get a buddy system going. All I’m asking is you make your members aware that submissives are missing under unusual circumstances. Encourage them to look out for each other. Ask the Doms to do what they can to help. Do whatever you can to make sure your subs are safe, because in addition to this not boding well for those who are missing, the word is going to spread whether you like it or not. And when it does, you may see a drop in club attendance. Ensuring your subs are safe protects them and you. Any questions?”
Twenty minutes later, Ian sat at the bar having a drink with Tiny. Everyone else had filtered out after a bunch of questions, some of which he didn’t have answers to. A few people took down Isaac Webb’s contact info, in case they needed it, and Markowitz would be calling the cop first thing after he reviewed the security tapes for his club.
Tiny took a swig of his beer. “You did the best you could, Boss-man. You can’t police every club. We just have to hope we find out what’s going on before anyone else goes missing.”
Ian sighed heavily and ran a hand down his face. His gut was churning. “I know. But I get the feeling things are going to get a lot worse before they get better.”
* * *
Brody glanced at the dashboard clock and winced. It was almost twelve thirty, and they were just now getting back to the shop for Fancy’s car. The game had gone into extra innings, and she had been having such a good time she hadn’t wanted to leave before the end, despite the fact she needed to be at work at 6:00 a.m. She had assured him that she would call one of the afternoon girls to come in early so she only had to work a half day. But that still meant she had to get up in about four and a half hours. Truth be told, he was happy they had stayed for the whole game because it meant more time to just be with her. And seeing the smile on her face and the glee in her eyes when the Indians won had been worth every minute of it.
Pulling into the parking lot, he immediately noticed something was wrong. Fancy’s silver Altima was tilting toward the driver’s side. Cursing under his breath, he parked next to her car, and she gasped when she saw both tires were flat. Opening his door, he grabbed the heavy Mag-lite flashlight he kept under his seat and ordered, “Stay here while I check it out.”
When she nodded, he climbed out and circled around the front of his truck, his eyes taking in and assessing every corner of the lot for danger. No one was in sight, and nothing else appeared out of place. He squatted down and cursed when he saw the visible knife-induced puncture. Someone had deliberately stabbed her tires. He stood and walked around to inspect the passenger side, but the tires there were both still intact and full—probably because that side faced the roadway. Glancing up at the building at the other end of the lot, he berated himself for not putting up enough security cameras to monitor the entire lot. They were just covering the first row of parking spaces that ran parallel to the building. Well, he’d remedy that in the morning.
Stepping over to the passenger side of the truck, he pulled open her door. “Hand me my phone in the center console there, please.”
She retrieved it for him. “Someone slashed my tires, didn’t they?” From where she sat, she couldn’t see the knife marks he’d seen, but what were the chances of both tires going flat without involving criminal mischief.
“Yeah. Who has it in for you, Fancy? The graffiti and brick were one thing, but it’s obvious now that someone is targeting you and not just your store.”
Her eyes widened as he found the number he was looking for in his contacts. “It has to be the teenagers I kicked out a few weeks ago. At least one of them must be holding a grudge.”
After hitting the send button, he brought the phone to his ear and waited for someone from the towing company Trident used to pick up the phone. When a male voice answered, he gave him the location of the vehicle and told him to tow it back to the Trident compound. Brody would change the tires and then ask Babs to do the alignment while he gave the entire vehicle a thorough inspection to make sure nothing else had been done to it.
Taking Fancy’s keys, he removed the electronic key for the Altima and put it behind the front flat as the tow guy had requested, then got back in his truck. “I’ll drive you home and come get you in the morning to take you to work. I’ll have the tires changed and the car back to you by noon so you can still leave early.”
When she didn’t respond, he glanced over and saw wet droplets rolling down her cheeks as she stared out the windshield at nothing in particular. Reaching over, he brushed her tears away. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. We’ll find out who’s doing this and then file charges with the police.”
Her bottom lip quivered as she looked at him and nodded. “Sorry. I just don’t know why someone would be so mean. All I did was ask them to leave because they were making so much noise and being rude to the customers. Then one of them started cursing at me so Sal came out with a baseball bat and told them if they didn’t leave we were going to call the police. They threw their garbage on the floor and made a mess, but they left. I swear, if my friends and I ever acted that way when I was in high school, I would have gotten my ass kicked by both my mom and my aunt.”
As she spoke, her tears began to ebb, and anger replaced them, which is what he preferred to see. “I was raised the same way. Trust me, my parents just had to give us a look that said they were not only pissed but disappointed, and we straightened right out. Nobody does guilt better than a Texas mom or dad.”
She laughed. “I’ll have to remember that.”
Leaning over, he gave her a quick, gentle kiss. As much as he wanted more, it was really late, and she needed sleep. “Let’s get you home.”
Chapter 7
The sound of a car door opening then closing nearby had Heather Davis’s muscles tensing. She had no idea where she was, how she got there, or how long she’d been there. She’d awakened with a severe headache a short while ago to silence and the fact that she was naked, tied spread eagle to an uncomfortable bed, with a blindfold over her eyes, and a ball gag in her mouth. Her bladder was painfully full, and if she didn’t get free soon, she was going to pee herself—again. The stench of urine and the wetness she felt under her thighs and ass told her she must have relieved herself sometime while she’d been unconscious.
Once again, she tried unsuccessfully to pull her arms and legs free, but the restraints on her wrists and ankles held fast. Even if her muscles hadn’t been achy and weak, she doubted she could get out of them. The last thing she remembered before waking up here was leaving The Devil’s Dungeon. Scott, her Dom, had been working at the hospital, and she’d been in the mood to go out and have some fun. Knowing she wouldn’t get in trouble unless she didn’t get home before the end of his scheduled shift at midnight, she’d snuck out. Scott never went to the public BDSM club, preferring the private ones, Heat and The Covenant. And since she’d been banned from The Covenant, thanks to that bitch who’d married Devon Sawyer, Scott and she now only played at Heat.
They had been in a D/s and live-in boyfriend/girlfriend relationship for about three years now, despite the rumors she often heard that he was too good for her. Maybe it was true, and maybe she wasn’t the most perfect submissive and girlfriend, but, in her own way, she did love him—as much as she could.
An interior door opened, and she heard footsteps on concrete or rock. Panic bubble in her chest. She tried to speak, but it was muffled by the gag. “Ooo ehhh?”
“Ah, good. You’re awake. Perfect timing.”
The male voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She began struggling against the restraints with what little strength she had. Whatever was going on, she knew without a doubt it couldn’t be good. She flinched when hands touched her face, but all the man did was remove the ball gag. She coughed and tried to swallow
, but her mouth was too dry. Her voice rasped. “W-who are you? What the—cough—hell—cough—is going on? L-let me go!”
“Now why would I want to do a thing like that when we’re about to have so much fun?”
“You bastard! Let me go!”
The blindfold was ripped off, and she blinked against the harsh light. When she was finally able to see, her mouth gaped at the man standing over her. He was a Dom she knew from The Covenant and Heat, but she’d never played with him before. “You? What’s going on? Let me go! Why are you doing this?”
His smirk was pure evil. “Why? Two reasons actually. One—because you’re a bitch and a whore who deserves it. Two. . .” He shrugged. “Because I can.”
Heather wished she could spit in his face, but her mouth was too dry. She yanked hard on her restraints again. “Let me fucking go, you asshole!”
“Tsk, tsk. Such foul language coming from you. What does your Dom say about your dirty mouth? Clearly, he doesn’t know how to put you in your place. . .but I do.”
When he released the hook keeping her right leg immobile, she kicked out at him, but her reflexes were slow and muscles stiff after being restrained for so long. He easily grabbed her ankle before her foot made contact with his body. Without warning, he stepped forward and slammed his fist down on her stomach, forcing an “oompf” from her mouth as she lost her breath. Bile shot up her throat as she gasped for air while he released her other leg. The pain in her abdomen was almost unbearable. She lost control of her bladder, soaking the mattress once again, but it didn’t seem to bother the fucking bastard. And now was not the time to be embarrassed about it, she had much worse to worry about.
Before she could recover enough to struggle, he had both her arms free. He grabbed her by the hair and hauled her off the bed. Her scalp screeched in agony when her legs gave out and the only thing keeping her from hitting the floor was his hand. Her fists struck out as her feet tried to gain purchase, but he was so much stronger than her that the attempts to do damage were useless. He dragged her flailing, naked body across the cement floor to a St. Andrew’s cross like he was bringing a bag of trash to the garbage. Terror coursed through her veins as he quickly restrained her to the contraption so she was facing the wall. One last attempt to kick him resulted in a painful punch to her side in the fleshy part above her hip.
Sweat and tears poured down her face. When he stepped away, she turned her head to see what the Dom was doing. Her blood ran cold as he picked up a bullwhip from a wooden table and sneered at her. “It’s time to scream for me.”
* * *
Brody stared at the picture accompanying the nearly three-year-old newspaper article on his computer screen. He’d finally broken down and done a google search on Francine “Fancy” Maguire. Curiosity had gotten the best of him, and he had some questions he didn’t know how to approach her with.
The top twenty URLs had to do with the car accident she and her husband had been in, while a few more were about her business. From what he saw in the photos shot from different angles, he had no idea how Fancy had survived the crash in the first place. Some bystander had also taken a video with their cell phone, showing the off duty police officer and two other men who’d stopped to help, rescuing Fancy from the passenger seat moments before the Jeep Wrangler burst into flames. According to the coroner’s report which had been posted a few days after the accident, Patrick Maguire had been killed on impact after he ran a red light and was T-boned on the driver’s side by a box truck.
Brody had watched as the rescuers carefully but quickly pulled the limp woman from the wreckage and his heart squeezed. He’d come this close to losing her three years before he’d ever met her. And long before she started creeping into his heart.
The only thing he didn’t have access to was the official police department accident report. He could easily hack into the Tampa P.D.’s computer system—that was a piece of cake for him. But Ian had promised the local Chief of Police his computer geek wouldn’t do that again, after the last time unless absolutely necessary—for example, something which concerned national security. This didn’t qualify, so he’d go the accepted route.
He was about to look up the number he needed when Boomer walked into the room. “Almost ready to go? After I drop you back off here, I have to go do a security inspection for a new client.”
Brody glanced at the time. He had a few more minutes before they had to get Fancy’s car back to her. “Yeah, but first, do you have Freddie Mendoza’s cell number? I need to ask him something.”
Trident’s explosives and ordinance expert often did cross training with the local and federal bomb teams. They kept Boomer up-to-date on the new nightmares some chemists dreamed up, and he showed them stuff he’d learned while diffusing IEDs and suicide vests while in the devil’s sandbox, otherwise known as Afghanistan and Iraq. “Yeah. Here it is.”
As he rattled off the number, Boomer’s phone rang. Answering it, he stepped back out of the war-room. “Hi, Kitten.”
While his teammate chatted with his fiancée, Kat Maier, Brody dialed the TPD officer’s number. The man picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Hey, Freddie. It’s Brody Evans.”
“Egghead, what’s up?”
He relaxed back in his comfy, leather office chair with its ergonomic design. “Got a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“What do you know about Fancy’s car accident? The one that killed her husband.”
There was a pause as Mendoza acknowledged someone else in the room with him. “Well, I didn’t know her back then, so I never looked at the report. Sal’s wife is a nurse’s aide and met Fancy during her rehab after she came out of her coma. You want to tell me why you’re asking me and not her?”
Brody sighed. “I’m just curious—and I’m really interested in her, but haven’t quite brought up the subject of Patrick and the accident. We went on a date last night, and when I took her back to get her car at the bakery, her tires had been slashed.”
“Fuck. Anything on the cameras?”
“No. She’d parked out of range. I’m going to add two more to pick up the entire lot later today. Fancy thinks it’s some kids she kicked out a few weeks ago.”
“Yeah, she mentioned that. What’s that got to do with her accident?”
He shrugged despite the fact the man couldn’t see him. “Probably nothing. But I can’t find any news reports of the results of the investigation.”
Over the line, a door slam somewhere in the vicinity of the cop and voices in the background got louder. “I’m at a training gig that’s about to start right now but I’ll look it up later and give you a call back.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“No prob. Later.”
After the call had disconnected, Brody closed his computer browser and headed out to find Boomer. He drove Fancy’s car back to the bakery, with his teammate following, and parked right under the camera closest to the front door, not wanting her to walk further than she had to. Holding two fingers up to Boomer sitting in his truck, he indicated he’d be back in a few minutes.
As he reached the door of the shop, he was surprised when it opened, and Russell Adams came shuffling out with a carton of milk and a bakery bag in his hands. Brody grabbed the door and held it open for him before letting it shut again. “Hey, Russell. How’re you doing?”
The retired Navy Petty Officer appeared to have taken advantage of the showers at the nearby shelter Brody had told him about, which catered mostly to homeless veterans. While his clothes were still disheveled, they were cleaner, along with his brown hair and fair skin. He was a lot thinner than he should be, and his clothes hung on his tall frame. Brody wished he could do more for the guy, but Russell had refused anything other than some free food, information on the shelter, and a few kind, understanding words. The former SEAL was all too aware that many veterans couldn’t go back to being the people they’d been before going into combat, seeing and doing thing
s most civilians could never imagine.
“I’m good, Senior Chief,” he answered, using Brody’s former rank which he’d inquired about yesterday. “Ms. Fancy was kind enough to invite me in for some food. She told me to sit down at one of the tables, but. . .” He shrugged, his gaze flitting in all directions. “Having a homeless bum with PTSD sitting around can’t be good for her business, so I told her I’d take it to my tree out back. She’s really nice.”
Brody smiled. “Yes, she is. And she wouldn’t have invited you to sit if she didn’t mean it.”
The man shrugged again. “Yeah, well, I don’t do too well around people anymore, and I wouldn’t want to have an episode in there.”
Knowing he was probably referring to horrific flashbacks and/or temporary loss of reality, Brody nodded in understanding. Very few vets came back from combat without some form of PTSD, but some were luckier than others in that they were able to function day-to-day without breaking down, or worse. “Well, if you need anything, you’ve got my card, right?”
“Yes, Senior Chief. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He watched as Russell shuffled around the side of the building, headed for the shade of the trees where he’d been sitting yesterday. Shaking his head, Brody thanked his lucky stars he’d come home from all his missions in one piece for the most part—mentally and physically.
Opening the door, Brody strolled into the shop and was assaulted by all the delicious aromas he’d come to expect. Yup, he was definitely going to have to bring something back to the office with him. There were a few customers at the counter, and he had to wait until Fancy was done helping someone. She smiled when she spotted him and waved for him to follow her into the kitchen. From the butcher block work table, she picked up two white boxes tied with string and handed them to him. He traded her car keys for them. “What’s this?”
“One is pineapple crumb cake, and the other is a bunch of white chocolate raspberry tarts.”
Tickle His Fancy: Trident Security Book 6 (Trident Security Series) Page 8