"Not mad," I say sounding mad. "I've got to get to the station anyhow." I dry myself partially and walk out to the bedroom still dripping.
"You're going to get the carpet wet," Tiffany calls from the bathroom.
I ignore her and search for the jeans that I dropped purposely on the floor next to my bed for the morning.
"I hung your jeans in the closet," she says, leaning out of the bathroom.
I turn and look at her. "Why?"
She huffs. It's a sound I found adorable just six months ago, but lately I find it irritating. Mostly because I know a lecture will follow.
"Just because you're a detective doesn't mean you have to show up to the station looking like a slob in wrinkled jeans."
"Yes, it fucking does." Her blue eyes flinch at my words, but that doesn't stop me. "That's exactly what it means. Why the hell else does anyone want to get stuck in the hell of being a detective if not to lose the stupid crisp uniform and be able to dress like a slob? It's one of the perks. Hell, it's the only perk."
Tiffany slams the door shut. Months ago, it was a move that would make me head straight to the bathroom door with an apology and kiss, but then months ago, I wouldn't have spoken so plainly to her.
I finish dressing, comb my wet hair with my fingers, adding weight to Tiffany's grooming comment, and head out the door. The fifteen minute drive to the precinct gives me enough time to work myself into a fucking lather about Ten. It's clear to me that Clark knows exactly where she is and I'm done with the dance. I can't function or think straight not knowing where she is or if she's all right. I've already convinced myself that my short temper with Tiffany this morning has more to do with Ten missing than with Tiffany not climbing into the shower with me.
I skipped coffee at home so I head straight to the break room to pour myself a cup. Silvana has somehow picked up a sixth sense about me and shows up at the break room before I finish filling my cup.
"Hey, Maddox, the captain just handed me a file folder on some guy whose neighbors think he has a meth lab in his back house."
I drink the coffee and stare at him over the top edge of the cup. My reaction seems to dampen his enthusiasm for the assignment. He waves the folder around weakly. "Just thought I'd give you the heads-up."
I need to stop giving the guy a hard time, but it's about the only fun thing to do without Ten around.
"Should I get my badge and gun?" Silvana asks.
"First I need to talk to Clark."
"He's in a terrible mood today. I saw him tear Richards and Garcia a couple of new assholes this morning after they fucked up on a robbery sting."
I drain the coffee cup, smack it down on the counter and head toward the door.
"If you ask me, I think it's a good idea to avoid the captain this morning," he recites quickly before I walk out.
"Didn't ask you."
Clark's office door is slightly ajar, my invitation to walk in. I skip the required protocol of knocking first.
"Christ, Maddox, since you refuse to knock, I might just require you to wear a bell around your neck like a fucking cat."
I yank back the chair in front of his desk and sit down. "I need you to tell me where Ten is so I don't lose my fucking mind."
"Can't do that, Maddox." Clark grabs a pen to write something down, but I'm thinking it's a ploy. When the subject of Ten comes up, he finds places to look so he doesn't have to look me in the face.
"Look, Cap'n," I resort to my negotiator's voice, hoping I can pry at least a few splinters of information. I resort to a few lies as well. "Ten and I were working on multiple cases. I need to talk to her about them. You just wiped out the team without even warning me. How am I supposed to effectively do my job if you keep me from my partner?"
"You seem to forget that you asked me to give you a new partner. Which I did."
"Fuck that request. I was temporarily out of my mind. I need . . . I want Ten back in the car with me."
Clark makes a show of dropping his pen on the desk. He leans back and crosses his fingers over his large belly. His double chin is getting large too, especially when he drops his face to give me his fatherly look. "Back when I was a fresh faced, nervous, skinny—" He looks down at his belly. "Yes skinny new kid on the force, they partnered me with Officer Brooks."
I sit back hard on the chair. "Am I seriously going to have to sit here and listen to you reminisce about your rookie days?"
"Officer Brooks," he continues unabated by my question, "had pearly blonde hair that she kept twisted into a perfect knot at the back of her head. She had a long, creamy white neck and she filled out her uniform like a goddamn playboy bunny. When we were out on patrol, all I could think about was Officer Brooks sitting just a foot away with her long neck and her curves. But it wasn't just the way she looked, she was funny, smart, confident. I had no fucking choice but to fall in love with the woman. It was a given. Thinking back on it, I'm not entirely sure how the captain at the time didn't see it coming. I mean she was something."
"I hate to snap you out of your erotic daydream, Clark, but your point?"
"I'm not thick-headed, Maddox. I know why you wanted a new partner."
I open my mouth to protest but nothing comes out. I sit forward. "Look, I just need to know she's safe."
Clark's mouth pulls tight.
"You don't even know that, do you? You can't even assure me that she's all right because you don't fucking know."
"Enough, Maddox." Clark slams his hand on the desk, sending several loose papers off the top of a pile to the floor. His nostrils are wide with anger, but there's regret there too. He knows he sent her into something dangerous, and he knows the whole fucking thing could backfire at any time.
"Does it have to do with those dead rich guys? That secret society?"
Clark lowers his voice to an icy cold temperature. "You need to stop asking. Drop this now, Maddox, or I will put you on suspension for disobedience."
I kick the back of his desk. "Fuck that. Suspend me then."
"Your persistence in finding her is only going to make it more dangerous for Tennyson. Leave. It. Alone."
A rancid smell precedes footsteps into the office. "Clark, glad I found you. She's in."
The two word statement causes Clark's face to smooth like stone.
I turn around in the chair. Olson pales beneath the street grime on his face. "Maddox, I didn't know it was you."
"Guess that answers my question about who 'she' is." I cast a questioning look at Clark.
His nostrils are less flare-y, but he's still plenty mad. "If there's nothing else, Maddox, I think your new partner is waiting for you. And close the door on your way out. I need to meet with Olson."
I stare at him long and hard before rising from the chair. I look Olson up and down before walking out and swinging the door shut behind me. I've been ferreting out all the snitches Ten and I have in the city when all the time Detective Olson was the guy with the goods. And once I had him alone, I was going to find out what he knew.
19
Angie
I wake with a start. As my bleary gaze takes in my surroundings adrenaline jolts through me and I sit up. But I quickly collapse back against the cloud of pillows behind me. I touch the fabric on my stomach. I'm still wearing the silky sundress given to me at the party. The bodice is fastened now but a momentary warmth floods through me as I think back to fingers opening the buttons and pushing the straps off my shoulders. I open my eyes slowly this time so as not to freak myself out. I'm in a vast and lushly appointed bedroom. The four poster bed where my aching head and body are being cradled by a soft, inviting quilt and pillows is of a sleek modern design. White, gossamer netting hangs from the canopy frame over the bed. My eyes are drawn to silver rings, a pair of which have been bolted near the top of each bedpost. I can only assume they help hold the netting in various positions to keep out morning light. That's when it occurs to me that while there are plenty of light fixtures in the room, there are no windows, onl
y several recesses in the walls to allow for storage of unusual pieces of furniture, including an odd looking chair that reminds me of something you'd find in a gym and a short couch that is shaped like a wedge. One nook is empty save for four silver rings, larger than the ones on the bed, at each of the four corners of the closet sized opening. An orange chaise and mahogany dresser take up one corner of the room. A chrome vanity sits against a wall with a plush orange stool sitting in front of it. There are three doors. I assume one is a bathroom and one a closet but then my head is hardly clear enough to make any reasonable assumptions.
I close my eyes again hoping to sleep away the grogginess in my head. I'm close to slipping into a blissful sleep when a shadow falls over the bed. My eyes pop open. A pleasant round face with unusual purple eyes is smiling down at me.
"You're awake. Thought you might sleep forever." The youngish man is dressed in a skin tight white t-shirt and well fitted black trousers. His dark hair is shaved close to his head and he has a silver stud in each ear. He moves gracefully and feminine, like a classically trained ballerina. The eyes seem to get their purple color from contacts. "Come, come, darlin', we need you up and ready."
"Who are you?" My voice is scratchy like my throat is filled with gravel.
"I'm Blake, your personal lady-in-waiting." He curtsies and pretends to hold out the ends of a dress. He turns to the dark mahogany nightstand and pours me a glass of water from a crystal pitcher. "That frog voice won't do at all."
I have difficulty sitting up. Blake lowers his hand for me to take. His palm is smooth, no working callous. He pulls me up to sitting. I brace my hands on the bed to steady myself before taking the glass of water. I greedily gulp it down like a woman who's been wandering the desert without a canteen.
"Where am I? And more importantly, how the heck did I get here?"
"You are in your room or the room that's been chosen for you. It's the nicest one, which makes sense since you're going to be his." Blake refills the glass and hands it back to me. "As for how you got here, what's the last thing you remember?"
I'm still trying to sort out what he's talking about when he tosses the question at me. My head aches just enough to make it hard to recall. I rub my forehead in a pathetic attempt to stop the pain. Blake reaches to the drawer in the nightstand and pulls out a bottle of aspirin. He shakes two onto his smooth, clean palm and hands them to me.
"Aspirin," I say with relief. "Wait. Aspirin. I remember Rowan handing me two pills. He told me they were aspirin for the headache. I was still blindfolded so I couldn't see what he gave me. But I swallowed the pills. I remember getting woozy and my knees giving way. I think I landed in Rowan's arms. I don't remember anything else until a few minutes ago when I opened my eyes in this room."
"That's about right. Mr. Freestone takes every precaution to make sure this place remains impossible to find. By the way, those are the real deal. Aspirin, I mean."
I swallow the tablets and survey the windowless room. The temperature is just right, not too warm or too cold. Even the humidity is perfect. I need to act completely clueless. I am fairly certain I know the answer to the next question but I ask it anyhow. "Why aren't there any windows in this room?"
Blake laughs. "You wouldn't see much if there were. This is a subterranean complex."
"So we're underground." That fact, now confirmed, makes me shudder inwardly. I wonder if there's a term for being undercover and literally underground. It's like vanishing without a trace. I am on my own. I have to go along with the whole damn game or risk revealing myself. Aside from being drugged and transported to the secret location, nothing else seems the least bit sinister, including my 'lady-in-waiting' who looks anxious to get started on his duties. Whatever those might be.
"Guess underground still beats living on the streets." I force a light tone. My stomach growls, and I press my arm against it.
Blake points down at my arm. "We'll get you breakfast just as soon as we get you primped and pretty." He tilts his head. "You sure have an interesting hair color. And with that face, it'll be fun to get you spruced up." Blake is wearing Birkenstock sandals. They shuffle over the lush ivory carpeting that covers the room from wall to wall. He tosses open one of the doors to reveal the entrance to a shiny marble-lined bathroom.
I throw my bare legs and feet over the side of the bed. The aspirin is only just starting to work its magic. With some food, I'll be my clear headed self again. Then it's time to start mentally logging evidence. It seems I'm going to find out exactly what goes on in the Lace Underground. I'm anxious to start tiptoeing through the Kane Freestone's notorious secret world. At the same time, I have to prepare myself for whatever is expected of me to get the job done. It's not going to be pleasant or easy, and it'll probably take me years of therapy to get the scars out of my head, but in the end, I'll show Clark and Maddox and the guys in the precinct just how a woman detective gets things done. After all, none of them could have gotten even this far on the undercover operation.
Blake has disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of water rushing into a tub and the fragrance of bubble bath fills the air. I'm still shaky from the champagne and long night, and I make my way toward the bathroom like a hundred-year-old lady. A quick glimpse in the vanity mirror assures me I look like one too.
Blake's smiling face appears in the bathroom doorway. He holds up a bottle of something and a towel. "First thing we need to do is get rid of unsightly hair," he chirps.
My step falters. "Unsightly hair? You mean—"
Blake's purple glazed contacts flash to my pussy. "The pubes have to go. Mr. Freestone likes things smooth and clean."
I swallow back the sudden dryness in my throat. Up until that second, I could only surmise that I was going to sleep with strangers. Now it's a solid fact. I just wonder how many sweaty, grabby billionaires I'm going to have to bed before I have enough evidence and a safe way out of the underground. Get in character, Angie. You are Tawny.
I shake off the tension and walk toward Blake. "I guess Freestone likes to make everything just right for his club members, eh?"
Blake shoulders rise in surprise, effectively blocking the door. "Darlin', you're not here for his club members. Mr. Freestone has chosen you for his own personal use. At least for now." He smiles proudly. "Puts a little more pressure on me, but I'm up to the task."
His earlier statement about being there for him makes sense now. I am going to be the mad genius's toy until he tires of me. Then he'll throw me out to his pack of wolves. I was going to need to work fast and stay clear headed through it all. It wasn't going to be easy. First and foremost, I needed to avoid the champagne.
I enter the bathroom. It's much larger than its sleek marble opening portends. My heart skips a beat and rare, girlish excitement overtakes me as the massive soak tub comes into view. For a second I forget where I am and fleetingly imagine I'm in a posh five star resort about to get pampered into feminine oblivion. The bathroom is bigger and more well furnished than my entire apartment. There is a plush chaise lounge at the foot of the bath and two velvet upholstered benches sit across from each other in the center of the room.
"What, no wet bar?" I ask.
Blake has a humorous glint in his eye as he walks to a panel on the wall and opens it. With a few button pushes, a marble panel opens up and a motor buzzes as a shelf filled with liquor bottles and glasses rolls out.
"Silly me for asking."
"You look like a rock and roll type but something soft for a bubble bath." Blake reaches back into the controls and suddenly Rod Stewart is crooning one of his slow songs. The echo is loud. Blake adjusts the music lower and it becomes a soothing background hum.
"Go ahead and strip off the dress, darlin'. Hope you don't mind if I call you that, it's just a habit I have."
I shake my head. I've already concluded that I have met my perfect connection to all that goes on in Lace Underground. It seems Blake and I have no choice except to become close friends, but maybe a little close
r than I expected. I hesitate about taking off my dress.
Blake catches the pause and laughs. He has a good laugh, the kind that makes you want to hang out with him just because you know he likes to have fun. He puts his hands on his hips, reminding me of my Aunt Terry just before she was about to lecture me on being too wild in the house. "Darlin', I can tell you that I have about as much interest in seeing pussy as you have, so off with the dress." He shows me the can of hair remover again. "This was specially formulated by the boss. We need to get you foamed up."
It's more than a little unsettling having a strange man knelt down between my naked legs spraying foam around my privates but Blake is a pro. He goes right on with his conversation as if we're just two friends having a latte at a coffee bar. The foam starts to tingle on my skin. I fidget as the light tingle starts to sting.
"Don't worry about the stinging sensation. There's a soothing lotion to go with it. After this, we'll drop you in that tub, and I'll go get your breakfast. But while this stuff does it's thing, I need to get a blood test." He says it casually as if it's a perfectly normal thing to suggest.
I'm still processing his statement as he walks to yet another panel in the bathroom. It seems to be some kind of medicine cabinet. He returns with a band of rubber, a syringe and a vial. "Don't worry, I'm a trained nurse. I'm sort of the go-to doctor in this place."
I'm only half listening as I watch him prepare to take my blood. "Exactly why are we taking blood?" I ask.
"To make sure you're healthy and not carrying any STDs. We've got a full-time lab technician. By the way, are you on birth control?"
A terse laugh shoots from my mouth. "The whole fantasy of this bubble bath scene just went to the cold side of practicality and yes, I am but my belongings are back at the park."
"No problem. You'll be getting a different kind to start. It'll basically stop those pesky periods."
"Mr. Freestone really likes things to run efficiently down here," I comment. It seems the Lace Underground is not a seedy two-bit operation but a well-managed, high end business.