Marissa stared him, feeling sick. “It’s simple,” Phil continued blithely. “If you say a word about this to anyone, I’ll destroy you. When I give your boss the information I’ve gleaned, you’ll lose not only your cushy job, but that precious medical license of yours, mark my words. If you dare go to the cops, copies of your homemade porn video will be sent to the chief of staff at the hospital, as well as to the New York Post and the New York Times, plus I'll post it on YouTube. I have everything ready to go with the push of a button, babe. One false move on your part, and you can kiss your career and your reputation goodbye.” He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it onto the bed. Hoisting the messenger bag over his shoulder, he added, “See you later, skank. Next time I better find you wet and ready.”
Turning on his heel, he strode out of the bedroom. A moment later Marissa heard the click of the deadbolt, and then the door slammed.
She looked down at what he’d thrown onto the bed. It was a small red plastic rectangle with a sliver of metal showing on one end. It took her a moment to realize it was a computer flash drive.
Marissa’s hand shot out, her fingers curling around the drive. Without realizing what she was doing, she hurled it with all her strength toward the wall. Then she fell back against her pillows, a dam bursting inside her as she curled in on herself and began to sob.
Chapter 11
Cam turned the key quietly in the lock in case Marissa was sleeping. When he'd left the hospital he'd been bone tired, but somehow each stop of the subway seemed to lift a layer of fatigue from his shoulders as it brought him that much closer to Marissa. By the time he'd reached her apartment building, he didn't even bother with the ancient, impossibly slow elevator, but instead took the stairs two at a time until he reached her floor.
When he stepped into the living room, he saw a bouquet of roses tightly wrapped in green tissue paper lying on the floor. A few feet away lay a single stem, its petals scattered nearby. While his brain struggled to process and provide a reason for such a strange sight, his body went into instant alert mode—his muscles tensing for a fight, his gut clenching into a fist.
“Marissa!”
He sprinted the short distance to her bedroom and pushed past the door, which was ajar. The room was lit only by the light emanating from the bathroom. Marissa was huddled in the center of the bed, curled in upon herself like a child. Something was very, very wrong.
Flying to the bed, he reached for her shoulders. “Marissa, what is it? What happened? Who was here? Did they hurt you?”
Marissa lifted a face swollen from crying, her eyes rimmed red, her lips trembling. Mutely she held out her wrists. Each was circled with red, ravaged skin, the marks of metal cuffs or very rough rope. Fear, fury, and the desperate need to know what had happened, however horrible the knowledge, clattered and jangled inside Cam in a cacophony of emotion.
“Oh my god,” he whispered. “What happened to you? Baby, why didn't you call me? Did you call the police? Are you okay? Please, talk to me.”
Marissa met Cam's eye. “I’m okay. I didn’t call the police.” She blew out a tremulous breath. “I don't want them involved. I wanted to call you but I didn't know what to say. He threatened if I told, he would...I didn't want... Oh Cam, I don't know what to do.” She wrapped her arms around Cam's neck and began to sob.
He gathered her close against him and held her tight, tears spilling down his own cheeks as he gently rocked her in his arms. He forced himself to be patient, to let her cry, let her gather her thoughts, catch her breath. Finally she spoke in a whisper against his neck. “It was Phil. Phil Mitchell. He came here. He—it—what he did… It was horrible.”
“Wait, what?” Cam was thoroughly confused. “That computer technician who has been putting in the new system at the hospital? He did this to you? I don’t understand.” Even as Cam tried to reconcile the image of the guy, who had been strutting around the unit for the past few weeks getting in people’s way at their work stations and flirting with the female staff, with the person who had done this to his darling, he already knew he would hunt the bastard down if it was the last thing he did. It took every ounce of self-control not to roar out his pain and rage at the thought of someone entering Marissa's home and violating her, but Cam forced himself to remain outwardly calm for her sake. Now was not the time to go into macho bluster mode.
He extricated himself gently from her embrace. He took her face in his hands and looked deep into her eyes. “Tell me,” he coaxed. “Tell me what happened.”
Haltingly at first, and then faster and faster, the horrible words came tumbling over themselves as Marissa told Cam what that vile monster had done, and threatened to continue doing. As she spoke, the fear in her voice was edged out by anger, and her eyes sparked with the same fury that burned in Cam’s gut.
“Jesus, Marissa,” he swore when she was done. “We have to call the police! We can’t let this guy get away with this.”
“He got into my laptop, Cam. He knows about the training video. He has a copy.”
“What? How the hell did he do that? What are you talking about?”
“I found him in my office a while back, and it was a day I had my personal laptop at work. He claimed he was just doing the software installation on the office PC, but I thought at the time something wasn’t right.” Marissa hugged herself miserably. “He left a flash drive here tonight to back up his threat. I haven’t watched what’s on it, but I’m pretty sure I know.” Marissa pointed toward the wall. “I threw it over there somewhere. We should probably watch it to know for sure.”
Cam rose from the bed and moved toward the wall, scanning the floor until he saw the red plastic flash drive in the corner. He picked it up between thumb and forefinger like it was a dead cockroach and returned to Marissa. “I’ll watch it later, sweetheart. But whatever’s on there, we still should let the police know, don’t you think?”
“No. No police.” Marissa crossed her arms across her chest. “We can't take the chance, Cam. This isn’t just about me. You’re involved too because of the video.” She outlined Mitchell’s threats if Marissa tried to take any action against him. “Phil has it all figured out. Even if I press charges and he’s arrested, if this goes to trial, our names and reputations will be dragged through the mud in the process. At the very least we’ll be publically humiliated, but we could end up losing our jobs over this, Cam. I don’t think his threat was an idle one. It could destroy our careers.”
Cam was quiet as he thought about what Marissa was saying. She was right about the potential humiliation, though he didn’t care about himself. It was Marissa he was thinking of—of the relentless, invasive police questioning as they forced her to go over and over what had happened. And if it went to trial, it would become a matter of public record. Protected and somewhat insulated within the supportive BDSM community in which he was involved, Cam sometimes forgot just how judgmental and damning the outside world could still be regarding lifestyles they didn’t understand.
He decided not to press the issue. He would respect Marissa’s decision and support her in every way he knew how. Phil Mitchell could be dealt with later. Right now his focus must be on taking care of his girl.
Cam stood and lifted Marissa into his arms. He carried her to the bathroom and set her carefully on her feet. Closing the door, he turned on the shower. While the room began to fill with steam, Cam stripped off his clothing. He helped Marissa into the shower and stepped in beside her. Gently, soothingly, he washed her body from head to toe, soaping away every trace of that bastard, wishing he could expunge him from her mind as well. As he worked, he conducted a surreptitious exam to make sure she was really okay. He sucked in his breath when he saw the red marks on her ass, and the faint bruising showing just beneath the skin.
He shampooed her hair and held her as she stood beneath the hot spray, his heart nearly breaking with love and concern. Only when the water began to cool did he turn it off and reach for a towel. Wet and dripping him
self, he dried Marissa, gently patting her skin while she stood, compliant as a child, her beautiful blue-green eyes fixed trustingly on his face. He draped another over her shoulders. Only then did he grab a towel for himself.
His arm around her, Cam led Marissa back into the bedroom. “Wait a second,” he said, moving quickly toward the bed. The thought of that bastard touching the sheets, terrorizing Marissa, spurting his ejaculate over her and the bedding, made him want to vomit. Yanking back the rumpled linens, he stripped the bed to the mattress and tossed the pile into a corner. He placed his towel on the bare mattress and gestured for Marissa to lie down.
Opening her bedside night table, Cam took out the salve they used after intense play sessions. He applied it to her wrists, and then rolled her gently to her stomach so he could smooth the healing cream onto her ass and thighs. Marissa was resting with her cheek on her arms, watching his ministrations with a somber expression.
“You want to sleep, baby?” Cam asked. “I’ll remake the bed with fresh sheets. Can I get you something to drink? Water, brandy?”
Marissa rolled over and sat up. She shook her head adamantly. “No. I don’t want to stay here. I know it’s late, but can we go to your place?”
Cam nodded. “Absolutely. I'll call a cab right now.” They dressed quickly. While Marissa was in the bathroom brushing out her hair, Cam slipped the flash drive into his jeans pocket.
On the ride to his house, Cam said, “You know, that asshole is not going to get away with this. I understand you don’t want to involve the cops, but maybe there’s another way...” He trailed off as he said this, the seed of an idea forming in his mind. He thought about the old adage—don’t get mad, get even. Turning to Marissa, he said, “So Mitchell threatened to send a copy of our private training video to Dr. Hession?”
Marissa, who had been looking out the cab’s window, turned back to face Cam with a frown. “I don't know him all that well, but from what I can tell, Fred Hession is a very straitlaced guy. Very conservative. He'd probably fire us on the spot.”
Cam raised his eyebrows, a ghost of a smile lifting his lips.
“What? What's funny about that?” Marissa demanded, a touch of her natural spark returning.
“Just thinking of your characterization of Fred as a straitlaced guy. He does favor straitjackets, and would probably like a bit of lace as well. I know he loves silk and very high heels.”
Marissa wrinkled her nose in confusion. “What are you talking about? You know Dr. Hession personally?”
“I do.” Cam nodded. “In fact, I trained him.”
Marissa continued to stare at Cam uncomprehendingly. “Trained him?”
Cam nodded. “Normally I wouldn't say anything, but these are extenuating circumstances so I think you should know. Fred is a member of The Power Exchange. He and his wife Lillian are regulars. She’s a homemaker and his fulltime Mistress.” Marissa's mouth had fallen open, her eyebrows rising higher and higher as he spoke. “In fact, that's how I got an interview at the hospital. Fred recommended me.”
“Wow,” Marissa finally said. “I had no idea.”
“Why would you? It’s his personal business. Same as us.” Cam reached for Marissa’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “We don't have to deal with this alone, baby. And we’re definitely not going to take this lying down. I understand and respect your wish not to involve the authorities. We’ll handle this on our own, with the strength of the BDSM community behind us. When we’re done with him, Phil Mitchell will wish he’d never been born.”
Once home, Cam poured them each a large snifter of brandy, which they carried to the bedroom. Snuggled between the sheets, Cam took Marissa's hand. “Sweetheart, we need to tackle this right away, before that bastard does any more harm. I have the beginnings of a plan, and I want to call Jack Morris to get his input. Is that okay with you?”
Two spots of scarlet appeared on Marissa’s cheekbones, but she nodded. “Yeah. It’s okay. He should know that a video of the inner room is floating around out there. But it’s after two. The club is closed tonight. Won’t he be asleep?”
“Jack?” Cam shook his head. “He’s an inveterate night owl. He jokes that he has vampire blood—only goes down when the sun comes up.” Sure enough, Jack answered his phone on the second ring, recognizing Cam’s number and answering in his booming bass, “Hey there, trainer. You pull the late shift at the hospital or something?”
With a glance and sad smile at Marissa, Cam explained briefly what had transpired. He held the phone away from his ear as Jack began to shout.
What's he saying? Marissa mouthed. Cam switched the audio to speaker and set the phone on the bed between them.
“—won’t get away with this, that little piece of shit! Say the word, Cam, and that cocksucker will disappear. I still know guys who know guys, if you understand me.”
“No,” Marissa interjected. “Jack, it's Marissa. Listen, we don’t want anything like that. I just want to make sure we stop him from doing any more damage. And we have to make sure he never does this to anyone else.”
Jack reluctantly agreed, becoming enthusiastic again when Cam discussed the rudiments of the idea that had been germinating in his brain since the cab ride. They talked back and forth for quite a while, firming up the plan.
~*~
Phil Mitchell looked at himself in the mirror and grinned at his reflection. He was still stoked from the events of last night. He’d waited up late after he left her, just in case the bitch was stupid enough to call the cops, but the night had passed uneventfully, as had the morning. Neither Marissa nor her faggot boyfriend had showed up at the hospital so far, which was well and good. Even if Cam Wilder knew what had happened, what could he do? They were probably cowering together in their S&M lair with no idea what to do. Phil had them both over a barrel, and they knew it. He owned Marissa Roberts’ ass now, and the fun was just beginning.
Everything had come together perfectly last night—from the seriously excellent cocaine he’d snorted that had made him feel like a god, to Wilder’s working the night shift, to the helpful old lady who had let him into Marissa’s apartment building when he pretended to fumble for his key. The expression on Marissa’s face had been priceless when he’d tossed that flash drive onto her bed. It served her right. People who played those sick, twisted sex games and then had the stupidity to record them deserved exactly what they got.
He had timed it perfectly, too, since today was his wrap up at St. Beatrice Hospital. All the software systems were enabled and working beautifully. He had an appointment with the chief of staff to give him the final report, and then it was on to another project.
Phil turned slightly to change the mirror angle and admired himself from the side. He really had an excellent jawline. The suit jacket hid his muscular build, but the padded shoulders compensated. He faced the mirror once more and buttoned the jacket, glad he’d sprung for the extra tailoring to highlight his trim physique.
The bathroom door opened and a janitor shuffled in pulling a wash bucket on wheels, a mop slung over his shoulder. Phil nodded a greeting and slid past him. He mustn’t keep Dr. Hession waiting.
Phil strode purposely down the corridor, smiling at the pretty nurses he passed. He winked at the fat broad—Janet, Janice—he couldn’t quite remember—as he approached, and she giggled and simpered. In your dreams, he thought as he walked by.
“Hi. I have an eleven o’clock appointment with Dr. Hession,” Phil told the plump, middle-aged secretary who was pretending to be busy at her desk.
She looked up at him with a sour expression. He flashed her a heart-stopping smile and she melted, just like they all did. “Oh yes,” she gushed. “You can go right in. He’s expecting you.”
Phil knocked lightly on the ajar door and peered inside. Dr. Hession looked up. “Please, come in.”
Phil entered the office and approached the older man’s desk. He opened his leather portfolio and extracted the final report for the hospital. “Her
e’s a summary of the work that’s been done,” he said, placing the pale gray folder with the words HIF Software Solutions typed on the cover in front of Dr. Hession. “Everything went very well. All software updates are in place, and the new system is fully operational. Your staff has been trained, but of course we’ll be available to help with any questions, or to fix any bugs that might arise.”
Dr. Hession glanced at the papers Phil had placed in front of him. Phil doubted he even knew what he was looking at—medical professionals could be so one-dimensional, focused only on their tiny, specific area of medical expertise, with blinders on for anything else. This actually suited Phil, since fewer questions and demands meant he could get on to the next job that much more quickly. If he occasionally cut a few corners in the process, no one was the wiser.
Dr. Hession looked up. “We’re pleased with the job HIF has done for this hospital. I actually wanted to see you on another matter.”
Phil felt a sudden jab of unease. Could that skanky bitch have been dumb enough to come to her boss in a preemptive move? Even as the thought crossed his mind, Phil dismissed it. She wouldn’t be that stupid. Still, he blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when Dr. Hession said, “You’ve done such a good job, I was wondering if you’d be interested in doing some work for an associate of mine. It’s a small computer job—really something you could do on your own time, I would imagine. No need to involve HIF unless you thought it necessary. I have an entrepreneur friend who needs a management information system set up for one of his startups.” He smiled at Phil. “Would you be interested in something like that?”
Phil could see the dollar signs parading in his head, and had to restrain himself to keep from rubbing his hands together. In point of fact, his contract with HIF precluded this sort of side job, but what they didn’t know… “You bet,” he said a little too eagerly. Tamping it down, he added in a sober tone, “Of course, I’d need to know more about it, but I’m sure I can work something out. Do you have his card?”
The Inner Room Page 14