Untitled (3 page)

    Seeing her now, Alain barely overcame his visceral response, but he did.

    "Meri, you should know better than to eavesdrop," Ana snapped, while barging through the door and forcing the young woman back.

    Alain followed, his expression purposely grim. "Don't leave. I'll need to speak with you."

    "Yes, sir." Her plaintive expression affected him entirely too much, but again his feelings had to be set aside; he had no use for a twenty-three year old shrinking violet, no matter how lovely she was.

    A careful inspection of the playroom from which Kat Bloom was taken yielded very little concrete evidence. However, Perry Livingston's signature appeared in the ethers, in the slick getaway, and the apparent subterfuge that allowed someone to pick the sturdy padlock on the far door and escape the building unseen with a deliriously orgasmic woman in his arms. Perry Livingston was a thief, a con-artist and a master of schemes to deceive his opponents and the authorities. He was also rumored to be a dominant sexual master who'd trafficked in female slaves he handpicked for wealthy buyers. There was no hard evidence that he'd perpetrated such acts, but rumors abounded. In fact, he'd become a bit of an urban legend, while comfortably hiding away in an undisclosed location for at least the last eight years.

    The reappearance of Natalie Moon might call into question some of the myth surrounding the man, but given the fact that the woman wasn't talking, at least according to Ana Argentine, Alain was unsure how much he'd be able to glean from that source.

Once finished with his inspection of the playroom, Alain moved back to the club's lounge and found Meredith sitting at the side of the main room, hugging her chest and staring down at the floor.

    "Miss Shaw," he gently prodded her.

    "Oh, sir!" she popped to her feet. "I didn't see you coming."

    "You can sit back down; I have a few questions to ask."

    "Yes, I knew you would."

    He smiled deferentially, as he would to any witness. "Were you present during the scene between Sir Guy and Kat Bloom?"

    "I was for part of it."

    "Was Sir Guy someone Kat normally spent time with?"

    "On a couple of occasions. He used knives, which was a particular favorite of hers. Nothing really dangerous, though."

    "And you'd say that she enjoyed herself?"

    "Oh, yes," she suppressed a giggle. "She liked to take chances, and Sir Guy is sort of sexy…" Her face reddened. "Let's just say that they were having a very good scene…"

    "Something serious between them?"

    "Oh, not at all. She would have blown him off…I mean if she hadn't disappeared."

    "I see." He looked about the lounge as if hunting for clues, then turned back. "Has there been anyone unusual at the club recently, any suspicious looking newcomer? Someone who doesn't belong?"

    "Hum. I don't know," she pursed her lips and drew in her brows, thinking hard. "You know there are always a number of men, subs mainly, who just sort of hang around, hoping one of the Domme's will notice them. It's a game they play, I think. Dominant males and submissive females are much more direct in their interaction."

    After delivering that opinion, Meredith caught Alain staring at her quite intently, and she sat back squirming in a self-conscious stew.

    "And you've been part of this scene for how long?"

    "About two years." Her eyes broadened, unveiling a greenish hue that Alain had never noticed before. He'd never taken the time to study the young woman as he did now. "You aren't going to say anything about this to anyone, are you?"

    "No. I wouldn't have cause. But as her roommate…Ms. Bloom was your roommate?"

    "Yes, sir. For the last nine months."

    "Well, as the roommate of Loren Proctor's daughter, your association with the X-Club might well be divulged if her disappearance should hit the papers. I can't do anything about that."

    "I really hope this won't endanger my job?"

    "It shouldn't. But I would stay clear of your fetish for the time being. Things will certainly die down in time, but until then, you might want to develop a thicker skin. You never know what's going to end up in print once this story breaks."

    Her distress was visible, looking as if a full blown panic was about to erupt, but instead she managed to contain herself, and simply fidgeted more nervously than was usual.

    "So tell me about Kat. Anything you think might be pertinent to the investigation."

    "Well…she's kind of hard to pin down. I know she'd made a career of being rebellious…who wouldn't with her pushy parents. They were always nosing about her business and she hated that. I liked her though. She spoke her mind. She wasn't afraid to do daring things. She had her own kind of style."

    "As in?"

    "Oh, she shopped at thrift stories – never bought anything new. Her clothes were funky: hats, boots, lace camisoles, tights, short skirts, long skirts, she threw things together and they always fit. She worked at The Mermaid, which figures."

    "I'm afraid I don't know that store."

    Of course, he wouldn't, Alain was a regular "M
r. Burberry."

    "It's a third world import store, clothes, incense, books, Far-eastern music, candles, that sort of thing. She tried going vegan, but settled for a compromised vegetarian."

    "Sorry, I don't get that…compromised?"

    "She'd diet on tofu and noodles for days, then treat herself at the Payton Grill and eat a thick steak almost once a week. Although she refused to go inside the restaurant. They probably wouldn't have let her, the way she looked. But she knew the chef. The two would eat in the alley outside while he was on break. She called Lance her one romance."

    "So, the chef Lance was someone special?"

    "No. Never. Kat didn't have anyone special. She had lots of people. She loved everyone. I think she even loved her parents, but she didn't want to be around anyone who told her what to do."

    "Yet here, at the X-Club, she was submissive?" He looked doubtful.

    "It was just a game. The pain was penance. The mystery was a big high. I'll never understand her for as long as I live, but I loved her dearly and I really hope nothing bad has happened to her."

    "Perhaps there was someone at the club she might have pissed off? Anyone with a grudge? Shunned lovers? An angry Dom?"

    "I don't think so," she shook her head. "She didn't make enemies. Everyone wanted her in some way."

    "And maybe somebody a little too much," Alain wryly observed. "Sir?"

    "Yes?"

    "I overheard you talking about Perry Livingston. You really think it could be him?"

    "I have no idea, Miss Shaw. This investigation has just begun. I do find it difficult to believe that no one saw her leave."

    Meredith cocked her head, obviously thinking that thought through. "Oh, I don't think that's so strange. Not if they slipped out the back door. When she was in subspace, Kat was like a ragdoll. It took a couple hours to bring her around. She would have hardly known a thing…" her voice trailed off and so did her attention. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she looked away.

    He let her be quiet, then said, "Miss Shaw, you think this is your fault?"

    Her head flew up, eyes landing squarely on Alain's.

"It
is
my fault. I was supposed to stay with her while Sir Guy was gone…I should have stayed. I should have been there. I never imagined she'd be swept off the face of the planet, like she'd never been in here in the first place. I'm so so sorry…" The tears bled from her eyes, streaming down her face as all the tension from the terrible incident finally burst free.

    In time, Alain kindly laid his palm over Meredith's quivering hands.

    "I do believe she'll be found, Miss Shaw. And it is my guess; if she has been kidnapped, the perpetrator would have found a way, with or without your presence in the room."

    As Meredith sobbed softly, she felt the warmth of Alain Danvers hand seem to draw her into him. It was just a simple kindness, not intended to woo that bleeding heart, or capture her imagination, but this was fertile ground where he carefully treaded and a romantic like Meredith Shaw had no power to resist.

S
CENE
F
OUR

She slept in the wire cage all night, feeling the room around her condense into a tiny sphere. No eyes. No hands. No lips – he'd gagged her again, against her will. She'd struggled angrily, and when she bit him, he soundly slapped her face. Her mouth opened easily then, but not to the tender moment that followed as he carefully pressed the ballgag into her mouth and then stroked her face. Once turned into his caged beast, her heart hardened and throbbed wildly in her chest. She wanted to scream, but there was the gag preventing that; the impossibility of escape killed her hopes. There was a potential rescue from the outside world…but was that even realistic with this villain in charge?

    Once he left the room, she somehow fell asleep. And on awakening now, she realized that it might be morning. Although the blindfold was still in place, the dark space around her seemed to lighten, as if someone had opened the drapes to the sun – or simply turned on the lights. Even so, there was no telling how much time had passed.

    Her clothes – nothing but the skimpy skirt and tattered lingerie – still clung to her body, the last remnants of her old life. She lay motionless on her side, waiting, needing to pee, and when she finally stirred a bit, she was rewarded with the sounds of approaching footsteps. He shuffled around her as he had before, in a long examination that went on silently until he finally spoke as if he could read her mind:

    "I suppose you need to pee."

    She rose up hopefully, gazing in the direction of his voice, but unable to speak.

    She heard the key in the padlock and the padlock give way, the squeak of the metal door, and her captor's next command, "Crawl, Ms. Kat," just before he removed her gag.

    Although the hardwood floor outside the cage pressed painfully against her bony knees, it felt good to move and stretch her stiff limbs. "But where do I go?" she stopped suddenly after crawling some three feet, and looked up as if she could see his face through the thick blindfold.

    Thwack!

    A searing heat ripped through her ass. "Crawl!" the only command he gave, so she began to crawl again, her body smarting from the blow.

    "This way." He used his cane to direct her path; a sharp hit on one butt cheek, turn right; on the other, turn left, comprising a simple guidance system that finally brought her to a pile of papers. She smelled the newsprint, then reached out patting her palm on the thin brittle sheets. "Grab a few and do your business."

While the girl peed, her captor stood back and watched. The process of blindly arranging papers would be painstaking, however, for his purposes, it effectively diminished her so the project was worth the wait. He watched her squat, then as the trickle of pee seeped into the paper and spread. He felt her momentary relief wash through him as well. Every task accomplished without a war was a gain for him.

    But he also knew that her rebellion was just around the corner, as soon as her conscious mind fully awakened to her horrific predicament.

    "Put your papers in the basket beside you," he ordered. "I run a clean ship here."

    She found the basket with little prompting and completed her first housecleaning duties in a slavish manner he found most impressive. Start simple, he believed, and build one step at a time.

    The cane guided her back toward the cage, and then around the room on his whim, coming down on her behind so many times with so many painful thwacks that the skin turned pink, the flesh etched with stripes. She took the punishment silently, for nearly twenty grueling minutes, until she finally stopped crawling, sat back with her arms up to cover her face and blurted out, "Stop! Please, damn you stop!"

    He stopped, but he also laughed at her misfortune, which like a firecracker ignited her repressed anger. She moved toward him lunging, only to have him side-step every advance in an erratic game of cat and mouse. They continued their lunge and sidestep dance, until she finally collapsed, frustrated and exhausted. If she'd been thinking clearly, she might have been able to rip away the blindfold before he could stop her. But she wasn't thinking clearly.

    "I give up."

    He could hear the sob caught in her throat.

    "It's okay to rebel, Ms. Kat. I expect it of you. I've seen you play. I've seen you holler and stamp your feet and spit in the face of a dom. You win with them; they back off, they give you space, they tenderly tease you with their hot breath and wet kisses. That's their game; but it's not mine. The only one who wins my game is me. Remember that."