by Frost, E J
She really needs to keep her paws off my daddy.
Logan slides his arm out from under Miranda’s hand and keeps cutting. “No idea. Mexican lobster was surprisingly good, wasn’t it, baby doll?”
Oh, wow, that was not subtle.
I beam at him. “Really good.”
“Oh, you must not have had Maine lobster,” Miranda says, waving her fork over the salad. “It’s the best.”
“My ex-in-laws have a place in Maine,” I tell her. “I remember the taste pretty well. In Mexico we had it raw, marinated in lime. Very different, but really, really good. Have you been to Mexico?”
Miranda’s smile falters. “No.”
Ha. Stick your condescension in your ear, Mir-Beast.
“It was my first time,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to go, so that’s one I can tick off my bucket list.”
She dials the condescension to eleven. “You can’t have seen much of it if you were only there for a few days before Logan was injured.”
“Nope,” I agree. “Just Cabo and a lot of ocean. It was super-hot, and super-sunny, and super-pretty. Beautiful beaches and the water’s so blue. It was great.”
“Maybe we should go back and finish the cruise,” Daddy says as he sets my salad back in front of me.
“Ta very much. I’d love that.” I resist the urge to bounce in my chair. “As long as it won’t bring back any bad memories?”
“Nope,” Daddy says. “I’d really enjoy it. We could combine it with a visit to Niall, Shaan, and Vashi. Maybe after Thanksgiving?”
I nod eagerly. “When it’s getting cold and wet here.”
“Sounds like a plan, little girl.” Daddy gives me a huge smile before he digs into his own salad.
He’s happy, my daddy. Maybe not stupid happy, but that’s probably asking for too much with the Mir-monster sitting just a few inches away, frowning at us. Still, I’ve made him happy. I smile into my salad before I take a bite.
* * *
Not even Sable liked Miranda. My kitty hid until she left. Now, he emerges from under the couch, runs over to me where I’m stacking the dinner dishes in the dishwasher, and winds himself around my feet, meowing. I wipe my hands and kneel to pet my kitty. His purring fills me with happy.
“You have such good taste in people,” I tell him as I scratch behind his ears. “After I finish the dishes, should we play chase the feather until Daddy gets back?”
Sable agrees with a slow blink of his golden eye.
I’m still playing with Sable when Logan returns from walking Miranda back to her hotel. He comes straight into the kitchen and leans against the island, watching as I trail the feather toy between the legs of the breakfast table while Sable dives at it, batting madly with his white-tipped paws. The vein that’s throbbing in Logan’s temple slowly fades as he watches us play, and after several minutes he gives me a lopsided smile.
“Hey, baby doll.”
“Hi, Daddy. Everything okay?”
“Uh-huh. Better now that she’s out of my hair for the night. I’m going to meet her tomorrow at the testing center at ten thirty. She can find her own breakfast.”
“Okay, Daddy.” I’m not going to argue with him. Dinner was uncomfortable enough. I don’t need any more meals with the Mir-beast, although I suspect I’m going to have to endure at least one more.
“I’m going to make a call, little love.” He glances up at the clock on the double-oven. “Finish playing with Sable, then make sure he’s got food and water for the night. I want you down in the playroom at eight thirty. No clothes, cuffs on. Are you still wearing Stanley?”
“Yes, Daddy.” No chance would I take out the plug without permission.
“Good girl. Take out the plug, clean up, and lube yourself. Daddy wants your ass tonight, little girl.”
I shiver all over before I nod.
Chapter Twelve
Logan
What is it with my fucking exes?
Miranda’s worse than Rachel. Did she think I didn’t notice her jabs at Emily? Or that I wasn’t fucking offended?
Were Mir and Rach both this catty when we were dating and I just didn’t see it? Or does the idea that I’ve finally found real happiness gall them so much?
Fuck them both.
I push thoughts of my exes away, a task that requires almost as much effort as not throttling them. Time to focus. Max has found, or, more likely, hacked, contact numbers for Laurel Radford. Time to find out if she’s behind Rick’s stalking. Then I’m going to take out my considerable frustrations on Emily’s ass. I haven’t given her a flogging in several days.
We’re overdue.
Hopefully, a long flogging will keep me calm through tomorrow, which is going to be another monumental exercise in self-control.
After leaving Emily playing adorably with her cat, I open my office safe and take out one of the handful of burner phones I keep in there. Dovie Donegan isn’t the only witness who’s ever blocked my number. I’ll use another burner to try Dovie again later, since it feels like she’s hiding something.
I set the burner phone on my desk, ready my notebook and pen, and tap in the numbers from Max’s email.
“Hello?” She answers on the first ring. She sounds relaxed, but her voice is a little rough, as though I’ve woken her, or maybe she has a cold.
“Laurel Radford?”
“Yes.”
“This is James Logan. I’m an investigator working for Rick Errol.”
“Oh.” She’s silent for a moment and I wait to see if she’s going to hang up. “Dovie told me you might try to reach me.”
I bet she did. “Are you willing to talk to me?”
“Yes. I don’t want anything more to do with Rick, though. That part of my life is done.”
Interesting. “What part of your life is that?”
“The partying. The stuff with Dovie and Damon.”
“Okay—”
She interrupts me. “Look, Dovie said she told you I’m engaged. I’m done with craziness. I’ve gotten my life together.”
Does she consider her past with Dovie and Damon craziness? A ménage is pretty tame in my book, but it might not be in hers. Either way, she clearly wants to distance herself from it, and that gives me leverage.
“Congratulations on your engagement. Rick doesn’t want to undermine your relationship in any way. That’s not why I’m calling.”
“Oh. Well, if it’s about Rick slapping me, tell him to forget it. I’d forgotten it, actually, until Dovie called.”
“So, no hard feelings?” I ask.
“Definitely not. We were all drunk. I was out of my head. If I’d been in his shoes, I’d have slapped me, too.”
This doesn’t sound like a woman who was plastering an allegation of rape all over the internet a few days ago. Or one with such deep rage and hatred she’d produce the Little Box of Horrors.
But she could just be a good liar.
“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about the party?”
“No, but I’ll tell you up-front, I don’t remember it all that well. If you must know, it was that weekend that convinced me I had to end the crazy and straighten out, because there are big parts of it that I don’t remember.”
“Like what?”
She’s silent for a moment. “I don’t remember how I got home.”
“Did you drive up or take the train?”
“Actually, I flew. My company flew me to New York for a conference on Wednesday and I stayed through the weekend to visit Dovie. But I didn’t fly home. I know that because I didn’t use my plane ticket. I have no idea if I got a train or hitch-hiked or freaking walked. I really don’t remember.”
“Was that because of the drinking?”
She blows out a long breath. “You’re a PI, right? Not a cop? Is this confidential? I mean, is anyone other than Rick going to find out about this?”
“No one but Rick will ever see my report,” I say. That’s all I can promise. I could be compelled to
testify about my investigation, but everything she tells me would be hearsay.
“Okay. Look, I was effed up. I was taking pills along with the booze. It screwed with my head.”
“What kind of pills?”
“Prescription.”
“Codeine?”
“Tramadol. I was in a skiing accident in my senior year of college and broke my leg really badly. I was prescribed Tramadol and even after my leg healed, I lied about the pain to keep getting the pills. I know I should never have combined them with alcohol. That’s Russian Roulette. I could have died. That weekend made me realize what terrible chances I was taking. It’s taken me a long time and a lot of help, but I’m completely off the booze and pills.”
“Good,” I say sincerely. “I’m glad you got clean. Do you have any memory of the party?”
“Some. It’s hazy. I remember we took the ferry. I remember Pedro’s house; he and Terri have a really nice place. I remember meeting Rick and talking with him before we went off into a bedroom. I remember the sex. I remember taking another pill and lying on a bed while Dovie and some guy were going at it. That’s pretty much it. I don’t remember leaving the party, or how I got home. Dovie says we took the ferry back and I told her I had a ride, but I have no idea who it might have been with or where I met them. She left me at the ferry terminal.”
Not a very good friend. “Did you get home safely?” I ask, keeping my voice gentle, because I’m already pretty sure of the answer.
“No,” Laurel says, her voice going very small. “How did you know?”
“Just a guess.” And Dom intuition, which is telling me that much, much more happened to her than just blacking out on the ride home. That wouldn’t have been enough to scare her straight. “Were you raped? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but this isn’t going any further.”
She’s silent for a long moment, then says, “Yes.”
I’m silent myself while I get a handle on my anger. No woman should have to face the horror of rape, and it enrages me that this woman did, even though she’s a stranger to me. She deserved better, from Rick, from her friends, from whomever violated her, and even from herself. I wish I could go back and protect her from all of it.
“Are you okay?”
“I am now.” Her voice comes through a little stronger. “Thanks. I mean, I don’t know you, but—”
“That’s okay. I’m glad you got help and that you’re okay now. I need to ask, was the sex with Rick and Damon consensual?”
“Yes. I mean, I was drunk and high, and I know you can’t really consent when you’re drunk and drugged.”
I control a shudder. If she ever said that to a prosecutor, Rick would be fucked. “Did you try to stop the sex at any point?”
“What, like safe word?”
How does she know about safe words? Of course, in the post-Fifty Fucking Shades-era, everyone and their cat thinks they know about safe words. “Yes. Or just say no, or try to get them to stop?”
“No, not that I remember. Have you talked to Damon? Did he say I told them to stop?”
“I have talked to Damon,” I confirm. “He didn’t think you wanted to stop, but he says you weren’t able to talk much, so I’m concerned that maybe they weren’t as sensitive to what you wanted as they could have been.” I hope that’s sufficiently vague but also sounds like I’m on her side.
“Oh. Well, they were drunk, too. Or at least Damon was. Rick seemed pretty plastered, but I don’t know him well enough to say for sure. Look, it was just drunk sex. It got stupid and out of hand at the end, but it was consensual, at least on my part. Rick . . . Rick’s not saying I violated him, is he?”
“No, absolutely not.”
“Oh, good. Dovie was really vague about why you wanted to talk to me. She actually said Rick wants to send me an engagement present, which is ridiculous because he barely knows me and he doesn’t know Jiro at all, but, hey, I’m registered at Bloomies and Neiman Marcus if he’s really worried about clearing his karma.”
I chuckle. That’s not the sort of payoff I imagined, but if I can get Rick out of this for as little as an upscale wedding present, I’ll take it. “I’ll let him know. Laurel, I need to ask you some tough questions. I appreciate you talking to me so honestly. Will you bear with me?”
“Sure. Being honest, taking responsibility for my actions, that’s all part of getting clean and staying clean. I’d really like to put that part of my life behind me, though.”
“Understood. Rick’s not going to interfere with your life, I promise you.”
“Okay. What tough questions?”
“Have you ever gone by the name Evonne?”
“No. My big brother calls me Laurie but that’s about it. My family’s not much for nicknames.”
“Your sorority sisters?”
“Um, they called me Swill, because of how fast I could chug a beer.” She sounds embarrassed. “No one’s called me anything but Laurel in years.”
I smile into the phone and wish I didn’t have to keep prying into this woman’s past. She deserves to be left alone, and as long as she isn’t wholly lying to me, I’ll try to make sure she is. “Have you ever talked to anyone about the Fire Island party?”
“Yes, a few people. I got counseling and talked to my counselor about it. My sponsor at Narcotics Anonymous. My fiancée.”
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
“Have you ever talked about it publicly?”
“What, at an NA meeting? I’ve talked about hitting bottom. Waking up naked and bleeding in the abandoned house in Baltimore, not knowing where I was or how I got there. I don’t think I’ve talked about the party specifically at a meeting. I’ve certainly never used Rick’s name. I don’t blame him, you know.”
Fuck, this poor woman really did hit bottom. She’s lucky to be alive. “Okay. Have you ever posted anything online about it?”
“God, no. Are you kidding? I’d lose my job.”
More leverage. I just can’t believe this woman has anything to do with Rick’s stalking. “Have you ever tried to contact Rick, or his manager?”
“No. Look, this is probably horrible to say, but I honestly haven’t thought about him. It was good sex until the end. I was focused more on Damon than Rick. He was . . . I don’t know what to call him.”
“An accessory?” I suggest.
“That sounds bad, like I was using him, but, yes. He was an accessory. Dovie had to remind me who he even was.”
“It’s not horrible to say. I hate to ask this, but a criminal and clearly untrue allegation has been made against Rick by someone pretending to be you. If we could protect your identity somehow, would you be willing to help Rick refute the allegation?”
“Um.” She’s silent for so long that I’m sure she’s going to say “no.” What she says instead nearly knocks me out of my chair. “Mr. Logan, you’re a Dom, right?”
“Yes.”
She lets out a soft breath. “It’s funny, I can always tell. Rick’s one, too. I don’t know if you know that. That’s what drew me to him in the first place.”
“I know he is. Are you a submissive?”
“A pet, yes. That’s why I was so out of control. I mean, it’s not an excuse. I own my past. But I was so fucked up because I needed to be owned. I couldn’t reconcile it, what I needed and what I’d been taught I should want. It made me crazy. I was trying to find something . . . I just wanted to be whole. Can you understand that?”
“Completely.”
She sighs. “Thank you. So, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I need permission from my owner. I’d like to help, but I have to make sure Tatsu agrees first. He’s away until tomorrow, and I know he won’t give me permission for something like this over the phone. He’ll want to talk about it face-to-face. He’ll probably want to talk with you, too.”
“I understand. I’m happy to talk with him.”
“Okay. Look, Dovie . . . she doesn’t get all this. The control
and being owned and all of it. She’s not really kinky. She just likes threesomes. And she’s probably trying to protect me in her own, weird way.”
My stomach tightens into a fist. “In what weird way?”
“What she’s done. Blocking you and telling me not to talk to you. She doesn’t understand what it means that you’re a Dom. Or that Rick is.”
“What does it mean that we’re Doms?”
“It means . . . I guess it means I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. Not all Doms are good people. I know that. There are abusers in every community. But most Doms are respectful. Most protect subs. I don’t know what it’s like where you are, but the kink community down here, we take care of each other. No Dom here would do anything to harm me. And I’d bend over backwards to help a Dom who was wrongfully accused of a crime. I’m not saying I’ll help Rick, but I will ask permission.”
“Laurel.” I have to take a deep breath, because this woman’s courage and magnanimity make my throat tight. All for a man who did a scene with her without any negotiation or a safe word, and slapped her to the floor after he got off. “No one could ask more of you. Please tell your owner that you’ve been very brave and, in my opinion, you deserve a reward. He should be proud of you.”
“Oh,” she says, sounding surprised. “Thank you. I’ll tell him.”
“Do you ever come to New York, or does it hold too many bad memories for you?”
“No, I’ve got nothing against New York. I’ve been up since. I kind of avoid Baltimore, though.”
“Understandably. When you speak to your owner, please ask him if he’d be willing to bring you to New York. We’ll handle your travel expenses.” Rick’s not going to like that, but if it saves him a six-figure pay-out, he can pay for their plane tickets and a few nights in a hotel. “I think if we could all sit down and talk, we could figure things out. Also, I’d like a chance to meet you, and introduce you to my baby girl.”
“You’re a Daddy-Dom? I should have known. Yes, I’d love to meet your baby girl. Can I give Jiro this number? I’m sure he’s going to want to talk to you.”