Muzzling the Beast: Taming the Beast, Book 4 (8 page)

“Against the regulations, but it’ll have to do,” Becca said. “What about her…ah…the sulfur smell?”

“Flowers or spice?” MJ asked Zoe.

“Neither.”

“Flowers it is.”

Zoe coughed and wheezed in a breath at the heavy perfume scent.

Becca nodded. “Let’s not forget Stefin, Anatol, and Taro. They’ll have to smell like cologne and wear contacts, the same as Zoe, to hide the flames in their eyes.”

“Totally doable,” MJ said. “Are we agreed on the middle one?” She gestured to the room models.

Everyone nodded.

“Hold on,” Becca said before MJ made any more changes. “We need to tell the guys what we’re doing before it happens, and get the clients out of here so they don’t wonder what’s up. Zoe, handle your enforcers.” Becca spoke to Heather. “Cancel all appointments until eight or so. Give those affected a discount on their next time here.”

They nodded. Becca gestured wildly. “Go.”

Everyone hurried out of her office except for Constance. Overwhelmed with gratitude, she could barely speak. “Thanks.”

“Aw, sweetie.” Becca hugged her. “I want you to be happy. I hope you find what you need with Gabe.”

Constance forced down a swallow, praying she’d have at least a little time with him, afraid she wouldn’t.

A half hour before Gabe’s stated arrival, Becca herded the guys into her office. Anatol, Stefin, and Taro kept squinting and blinking as if they’d been caught in a sandstorm, but at least the contacts had subdued the flames in their eyes. Gabe wouldn’t notice them at all unless he knew what to look for.

Daemon raised his hand just like a kid in school.

“Yes?” Becca said.

“Should I offer to show Gabe my feet to prove I’m no longer a satyr?”

Constance held back a whimper. No way were they going to pull this off.

Becca grabbed Constance’s hand and squeezed lightly. “Everything’s going to be all right.” She spoke to the guys. “Don’t offer Gabe any information. In fact, once he’s here, don’t talk at all.”

Anatol frowned. “Even if he speaks to us? You want us to be rude?”

“Pretend you’re busy with something,” Becca said. “If you are, he won’t bother any of you.”

Stefin nodded. “We’ll mount Zoe in the break room with me doing her first. Our cries of delight will prove he shouldn’t disturb us.”

Constance wasn’t certain whether to laugh or scream.

Becca sighed. “No sex of any kind while he’s here and even after he’s gone, understand? This is a business, not a motel.”

Daemon spoke sotto voce to the other guys. “Don’t show Gabe your cock either. Heather warned me about doing so in polite company.”

The others exchanged glances.

Heather suddenly called over the intercom. “Gabe’s coming up the steps.”

Constance gasped. “Oh my God, we forgot about my office. Surely he’ll want to see it.”

“MJ!” Becca hollered.

The genie hurried inside. “What?”

“You have to fix my office,” Constance said. “Make it normal.”

“The wall outside the treatment rooms too,” Becca added. “Remove our slogan.”

“Suppressing the beast?”

Constance frowned. “What else?”

“Hey, just asking,” MJ said. A split second later, there were two faint pops. “Done. Anything else?”

“Maybe some music,” Constance said. “Normal office stuff.”

Becca brightened. “And another recording to explain what the priest thought he’d heard.”

Not a bad idea. “The regular music first though,” Constance said.

“Sounds good.” Becca turned to MJ. “Do it.”

“Your wish is my—”

“He’s on the landing,” Heather cried.

Chapter Eight

Gabe reached for the door handle but didn’t lower it, uneasy about what might happen once he was inside. If he detected anything illegal, he’d have to investigate, which would totally fuck up his relationship with Constance.

He wasn’t worried about her being actively involved in anything criminal—he knew her well enough already to know it wasn’t who she was. However, she did work with people who were most likely her friends. Messing with them would screw her livelihood and personal relationships. She’d have a hard time forgiving him for doing so, if she could manage at all.

Shit. Why hadn’t Father gone to the correct office in the first place?

If he had, you wouldn’t have met her.

The thought of never having known Constance, or losing her, made Gabe’s belly ache. On a deep breath, he went inside.

A cool rush of air-conditioning greeted him, along with the Carpenters’ “Close to You”
.
He tried to recall if schmaltzy music
had been playing the last time he was here but couldn’t.

As Karen warbled away, he turned to Heather.

She wasn’t as blinding white as he remembered, her face and throat pink—no, wait. She was turning redder by the second and smiling so hard her mouth began to twitch. Must hurt like hell, given how her shoulders were tensed.

Gabe stepped back, hoping she’d relax. “Hi. Heather, right?”

She nodded vigorously, her ponytail bobbing like mad.

“I’m Detective Legrand, remember?”

Another nod.

He hoped her reluctance to speak was simply because she was so shy, not guilty about something she’d done. Thankfully, she wasn’t hiding behind her chair as she had the first time he’d met—

“Detective,” a light female voice suddenly said.

He turned and blinked, stunned by the change in Becca. She looked great, totally normal, in fact.

Uh-huh. Probably because Constance had warned her to make a good second impression, and everyone else to make nice with him from the get-go. “Ms. Salt.”

“Becca, please.” Smiling, she offered her hand.

Karen finished her song and it started right back up again.

Becca called over her shoulder. “MJ, the sound system is still messed up. Please fix it.” She faced him. “If I have to listen to this one more time, I’ll scream.”

He had to smile. “No kidding. Hardly my fave.”

“We’ve Only Just Begun”
came on.

“Not much better,” Becca said, “but we like to keep things light and hopeful for our clients.” Before he could respond, she brought back her hand. “I must admit, I was surprised when Constance told me what your priest said. If he’d only asked us, we could have cleared up his concerns immediately.”

Gabe looked up as loud hissing noises and howls floated down the hall. A quick glance at Heather told him she’d heard it too as her face had gone deathly pale. Becca, on the other hand, looked serene.

He frowned. “Do you hear that?”

The howling grew louder until the ear-piercing twang of an electric guitar drowned it out, followed by bass and thundering drums.

Becca shouted above the noise, “MJ, none of Jason’s stuff. I told you to keep it light and hopeful.” She spoke loudly to Gabe. “Her boyfriend, Jason, is the lead singer in Death Grip, an alternative band he just started. MJ likes to play their stuff here, hoping to get them some exposure.” She rolled her eyes. “The hisses and howls make my teeth hurt. MJ!”

The racket stopped. Gabe’s ears were still ringing as Barry Manilow’s “Weekend in New England” poured from the speakers
.

Becca sighed. “As I was saying, Detective—”

“Gabe.”

She nodded. “Gabe. I’m guessing your priest heard Jason’s latest. No wonder the poor man jumped to such a wild conclusion.”

Sounded reasonable, and yet the cop in Gabe told him it was a bit too pat, the same as her sudden change of clothing and makeup. “He’s not my priest. He’s a friend of my parents. Mind if I look around, have a chat with your people? What you’re doing here fascinates me. I think it’s wonderful you’re helping so many guys who’re having trouble with women. I know a few who might be interested in your services.”

She looked briefly wary before composing herself. “Not at all. We’re very proud of what we do. Let me show you around.”

As they went down the hall, Gabe heard shuffling from numerous feet, as though several individuals were ducking back into their offices after having spied on him and Becca. Glancing from side to side, he wondered which door belonged to Constance.

As if by magic, she suddenly appeared at the end of the hall, her off-the-shoulder rose-colored gown hugging her curves and complementing her beautiful complexion. Gabe came to an immediate halt, his knees sagging. God, she looked luscious enough to eat, right here and now, her expression telling him she felt the same about him.

Tenderness, desire, and excitement sparkled in her eyes. She smiled.

Gabe did too, feeling Becca watching them both.

She cleared her throat gently and called to Constance. “I was just showing Gabe around. Would you care to join us?”

“If you don’t mind,” Constance said to him.

If she’d asked him to crawl naked over hot coals studded with broken glass, he would have complied with a happy smile. “Not at all.”

He reached for her hand, then brought his own back, remembering he was here on business.

Becca led them to the first room. After rapping gently on the door, she opened it. The décor was tasteful and subdued, the guy standing next to the desk tall, bronze, and blond. He was dressed in black and blinked repeatedly as one would if bothered by the bright overhead lights.

“Sorry to disturb you,” Becca said. “This is Detective Legrand—Gabe. He was asking about our services.”

The man approached. “Stefin here.” He clasped his hands in front of himself and lowered his head. “I came from a poor Russian village. Times were terrible—the poverty, the official corruption—you don’t want to know.” He sighed. “It’s a miracle I survived as long as I—”

“Absolutely,” Becca interrupted, “which is why Stefin’s no longer there, but here instead.”

Constance nodded. “We’re glad he is. He’s helping our clients as we helped him.”

His cologne was so strong Gabe could barely breathe. “You’re his sponsors in this country?”

Becca and Constance exchanged a glance. “Of course,” Becca said, natural as could be. “We like to help when we can.”

“What do you do here?” Gabe asked him.

Stefin puffed up. “I’m an enforcer. The best there is. You can tell Daemon so for me. He seems to think he’s far better.” Stefin brought up his arm and made a fist, his biceps bulging through the sleeve of his shirt. “All I can say is—
ha.”

Confused, and a bit uneasy, Gabe turned to Constance. “Enforcer?”

“A lot gets lost in translation,” Becca said. “There are tons of rules and regulations in a business like this. Stefin helps to keep everything running smoothly.”

“No one gets past me,” he said through his teeth. “I dare them to even try.”

Constance leaned toward Gabe and whispered, “He likes to think he’s in charge. We humor him.”

Her breath was warm against his ear, sending ribbons of pleasure down Gab’s throat, straight to his cock.

“Thanks for the chat,” Becca said. Closing the door promptly, she looked a little wilted.

Gabe couldn’t blame her after having met strange Stefin.

She moved to the next room, decorated similar to the first. Inside was a young woman in a pale green dress. Two lit cigarettes rested on a plate, while she held another in her hand despite the law against lighting up indoors.

Gabe squinted at what seemed to be smoke rising from the ends of her hair. “Are you okay?” he asked her. Was she on fire?

“Zoe’s getting ready to quit again,” Constance said just loud enough for him and Becca to hear. “Every time she does, she goes overboard like this. We try not to notice.”

He frowned. “I wasn’t talking about the cigs. Can’t you see her hair’s smoking? I think she’s on fire.”

Constance grabbed his arm before he could go into the room and put her out. “Zoe, sweetie, your hair?”

She patted it. “I’m good.”

Was she serious? Her voice reminded him of the kid in
The Exorcist
after the demon took possession, and her office reeked of a flowery perfume. Gabe wondered if she was also from a poor Russian village like Stefin. Maybe it would explain why they both drenched themselves in fragrance.

“Zoe,” Becca said, “this is Detective Gabe Legrand, here to check out our services.”

He smiled weakly at Zoe. “What do you do here?”

“She manages Stefin and the rest of our customer engagement team,” Becca said, clearly proud. “We couldn’t operate the business without her.”

Zoe smiled shyly. “I do my best.”

“What’s wrong with her voice?” Gabe whispered to Constance.

“Smoking. Bronchitis. You name it.”

“Better make sure she gives up the butts before she gets seriously ill or another cop comes in here and issues a citation.”

“You’re not going to do that?”

“I’ll turn a blind eye this time.”

She gave him a sultry look. “Thanks.”

His balls twitched.

“We’ll let you get back to work,” Becca said to Zoe and closed her door.

In the break room, she introduced him to a black guy with dreadlocks, named Anatol.

“Bonjour,” Anatol said.

Gabe nodded. “Hi.” He wondered if the business was sponsoring him too. Never had he met such a diverse group. The guy next to Anatol was Taro. He had auburn hair, blue eyes, and a country accent worse than the actors on
Nashville.
Next to him was Daemon. His cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk’s from all the food he was stuffing into his mouth—McDonald’s Big Macs, Hostess cupcakes, Hershey candy bars.

It’d take more than a few chews and swallows before he got all of it down. Feeling mischievous, Gabe asked, “What do you do here, Daemon?”

He swallowed his food without chewing and belched loudly, after which his gaze shot to Becca.

She wagged a finger at him. “What did we tell you about that?”

He pulled in his shoulders. “Sorry.” He turned to Taro and Anatol. “People don’t make noises in polite company.”

They looked at him blankly.

Criminal masterminds these guys weren’t…if anything, they were more like the Three Stooges. Throw Stefin in as a spare and Gabe figured Becca had her hands more than full. Either she had very low standards for employees or she was the nicest person he’d ever known for having hired these guys. Hell, a sane person would have run in the opposite direction.

No way could anything illegal be going down here.

“Now, MJ,” Becca said and headed back down the hall to the reception area.

The moment they arrived, Heather and another young woman jumped apart, their lips damp and bruised from kissing.

Gabe stared at who he guessed was MJ. She was built better than a nineteen-fifties pinup girl—though not as nice as Constance—and had tawny skin, amazing violet eyes, and long dark hair.

She was also supposed to be dating Jason from Death Grip, so why had she been smooching with Heather?

“MJ,” Constance said, “this is Detective Legrand.”

“Gabe, please,” he said.

Constance stared at his mouth. God help him, he stared at hers, memories of their kisses flooding him, stiffening his cock.

“Hey there, Mr. Detective.”

Gabe looked over at MJ’s approach. Her hips swayed provocatively, her fragrance reminding him of incense, what an Arab sheik would burn while he fucked countless concubines.

Subtle MJ wasn’t. Despite how sexy she came off, his boys and rod weren’t impressed, wanting no one but Constance, who was giving MJ a hard stare.

“Don’t you have work to do?” Constance asked her.

Whoa. Was she jealous? Although Constance had absolutely no reason to be when it came to him, Gabe was going to reward her for protecting her territory as soon as they took off. To get through this more quickly, he spoke to MJ. “What’s your role here?”

“Whatever you wish.”

Heather started coughing and wheezing as if she’d swallowed wrong. Becca and Constance frowned at MJ.

It seemed she was a bit of a nympho. Gabe decided to set her straight. “An answer to my question will be sufficient.”

“She’s our intake person,” Constance said quickly, still glaring at MJ. “She asks our clients about goals, what they expect from the service.”

MJ offered a feline smile. “I like to make wishes come true.”

“Don’t you mean dreams?” Gabe asked.

She waved his comment away. “Let’s not argue semantics. What are you hoping for?”

He wasn’t about to get into his X-rated fantasies with her. “I think Constance can help me there.” He gave her a smile. “Where’s your office? I’d like to see it.”

“Good idea,” Becca said. “The rest of us need to get back to work. Now.”

Like a good girl, Heather hurried to her desk and stared at her computer screen. MJ seemed eager to stir up some more shit but finally slipped into a small office off the reception area.

Constance laced her fingers through Gabe’s. “This way.”

Short of her door, Constance stopped, not knowing what MJ had done to her office. Deep down, Constance knew MJ had been flirting with Gabe to keep his mind off the stuff really going down here, and Constance had played along, pretending to be jealous.

Okay, so maybe she wasn’t faking much. Still, she trusted MJ to keep her hands off him. Given Gabe’s reaction, he wasn’t into her at all.

Nice.

However, there was still the problem of MJ’s mischievous streak. As Constance turned the knob, she prayed her office wasn’t set up like a bedroom or a sultan’s—

Holy…
She stopped just inside the door with Gabe beside her.

He whistled. “Wow.”

No kidding. She had the same antique furniture Becca did, along with scores of ferns, wall hangings depicting pastoral scenes, and three Tiffany lamps, their jeweled shades creating a kaleidoscope of color on the ceiling and polished wood surfaces. The room smelled lemony, as if someone had just cleaned.