Second Time Lucky (Club Decadence Book 5) (30 page)

Heartsick, she flopped back on the lumpy bed as her thoughts centered on Tomas Diaz. She had him to thank for escaping Victor’s imprisonment that morning. Thinking him an incompetent thug who had stupidly left the window unlocked, her purse on the table, loaded gun inside and then left her alone, he’d actually been allowing her to escape. How ironic she returned the favor by shooting him down in cold blood.

Nausea roiled and she flew to the bathroom. As she hung limply over the toilet as bitter bile purged from her system, she knew she was well and truly screwed.

Long moments later, she pulled herself from the floor. Weakly, she rinsed her mouth and staggered out of the bathroom trying to figure out what came next. Turning herself in seemed the only option. At least she’d be done with it all. Prison couldn’t be much worse than real life. She’d get three hots and a cot as they say, and a girlfriend named Big Bertha.

Shaking off thoughts of being someone’s prison bitch, she began to pace, unable to sit still. She was so fucked. Her eighty-seven dollars wouldn’t last long. Only two more nights at the flea bag, hole in the wall, piece of crap, $29.99 per night, bargain basement, Laredo motel. What then? Thinking to flee to Mexico, she’d come here, closest to the border. But she had no passport, and even if she did, couldn’t use it—they’d be looking for her. She could sneak across. The border patrol probably didn’t see much illegal immigration in the opposite direction. She needed more money. Maybe she could hustle a few games of pool for quick cash. It had been several years though, and her game was rusty. The obvious option was out. She’d promised herself she’d die before she’d ever turn another trick or play dominatrix ever again. Which right about now seemed a real possibility, Texas being a capital punishment state after all.

Think, Mara.

Lexie’s image came to mind, and Joanna’s. She discarded them as an option. They were her friends and she cared for them too much to make them accomplices after the fact, or aiders and abettors, or whatever the charge was for helping a fugitive flee justice.

A fugitive. Hell, wouldn’t her mama be proud of her baby girl. Her rap sheet would be longer than Victor’s before she was done. Starting toward the bathroom, she decided a hot shower would help clear her head and then maybe she’d be able to come up with a bright idea to get out of this jam.

She had her t-shirt half over her head when a loud bang exploded in the room. Screaming, she turned toward the sound. Flipping her hair out of her face, she stared at the man in the doorway. Sean stood there as big as life and looking angry enough to chew nails and spit tacks. She’d heard that Texas phrase often, now she knew what it meant. Speechless, her eyes flicked over his shoulder to where Dex Russell and Jonas Mitchell stood.

Jonas shoved past the bigger man blocking the doorway. “Move, man. It’s pouring down rain. I’m getting soaked.”

As if he hadn’t heard, Sean stood motionless his unwavering stare fixed intently on her.

Dex pushed by Sean as well, moving him bodily when he didn’t budge. He had to turn sideways to fit his broad shoulders through the small space that the leaner Jonas had no trouble fitting through. Once inside, he was able to move him enough to shut the door against the driving rain.

“Might want to put your shirt back on, Mara,” Jonas suggested softly. “The Feds are five minutes behind us at most.”

Trembling like a leaf in one of the trees outside the dirty window, she tried and failed to get her shaky hand back through the inside out sleeve. A small sob of frustration escaped as she gave up, attempting the other one instead. No go. She brushed her tangled hair out of her face as she took a breath and tried again.

“Help her, Jonas,” she heard Dex say, sympathy in his low rumble.

“Why me?” Jonas shot back.

“Sean should be the one, but he’s obviously shut down.”

“Kiss my ass, Dex,” Sean swore as he moved forward.

Seeing her angry husband stalking toward her, fight or flight kicked in and her brain screamed what it usually did, run like hell. Where, she had no idea. All the same, she turned, but she hadn’t taken more than two steps when his hand caught in the waistband of her jeans and he lifted her. Squealing and kicking, she fought uselessly against his hold.

“Be still,” he growled in her ear. “I’m this close to snapping. If I do, your ass will be bare and I don’t care if Jonas, Dex, the Feds, the DEA or the goddamn governor himself is in the room, your ass will feel the business end of my belt. Do you understand me?”

She froze, so did her tongue and she couldn’t manage a word. Her compliance would have to speak for her.

Grunting, and surely taking her non-response as compliance, he set her down. He easily threaded her arms through her sleeves and yanked it down. Hands on his hips, he stared down at her.

“What’s next?”

He was asking her?

When Jonas answered, she figured not.

“Muñoz and Robinson will take her into custody and we head back to San Antonio.”

Custody. Her heart skipped a beat and tears blurred her vision. She blinked them back. Crying would accomplish nothing. Pleadingly, her gaze went to Jonas who was watching her grimly, then to Dex who wore the same bleak expression. Lastly, she looked up at Sean. In his face she not only read anger, but also frustration, and if she wasn’t mistaken, helplessness. A knock sounded on the door.

“That was sooner than I expected,” Jonas muttered as he crossed the room. With his hand on the knob, he glanced over at Sean. “You ready for this, bud?”

“As if I have a choice,” was Sean’s resigned reply, his eyes never leaving Mara. “I’ll do what I can to get you out of this. Your cooperation will make it easier.”

With a nod from Sean, Jonas opened the door.

* * * * *

“Handcuffs?” Barely containing his anger, Sean stalked down the hallway toward Muñoz. “Was that necessary? She weighs next to nothing, has an injured leg, can barely walk let alone stand straight and you put handcuffs and manacles on her? What the fuck?”

“Calm down, O’Brien. It’s protocol for a fugitive especially one that makes the national news for shooting a cop and cameras are filming our every move. We took them off as soon as we got her in holding.”

“Yeah, two hours later.” Sean felt like he could bend steel and punch his way through the cinder block wall into her cell he was so angry. “I want to see her.”

“She’s in with her lawyer,” Robinson replied as he came up behind Sean. “She’s going to testify in exchange for immunity.”

“Immunity from what?” Cap inquired, standing at Sean’s back. “The bullet in Victor matched my man T’s weapon and the other didn’t come from Jonas’ Sig Sauer, so it wasn’t Mara. Other than grainy video, you have no evidence she discharged her weapon. You’ve got nothing.”

Muñoz swung Cap’s way. “You wouldn’t know anything about four missing shells would you, Cap? Eyewitnesses state she unloaded four, at least.”

“So what? Are you going to charge her for discharging a firearm in public? Please. It won’t stand up in court, you know that. The scene was chaos. A five-alarm blaze, police, EMS all responding, looting of two shops, multiple shots fired from who knows where including T returning fire through glass from that lobby. Good luck figuring out who shot what. No one is going to believe what witnesses think they saw during that cluster-fuck. And, bottom line, you don’t have a weapon.” He paused, his intelligent gaze shifting from Sean, through Muñoz the asshole, then landing on Robinson.

“We need her to testify, Cap,” Robinson urged. He was no fool and knew their hold on Mara was shaky. “It will put them away for good.”

“She will,” Sean promised. Although he hated that she’d have to go through the media circus, as eyewitness to their plot to blow up downtown, Mara had all the key information to lock up Victor, the old man and all of their henchmen for a very long time. Unfortunately, it also put her in serious danger until they were convicted, which could take a very long time. “She testifies, but until she does, we’re taking her into custody and providing her protection.”

“Says who?” challenged Muñoz.

“Says me.” A new voice entered the fray as General Peter Davis walked in, the double doors closing with an ominous metal clang behind him.

For the first time in days, since Mara had gone OFP and run again, Sean felt a lifting of the fear that had encompassed him. With Cap at his back, the full support of Rossi Security behind him and the general’s power and authority on his side, they might be able to finagle getting Mara out of this mess.

“I just got off the phone with the Bureau Chief, she’s being offered a deal: immunity in exchange for her testimony. As soon as she signs, she’ll be released into her husband’s custody with Rossi providing security pending the trial.” His eyes shot to Sean’s then Cap. “We’re on the home stretch, men. After two long painful years, at last we’re going to see Esteban and Victor Mendoza shut down.”

“They found Victor?” Robinson queried.

“No, I was speaking optimistically. He remains at large. Which reminds me, how the hell does a gut shot man escape from a hospital room with two armed guards at the fuckin’ door?” Pete’s frustration overflowed, an unusual occurrence but it did happen. No one answered his question. They were all of one thought, having suspected it for months. The only way Victor had eluded them so long, had set up the fake slave auction as a decoy, knew they would meet for a pre-mission rundown at their office and be sitting ducks for his bombs and now, escaped under guard was self-explanatory. He had help, and all fingers pointed to someone in the SAPD.

Cap offered the additional intel he had to share. “Last word I got from San Antonio is they have a strong lead on a Mendoza safe house location. The Feds are taking lead rather than the local fuckups, so I’m hopeful he’ll be back in custody by the end of the day.”

* * * * *

Tired, scared and in desperate need of a long soak in a hot tub, Mara curled her arms around her waist and lay her cheek on the cold metal table. Where was the officer with the coffee he’d promised an hour ago?

The door creaked open suddenly and she sat up. A tall, thin man, mid-forties or so, in a tweed suit with a nerdy bowtie and glasses entered. Without saying a word, he walked—no, he swaggered—to the table.

A swaggering nerd? Mara gazed up at him in surprise.

Sliding his engraved leather briefcase onto the table, he pulled out the chair opposite her, and sat down. With his elbows on the table, he folded his hands and eyed her over the top of his round wire-rimmed glasses.

“It seems I have a very naughty girl on my hands.”

Her head reared back as she gasped.

“Joseph R. Hooks,” he announced as he passed a gold embossed business card to her across the table.

As she scanned the scripted lettering—Hooks, Jeffers, and Mahoney, Attorneys-at-law—she noticed his address was in Austin.

“I’ll be representing you at Sean’s request.” He paused, as if giving her a moment to let that sink in.

If he was a friend of Sean’s, that explained a lot. Most, if not all of Sean’s friends were Doms. This man wasn’t like any of the Rossi men who were all large, muscular, gorgeous men who oozed masculinity from every pore. The only thing he had in common with them was that he reeked of authority.

He reminded her a little of Indiana Jones. Not the rugged, whip-wielding adventuring Indie, more like Professor Jones, Jr., the pointer tapping, bow tie wearing, handsome nerd. In fact, Mr. Hooks wore the same round glasses. As she returned his gaze, an image came to mind of him standing over an ill-disciplined student—a naughty client more aptly the case—as they bent over his imposing desk, bare ass cheeks quivering while he prepared to administer swift and sure correction with his pointer. When she added his bold words and the confident glimmer in his green eyes, she had to revise her initial impression of Mr. Joseph R. Hooks.

“Our paths have crossed before, although I’m certain you wouldn’t remember. It was a while back, not long after Club Decadence opened. At the time, your Master had you bound over a bench. I thoroughly enjoyed watching him apply a tawse quite expertly to your bratty behind. Something about spiking the subs Halloween punch with vodka. You had a beautiful, rosy red bottom when he was done. I quite enjoyed the show, I must say.”

Her mouth fell open. To speak of such things outside the club was unseemly and risked violation of their confidentiality agreements. Not to mention bringing up such an incident now, one she remembered vividly, under these circumstances and when they’d only just met was downright rude. His smile stated he knew it and didn’t care. He was her attorney, however, and unless she wanted to go with an overworked, underpaid, wet behind the ears public defender, she’d have to deal with the man’s boldness. Therefore, she said nothing.

“I’m sorry to have shocked you, my dear. As you can see from my appearance, I do not inspire Perry Mason like confidence in most people, until they get to know me better, that is or see me handle a whip. Sean thought it best to show all my cards up front in order to obtain your full cooperation. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” She didn’t dare answer any other way.

“Splendid. Do you have any questions or concerns about me defending you before we begin?”

“I—um.” She swallowed. “Only one, sir. Who’s Perry Mason? Another partner?”

He stared at her a moment, then his mouth turned up into a surprisingly attractive smile and he laughed, a deep resonant sound, unlike the reedy thin tenor of his voice. Joseph Hooks was indeed an enigma. Surprisingly, her anxiety eased the tiniest bit, maybe because this nerd and his brash approach had started to grow on her, or because in the short time they’d been together he had inspired confidence, after all.

Folding his hands atop the scratched and battered table, he leveled his shrewd lawyerly gaze on her and began, “Here’s what’s going to happen next…”

* * * * *

As the female officer unlocked the cell, she took hold of Mara’s upper arm, her fingers less than gentle as she escorted her through the set of steel doors at the end of the cellblock. From there, she walked her down a long dingy corridor to another set of locked doors. These were buzzed opened and they exited into a small lobby with a high counter and a dozen or more chairs of molded plastic. To her right was a set of glass doors. Through them, she saw her attorney standing with a group of men who she was beginning to know very well. Cap Rossi, General Davis, and the last man whose achingly familiar face started her already thumping heart to racing.