Lace Underground: The Complete Trilogy

by Oliver, Tess

  "As you might recall, the trip ended badly. Kane drugged me and flew me back to Lace Underground. I'm not sure where the real estate purchase ended. I'll mention it to Clark. Freestone and I never discussed business." I regret the statement the second it leaves my mouth. Maddox's reaction is predictable.

  "Yeah, I'll bet."

  I throw the piece of apple at him. It bounces off his chin. He catches and eats it.

  "Boy, Maddox, when something's eating at you, you just don't hold back." I stomp away with a frustrated grunt.

  "You're right. Sorry. Ten, seriously. I'll work on it." His footsteps are right behind. I stop short and spin around. He nearly slams into me. We're only inches from each other. "I've just never been in a situation like this. I'm having a tough time fighting my male ego over this." His honest confession, no doubt, took some courage. It helps tamp down the anger I'm feeling.

  I take a few steps back. "You know what, Maddox? I'm pretty new to this situation too. Only we're coming at it from totally different angles and viewpoints. And frankly, I think I've got the harder end of it. Besides, how do you even know you love me? Maybe this is just like you said—a male ego thing." My question seems to momentarily stun him. My old friend, insecurity, raises its pathetic head. I put out my arms. "I mean look at me. My gosh, I'm shoe grit compared to some of the women I've seen you with. Your ex-fiancée, for example. We haven't even kissed. Maybe you'll hate the way I kiss. Hell, maybe I'll hate the way you kiss. Maybe all those women who adore you were doing it out of pity because you are such a terrible kisser they felt sorry for you." I laugh. "Wow, someone had just a few too many sugary donuts."

  There's a glint in his green eyes that is not quite humor. "You want to know how I know? Because, every fucking time I was with one of those other women, Tiffany included, I'd be thinking I'm not with Ten. Why the hell am I not with the one woman who really matters? And as for the kissing thing—" He reaches for my hand and pulls me into his arms. His mouth covers mine.

  I'm instantly drugged by the scent of his soap, the powerful feel of his arms around me, the undeniable skill of his mouth and tongue. My knees shake enough for him to tighten his hold on me as I'm lost in the erotic deliciousness of his kiss. I can feel it through my entire body. My earlier fears are gone. The heat swirling through me has nothing to do with the artificial arousal brought on by nectar or the sensual demands of Kane Freestone. This is genuine. This is me standing in the arms of the man who made me realize just what it meant to be in love.

  I'm breathless and lightheaded by the time he pulls his mouth free from mine. The fleeting notion of a wild bout of sex is dashed when he lowers his arms. I'm just as relieved as I am disappointed.

  I tap my chin. "O.K. so my theory about women taking pity on the bad kisser is out."

  "Too bad. Cuz I'm out. Your kiss sucked."

  My mouth drops with shock. He takes hold of my face. "Just kidding." He kisses me lightly and draws his thumb across my bottom lip. "If you knew how often I've dreamed about these lips, you'd think I was nuts."

  I blink up at him. "I do think that. After all, you seem to want me. That pretty much puts you under the screwed up column." I throw my arms around his neck and hop up for another round.

  He's cautious, too cautious about where he places his hands, keeping one on my hip and one on the small of my back. It's one hurdle, I tell myself. We are past the kiss hurdle. We just need to keep moving forward. Both of us, on our own, and, at the same time, together.

  13

  Maddox

  The mound of paperwork on my desk seems to be growing instead of shrinking. It's entirely Ten's fault. I can't keep my focus on boring ass paperwork when I keep reliving the kiss. There was nothing harder than walking away from those lips getting nothing more than a kiss.

  Silvana walks past the desk area to the room where's he's doing research on my least favorite subject. On Clark's orders, my latest partner has been keeping shit to himself. With Clark down the hall in a meeting, I decide it's time to see just what Silvana's up to.

  Silvana's wide eyes peer over the top of the monitor at the sound of the door. His two cyber research partners are both out on patrol. He's got the room to himself. It seems I've found him at just the right time.

  "Maddox, it's you." He sounds slightly nervous. His hand quickly clicks on the mouse making sure to close out anything of importance before I reach his desk.

  I laugh. "Pulling the quick trigger on the mouse." I grab a chair across the way, turn it and sit backwards, resting my arms along the top of it. "I used to pull the trigger a lot as a teenager whenever my dad popped his head into my bedroom and my monitor was showing half-naked women instead of my English paper. I'm pretty sure he knew what was going on too." I look pointedly at his computer. "Did ya find something of value?"

  Silvana scoots his chair back and picks up the soda he just grabbed from the break room. "You know I can't talk about it. Clark will take me off the assignment, and I'm just getting to the good—" He seals his mouth into a thin line.

  "Getting to the good stuff, eh?" I wait for an answer. He pretends to be very interested in his soda.

  "I know you're passing stuff along to Ten."

  He sucks in the soda and drops forward in a coughing fit. I pull a few tissues from the box behind his computer and hand them to him. His face is red but the choke fit is over. He wipes his mouth. His eyes get a little bulgy when he's upset. Right now they are about to pop out of his skull.

  "Relax, I won't tell Clark. I saw a list of names sitting on a paper at the beach house and recognized your writing."

  His eyes haven't sucked back into their normal position yet. "Did you say something to Ten?"

  I shake my head. His eyes recede to normal. "The last thing I need is something else to stoke the fire with Ten. But do you think it's smart for her to read up about him?"

  Silvana rolls back to the desk. "Actually, yes, I do. I think it'll help her to understand Freestone." He looks at his computer and seemingly remembers he clicked out of the web page he was reading. "I'm onto something right now. If it pans out, it's going to change everything we know about the guy."

  "Yeah? What is—"

  My question is cut short by a gust of air as the door bursts open. Silvana's face blanches, letting me know the visitor is Clark before I even turn to face him.

  "Just what the fuck are you doing in here, Maddox? Actually, I'm glad you're here. Follow me. There are some people I need you to meet. Let's go. Now."

  I wink at Silvana, to assure him our conversation isn't over. I stand up and swing the chair back to the other desk and follow Clark down the hallway to the meeting room.

  "Hey, if you're going to include me in on your budget meeting, I'd like to suggest a barbecue out back in the parking lot."

  "Yeah, I'll be putting you on a fucking hot grill if I catch you near that research room again." Clark grabs the door and scowls at me as he ushers me into the room. A woman and man are sitting in the room. Both are dressed in crisp business attire, looking plenty arrogant and stiff.

  "Maddox, this is Dr. Renfrew," he points to the woman, who smiles faintly at me. "And Mr. Winter. They will be the team working with Detective Tennyson."

  I sit hard on the seat across from the two important team people. "Working with her on what?"

  The woman clears her throat as she sits forward. She has her hair rolled into a tight little bun and she's wearing glasses with narrow rectangular lenses. "Mr. Winter and I will be spending the next month debriefing Miss Tennyson on her months in captivity in Lace Underground. Mr. Winter specializes in cults that control their abductees with drugs. I'll be here to make sure we approach Miss Tennyson with the right amount of caution to make sure the debriefing goes smoothly."

  I stare at the woman for a second, making sure she's finished with her ridiculous speech. A laugh shoots from my mouth causing Clarks' red face to snap my direction. "Maddox," he starts.

  "Come on, Clark. They're talking about Ten. S
he doesn't need all this shit. Just take her statements and call it a day. I guarantee if you start subjecting her to cautious, careful tiptoeing, then she's going to seal right up."

  "You two are very close," the doctor says. She eyes me as if she has a pen and paper in her head and she's ready to write down and psychoanalyze my response.

  "We've been partners for three years. When you face down possible death together, it brings you pretty close."

  "You're in a relationship other than the partnership." Mr. Winter, it seems, is less tactful and more to the point than Dr. Renfrew. He's a severe looking guy with greasy, dark hair and thin lips.

  I lean back on the chair. "Not sure what that has to do with anything."

  "We've been discussing the debriefing with Captain Clark," Dr. Renfrew says. "And we've decided it would be in the best interest of Miss Tennyson—"

  "Detective Tennyson," I correct. "I guarantee if you start with Miss Tennyson, then you've already lost her."

  The doctor takes a controlled, deep breath. It seems I'm getting to her. She sure as hell is getting to me.

  "What is your decision?" I ask.

  "We want you to keep clear of Tennyson while she is attending the sessions with Dr. Renfrew and Mr. Winter," Clark blurts fast, apparently thinking I'll have less reaction.

  "Why?"

  "It's for her well-being and to ensure that she gets smoothly through this transitional period." Dr. Renfrew sits back and places her hands with finality in her lap signaling it's not up for debate.

  I'm done talking to the stone faced doctor and her sidekick. I look straight at Clark. He is having a tough time doing the same back. Instead he focuses on his guests. He puts on a polite smile that looks more like a grimace. "Dr. Renfrew, Mr. Winter, thank you for your help with this. I'd like to talk to the detective alone, if you don't mind. We'll start first thing Monday."

  Winter is happy enough to leave, but Renfrew sticks around for a few more seconds to add her unnecessary two bits. "Remember, Miss Tennyson's well-being must be a priority. She's been through a lot."

  I stare at her, not saying a word, but letting her know that no one cares more about Ten's well-being than me. She brushes invisible lint off her pressed pants and gets up. Clark walks her to the door and then shuts it. I brace for him to come at me with both barrels blazing.

  Instead, he sits calmly in a chair across from me. He's holding his voice steady, but I know it's taking all his effort. If there's one thing Clark loves it's a good yell. Especially when it's directed at me. "Look, I know this came as a shock to you, but like Renfrew said we need to keep Ten's well-being a priority."

  "You're talking to the guy who just spent months looking for her to make sure she was all right. You're the one who sent her on the assignment. So don't fucking talk to me about her well-being. And since when am I considered an obstacle to that when you know damn well I'd take a fucking bullet for her."

  "You're not an obstacle, Maddox. You're just—look, you two have a complicated relationship. She needs to focus on getting back to a hundred percent. That team of experts who just left here will make sure she peels away any of the heavy stuff left behind from her months of captivity."

  I sit forward. My fist comes down on the table before I can stop it. "I need to be there for her. Those two big shots can do whatever their fucking thing is but it has nothing to do with my relationship with Ten."

  It's Clark's turn to make some noise. He shoves one of the rolling chairs across the room. It bounces off the projector cart. "I've got my head on a chopping block right now. I'm fielding calls every day from the higher ups who want to know exactly how one of my undercover officers ended up with an expensive trip to rehab and indefinite paid leave!" So much for his volume control. His thunderous voice is catching the attention of people in the outer office. He waves the curious onlookers angrily past and lowers his voice. "They want a full report of what came out of the undercover operation to justify the huge cost of sending in the second undercover agent. And guess what I've got?" He sits forward and rubs his face. "Nothing. I've got nothing. Less than nothing. My two best detectives have gone from two focused, smart ass, damn good cops to one frail, underweight woman, who is still reeling from her time underground, and her partner, who is so fucking obsessed with the whole damn case he can't focus on his job. And he's become an even bigger asshole than normal, which is really saying something."

  I try the less asshole-ish approach. I sit forward. "Look, Captain, I know you stuck your neck out plenty these last few months. That's why you're a good leader. You're a risk taker."

  Clark puts up his hand. "No, stop right there, Maddox. Women might think butter melts in your mouth, but I don't fall for those sparkly green eyes. I'm ordering you to stay clear of Detective Angie Tennyson until further notice. And if you don't like that order, you can just transfer to a different damn precinct."

  My insides turn to ice as I try and absorb the reality of not seeing Tennyson until people, complete strangers, deem it safe. That ice has penetrated my veins. My voice is low and unfamiliar. "I just spent months worrying about her night and day, not know if I was ever going to see her again. Now you are banishing me from her life."

  "It's just for few weeks, a month tops," he says quickly.

  "One favor, since you've just sent a blade through my heart."

  Clark rolls his eyes. "Boy oh boy, never thought I'd see James Maddox like this. But I guess Tennyson is not just any woman. What favor?"

  "Let me tell her. I'll go see her tonight and let her know. Just one last visit before we're cut off. You've got to let me have that at least, Cap'n."

  Clark sighs with resignation. "Maybe those sparkly green eyes work on me more than I realize."

  I hop up. "Thanks, Clark. Big softy. But I'm still mad as hell about this whole thing."

  "Yeah, well get in line behind me," he calls as I walk out of the meeting room.

  14

  Angie

  The beach house is cozy during the warmth of the day, but the ancient furnace in the front room is no match for the cold, salty air that permeates the walls at night. I pull the plaid blanket tighter around my shoulders. I don't know Uncle Nate but I feel close to him after spending so much time wrapped in his couch blanket.

  I type Jeff Turnbill and Greenfield California into the search bar but pause before hitting enter. I stare out at the blackness. The sun-filled, snow white sand and azure blue ocean have disappeared, leaving only a mass of gray bordered by endless black water.

  I turn back to the monitor and adjust it so I can see more than just my own reflection, a pitiful sight at that, with my red hair curling and cresting in every direction. At least some of the color has returned to my face, and the dark circles are all but gone. Without any more time to think about it, I click enter. I get entries with the name and with the city but nothing connected. I click on a few of the entries with Jeff Turnbill. There's an older attorney near the town of Greenfield with the matching name, but that's about the closest thing I can find for a match.

  I click on a site that a realtor has put together touting the desirable attributes of Greenfield. It's a typical Northern California town with plenty of green landscape from rain and small town shops and restaurants. I scroll down and see that the high school for the town is named after the town founder, who, oddly enough, is not named Greenfield. Arthur P. Moore founded Greenfield in 1908. He was a logger who eventually owned a massive sawmill. The realtor notes that Moore High School is a California Distinguished School that has sent many athletes to college with scholarships. Football is their claim to fame but they also have a competitive swim and dive team. Dive team. The pool area. The chaise lounge. Kane acting unusually normal. It alarms me at how instantly I'm transported back to my time in Lace Underground and how quickly my body reacts to those memories. This one, in particular. On the night with Kane by the pool I'd skipped the nectar to keep my wits about me while swimming with the other women. But that social event was cut shor
t when Kane walked into the vast room that housed the Lace Underground pool. He quickly dismissed all the women, except me. He was in a rare, convivial mood. Rather than the usual wall slamming sex, it felt as if we were two people passionately making love. No leather shackles or sex toys. Just pure sex. That night we even talked, like two people connected in a relationship, albeit a bizarre one. Kane did something highly unusual. He opened up a tiny bit about his past, about there being too many terrible memories and a few good memories, like his glory days on the high school diving team. He'd even performed cliff diving shows in Mexico during his summer breaks. It was an unusual talent and one I never would have matched to him. But maybe that unique talent would help me find a match on the internet.

  I type Moore High School, Jeff Turnbill, diving team into the search bar and hit enter. The first entry sucks the breath from me. It's a headline from the Greenfield paper. Turnbill takes Moore dive team to the finals.

  My fingers are shaky as they hover over the keyboard. I've tried hard in the past month to separate myself from Kane and Lace Underground. It feels like, somehow, just researching his name is connecting me back to his world.

  I take a breath and click on the article. A poorly shot, unfocused, black and white picture of a high school swim team is positioned front and center over the title article. The date is April, 2004. I lean closer to the monitor to get a better look. A pair of intense pale eyes pull me into the photo and hold me there. It's as if the boy in the picture is staring straight at me. I sit back hard against the couch cushion and catch my breath. He can't be more than sixteen or seventeen in the picture, but everything about him is hauntingly familiar. The hard, angry set of his jaw, the cool, almost icy gaze, the stiff, confident posture. His shoulders are broad but nothing compared to the man who held me firmly while fucking me in his underground lair. A warm blush covers my skin as I think about those moments, in his strong grasp, bending to every one of his commands and always wanting more of his erotic punishment.