by Trent Evans
Two sets of huge boots, one polished to a gleaming black, the other a battered, dirt-crusted gray, appeared in her field of vision, and she snapped her head up.
Shit. Him again.
Von and Ford stood silently, regarding her. She remembered his height when she was zooming in with the telephoto. He’d stood taller than almost everyone around him, with the exception of the black-suited goons who seemed everywhere out there that morning as the crowd slowly gathered along the street.
She met Von’s gaze, and she suppressed a shiver at the cool calculation she saw in his dark eyes. Hid thick, black goatee accentuated the prominence of his jaw, making his chin look strong enough to split granite. His shoulders were broad and well-muscled, though not quite as heavily as Ford’s. The man glanced at the Sheriff from the corner of his eye, his gaze never quite leaving Falon.
“You search her?”
Search me?
Her heart was at full gallop now.
“We haven’t gotten there yet,” Ford muttered, cinching a thumb in the waistband of his snug tan trousers. “We’ve just been chatting, mostly.”
“These fucking reporters… don’t trust ‘em.” Von stepped to the bars, wrapping a huge hand around one of them. “She could be hiding information anywhere.”
“Information happens to be how I do my job,” she said, managing to keep her voice firm, despite her increasing unease. “In this country, we’re allowed to have sources, background, confidentiality. Oh, and there’s a thing called the Fourth Amendment.” She lifted a chin in Ford’s direction. “He wants my sources? He’ll have to get a court order — and I’d still rather go to jail than reveal them.”
“Seems to me you’re already in jail,” Von said, dropping to a crouch, drawing his hand down the bar with him. “And spouting off about your Constitutional rights isn’t gonna do you much good here, lady. You’re better off to cooperate — if you know what’s good for you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Oh, but she knew.
“I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.” He grinned, his prominent canines evoking the glee of the predator. “I’m sure your imagination’s already running wild with it.”
She looked to Ford. “Is he police too?” She remembered the truck and the logo. Seemed like construction, but in this town she wouldn’t be surprised if the entire police force was moonlighters or volunteers. All except for Ford, that is.
“His name’s Von Ellison. He’s a friend.” Ford shrugged, his lips quirking. “Technically, he’s my boss too.”
Falon tried to keep her surprise from showing. Weakness or uncertainty was not going to help her here. She locked gazes with the menacing Von. “You’re what then? The chief of police? The mayor?”
“Let’s just say I’m someone you need to listen to.” He leaned his forehead against the bars, looking at her from under strong brows. “So, listen closely. You do whatever my friend here says. Whatever he says.”
“I don’t care wh—”
“Shut that mouth, or we’ll shut it for you.” Von lifted his head from the gray steel, his eyes narrowed. “What you’ve done here… it’s fucked up a lot of shit. It’s fucked up a lot of shit for you. If I were you, I’d be thinking less about what my rights are, and more about how well I’m going to behave if I have any hope of getting out of this jail cell any time soon. You got me, miss reporter girl?”
She glared at him, knowing whatever she said would be twisted around and used against her.
“Got me?”
“Yes, I’ve got it!”
Her voice was harsher than she’d intended, her shout echoing in the small space. But her voice was all she had now.
Von stood up, with a mock shake of his head. “I see you haven’t learned the proper way to address your betters yet.” He looked over at Ford.
My betters? What the fuck?
“We’re still working on that one,” the Sheriff said, with a sly smile. “She’ll get there.”
“I’d like to be here when you do… but I have to get back.” Von frowned, then pointed at Ford. “The sooner we get this over with, the better.” Von looked down upon her once more, his long, tanned fingers stroking the hair at his chin. “This is gonna be a fucking mess.”
Then without another word, Von strode from the room.
She watched him go, a painful lump growing in her throat. Her sense of helplessness was almost suffocating at that moment, primal fear threatening to swamp her higher thinking entirely.
Get a hold of yourself. Think.
Looking down at the floor, Ford leaned against the still-closed cell door, silent for a moment. He glanced over at her, a resigned frown creasing his lips.
“Last chance. You tell me what I want to know, and I’ll do everything I can to make this go easy for you.” He met Falon’s eyes. “Be reasonable. I’m asking for a name.”
“You’re asking for everything.” She clenched her jaw, hoping he couldn’t see the pounding of the pulse at her throat. “I won’t do it. Throw me in jail. It’s not changing anything.”
He sighed, and she didn’t particularly like the dark glee she thought she saw dancing in his eyes for a moment. Did he want her to defy him? Force his hand? Why was he still asking for something he knew she’d never give him?
“Have it your way then.” He pulled the keys from his pocket, and her gaze widened, zeroing in on it as he slipped the metal into the lock.
“What’s happening? Are you going to book me?” She swallowed hard, but her voice didn’t quaver. “I want my lawyer, Ford.”
“You don’t need a lawyer for any of this.” He slid the door back, the steel clanging loudly against the seat, Falon jerking in response.
“Wh-what are…?”
He lifted a finger. “Up. I want you over there.” He cocked a thumb toward the section of the wall that was clad in clean, white tile, a drain in the floor there too. She thought it might have been a shower but she had no clue why one might be installed in the open like that. The only clue that it might be something else entirely was the long vertical steel bar embedded in the wall along one side. She had no trouble at all imagining what that might be used for.
Falon peered through the bars at the tile. “I’m not going over there. Why do I have to go over there?”
“Because you need to be searched.”
* * *
“W-why am I being searched? I’m not a criminal, Ford.” She swallowed hard, her throat like a desert. “Just let me go. This is ridiculous!”
“Everyone who gets booked, gets searched. It’s just how it is.” He stepped inside the cell, leaving her a clear path through the door. “The easy way or the hard way. Whichever you choose, it’s happening.”
“Jesus,” she said under her breath. She glared up at him, raising her bound feet.
“No.”
“What the f—hell do you mean, no? Come on, Ford, take these off.” She shook her feet, jiggling the chain connecting the cuffs.
Ford simply shook his head.
Opening her mouth to retort, words suddenly threatened to fail her. Clearing her throat, she glanced back at the tiled area. “How… how am I going to walk… over there?”
“As best you can, I guess.”
“Fucking asshole,” she whispered as she tried to raise herself from the mattress.
“We’ll address that little outburst later, I think.”
“What?”
Ford hauled her up by the upper arm, and dragged her from the cell, the ridiculous ease with which he handled her both frightening and awe-inspiring.
“If you can walk in those, do it.” His voice was cool once more, almost clinical. It sent a chill down her spine to hear it.
All she could manage was a stooped over pivoting from foot to foot, his grip on her arm catching her more than once as she lost her balance with a gasped curse. Her face burned hot as she moved, her bonds humiliating her in a way she couldn’t even explain, this reduction of her perso
n down to abject helplessness even more shocking psychologically than it was physically. Why was he doing this? He was practically twice her size and many times stronger. He had no need to treat her like a dangerous criminal. The tight bonds seemed simply… cruel. Capricious.
A tall, varnished wood cabinet stood against the wall next to the railing, a stout lock on its polished silver handle. She wondered what might be inside, though considering it was a police station, she knew it was probably something as mundane as a rifle or shotgun. Still, why would they have a gun cabinet right there adjacent to the tile?
Jesus, stop. You’re freaking yourself out.
She heard Ford’s keys again and looked back at him. “What are you…?”
He turned her so that she faced him, her back to the tiled wall, her feeling of being backed into a corner now much more than figurative.
“I’m unlocking those cuffs, but the ankle chain stays on. Take your top off first, then we’ll cuff you again and we can undo those feet.” His gaze met hers. “Do exactly as I say and cooperate, Ms. Moore. If you do, this will be over quickly. You won’t like what happens if you don’t.”
“Why can’t you just pat me down?” She couldn’t believe he was actually going to… strip search her.
This cannot be happening.
“All prisoners are searched. A pat down is completely inadequate.”
“I’m a goddamned reporter, Ford, not a hardened criminal. This is insane.”
“Maybe you should have thought of this when you lied to me and went back on your word. Your actions have consequences. Since you’ve broken my trust, this is what happens. How am I to be sure you’re not recording something right now?”
“Ford, don’t be stupid…”
“You said you were an investigative reporter, right? How many stories have we seen filmed with hidden cameras or microphones? You expect me to take you at your word here?” He took a small step closer. “Don’t want to be treated like a criminal? Then stop acting like one.” He gently chucked her under the chin. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you aren’t addressing me properly.”
“You can’t… don’t you at least have a female officer who can do this? It’s not exactly easy taking my clothes off in front of… you.”
He paused a half a second at that.
“Unfortunately, no, I’m all you’ve got. But if you’re worried, I can call Deputy Anders in and he can witness this. You know, to make sure I don’t take any liberties.”
“No! No… okay, fine.” She held up her still bound hands, the prospect of getting free for even a few seconds overriding her mortification at what he was going to make her do.
He released her cuffs in an instant, surprising her by grasping each of her wrists in turn, his fingertips gentle as they traced over the abraded flesh left behind by the embrace of the remorseless steel manacles.
“I’m sorry about this. Once we get you into the leather ones, shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Leather ones? What are you talking about?”
But he simply met her gaze, a small, sly smile momentarily quirking his lips. “Shirt, Ms. Moore.”
The smile caused a little fluttering in her belly, the sensation shocking both for its inappropriateness and its power.
Just because he’s handsome doesn’t mean you need to react like a hormonal teenager every time he indulges you with a smile.
She undid the buttons of her shirt, looking away from him as she slipped it down her arms, the air inside the station somehow seeming to grow cooler as this symbolic shield was lowered, increasing her sense of vulnerability, her helplessness.
And the mortifying fluttering came again, even stronger this time. The thought of him looking upon her naked flesh did horrify her, despite the protection of some modesty afforded her by her bra, but that wasn’t all it did. Not by a long shot. She lamented her choice of white lace for the bra this morning, none of this helped by the fact her full cut blue and white striped panties didn’t even come close to matching it. But it wasn’t as if she expected to be stripping down to her underwear in a police station later that day. No, by this time, she’d planned to be triumphantly speeding her way back toward Portland, with a career-making exposé on her hands.
Ford took her shirt from her, turning it inside out, examining it closely. Satisfied, he folded it and set it down on top of the cabinet.
She hugged her arms around her breasts, even though the gesture did nothing but draw attention to the part of her body she was trying to shield.
“Nope, give me your hands,” he said, holding up the cuffs again.
“No, seriously. You don’t have to do that. Please… sir.”
He smiled at the word, pleasure dancing in the depths of his blue eyes, but he slowly shook his head. “Sorry. Hands.”
“Fuck,” she muttered, the sound more a whimper than a spoken word.
“Gonna need to do something about that mouth, I think.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
He glared at her as he cuffed her wrists again, drawing them a notch tighter at her sarcastic retort.
“Actions have consequences here, Ms. Moore.”
She looked away, humiliation settling over her again as he reduced her back to a state of complete helplessness.
He said no more though as he dropped to one knee, Falon trying — and failing — not to notice the breadth of his thick shoulders, the tight uniform showing off the powerful, heavy muscles of his back.
“I take these off, and I want you out of those pants. You can still do it with your hands cuffed, so don’t bother complaining you can’t.” He rose, twirling the key ring on a long finger, the ankle cuffs fisted in his other hand. “The faster you obey, the faster we get this over with.”
“I…can’t believe this.” But she undid the button at her waist, skinning the pants down as quickly as she could, crouching as she struggled with extricating her feet from the bunched fabric. She could feel him watching her, the weight of his gaze a palpable thing, weighing her down, pinning her in place. Then she rose, holding her pants out to him. She clenched her thighs together instinctively, hoping this was all he expected.
Again, he inspected the garment at length, paying special attention to the pockets and the still no-doubt warm crotch area. Somehow it made it worse, that knowledge that he could still feel the heat of her body transferred to the fabric he held in his hands.
“Are we done now?” She tried to keep that edge in her voice, even as she avoided making eye contact with him.
“I don’t think so.”
She snapped her head back toward him. “No…?”
“I want the underwear off too. Wouldn’t be the first time devices had been hidden there.”
“Absolutely not, Ford.” She tried to cross her arms again, thwarted by the cold steel biting into her wrists. She hissed at the hot pain, but kept her eyes on the Sheriff.
He’s bluffing. Please tell me he’s bluffing.
“I’ve got all day, Ms. Moore. Doesn’t mean I want to spend it standing here waiting for you to follow an order.” He lowered his chin. “Underwear. Now.”
“At least… turn around or something? Please?”
For a horrible moment, she watched him weighing the options, and she feared he might make her do it right there in front of him.
Then he sighed, rolling his eyes. “Panties first, then I hand them back to you.”
He turned away, the immense expanse of his back like a giant fortress wall she might otherwise have delighted in taking shelter behind, pressing her soft body against those hard, immovable planes—
For Christ’s sake, what has gotten into you?
She never would’ve believed she could take off panties that fast with her wrists bound together, so eager was she to have this over and done with. She constantly peeked toward the door to the office, convinced any moment someone might come traipsing through it, upon which she was absolutely certain she’d drop dead of shame on the spot. Thankfully, no one came
, and she silently thanked God she’d worn freshly laundered underwear that day.
Ford however, took his time before handing back her unmentionables. “I want the bra too.”
“I—I can’t…it’s a… the clasp is in the back. Let my hands loose?” She pulled her panties back on as she said it, praying he’d relent.
“No way am I letting your hands and your feet loose at the same time.”
He spun around before she could suggest another alternative, and for a moment he watched her, his gaze coursing unhurriedly over her body, the heat at her cheeks somewhere between volcanic and thermonuclear. She looked down, unable to bear it any longer.
Ford crouched down, the thick, dark hair atop his head filling her field of vision as the leather cuffs were once more cinched tight around her ankles, the sound of the chain links clinking together making her cheeks burn anew.
“There,” he said, rising to tower above her again. “Nice stripes, by the way.”
“Fuck you,” she said softly, her voice cracking.
“Maybe I’ll just have to take the bra off myself then?”
“No!” She held out her hands. “I’m sorry… it’s just. This isn’t exactly easy.”
“It’s not meant to be,” he said, removing the steel from her wrists.
“Okay, now turn,” she said, a frantic note to her voice.
“No, I think I’ll have you turn around this time.”
“W-what?”
“Turn toward the corner. You can slip the bra off without me seeing anything, right?”
“I…I guess. Ford, please turn around.”
“Or I could just have you take it off right now, as you are?”
Her clenched teeth didn’t quite bite off her whine as she slowly pivoted toward the corner, at that moment feeling like a young girl more than ever.
Making you stand in the corner now? Seriously?
The tingling heat just beginning at her sex almost made her whimper.
No!
Yes, she’d once entertained fantasies of the take-no-shit alpha male making her toe the line, but that was long in her past. She was a modern, grown woman now. She’d outgrown all of those dark, illicit fantasies, those urges she’d never had the courage to admit to anyone. Just a phase, she’d told herself.