Mentally, she counted the five and braced herself for the last, wherever it was going to land. She opened her eyes and looked at him, just as he threw the knife. The sound of impact was low and the vibration went through her buttocks. She cast her eyes down to see the knife embedded in the board, barely two inches below her vagina.
Staring at the thick metal hilt, her stomach lurched again and her bladder gave out, gushing urine all over the knife and leaving her body and legs drained of strength. Only the bonds held her in place as she burst into laughter and tears.
Dylan went to her. She felt his hands tugging at the cords and when her body fell away, he caught her and lifted her into his arms. She summoned enough strength to clutch his neck and bury her face into him, breathing in his scent, feeling the hardness of his body.
Moments later he was sitting with her curled up in his lap. He massaged her wrists and ankles where the bonds had dug in and put a bottle of water to her lips. She drank gratefully and felt the tension ease. When she looked at him, he was frowning at her curiously.
“You didn’t think I could do it,” she whispered.
He shook his head. ‘I never doubted you. I knew you would see it through.”
“I was terrified.”
“I know.”
“I need you to fuck me, Master.”
He grinned. “I know, and I will, soon. I have to bathe you first and let you come down from that high you’re on.”
“I wet myself,” she giggled. “That was silly of me. I nearly did the same in Mairead’s car.”
Really? And why was that?”
Esther laughed again and then suddenly became serious. “Nothing bad. Just a little scare in the car, getting away from those journalists, which she did spectacularly, but completely safely of course.”
Dylan peered at her. “I can hardly wait to hear every single detail of it.”
With that he stood up lifting her into his arms and throwing her over his shoulder.
“And Mairead? Are you going to tell James?”
“You just leave Mairead to me,” he said, swatting her backside. “And you are strictly forbidden to contact her before I have had a talk with her. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Master.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Waking up early, Mairead stretched and grinned as she remembered it was Sunday. It was her favourite day of the week, the start of three and a half days away from work, alone with James and with time for other pursuits. It was the only morning she didn’t mind waking up early. Time off could not be wasted with sleep.
She rolled over lazily and looked at the empty space beside her, knowing James had his own routine for Sundays. He would have been up early and gone running and then onto the gym for a workout.
“Pity,” she sighed and rolled over to get her robe.
Under the shower, she made plans of having lunch with Kylie, calling her Dad and Joanne, sending an email to her Granddad and spending a few hours in the garden. Most of the time would be devoted to James and she felt a swell of arousal as she imagined a few special scenarios.
Her vision suddenly went blurry and she had to reach out to grasp the shower nozzle as her legs weakened. Her stomach lurched and bile erupted in her throat. For a minute she had to stand still, blinking her eyes and trying to keep upright, until the wave of nausea passed. When she was sure her legs would hold her, she turned the shower off and stumbled out to hold onto the towel rail.
The giddiness passed and she frowned at herself in the mirror. “Food.”
With her robe on, she went out into the bedroom and straight to the gabled window to judge the day for clothing. It was overcast, but bright enough for shorts and t-shirt, especially if she was going to work in the garden. Opening the window, the cool air was fresh with a sweet odour and she looked down proudly at her front garden. A row of rose bushes were all in bloom along the picket fence and the lawn was neatly mowed.
She was about to shut the window, when a man walked across the lawn, coming away from the house. He walked smartly, sweeping his gaze about, until he hopped the fence and marched off down the street.
“Cheeky bastard.”
Mairead stared for a second and then ran to where her track pants and top still lay on the floor. She pulled them on and ran back to the window, squeezing herself through it until she was standing with bare feet on the sloping tiled roof. In the distance, she could see him still walking down the street, as she carefully made her way to the end.
Lying down, she eased her body over the gutter until she felt the downpipe between her feet. Reaching down, she secured her hold, climbed down to the concrete and sprinted across the lawn.
She vaulted the picket fence and looked down the street in the direction the man had headed, just in time to see him turning the distant corner. Mairead sprinted again, forcing her body to go its limits, vaguely aware of her feet being punctured by the debris of the trees lining the street. Her run ended abruptly at the corner as she saw him rise from the back of a Honda Civic sedan and close the boot.
As she marched towards him, Mairead took in every detail, from the number plate of the car to his black t-shirt under a black leather jacket. He was average build, with short brown hair and thick stubble on his pale skin, possibly in his late thirties. It wasn’t until he went to the driver’s door that he saw her.
The shock on his face was enough to confirm that he had been up to no good. Mairead bolted towards the car as he threw the door open and clambered in, but she had the passenger door open before he could engage the central locking.
She leaned in, glaring at him. “What the fuck were you doing in my front yard?”
His surprise turned to anger. “What are you talking about? Who the hell are you?”
“You obviously know who I am, since you were at my house. I want to know who you are.”
“Just get away from my fucking car, bitch. You’re insane, I wasn’t at your house.”
“Fine,” she smiled, stepping back, but still holding the door open. “I’ve got your licence plate and a damn good description of you, right down to that slight Aussie accent you’ve got going on there. I’ll just report you to the police and let them work out why you were trespassing.”
She slammed the door and started walking away, glancing back to see him hitting his hand against the steering wheel. He suddenly got out and called after her.
“Mairead, give me a break. I’m just a reporter. If you bring the cops into this it’s just going to be one big hassle for me.”
She stopped and eyed him angrily. “You should have thought about that before you came onto my fucking property.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry.” He shook his head and huffed a laugh. "I was just driving by and recognised your house and thought about getting an interview from you, and then I chickened out and thought I should set it up properly.”
“Interview about what? I haven’t done anything.”
“Hey,” he grinned. “You got married. How’s that working out for you?”
Mairead shook her head contemptuously. “Show me some ID.”
The grin fell away and he glared at her irritably. “Come on, it’s no big one. I just walked on and walked off. Let’s forget about it.”
“Sure,” she replied. “As soon as you show me some ID.”
She wasn’t about to let up, but the expression on his face had become furious. Angrily, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Getting out a card, he held it out for her to look at, but there was too much distance between them.
“Toss it here,” she demanded.
“You come and get it if you want it.”
His hateful glare was intimidating, but Mairead was too angry to care. Approaching him, she went to snatch the card, only to be seized by her wrist and slammed against the car. She went to push away, but was pinned by his weight.
“Let me go,” she snarled at him.
His voice was right in her ear. “You listen to me, you li
ttle cunt. I’m not showing you anything. Call the cops if you want, and I’ll tell them how you fucking came after me and attacked me. I know your history. Wouldn’t be the first time you attacked a journalist for just doing his job.”
He backed off and Mairead held onto the car, shaking. She watched him go to the driver’s side and get in, before she let go. Taking a few steps back, she could only watch as the car pulled away, leaving her shaking and weak. The sudden ferocity of his attack had stunned her. Sitting down on the pavement, she struggled against the rising panic gripping her chest and making it hard to breathe.
“You fucking idiot,” she whispered.
It struck her too late how foolish she had been to go after him. She tried not to think how easily he could have hurt her, or even thrown her into the car.
“Are you alright?”
Mairead looked up to see a woman hovering over her.
“I saw you fighting with that man and then he grabbed you… Do you want me to call the police?”
That was the last thing Mairead wanted. She forced herself to calm and shook her head.
“No, it was just a misunderstanding.”
The woman pointed to the house behind her. “I live right there. Do you want a drink or something?”
“No, thank you. I’m just around the corner.” Mairead got to her feet. “Thank you for coming out to me, though.”
“As long as you’re alright.” The woman looked relieved to stay out of it. “I have to get back in. I’ve got some cakes baking in the oven.”
Mairead thanked her again and waited until she was gone, before taking deep breaths of air. Hopefully, James wouldn’t be home yet. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her breathless and panicked.
She hated that he worried so much about her, especially when her misadventures were of her own stupidity. He would have to be told, but maybe she would leave off the part involving her being grabbed. It would mean the police would be called and James would insist on her seeing the therapist again.
Her eye caught something on the ground and she bent down to pick it up. It was the card the man had got out, a business card for a salesman of a used car yard. It had a picture on it of a man with a beard, but looking closer, she realised it was the same man.
An angry smile spread across her face. “Brendan North. Is that who you are? Journalist my arse.”
There was an Australian address and phone number, which puzzled her. Why the hell was some Australian car salesman coming after her, and how did he seem to know so much about her and where she lived?
Pocketing the card, she began to walk home, but was soon breaking into a jog, hoping that she would find an empty house on her return. She was nearly there when she saw the open garage door and the Mercedes parked inside it. Luck was not on her side.
Going through the gate, she looked up to see the dormer window was shut again. The front door opened and James stood there, frowning at her.
“Good morning, James,” she beamed.
He stood back silently to let her in and closed the door after her.
Mairead went straight to the kitchen, calling back to him. “Good session at the gym?”
As she put the kettle on, James leant against the door frame, studying her.
She smiled. “I’m famished. Did you want some breakfast?”
“I’ve eaten, thank you,” he replied. “Come here, please.”
Pretending she hadn’t heard him, she got out a frying pan and put some bread in the toaster. “Poached eggs, I think.”
“Mairead.” His voice was louder and sterner. “Come here.”
She frowned with her back to him, but turned with a smile. She marched to him confidently and threw her arms around him, embracing him tightly so she didn’t have to look at him.
“Good morning, my sweet husband.”
James sighed, but kissed the top of her head. “Good morning, baby.”
Hoping she could go on with her breakfast, she released him, but he caught hold of her hand.
“Not so fast.”
He stood her in front of him, and his eyes went to her t-shirt, before his hands followed. He started to lift it, but Mairead giggled and grasped his hands.
“Not now, James,” she laughed. “I need to eat.”
“Let go of my hands and stand still,” he demanded quietly, glaring at her.
Mairead dropped her hands to her side. The t-shirt was pulled up, exposing her naked breasts. He studied them before pulling it down again. James crouched down, taking hold of her tracksuit pants and slowly sliding them down her legs, revealing her lack of underwear. He pulled them back in place and stood up.
“I’m dying to hear this one,” he commented cynically.
She put her hands on her hips and shrugged. “I chased a reporter. He was hanging around in our front yard and I went after him and told him to stay away from our house.”
James didn’t look happy. “So you climbed through the bedroom window, and down the side of the house, minus your underwear and anything on your feet, chased after a man, whom you assumed was a reporter, but didn’t know for certain.”
Mairead looked thoughtful. “That sounds about right. Can I make my breakfast now?”
His dark eyes bored into her. “Don’t get cocky, Mairead. You know perfectly well that I’m not happy. When I got home and saw that window open and you gone, I didn’t know what to think.”
“I know.” She tried to look more contrite. “And I’m sorry, but I’m feeling really queasy and I need to eat. Can we please talk about this after I’ve eaten?”
“Go and sit down,” he growled. “I’ll make your breakfast and you can eat. After that, we are going to talk.”
Mairead nodded and went out to the dining room. She sat down miserably and looked out at her back garden, wishing she was out there. Straight off, she had lied to James and it felt awful. She was falling back into old habits.
It made her angry that her morning had been ruined and she wished that she had given Brendan North a kick where it hurt most. Her laptop was on the table and she pulled it closer and brought up a search engine. She typed in ‘car salesman Brendan North’ and found him immediately. There were several images of him shaking hands with customers next to cars, but there were other images as well, many of them, from a much earlier date.
They were news stories about him. She brought up the first one entitled, ‘Defamation case brought against newspaper and journalist.’ She read the article dated back to 1999.
Wellington. In the High Court today, lawyers for Mary Whittaker have brought a defamation claim against The NZ Report newspaper and journalist Brendan North for an article printed in their tabloid in April, alleging sexual misconduct in a public place, involving Ms Whittaker. The article outlined that Ms Whittaker had gone to a city car park, where she proceeded to remove her clothing and met with an unknown person whom she addressed as Master. It further went on to say that sexual interaction was exchanged between the two, before Ms Whittaker left with the unidentified man. A photo was submitted as evidence, but was not published with the article, due to its nudity content.
Lawyers for Ms Whittaker have strongly denied that she is the woman in the photo and are alleging gross misconduct of a defamatory nature, on the part of The NZ Report and on Brendan North, claiming the article is fabricated and could irreparably damage Ms Whittaker’s reputation and career as assistant to The Clerk of the House. Damages are expected to run into hundreds of thousands of dollars.
Mairead sat back, stunned and staring at the one word that was bothering her most, Master. A chill went through her as she remembered the woman Esther had spoken of, whose name also happened to be Mary.
She shook her head. “It can’t be.”
Resuming her search, she hoped to find a copy of the picture, but it was nowhere to be found. She changed the search to ‘Mary Whittaker, Clerk of the House.’ The articles were endless and Mairead soon realised that something terrible had happened to this wo
man. She brought up one article from May 2006, entitled ‘Murder in Paris.’
Today marks the first anniversary of one of New Zealand’s most infamous unsolved crimes. A year on, and police in two countries have been unable to shed any more light on the brutal murder of Mary Whittaker, who at that time was director of Intelligence and head of the Government Security Communications Bureau. Her battered body was found in a Paris river in June 2005. She had been stabbed to death, prior to being dumped in the river. The story has caused a storm of conspiracy theories due to the nature of her position, and the fact that Ms Whittaker was attending a conference in London with heads of security for Britain, Canada and the United States. Her trip to Paris was unscheduled and there has been speculation of espionage and even treason, encouraged by accusations, made several years earlier by a New Zealand journalist, Brendan North. He was successfully sued for defamation and has since been living in Australia. Mr. North was not available for comment.
Mairead sat back again as the significance dawned on her. Brendan hadn’t been after her. He’d been after Dylan and somehow knew of the connection between them. Of course that was only speculation and she needed to hear Dylan’s version of the events. She doubted he would offer them easily, unless he was right in front of her, but she had a right to know. If this wasn’t about her, Dylan could deal with this himself and leave her out of it.
Unfortunately, James would be upfront with him and give Dylan scope to deny everything. Mairead wasn’t about to let that happen.
The clatter of utensils alerted her to James’ approach and she quickly closed her laptop, turning to greet him with a smile. His face was blank as he put the plate down in front of her. She grinned to see a feast of bacon, eggs, toast and tomatoes. The aroma was magnificent and her tummy growled with delight.
“You spoil me,” she smiled up at him. “Thank you.”
He didn’t return the smile. “Just eat and then we will talk.”
Sins of the Master Page 21