Crossing the Line

by Lauren Landish

  “Uh-huh,” I answer, giving him a grin. “It’s not that I don’t think you’re a nice guy. I just don’t trust whoever gets whatever information you might get from me, and what they might twist it into being. If you read my file, then you know that I was saved last time by a man wrongly convicted by the military for manslaughter, and the real killer was the asshole who tortured me in a hot garage in Georgia for twenty-seven hours. So while you may be a nice guy . . . no, no questions for me.”

  Harbison gets up, then pauses at my foot. “Okay. Then it’s my duty to inform you that you’re under arrest and to make you aware of your constitutional rights. You have the right to remain silent, to an attorney, and that anything you say from this point on can be used in a court of law. Do you understand your rights?”

  “I understand. Do you need to cuff me?”

  He shakes his head, pointing to the cop outside. “You’ve got broken ribs and you’re going to be admitted. Your room will be locked. They deal with people from county here, and they’ve got secured private rooms. I’ll be back though.”

  Pretty soon, the nurse takes me up to my room, and I settle into the hospital bed, unable to sleep without my Rafe nearby. Finally, around midnight, I ring for the nurse, who comes quickly. “Please . . . please, I just need to see him. I’m not going to be a problem, but please, let me see him, even if it’s through the glass?”

  The nurse confers with the cop on guard, who stands next to me as I carefully walk in my bare feet and hospital robe to a room on the far side of the secure wing, where through the glass, I can see him, his head tilted to the side as he sleeps. “They had to sedate him for the surgery,” the nurse says, staying next to me as well. “He’ll get a good night’s rest.”

  “And his leg?” I ask, and the nurse checks the clipboard.

  “According to this, he’s got a grade one sprain of his ankle, so he’ll be hobbling for a little while. They were mostly worried about the shoulder. It wasn’t just a gunshot, but apparently, something got in there and started ripping the deltoid muscle apart at the same time.”

  “It was a man’s thumb,” I whisper, putting my hand on the glass. I swallow the tears that are threatening, and instead, I put my forehead against the cool glass, closing my eyes. “Sleep well, Rafe. I love you.”

  Harbison’s back, another cop with him, and before I do anything, they put a voice recorder on the tray. “Miss Holliday, I’m Detective Andrews, Detective Harbison’s partner,” the new cop says. He’s older than Harbison, and his suit looks it too, straight off the rack about six years ago. “Would you be willing to answer questions today?”

  “I’m sorry, but it’s the same answer, boys.”

  “Then let me talk. There’s no harm in that,” Detective Andrews says, his arrogant attitude immediately pegging him as the ‘bad cop’.

  “Fine, go ahead,” I reply, grimacing as I shift positions. Jesus, when they said it would ache all the time, they weren’t kidding. This isn’t even the sexy type of pain. It’s just the pain that fucking sucks.

  “Well, we’ve already got you on camera shooting two men. Seems that you two decided to bring guns to the only diner in all of San Francisco county that has security cameras in it.”

  What is it with Mr. Robinson and security cameras? I mean, I hate the idea that The Club had cameras, especially after the rules specifically said no cameras, but to put cameras everywhere? What the fuck? “I see.”

  “So right away, we’ve got you on a few things,” Andrews steamrolls on, ignoring my comment. “First off, that pistol you used isn’t registered, so we have you on using an illegal firearm, not cool at all in California. And regardless of whether the three dead men had guns or not, you walked in with guns ready, obviously ready for a shootout. That’s a clear murder three charge.”

  I shrug, keeping my silence. If he thinks he’s making me uncomfortable, Detective Andrews needs to taste a bit of the hell that my life’s been for this past year. Sure, I’m actually starting to turn things around, but it doesn’t erase the misery that I’ve lived. Maybe I should give him a taste. “Let me tell you a story, Detective. A totally fictional story, mind you. In it, a young woman from the South is kidnapped, assaulted, and tortured for a little over a day just a few weeks before she graduates from a respected university before coming out West to start her Master’s degree. She gets out here, and even though she’s got a counselor, a lot of trauma is going on inside her pretty little head, and she ends up going to a club that turns out to be run by an evil son-of-a-bitch. She does things there that she hopes no one ever knows about. Dirty things, the sort of things that most people only think about when they’re drunk, horny, and a little pissed off at the same time. The sort of things that afterward, you secretly wish you actually had the balls to do. She hates it. In fact, she’s disgusted by it, but she can’t stop.”

  “Your point?” Andrews says, and I smile angelically, disturbing him.

  I don’t know what I think I’m going to accomplish by telling him, but I’m about to continue when the door to my room opens. A man, this time one in a much better suit but still someone whose whole demeanor says ‘Cop,’ walks in. “I’m sorry, fellas, but your investigation is finished. The FBI is taking over this case, gentlemen. SSA Fox Scalia, FBI.”

  Andrews looks pissed, but he looks at Scalia’s ID before looking over the piece of paper that Scalia hands him, crumpling it. “This is bullshit. This isn’t a national security matter. It’s a goddamn couple of kinky freaks who probably got into a shootout because they didn’t want anyone to find out. It’s a done deal.”

  “You say that with such disgust in your voice, but you’re the one with a stiffy,” I note. Andrews’s face turns redder in embarrassed rage as he grabs the voice recorder and storms out. Harbison sits, watching for a moment before getting up.

  “I’m sorry about that, Miss Holiday,” he says, giving me a nod and a ghost of a smile appearing on his face. “Get some rest.”

  Harbison leaves, and I look at Agent Scalia, who shakes his head. “I hope that you didn’t tell them all the details about The Club. Fucking Rafe Meyers. I swear, the faster I can wrangle a transfer to the Chicago office, the easier my life’s going to be.”

  “Nope, didn’t tell them a single detail, just a start to a hypothetical story in broad strokes,” I reply. “Are you a friend of Rafe’s or something?”

  He laughs softly. “I guess you could say that. I’m here to tell you, Miss Holliday, that you’re being let go. And in fact, I’m going to take you to see Rafe. I think you need to be there to hear what this guy Hightower has to say.”

  “Who?” I ask, and Scalia goes over, getting my slippers for me. The look on his face is one of utter confusion as he thinks of how to answer.

  “He says he’s FBI too, but the way he acts . . . I have no fucking clue which agency he belongs to. Come on, you’ll see soon enough.”

  Chapter 27

  Rafe

  When I wake up, I see two people standing at the foot of my bed, one of whom I know. “Hey, Fox. Sorry I couldn’t get you to visit me at Hottieville, as you like to call it. Some of the nursing students would like you.”

  Fox blushes a little, and I can see the man next to him chuckle. “Don’t worry, Agent Scalia. That won’t be in my report.”

  “That’s good. Fox is a good man,” I interrupt. “So who are you?”

  The new man, who’s easily six four and a good three hundred pounds of pretty solid build on his dark chocolate frame, gives me a look that’s half amusement, half wonder. Whatever else, he knows who I am. “Hightower. FBI. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rafe Meyers. And before you ask, I’m here because we’re taking over your case and I have an offer for you. One that could keep you a relatively free man.”

  “Whoa,” I reply, holding up my good arm. “Before you go into details, I won’t say a damn thing about a deal until Shawnie’s here.”

  Hightower gives Fox a look, and he leaves, shaking his head in frustratio
n. As soon as the door closes, he turns back to me, his eyes knowing that I know. “So . . .”

  “First clue was you looking at me like I’ve got a unicorn horn sticking out of my forehead,” I tell him, not trying to fight it. “How many men do you have outside the room?”

  “Just me,” Hightower says. “Rafe, I’m not here to hurt you or to make you disappear. Actually, there are a few people who like you doing just what you are. So the basics of the deal are that you’re being let go. And that whole thing with the University Board? That’s gone too.”

  “Who the hell do you work for?”

  “Technically? Department of Fish and Game. Unofficially, no one,” Hightower says. “Nothing else matters right now. I’ll save the rest until Shawnie gets here. How much about you does she know?”

  “All of it. More than you do, probably,” I reply. “No offense, but there’s levels of hell that you’re not going to hear from me, and the hell Shawnie went through is worse. Telling her my story was like a pep talk for her.”

  We wait until Fox brings Shawnie in, my heart swelling when I see her and she makes her way to me, even if she is slow about it.

  She puts her hands on each side of my face. She leans in and we kiss, and I cup her face with my good hand, the whole world disappearing other than the beautiful woman in front of me. I owe her a debt forever, and I will always honor her for it.

  Hightower coughs and clears his throat, interrupting our embrace. “Here’s the deal. You two get to rest up here in the hospital for a few days, and then you go back to work. Fact is, Rafe, the government doesn’t want information about The Club to get out. Me and a few of my guys went through there yesterday, and the things we found on just the video feed, the faces we identified . . . the fallout could be far too damaging if this got out. Hell, this state would be crippled, and at least half a dozen billion-dollar corporations. From what I can tell, that’s just the normal week. It isn’t like they were throwing an open house or something.”

  “There were a lot of members among the rich and powerful,” I agree. “It was supposedly so strict with security. I guess I can see the benefit of having cameras. Having dirt on people like that can have its uses. So . . . it’s shut down?”

  “For now,” Hightower says. “We both know that the people who were members will find another place soon enough. Anyway, there’s another reason I’m making this offer and not just making you two disappear. And don’t doubt me, I can make you disappear. But the Pentagon wants the CyberFighter, so this all needs to go away.”

  “Okay. But I have a question. What happens if I tell you to kiss my ass, I’m done with the CyberFighter, teaching, all of it? That Shawnie and I want to start new? What happens to my Angel then?”

  He gives me a look and speaks matter-of-factly. No emotion at all. “Nothing to Shawnie. But I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re given a guided tour of the wreck of the Titanic, minus wetsuit and oxygen tanks.”

  “Okay,” I say, nodding. “I just wanted to be a hundred percent sure on this. This isn’t the sort of thing where we talk in shades of gray, but everything’s black and white.”

  “No gray at all here,” Hightower acknowledges. “You take the deal, and you can work with me checking in with you from time to time. I’ve got cases that can use your help, and frankly, I could use your insight into your . . . background. You don’t, and four people died in that shootout.”

  I think about it, and I look at Shawnie. “What do you say? You realize that we’ll be living under a microscope. The government’s going to be all up in our business.”

  “They already are,” Shawnie says. “And what other choice is there? Besides, the CyberFighter project is your passion. What’s wrong with finishing it?”

  “Because even though you’re looking at me with eyes that say differently, the fact is that I’m a monster. Maybe the world would be better off without me.”

  “Like hell,” Shawnie says, her voice rising. “I’ve got two cracked ribs, but that won’t stop me from fighting you, or for you, if I have to.”

  I look into those golden sand eyes, and I know what I have to do. I’m willing to die if I have to, and I think I can trust Hightower—he’ll let Shawnie go if I tell him to fuck off. But the longer this goes on, there’s no chance for Shawnie to recover again from this unless I give her a chance to make a clean break for herself. “Fox, can you do me a favor? Bring me my pants? They’re probably in the wardrobe.”

  Fox shrugs and gets the pants I was wearing last night, where inside my wallet, I find the key that unlocks Shawnie’s collar. Painfully, I gesture her over, wrapping my fingers over the lock as I look into her eyes. She blinks, unsure of what’s going on. “Master?”

  “Shawnie, my sweet Angel, you pledged to obey me. And even though some might say you were a little too aggressive at times, you’ve served me well even if it is just over a month since you called me Master for the first time. Watching you transform with the power of our love, I knew we’d achieved our goal. You’ve become the superior woman I have always seen you as. With that, though, I can’t compel you to keep doing this. I’m setting you free. You don’t have to call me Master any longer. You have total freedom to choose whatever life you want to have.”

  I reach over, unlocking her collar, but I feel like a damn fool doing it. If you love something, you let it go, a poet said once. If they are meant to be . . .

  Shawnie gets out of her chair and painfully gets on her knees, her forehead and hair just visible over the edge of the mattress. She reaches up and takes the lock back from me and puts it back around her collar, the small catch clicking home as she seats it before turning it around. She bows. “And I’m choosing to serve you. I love you too, and this is my choice.”

  Rafe’s exhausted. Even men like him need rest after getting shot in the shoulder, so we leave him to get his rest.

  “You must be a remarkable woman to have caught not just the attention, but the heart of Rafe Meyers,” Hightower says as he walks me back to my room. “I’m one of the country’s leading experts on the Meyers Program, and I’ll tell you that someone like him falling in love is rare. But I guess Superman found his Wonder Woman. That’s good. I never did like him dating Lois Lane all the time.”

  “I’m no Wonder Woman,” I protest, then stop, leaning back and realizing that’s the old me talking. Not what I am now, and not the words of a woman deserving of my Master. “But maybe some day, I can be.”

  Chapter 28

  Shawnie

  With our conditional releases secured, the hospital sends us home to recover. Rafe is back on his feet in no time it seems, but it takes me a little longer before the pain is totally gone from my ribs.

  The day that I get my clearance from the hospital, I come home to find Rafe having come home early, surprising me again in his best suit. “What’s this?”

  “Dinner reservations for us in a nice little bistro and a gift for you in the bedroom. Go get changed.”

  I immediately go to our bedroom, where I find a beautiful wine red gown waiting for me. I take a moment to admire it, amazed at the luxurious feeling until I see the Vera Wang label, and I pull it on, my skin humming at the texture. It’s backless. My wings are fully visible in the mirror as I put the matching high heels on and pin my hair up quickly, coming out to find Rafe pouring a glass of wine for me.

  I must make an impression, because the bottle chatters on the rim of the glass he’s filling when he sees me, and he takes a moment to pause before he fills the small glass and we toast. “You look beautiful tonight, Angel.”

  “I feel beautiful tonight. And I have a clean bill of health. I know . . . well, I know your ankle will need a little more time before you can run again, but I was thinking . . .”

  “I know what you were thinking, because I was thinking the same thing all day during my office hours,” Rafe says with a chuckle. “I was thinking that you’d look great spread out on my desk at work.”

  “I was thinking more . . . u
nder the desk. Or maybe under your lectern while you give a class,” I tease, biting my lip. “But I just want you. I’ve missed you.”

  “After dinner. It’s Friday night. We can take our time,” Rafe says, taking me by the hand and leading me to the car. We drive to the bistro, which is close to our house and feels intimate. The music is quiet violin that adds to the atmosphere while four other couples are engaged in their own conversations.

  “This place is nice. Do we get to choose the menu this time?” I ask, smiling and thinking about the place he’d once taken me before. Rafe shakes his head. Instead, he pours me another glass of wine, a beautiful red Malbec that should go great with the soon to come lamb that I see everyone else eating.

  “I already ordered for us when I made the reservations. Shawnie, I have a few questions that have been on my mind ever since the hospital, and I thought this would be a good time to ask them.”

  I get nervous, wondering what he could want to ask. “Whatever it is, you know I serve you.”

  Rafe takes a deep breath. “Angel, are you happy living in my home?”

  “Of course I am, Master,” I tell him immediately. “Can’t you tell?”

  “I just want to make sure this is what you want, for you to know that you can take that collar off if you want. I released you, but it didn’t even take you ten seconds to take your lock back. I wasn’t breaking up with you.”

  “I know,” I reply, taking a moment to sip at my wine before I answer. “I think . . . okay, when you told me that you were a monster, I gave you a quote about evil being fought with a different kind of evil. Do you remember?”

  He nods. “Of course I do. I love that movie, by the way.”

  “Well, it’s truer now than ever before. You might think you’re a monster, but if you are, I’m a monster too. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be monsters together and have our little monster babies, and who the fuck knows? Maybe the Meyers Program does reach its pinnacle in our baby monsters.”