AtHerCommand (11 page)

* * * * *

“I’m going to die from clogged arteries if I don’t get a new
partner soon,” Domino grumbled as she backed the two-tone Volkswagon out of her
garage.

Why did Meyers enjoy meeting in fast-food joints? A platter
of cholesterol with a side order of grease wasn’t her idea of a healthy supper,
especially on her day off from the club. Dom threw the VW Beetle into first and
popped the clutch in a vain effort to burn rubber. She loved her polka-dot car,
but it wasn’t going to set any land speed records.

She drove by the black Jeep Cherokee that had been parked on
her street most of the day. The SUV’s tinted windows reflected the gray sky,
making it impossible to tell if the vehicle was occupied. The Jeep’s D.C.
license plates were covered with winter road grime but so were the plates of
most cars on the road in February. Maybe one of her neighbors had a relative
visiting, Dom thought, feeling slightly uneasy. In her job, it made sense to be
aware of any changes in her environment.

As she turned out of her suburb, Domino tried to finesse a
little warmth out of her car’s heater. Good thing Smokey wasn’t making this
trip with her. The VW’s interior was cold enough to please a flock of penguins.
Since the club hadn’t scheduled her for that evening, Dom had left Smokey at
her house where the spoiled pooch was happily gnawing on a rawhide chew and
watching
Animal Planet
on cable television.

Taking the back roads to Arlington, Dom enjoyed the ride
despite the winter storm clouds hanging low in the gathering dusk. After
yesterday’s Valentine weirdness, she was glad to have an evening off. Of
course, the previous day hadn’t been totally unpleasant, thanks to Dalton’s
session. She smiled.

What was it about that man? Sure he was attractive with a
to-drool-for body but he paid money to be topped by a dominatrix. Okay, so, as
the dominatrix in question, Domino probably shouldn’t be casting the first
stone. But Dalton’s kinky sexual tastes weren’t on her top ten list of things
she looked for in a date.

Why was she thinking about Dalton and dating anyway? Even
after she’d wrapped up this assignment, Dom doubted she’d pursue a relationship
with her client. She could just imagine approaching him. “Hey, Dalton,
surprise! I’m not a dominatrix. How ’bout we forget all the tickling and
humiliation and grab a sundae at the Baskin Robbins?” Yeah, she was sure he’d
jump at an offer like that.

But there was just something compelling about Mistress
Bella’s first customer. Dalton intrigued and challenged her. When he’d run his
hands and lips over her legs, the sensations had been electric. Dom grew warm
thinking about the scene and couldn’t blame her flushed state on her VW’s
rattling heater. What would it be like to have Dalton’s lips and hands on
other, more sensitive parts of her body?

“Stop daydreaming,” she ordered herself. “It’s never going
to happen.”

Besides, Domino was through dating men who were only
attracted to her body. Any chemistry between Dalton and her was due to his
reaction to Mistress Bella’s skin-tight outfits and the games they played in
S&M Room Five. She doubted he wondered what was behind her mask, much less
what was in her head or her heart. And she deserved a man who cared about the
real Dominique and not just the external package.

She turned the corner onto Arlington’s fast food alley and
spotted the Taco Bell a block down on the right. The place looked crowded but
there were several parking spots along the side. Domino slowed, took a right
into the parking lot and put Dalton from her mind. She ignored the pang of
regret over their lack of a future and tried not to wish they’d met under other
circumstances. It wasn’t meant to be.

Dom slipped the Beetle into a spot near the Taco Bell’s side
door and turned off the ignition. Thanks to the bright ceiling lights inside
the place, she could see Meyers sitting at a table by the window. He was
chowing down on the first in a stack of tacos. Nice of him to wait for her. But
then, Meyers had always been short on manners. Sighing, Dom grabbed her purse,
got out of her car and entered the restaurant.

Several minutes later, she carried a tray holding a taco
salad to Meyers’ table. Her partner glanced up as she set down the tray and
slid onto her chair. Since his mouth was overflowing with taco, Meyers nodded
in greeting.

“Good day to you too,” Dom said, noticing her sarcasm was
lost on the man. She lifted her fork and began to pick at the salad. “Got any
news for me?”

Meyers swallowed and took a gulp from his super-sized soft
drink. “Sure, babe, I got something for you.” He smirked and dropped his eyes
toward his lap.

“Very funny,” she said in a bored tone. “But I didn’t bring
my magnifying glass so you might as well keep your pants zipped.” Ignoring the
quick flush of anger that swept up his neck, Dom continued. “How about the
case? Anything new?”

Her partner could shovel out the shit but wasn’t
particularly adept at handling it. For several seconds, Dom wondered if he
would answer her question.

“I brought transcript copies of some of the Cabazone family
calls,” Meyers said, a mulish look on his freckled face. “We think it’s Clyde
Salvi on the line with Dougie Cabazone. Unfortunately, there’s not enough here
to raid the sex club.”

“What makes you think Salvi’s the caller?” Dom scooped up a
bite of her salad.

“References to the Xecutive Branch,” Meyers said. “Dougie
informed the caller he was recommending some friends to the sex club and hoped
they would get special treatment.” Her partner lowered his voice and spoke with
a verbal leer. “You know, Dom, I’d love to hear what constitutes special
treatment at a joint like that. Care to share the details?”

“If you want someone to talk dirty to you, partner, I
suggest you call a nine hundred sex line.” Domino took a long sip of her soda
without breaking eye contact with Meyers. “Did you say you have transcript
copies for me?”

Frowning, Meyers reached next to his chair and began to lift
up a large Godiva chocolate box out of a handle bag. Domino motioned for him to
stop.

“Finish your meal and then pass it to me,” she instructed.

Meyers nodded. “Figured it would look like I was giving my
squeeze some high-class chocolate,” he said. “Just a day late for Valentine’s.”

“Be still my heart,” Dom said. “I assume you already ate the
chocolate and left me just the transcripts?”

He laughed, a dry “ha, ha, ha” that irritated her ears.
“Wouldn’t want you to get fat and have to shoehorn yourself into those
dominatrix outfits.” Meyers ran his eyes over her chest. “Of course, if you
ever need any help lacing up a corset or something, you just call your partner.
I’ll be right over.”

Domino speared a piece of lettuce with her plastic fork. The
man just never gave up. “What a generous offer,” she said with all the false
sweetness she could muster. It wouldn’t do to attract any unwanted attention
from other Taco Bell diners. “And don’t hesitate to call me if you ever want
help getting your head out of your ass.”

Dalton pulled the black Jeep into the side parking lot of
the Taco Bell. He’d staked out Domino’s house most of the afternoon and then
tailed her to this fast-food place. One of the oldest restaurants on the
street, the Taco Bell didn’t have a drive-through. Not knowing if she was
getting a meal to go or eating in, he’d circled the block several times. When
she hadn’t returned to her VW, he’d decided to take advantage of having tinted
windows to park right outside the fast-food joint.

His hands were slick on the steering wheel. Dalton turned
down the SUV’s heater, pretending his damp palms were due to the warm air and
not the thought of seeing Dom without her mask. When she’d driven away from her
house, he’d gotten a quick look at her profile. But he wanted…needed to see her
face.

He scanned the restaurant’s side windows. And there she was,
sitting at a table with a burly, red-haired guy. For several seconds, Dalton
simply held his breath, mentally urging Domino to turn her head. And then, as
if she’d heard his pleas, she looked away from her dinner companion and stared
out the window into the falling dusk.

Damn.
She was a knockout with soulful eyes, the
cheekbones of a model and a generous mouth that had haunted his thoughts. Her
strong nose kept her features from being cute and contributed to the exotic
sensuousness of her face. Dom’s Mediterranean ancestry was clear, adding to her
earthy appeal. Her lips curved into an amused smile as she looked out into the
night and Dalton’s body responded.

He recalled his nightmare—could he really call it that?—and
how she’d moved under him, arching and moaning. As he stared at her striking
face, he remembered how the dream Domino had removed her mask, revealing her
emotions as well as a sensual countenance that blended now with the real one
before him. Dalton again experienced that sense of rightness, of familiarity,
with this woman he didn’t really know.

As he watched, Domino glanced back at her companion and said
something. The unsmiling man answered her. Dalton wished he could hear the
conversation but the risk of being recognized if he entered the restaurant was
too high. Dom turned her concentration to her food and captured what appeared
to be lettuce on her fork. As she raised the bite to her mouth, Dalton noticed
the unguarded look on the man’s face. He was staring at Domino like a starving
dog eyes a steak.

A wave of angry possessiveness swept Dalton. Right or wrong,
he wanted to plant a fist in the man’s gut. Was he her boyfriend? Or was it a
case of unrequited lust? Dom lifted her eyes again and the guy masked his
feelings. Maybe Domino didn’t return his affections. The possibility made
Dalton feel better.

After talking for several more minutes, Dom took her tray to
a nearby trash can, discarded her food and returned to the table. The man
handed her a gold box, Godiva chocolates, Dalton guessed. With a smile as
plastic as the fast-food restaurant’s forks, Domino accepted the gift. Then
without any show of affection, she gathered her purse and walked toward the
exit.

Dalton quickly threw his car into reverse and backed out of
the parking space. By the time Domino reached the Taco Bell’s side door, he’d
slipped his Jeep behind a delivery truck parked at the rear of the restaurant.
Rolling down his side window, Dalton listened to the distinctive cough and
sputter of the VW’s engine coming to life. When Dom drove the Beetle past his
hiding spot, he waited until she was almost out of sight before following her
again.

Instead of heading into D.C. to the club, Dom retraced her
route back to her house. Apparently, she had the evening off. From down the
block, Dalton watched as she drove into her garage and closed the automatic
door. Was she in for the night? Should he stakeout her house for a couple more
hours? Maybe he should have waited at the Taco Bell and followed her dinner
companion. Who was the guy and did he have any connection to the Xecutive
Branch?

As his car engine idled, Dalton weighed his options. He was
exhausted and hungry. As Suzi would say, he was burning his candle at both
ends. Between his assigned cases and his unofficial investigation into his
partner’s murder, he was working twenty hours a day. And getting nowhere fast.
With a sigh, he put the SUV in gear and headed back to Jason’s house. He’d
munch down on a couple of cold-cut sandwiches and call Suzi after her shift.
Maybe she’d have some new leads.

As Dalton drove, the memory of Domino’s fascinating face had
a new hunger rising. At least the evening hadn’t been a total waste. He’d
finally seen the woman behind Mistress Bella’s mask.

Chapter Eleven

“Thanks, Fred,” Suzi said. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“No problem,” the club’s maintenance man answered. “Usually
I have to unclog sinks, not fix faucets. And don’t get me started on the hot
tubs.”

Suzi watched the squat, balding man wipe his hands on his
white overalls before packing up his tools. He seemed so incongruous among the
room’s New Age décor and soft music. But Fred was good at his job and had arrived
just minutes after Clyde Salvi called for a repairman. It seemed as if everyone
at the club jumped when Salvi barked an order.

“You wouldn’t believe how often someone wears edible
underwear in a hot tub,” Fred continued. “Those things dissolve into a gunky
mess that clogs the drain.” He closed his toolbox and hefted it with his left
hand. “Let me know if that faucet starts dripping again, okay?”

“Will do,” Suzi answered, imagining melting candy panties.

The maintenance man walked out the door, leaving behind the
pungent aroma of tobacco smoke, cheap aftershave and engine oil. Not a
desirable olfactory ambiance for a massage room. Suzi glanced at her watch. She
had several minutes before her next appointment. Time for an emergency scent
makeover.

She lit the vanilla candles arranged around the room, dimmed
the wall sconces and opened the club-supplied aromatherapy kit. Fascinated with
the idea that certain odors could elicit specific responses, Suzi had already
studied the scent guide included with the kit. Maybe she would choose something
soothing like lavender. Suzi considered her options. There was the essential
oil itself or the linen mist, which could be sprayed directly on the massage
table sheets.

A sound or maybe sixth sense had her turning toward the
door. Calvin stood there watching her. For two heartbeats, she simply stared
back until he broke eye contact.

“Hi,” Suzi said, embarrassed at the breathiness in her
voice. So Calvin was her next appointment. He was just a client, so she
shouldn’t be feeling this thrill of pleasure.

“Hi. I’ll just…” He pointed to the changing area.

“That’d be great,” she said.

Calvin walked to the dressing alcove and disappeared behind
the curtain. Suzi stared after him and then smacked herself on the side of the
head. What was she? Sixteen with a crush? Real smart for a detective in the
middle of a homicide investigation.
Geez.

She turned back to the aromatherapy kit and reached for the
lavender linen spray. But as if it had a mind of its own, her hand snatched up
the bottle marked “jasmine”. Jasmine for sensuality. Ignoring the irritating
whine of her common sense, Suzi liberally misted the jasmine linen spray on the
sheets.

Pushing back the dressing room curtain, Calvin moved toward
the massage table. He had a towel wrap around his waist but his torso, arms and
legs were bare. Suzi was afraid she’d drool. Sure, she’d been without male
companionship for a while…okay, a couple years. But this man attracted her like
Starbucks coffee after an all-night stakeout.

“Smells nice in here,” Calvin said, climbing on the table.

“Just some aromatherapy magic,” Suzi joked.

Calvin lay facedown, with his head cradled by the doughnut
table extension and his arms relaxed along his sides. Suzi tried not to notice
his sexy ears. Boy, she had it bad.

“Relax and breathe naturally,” she said, trying to take her
own advice. “And keep your backbone straight.” Suzi ran her hand from his head
down the flat plane of his neck to his shoulders, feeling him tense under her
touch. “Trust me. I’ll smooth away this stress.”

Facing her display of massage products, Suzi found the
jasmine-scented oil—the oil used for couples’ massages…the scent for lovers.
Stop
it.
Get off that line of thinking. She wasn’t here to seduce the man, for
Pete’s sake. It was just that the sheets were already sprayed with jasmine mist
and she didn’t want to mix scents. She rolled her eyes at her
self-justification and turned to the table.

Calvin lay waiting, his strong, dark body served up like a
feast for the senses. The smooth brown expanse of his skin was disturbed by the
large scars bracketing his knee, but to Suzi’s eyes, the marks just contributed
to his warrior-like image. And like a battle-worn soldier, Calvin embodied
sadness, a bone-deep weariness that made her want to bring him some peace.

“The massage oil is warm,” Suzi cautioned as she approached
the table. “The jasmine is, uh, stimulating and the peppermint-menthol base
will make your skin tingle. This helps the muscles unclench.”

Calvin nodded slightly and she poured a little of the oil
across his shoulders. Great shoulders, she thought, as she rhythmically
massaged his tight muscles. Using her thumbs, she worked the oil onto the back
of his neck, following the tension to the base of his skull. The table
extension muffled the sound slightly, but she heard Calvin groan.

God, she wanted to kiss his neck and nuzzle those ears until
he turned over and took her into his arms and—
Damn.
She’d known jasmine
could stimulate sexual urges. Why hadn’t she realized the scent might work on
her as well as Calvin?

He felt her hands hesitate then start massaging again in
hypnotic swirls. Her firm, slender fingers—magic fingers—traced patterns on his
back, leaving sensitized skin in their wake. He’d lie here forever if she’d
just keep touching him.

Alarms sounded in Calvin’s pleasure-fogged mind. He had a
job to do, a job requiring clear, focused thought. There was misinformation to
plant so the FBI could trace the classified data pipeline from the Xecutive
Branch to foreign governments. The massage was great but he couldn’t let it
sidetrack him.

Calvin cleared his throat and spoke up so she’d hear him
through the head cushion. “That feels wonderful. You wouldn’t believe the
stress I’m under at the State Department.”

She made a sympathetic noise and her hands moved down his
back, smoothing the oil from his spine to his sides. Calvin’s libido, numbed by
years of grief, stirred with the erotic movement of her fingers on his flesh.
Gritting his teeth, he forced his attention back to his assignment.

“I’m working on a project right now that’s critical to our
allies,” he said. “And the deadline’s a killer.”

Suzi leaned down and spoke quietly. “I’d ask you for details
but I know you can’t talk about your job. Besides, you should try to put your
work out of your mind while you’re here—to help you relax.”

Calvin was glad the table extension hid his surprise. She
wasn’t taking the bait. He’d been sure she’d push for information, try to
wheedle secrets out of him. Of all the foreign nationals working at the club,
could Suzi be on the up-and-up?

She poured more oil onto his skin and began rubbing it into
the small of his back.
Mmmmmmm.
Muscles tightly knotted from too many
hours in his desk chair rejoiced.

“Instead of talking shop,” Suzi continued, “why don’t you
tell me a favorite memory. Did you have a pet as a child?”

Calvin thought about the Heinz 57 mutt he’d brought home
when he was eight. It made him smile to this day to recall the horror of his
lawyer parents. Despite their offer to buy him a purebred puppy, he’d insisted
on keeping the mangy dog.

“Yeah, I had a mixed breed named Rambo.” He chuckled at the
memory. “He had stubby legs, a chewed-up ear and a howl that infuriated the
neighbors. Man, my parents hated that dog.”

Suzi laughed, a pleasant sound of shared amusement as she
kneaded the oil into the muscles on his arms. “But I bet you loved Rambo
despite his looks.”

“Yeah, I did,” he said. “I was an only child and my parents
were pretty busy with their careers. Rambo was my sidekick on adventures and
sometimes my partner in crime.”

“Forget it, Calvin,” she said, the sound of his name sending
a little rush through his system. “You’ll never convince me you were a juvenile
delinquent.”

He laughed, enjoying her teasing. “No, I didn’t land in
juvie but I did take my dad’s Mercedes for a spin when I was twelve. Rambo was
riding shotgun. We managed to run over a trash can and take out Old Man
Thompson’s mailbox before my father caught up with us.”

Suzi chuckled, pouring the oil on his legs. For several moments
they were silent as Calvin thought about the great times he’d had with that
scruffy dog. She carefully worked the muscles around his damaged knee before
speaking again.

“You know,” she hesitated, “if you ever wanted to talk about
anything that’s bothering you during the massages, that would be fine.”

Calvin tensed. Had Suzi lulled him into relaxing only to
spring a work-related question on him? Was she selling secrets after all? His
disappointment was keen.

“What types of things?” he asked.

“Well, yesterday was Valentine’s Day. I was wondering if the
holiday has been tough for you since your wife passed away.”

Caught off-guard, Calvin tried to think of a nice way to say
the topic was off-limits. But then she pressed her thumbs into the sole of his
right foot, hitting exquisite acupressure points and sending him to heaven. The
part of his mind filled with pain for his late wife and guilt for surviving
without her, tried to shut down. But Suzi’s fingers were working miracles and
he found he wanted to answer her question.

“Yes, Valentine’s Day is hard but nothing like Christmas or
our anniversary,” he admitted. “Hell, every day is hard. We had so many plans.
Children, we wanted at least two, and a home in the suburbs with a swing set
and a doghouse.”

He could feel his muscles tensing up with the emotion of his
words and she began massaging his back again—pressing deeper as though reaching
into his heart.

“She must have been a special person,” Suzi murmured.

“She was.” He recognized the familiar despair rushing
through him. “When Pam got cancer, I just wouldn’t believe it. I must have
dragged her to twenty doctors but they all said the same thing. She was dying
and there wasn’t anything we could do.”

Suzi continued to rub his shoulders, listening but not prying.
And in the safe darkness of the cradling extension, he told her the rest.

“I promised Pam the chemo would work.” The tightness in his
throat made his voice hoarse. “I promised her. But it didn’t. I told her
everything would be okay and then I
let
her die.”

Her hands stopped stroking and Suzi leaned closer. “You’re
wrong, Calvin. Only God can keep a promise like that.”

“I should have been able to save her,” he insisted. “She
trusted me to take care of her.”

“And now you’re punishing yourself because you aren’t God.
Do you think that’s what she’d want for you?” Suzi asked. “If Pam loved you
half as much as you love her, she’d never want you to blame yourself.”

Calvin lifted his head and twisted to look up at her. “What
do you know about it? Have you ever lost a spouse?”

She was quiet for several seconds and he regretted snapping
at her. Before he could apologize, Suzi spoke, her eyes serious. “No. But I did
lose my brother two years ago. So I know a lot about grieving. But it’s a
different kind of pain from losing a wife.”

Calvin nodded, although as an only child, he couldn’t
relate.

“For example,” she continued, meeting his gaze with
determination, “I never made myself my brother’s keeper, so I don’t have the
guilt you’re carrying around like a fragile crystal.”

“I was her husband,
dammit.
” Calvin swung his legs
down so he was sitting on the edge of the massage table. “A husband takes care
of his wife.”

“And a wife takes care of her husband,” Suzi countered, her
hands on her hips. “She’d want the best for you. Don’t you think she’d want you
to let go of the guilt and be happy again?”

“I don’t deserve to happy when Pam’s in the ground!” he
shouted.

“What if you’d been the one to die?” Suzi’s voice grew
louder. “Would you have wanted your wife to cut herself off from happiness? To
be alone for the rest of her life?”

Calvin tried to answer, to tell her to butt out of his
business, but he couldn’t get the words past the lump in his throat. So he
pushed off the table, skirted around Suzi and entered the changing area. Drops
of massage oil dripped off him like tears. Angrily, he pulled the towel wrap
from his waist and used it to scrub his shiny back and limbs.

Who the hell does she think she is?
Calvin’s bitter
thoughts swirled and his hands trembled as he quickly pulled on his pants. Suzi
couldn’t understand and she certainly had no right to comment on his
marriage…to speak as if she’d known Pam. So what if the masseuse’s words had
echoed those of his friends and his family. Calvin knew in his heart that
moving on with his life would be a betrayal of Pam’s memory.

He buttoned his shirt and didn’t bother tucking it in his
chinos. Eager to be gone, Calvin shoved his socks into a zippered compartment
in his jacket, slipped his bare feet into his boat shoes and pocketed his
wallet and watch. Even through the red haze in his mind, he realized most of
his anger was directed at himself. This is what he got for letting down his
defenses, for wanting to be open and connected with another human being again.

Suzi deserved an apology. Calvin shrugged on his jacket. She
was just trying to be nice and he’d yelled at her. But he felt too jumbled up
inside so he left the dressing area intending to make a fast exit. She was
standing next to the massage table where he’d left her, looking sad and a
little confused. When she heard his footsteps, Suzi glanced up and moved to
intercept him.

“Calvin, I—”

As if in slow motion, he watched her reach out a hand toward
his arm and simultaneously slip in the trail of oil he’d left on the floor.
Suzi gasped and grabbed for the edge of the table as he lunged for her. With
the quick hands of a football player, he caught her by the waist and pulled her
to him. Her lithe, athletic body felt nothing like Pam’s soft curves but he
held her so tightly he could sense the beats of her heart against his chest.