by Marcia James
“I hear Captain Bennett thinks you’re the right man for the job.” Jason laughed at his partner’s glare.
Dalton cursed fluently. “Yeah, I’m six-four and wear a size forty-six jacket, but I’m the perfect choice to go undercover as a bondage and discipline junkie?”
Jason snorted. “Haven’t you heard? Size doesn’t matter. And maybe the captain thinks you need a vacation from always being in charge.”
“If it’s such a cushy assignment, why don’t you volunteer for it?”
“And rob you of the chance to get in touch with your softer side?” Jason dodged Dalton’s half-hearted punch.
“Maybe we should draw straws on this one,” Dalton suggested.
“No way, José.” Jason shook his head emphatically before taking a long swig of his beer.
“Didn’t I draw the short straw on that homeless shelter job?” Dalton laid on the guilt as he opened the chips and took a handful. “You think it was fun wearing flea-ridden clothes and sitting in the gutter all day?”
Jason rubbed the thumb and forefinger of his right hand together. Dalton frowned. Years ago, his partner had explained the gesture represented the world’s smallest violin playing My Heart Bleeds For You. Obviously he was getting nowhere fast with the “who’s had the worst assignments” guilt angle.
Dalton changed tactics. “Of course, if you don’t feel as if you owe me for saving your life at the warehouse in October…”
Jason pointed the neck of his bottle toward his partner. “That was payback for saving your sorry ass in that 7-Eleven on Penn Avenue last June.”
As they fell into their familiar banter, Dalton raised the stakes. “That punk’s gun wasn’t even loaded. Now if you want to talk life-saving debts, what about that bullet I took for you when you were too busy hustling that working girl to watch your back?”
Jason denied the allegation and the good-natured argument continued until he finally agreed to draw straws over the Xecutive Branch undercover job. The horrified look on his partner’s face when he drew the short straw made Dalton laugh.
“I appreciate your handling this assignment, pal.” Dalton saluted Jason with his beer bottle. “You might want to swing by Victoria’s Secret tomorrow to get some new undies for your role as a panty-boy.”
“You’re hilarious, Bull,” Jason muttered as Dalton laughed again. “Investigating the Xecutive Branch isn’t like busting some massage parlor.” Jason deliberately took the last slice of pepperoni pizza before Dalton could reach for it. “I’m the best damn partner you’ve ever had, so you better hope nothing goes wrong with this case.”
“A bossy woman, black leather, whips…what could go wrong?” Dalton smirked. “The only thing you might die of is embarrassment.”
* * * * *
The only thing you might die of is embarrassment. Dalton’s words came back now to haunt him as he tried to breathe under the weight of his regret and guilt. Thanks to him, his partner had convinced their captain to give him Dalton’s Xecutive Branch assignment.
Thanks to him, Jason was dead. And the loss was sharper, deeper than anything Dalton had ever experienced.
Today, Captain Bennett had insisted he take time off to settle Jason’s affairs, but Dalton damn well wasn’t sitting here while some other cop went after his partner’s killers. He rubbed his scratchy eyes. Tomorrow, he’d corner the captain first thing and insist on taking the undercover sex club job that had led to his partner’s death. He needed to do this. Dalton’s thoughts of revenge were the only things keeping him moving through his fog of pain and guilt.
Chi blinked in slow motion as though weighted down by the world’s sorrows. Dalton felt a bond with the cat. He knew he should get some shut-eye but he couldn’t shut down his mind. He remembered details Jason had revealed about his once-a-week sessions with Mistress Tori. One night, his friend had gotten drunk and admitted some of the things the dominatrix did to him were sexy as hell—almost addictive. Dalton hadn’t wanted to believe him but his friend had been convincing.
At first, Jason had said he’d come home from the sessions, take an extra-hot shower and visit one of his many casual girlfriends for good, hard, missionary-style, man-dominant sex. It’d helped to get rid of the bad taste of submissiveness. Then his partner had explained, he’d started to enjoy the chance to give up control…to not have to be the rescuer, the tough guy for a few hours.
Dalton couldn’t wrap his mind around the concept.
Jason, who’d joked about retiring early to become law enforcement’s answer to John Grisham, had kept a journal detailing this assignment and his others for his future cop novels. Dalton knew the journal was on his partner’s nightstand but hadn’t been able to face it. He’d have to read the journal though, and soon.
To go undercover at the sex club to catch Jason’s killers, Dalton would have to learn everything his friend had known. The journal was the first step and then he’d go through the box of S&M magazines and movies Vice had provided Jason for research. Maybe he’d come to understand how his street-tough partner could have been turned on by the whippings and the helplessness. And after doing this research, he hoped like hell he could pull off the role of a submissive long enough to avenge his friend.
Chapter Two
Domino, short-tempered and sleep-deprived, reported to work Tuesday at seven a.m. on the dot. She knocked on her boss’s open office door, the quick rap a Tommy gun burst of sound in the still corridor. Sam looked up from his reading and waved her to the chair in front of his desk.
“Good morning, Petracelli. Last night, did you manage to get through all the material the guys in Research dug up?”
Domino snorted. “Found under a rock is more like it. Did you get a look at the stuff they gave me?”
“No, but I hear they thoroughly enjoyed procuring the movies from XXXpressions on 14th Street.” He smiled.
Domino thought of the agents submitting receipts for the pornography on their next expense reports, but even that couldn’t cheer her in the face of her new assignment. For the first time since she’d started climbing the DEA career ladder, she was questioning whether she had what it’d take to get the job done.
“Well,” Domino began, “after going through hours of S&M tapes last night, I have one question.”
“I’m afraid I’m not an expert on the lifestyle,” Sam said, his amusement obvious.
“No.” Her frustration bubbled over. “My question is ‘Why me?’ Why did you choose me to go undercover as a dominatrix?”
“I believe you’re the best agent for the job.” His lips quirked. “And you do have quite a reputation around the agency as a ball-buster.”
“Very funny.” Dom stood and paced the office. “What about Claire? She just wrapped the Alexandria crystal meth lab case.”
“How do you think her husband would react to his wife moonlighting as a dominatrix?”
Domino stopped pacing and stared hard at her supervisor. “So you’re telling me just because there’s no man in my life right now, I get this assignment?”
Sam cursed and she regretted her accusation. Sam Lowery was one of the fairest, most unbiased agents she’d ever known. And he was one of the few men she’d encountered in her life who saw beyond her bust size to her job skills and intelligence.
“Dom, I picked you for this job because it requires an experienced agent who won’t make mistakes under pressure.” Sam leaned back in his creaking desk chair and ran his hands through his thinning hair. “They’ve already killed a cop and there may be other deaths we don’t know about. The DEA agent who goes undercover at the Xecutive Branch will be on her own. We can’t even notify the local police due to the chance of leaks.”
Domino nodded and sat down again in the chair before her supervisor’s cluttered desk.
Sam trusted her to break this case. She had one of the best arrest records in her office, but could she handle the demands of a dominatrix undercover role? Did she even want to try? The job’s wardrobe alone was
enough to make her cringe. Thanks to her Italian genes, Dom had the curves for the clothes but maybe not the courage to showcase them. After years of hiding her body under shapeless outfits in an effort to be taken seriously, could she parade around in black leather bustiers?
For several long seconds, her supervisor gazed at her as if gauging her fitness for the assignment. Then with the familiarity of longtime acquaintance, Sam asked the one question guaranteed to obtain her full cooperation.
“Don’t you think you’re up to the challenge?”
Damn. It was a dare, plain and simple. Dom might have her own doubts but she could never resist a dare.
“When do I report to Tori Preston for my dominatrix apprentice training?”
* * * * *
Dalton gritted his teeth. For over a half hour, he’d been arguing unsuccessfully with Captain Bennett in his glass-walled office. Blowing his top would only confirm his boss’s belief he was too on the edge to investigate his partner’s death. With effort, Dalton forced himself to stay seated and try another tactic.
“Captain, I know more about the scene and what Jason was doing than anyone else on the force. I was his partner—”
“His partner and his friend,” Bennett interrupted. “You’re too damn close to this, Bull. I don’t need a loose cannon wrecking our chance to catch the murdering bastards.”
“I’ve never fucked up an investigation before.” Dalton’s control started to crack. He stood and leaned on the desk separating him from his captain.
“No one’s slamming your record,” Bennett stated, “but there’s always a first time.”
“Dammit, Captain—”
“No.” Bennett stood and faced him head on. “I’ve made my decision. For once in your life, you’re going to have to trust someone else to get the job done.”
“He was my partner!” Dalton shouted.
“And I sent him to die in that club!” Bennett snapped, staring him down, his ragged breathing echoing Dalton’s in the silent room. “If they made him as a cop, they’ll be on the lookout for his replacement. I’m not sending you in the same damn undercover role so you can end up another Potomac floater.”
Dalton saw the concern in his captain’s eyes and backed down. He took several calming breaths. “So, what’s your plan then?”
Bennett sat and considered him for a moment. “I’ve got Branigan and Fisher picking up Tori Preston for questioning.”
“The dominatrix?”
“Yes, but I doubt she’ll be able to tell us much.” Bennett sighed wearily. “Except for her unusual part-time job, she appears to be your all-American college coed. Still, you’re welcome to watch the interrogation.”
“Thanks.” Dalton knew viewing Tori’s Q&A through a two-way mirror was as close as the captain would allow him to get to the witness. Besides, since he planned to do some investigating on his own, no one at the club could know his real profession.
“As for the Xecutive Branch,” Bennett continued, “I’ve chosen a female detective to go undercover there as a masseuse. Suzi Cho.” When Dalton opened his mouth to protest, his boss stalled him with a raised hand. “I know she just made detective, but she’s sharp and fits the profile of a club employee.”
“She’s still in her twenties…” Dalton began, thinking of the wisecracking Asian woman who’d worked a stakeout with Jason and him recently. She’d been calm and confident, with no sign of nerves. Not every cop could have bounced back so completely from getting shot in a riot two years ago.
“Suzi’s good and what’s more, she wants the job,” Bennett said. “Jason was a friend of hers too.”
Dalton shook his head but couldn’t think of a good argument against the captain’s pick. Suzi was good at her job, but he hated to think of the petite, irreverent woman at that club.
“I’ve made up my mind and you have two choices,” the captain stated. “You can deal with your current cases and stay out of this investigation or I’ll put you on extended leave. What’s it gonna be?”
God, Dalton wanted to tell his boss what he could do with his current cases. Resigned, he told the captain what he wanted to hear. “Okay, I’ll hit my caseload. But once you get the goods on these guys, I want to be in on the bust.”
Bennett nodded. “That I can promise you.”
Dalton strode out of the office, leaving the door open. Sure, he’d handle his current cases and give the department their forty-hour week, but his hours off the job were his own. Nothing was going to get in the way of his avenging Jason.
Tonight he’d go through his partner’s journal in an effort to understand submissiveness. Dalton had survived his previous assignments by immersing himself in his undercover identity. Somehow he’d have to find a way to disguise his natural aggressiveness even if it meant practicing wimpy body language in front of the mirror. Before the week was out, Dalton planned to make the acquaintance of Jason’s Mistress Tori.
* * * * *
Domino matched her stride to Tori’s confident, long-limbed pace as the girl took her on a “behind the scenes” tour of the Xecutive Branch sex club.
With Tori’s recommendation and her own extensive prep work, Dom had aced her job interview and was the club’s newest “counselor”, the management’s euphemism for a dominatrix. They’d bought Dom’s cover as a political science major who was returning to college for her advanced degree. Now, dressed in a studded leather cat suit and spiked heels—an outfit that was so not her—the DEA agent was going through the club’s surrealistic version of new employee orientation.
“Xecutive Branch is open 24/7,” Tori explained in a quiet voice as they walked the club’s maze of white-walled corridors. “It’s never closed and never raided by the cops since the customers are the most connected, wealthiest men and women in the city.”
“Women?” Domino asked.
“Sure.” Tori shot her an amused glance. “You think men have the market cornered on kinky sex?”
They walked past a white-garbed hulk of a man who was guarding a reinforced metal door. Tori nodded to him and waited until they were out of his hearing to continue her commentary.
“That was the door to the elevator for the underground parking garage,” Tori said. “For an extra ten thousand a year, customers can get a pass-card that lets them into the garage and up to this restricted entrance.”
“Ten grand a year?” Domino couldn’t imagine coming up with that in addition to the club’s twenty-five thousand dollar annual fee. The Xecutive Branch was set up as an all-inclusive, no-tipping private club to skirt laws prohibiting the exchange of money for sex acts.
“That’s peanuts to most of our customers,” Tori said. “Still, even with the restricted entrance, some of them dress in disguise. They don’t want to risk being blackmailed.”
A mental image of the Senate’s Majority Whip, sneaking out of the club’s secret elevator dressed in a trench coat and Groucho Marx disguise, flashed through Dom’s mind. She grinned.
Tori stopped before a door sporting a simple plaque that read, “Female Staff Only”. Gesturing for Domino to follow, she walked through the door into a clean, high-ceilinged locker room. The spacious place resembled the facilities at a high-priced fitness club. Two women, apparently having showered after ending their shifts, were changing into the street clothes they’d stashed in their lockers. Tori introduced them.
“Hey, guys, this is Domino. She’s taking my hours.” Tori turned to Dom and continued the introductions. “From right to left, Angi and Ellen.”
“Hi.” Domino gave a little wave. “Nice to meet you.”
The women sized her up and then smiled. Angi, a diminutive redhead, dropped the towel she’d wrapped around herself and pulled on a T-shirt advertising a heavy metal band. The silver barbells piercing the woman’s nipples had Domino wincing.
“So, you go to school with Tori?” Angi asked as she slipped on her thong.
Domino nodded and offered an abbreviated version of her cover story. The women
listened, seeming to accept her without suspicion.
“Angi went to Catholic University but stayed on here after she graduated,” Tori volunteered.
“What can I say?” Angi shrugged. “The pay’s great and I love topping the men.”
Domino recognized the lingo from her research. A dominatrix “topped” her submissive clients who in turn “bottomed” in the sex games.
“Yeah, because of Angi’s enthusiasm for the lifestyle, I recommended her to my kinkier clients,” Tori said, turning to Domino. “I figured you’d want to start out slow.”
“Good idea.” Domino silently cheered her consideration. “I’d like to get the lay of the land first, so to speak.”
The women laughed and Ellen, a full-figured girl with short black hair, spoke for the first time.
“Have you picked a counselor name or are you using ‘Dom’?”
“Since ‘Domme’ is short for my full name ‘Dominique’ and for ‘dominatrix’, I picked a pseudonym,” Domino explained.
“Some of the johns, I mean, customers, want to call us ‘Mistress’ or ‘Domme’, so that’s a wise decision,” Angi said. “You wouldn’t want to be ‘Domme Dom’.”
Domino smiled. “No, that sounds like a brand of lollipop.”
“I talked her into ‘Mistress Bella’,” Tori said. “It goes with her Italian coloring.”
“It suits you.” Ellen tugged on a boxy sweater over her pedal pushers.
“By the way, if you ever get a client who’s into serious pain,” Tori said to Domino, “and you don’t want to deal with him, send him to Ellen.”
“I’m getting my degree in dentistry.” Ellen sat on a bench to tie her sneakers. “Someday, everything I’ve learned here about inflicting pain will be useful when I’m drilling away on my patients.”
Domino started to laugh but then looked closely to make sure Ellen was joking. She was joking, wasn’t she?
“Well, we better keep going,” Tori said to Domino. “I want to finish the tour before my four o’clock arrives.”
After several “Nice to meet yous” and “See you arounds,” Domino followed Tori out to the staff corridor to continue the tour. The next stop was the employee lounge, a room that resembled any Fortune 500 company lounge except for the available entertainment. Penthouse Forum magazines littered the tables and a bondage and discipline video played on the big-screen television in the corner.