Tickle His Fancy: Trident Security Book 6 (Trident Security Series) (8 page)

“Fuck, Sawyer.” This time, it was the owner of one of the
public clubs, which tended to be a little lax in the security and house rules
departments. “We don’t have the staff for that.”

“I know, Tim. But you can spread the word and get a buddy
system going. All I’m asking is you make your members aware that submissives
are missing under unusual circumstances. Encourage them to look out for each
other. Ask the Doms to do what they can to help. Do whatever you can to make
sure your subs are safe, because in addition to this not boding well for those
who are missing, the word is going to spread whether you like it or not. And
when it does, you may see a drop in club attendance. Ensuring your subs are
safe protects them and you. Any questions?”

Twenty minutes later, Ian sat at the bar having a drink with
Tiny. Everyone else had filtered out after a bunch of questions, some of which
he didn’t have answers to. A few people took down Isaac Webb’s contact info, in
case they needed it, and Markowitz would be calling the cop first thing after
he reviewed the security tapes for his club.

Tiny took a swig of his beer. “You did the best you could,
Boss-man. You can’t police every club. We just have to hope we find out what’s
going on before anyone else goes missing.”

Ian sighed heavily and ran a hand down his face. His gut was
churning. “I know. But I get the feeling things are going to get a lot worse
before they get better.”

* * *

Brody glanced at the dashboard clock and winced. It was
almost twelve thirty, and they were just now getting back to the shop for
Fancy’s car. The game had gone into extra innings, and she had been having such
a good time she hadn’t wanted to leave before the end, despite the fact she
needed to be at work at 6:00 a.m. She had assured him that she would call one
of the afternoon girls to come in early so she only had to work a half day. But
that still meant she had to get up in about four and a half hours. Truth be
told, he was happy they had stayed for the whole game because it meant more
time to just be with her. And seeing the smile on her face and the glee in her
eyes when the Indians won had been worth every minute of it.

Pulling into the parking lot, he immediately noticed
something was wrong. Fancy’s silver Altima was tilting toward the driver’s
side. Cursing under his breath, he parked next to her car, and she gasped when
she saw both tires were flat. Opening his door, he grabbed the heavy Mag-lite
flashlight he kept under his seat and ordered, “Stay here while I check it
out.”

When she nodded, he climbed out and circled around the front
of his truck, his eyes taking in and assessing every corner of the lot for
danger. No one was in sight, and nothing else appeared out of place. He
squatted down and cursed when he saw the visible knife-induced puncture.
Someone had deliberately stabbed her tires. He stood and walked around to
inspect the passenger side, but the tires there were both still intact and
full—probably because that side faced the roadway. Glancing up at the building at
the other end of the lot, he berated himself for not putting up enough security
cameras to monitor the entire lot. They were just covering the first row of
parking spaces that ran parallel to the building. Well, he’d remedy that in the
morning.

Stepping over to the passenger side of the truck, he pulled
open her door. “Hand me my phone in the center console there, please.”

She retrieved it for him. “Someone slashed my tires, didn’t
they?” From where she sat, she couldn’t see the knife marks he’d seen, but what
were the chances of both tires going flat without involving criminal mischief.

“Yeah. Who has it in for you, Fancy? The graffiti and brick
were one thing, but it’s obvious now that someone is targeting you and not just
your store.”

Her eyes widened as he found the number he was looking for in
his contacts. “It has to be the teenagers I kicked out a few weeks ago. At
least one of them must be holding a grudge.”

After hitting the send button, he brought the phone to his
ear and waited for someone from the towing company Trident used to pick up the
phone. When a male voice answered, he gave him the location of the vehicle and
told him to tow it back to the Trident compound. Brody would change the tires
and then ask Babs to do the alignment while he gave the entire vehicle a
thorough inspection to make sure nothing else had been done to it.

Taking Fancy’s keys, he removed the electronic key for the
Altima and put it behind the front flat as the tow guy had requested, then got
back in his truck. “I’ll drive you home and come get you in the morning to take
you to work. I’ll have the tires changed and the car back to you by noon so you
can still leave early.”

When she didn’t respond, he glanced over and saw wet droplets
rolling down her cheeks as she stared out the windshield at nothing in
particular. Reaching over, he brushed her tears away. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.
We’ll find out who’s doing this and then file charges with the police.”

Her bottom lip quivered as she looked at him and nodded.
“Sorry. I just don’t know why someone would be so mean. All I did was ask them
to leave because they were making so much noise and being rude to the
customers. Then one of them started cursing at me so Sal came out with a
baseball bat and told them if they didn’t leave we were going to call the
police. They threw their garbage on the floor and made a mess, but they left. I
swear, if my friends and I ever acted that way when I was in high school, I
would have gotten my ass kicked by both my mom and my aunt.”

As she spoke, her tears began to ebb, and anger replaced
them, which is what he preferred to see. “I was raised the same way. Trust me,
my parents just had to give us a look that said they were not only pissed but disappointed,
and we straightened right out. Nobody does guilt better than a Texas mom or
dad.”

She laughed. “I’ll have to remember that.”

Leaning over, he gave her a quick, gentle kiss. As much as he
wanted more, it was really late, and she needed sleep. “Let’s get you home.”

The sound of a car door opening then closing nearby had
Heather Davis’s muscles tensing. She had no idea where she was, how she got
there, or how long she’d been there. She’d awakened with a severe headache a
short while ago to silence and the fact that she was naked, tied spread eagle
to an uncomfortable bed, with a blindfold over her eyes, and a ball gag in her
mouth. Her bladder was painfully full, and if she didn’t get free soon, she was
going to pee herself—again. The stench of urine and the wetness she felt under
her thighs and ass told her she must have relieved herself sometime while she’d
been unconscious.

Once again, she tried unsuccessfully to pull her arms and
legs free, but the restraints on her wrists and ankles held fast. Even if her
muscles hadn’t been achy and weak, she doubted she could get out of them. The
last thing she remembered before waking up here was leaving The Devil’s
Dungeon. Scott, her Dom, had been working at the hospital, and she’d been in
the mood to go out and have some fun. Knowing she wouldn’t get in trouble
unless she didn’t get home before the end of his scheduled shift at midnight,
she’d snuck out. Scott never went to the public BDSM club, preferring the
private ones, Heat and The Covenant. And since she’d been banned from The
Covenant, thanks to that bitch who’d married Devon Sawyer, Scott and she now
only played at Heat.

They had been in a D/s and live-in boyfriend/girlfriend
relationship for about three years now, despite the rumors she often heard that
he was too good for her. Maybe it was true, and maybe she wasn’t the most
perfect submissive and girlfriend, but, in her own way, she did love him—as
much as she could.

An interior door opened, and she heard footsteps on concrete
or rock. Panic bubble in her chest. She tried to speak, but it was muffled by
the gag. “
Ooo ehhh
?”

“Ah, good. You’re awake. Perfect timing.”

The male voice sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
She began struggling against the restraints with what little strength she had.
Whatever was going on, she knew without a doubt it couldn’t be good. She
flinched when hands touched her face, but all the man did was remove the ball
gag. She coughed and tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. Her voice
rasped. “W-who are you? What the—
cough
—hell—
cough
—is going on?
L-let me go!”

“Now why would I want to do a thing like that when we’re
about to have so much fun?”

“You bastard! Let me go!”

The blindfold was ripped off, and she blinked against the
harsh light. When she was finally able to see, her mouth gaped at the man
standing over her. He was a Dom she knew from The Covenant and Heat, but she’d
never played with him before. “You? What’s going on? Let me go! Why are you
doing this?”

His smirk was pure evil. “Why? Two reasons actually.
One—because you’re a bitch and a whore who deserves it. Two. . .” He
shrugged. “Because I can.”

Heather wished she could spit in his face, but her mouth was
too dry. She yanked hard on her restraints again. “Let me fucking go, you
asshole!”

“
Tsk
,
tsk
. Such foul language coming from you.
What does your Dom say about your dirty mouth? Clearly, he doesn’t know how to
put you in your place. . .but I do.”

When he released the hook keeping her right leg immobile, she
kicked out at him, but her reflexes were slow and muscles stiff after being
restrained for so long. He easily grabbed her ankle before her foot made
contact with his body. Without warning, he stepped forward and slammed his fist
down on her stomach, forcing an “
oompf
” from her mouth as she lost her
breath. Bile shot up her throat as she gasped for air while he released her
other leg. The pain in her abdomen was almost unbearable. She lost control of
her bladder, soaking the mattress once again, but it didn’t seem to bother the
fucking bastard. And now was not the time to be embarrassed about it, she had
much worse to worry about.

Before she could recover enough to struggle, he had both her
arms free. He grabbed her by the hair and hauled her off the bed. Her scalp
screeched in agony when her legs gave out and the only thing keeping her from
hitting the floor was his hand. Her fists struck out as her feet tried to gain
purchase, but he was so much stronger than her that the attempts to do damage were
useless. He dragged her flailing, naked body across the cement floor to a St.
Andrew’s cross like he was bringing a bag of trash to the garbage. Terror
coursed through her veins as he quickly restrained her to the contraption so
she was facing the wall. One last attempt to kick him resulted in a painful
punch to her side in the fleshy part above her hip.

Sweat and tears poured down her face. When he stepped away,
she turned her head to see what the Dom was doing. Her blood ran cold as he
picked up a bullwhip from a wooden table and sneered at her. “It’s time to
scream for me.”

* * *

Brody stared at the picture accompanying the nearly
three-year-old newspaper article on his computer screen. He’d finally broken
down and done a google search on Francine “Fancy” Maguire. Curiosity had gotten
the best of him, and he had some questions he didn’t know how to approach her
with.

The top twenty URLs had to do with the car accident she and her
husband had been in, while a few more were about her business. From what he saw
in the photos shot from different angles, he had no idea how Fancy had survived
the crash in the first place. Some bystander had also taken a video with their
cell phone, showing the off duty police officer and two other men who’d stopped
to help, rescuing Fancy from the passenger seat moments before the Jeep
Wrangler burst into flames. According to the coroner’s report which had been
posted a few days after the accident, Patrick Maguire had been killed on impact
after he ran a red light and was T-boned on the driver’s side by a box truck.

Brody had watched as the rescuers carefully but quickly
pulled the limp woman from the wreckage and his heart squeezed. He’d come this
close to losing her three years before he’d ever met her. And long before she
started creeping into his heart.

The only thing he didn’t have access to was the official
police department accident report. He could easily hack into the Tampa P.D.’s
computer system—that was a piece of cake for him. But Ian had promised the
local Chief of Police his computer geek wouldn’t do that again, after the last
time unless absolutely necessary—for example, something which concerned
national security. This didn’t qualify, so he’d go the accepted route.

He was about to look up the number he needed when Boomer
walked into the room. “Almost ready to go? After I drop you back off here, I
have to go do a security inspection for a new client.”

Brody glanced at the time. He had a few more minutes before
they had to get Fancy’s car back to her. “Yeah, but first, do you have Freddie
Mendoza’s cell number? I need to ask him something.”

Trident’s explosives and ordinance expert often did cross
training with the local and federal bomb teams. They kept Boomer up-to-date on
the new nightmares some chemists dreamed up, and he showed them stuff he’d
learned while diffusing IEDs and suicide vests while in the devil’s sandbox,
otherwise known as Afghanistan and Iraq. “Yeah. Here it is.”

As he rattled off the number, Boomer’s phone rang. Answering
it, he stepped back out of the war-room. “Hi, Kitten.”

While his teammate chatted with his fiancée, Kat Maier, Brody
dialed the TPD officer’s number. The man picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Freddie. It’s Brody Evans.”

“Egghead, what’s up?”

He relaxed back in his comfy, leather office chair with its
ergonomic design. “Got a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

“What do you know about Fancy’s car accident? The one that
killed her husband.”

There was a pause as Mendoza acknowledged someone else in the
room with him. “Well, I didn’t know her back then, so I never looked at the
report. Sal’s wife is a nurse’s aide and met Fancy during her rehab after she
came out of her coma. You want to tell me why you’re asking me and not her?”

Brody sighed. “I’m just curious—and I’m really interested in
her, but haven’t quite brought up the subject of Patrick and the accident. We
went on a date last night, and when I took her back to get her car at the
bakery, her tires had been slashed.”

“Fuck. Anything on the cameras?”

“No. She’d parked out of range. I’m going to add two more to
pick up the entire lot later today. Fancy thinks it’s some kids she kicked out
a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah, she mentioned that. What’s that got to do with her
accident?”

He shrugged despite the fact the man couldn’t see him.
“Probably nothing. But I can’t find any news reports of the results of the
investigation.”

Over the line, a door slam somewhere in the vicinity of the
cop and voices in the background got louder. “I’m at a training gig that’s
about to start right now but I’ll look it up later and give you a call back.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

“No prob. Later.”

After the call had disconnected, Brody closed his computer
browser and headed out to find Boomer. He drove Fancy’s car back to the bakery,
with his teammate following, and parked right under the camera closest to the
front door, not wanting her to walk further than she had to. Holding two
fingers up to Boomer sitting in his truck, he indicated he’d be back in a few
minutes.

As he reached the door of the shop, he was surprised when it opened,
and Russell Adams came shuffling out with a carton of milk and a bakery bag in
his hands. Brody grabbed the door and held it open for him before letting it
shut again. “Hey, Russell. How’re you doing?”

The retired Navy Petty Officer appeared to have taken
advantage of the showers at the nearby shelter Brody had told him about, which
catered mostly to homeless veterans. While his clothes were still disheveled,
they were cleaner, along with his brown hair and fair skin. He was a lot
thinner than he should be, and his clothes hung on his tall frame. Brody wished
he could do more for the guy, but Russell had refused anything other than some
free food, information on the shelter, and a few kind, understanding words. The
former SEAL was all too aware that many veterans couldn’t go back to being the
people they’d been before going into combat, seeing and doing things most
civilians could never imagine.

“I’m good, Senior Chief,” he answered, using Brody’s former
rank which he’d inquired about yesterday. “Ms. Fancy was kind enough to invite
me in for some food. She told me to sit down at one of the tables,
but. . .” He shrugged, his gaze flitting in all directions. “Having a
homeless bum with PTSD sitting around can’t be good for her business, so I told
her I’d take it to my tree out back. She’s really nice.”

Brody smiled. “Yes, she is. And she wouldn’t have invited you
to sit if she didn’t mean it.”

The man shrugged again. “Yeah, well, I don’t do too well
around people anymore, and I wouldn’t want to have an episode in there.”

Knowing he was probably referring to horrific flashbacks
and/or temporary loss of reality, Brody nodded in understanding. Very few vets
came back from combat without some form of PTSD, but some were luckier than
others in that they were able to function day-to-day without breaking down, or
worse. “Well, if you need anything, you’ve got my card, right?”

“Yes, Senior Chief. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He watched as Russell shuffled around the
side of the building, headed for the shade of the trees where he’d been sitting
yesterday. Shaking his head, Brody thanked his lucky stars he’d come home from
all his missions in one piece for the most part—mentally and physically.

Opening the door, Brody strolled into the shop and was
assaulted by all the delicious aromas he’d come to expect. Yup, he was
definitely going to have to bring something back to the office with him. There
were a few customers at the counter, and he had to wait until Fancy was done
helping someone. She smiled when she spotted him and waved for him to follow
her into the kitchen. From the butcher block work table, she picked up two
white boxes tied with string and handed them to him. He traded her car keys for
them. “What’s this?”

“One is pineapple crumb cake, and the other is a bunch of
white chocolate raspberry tarts.”

He groaned as his eyes almost rolled back into his head. His mouth
watered. “God, woman, you’re killing me here. How do you expect me to get these
back to the office without digging in on the way there?”

Fancy giggled. “I’m sure you’ll survive. Thanks for taking
care of my car. What do I owe you for the tires?”

When he stayed silent and shook his head, she narrowed her
eyes at him. Her fists went to her hips in annoyed defiance. “Oh, no, Brody. No
way. You wouldn’t let me pay for the security system, but you’re not getting
away with that for my tires.” She held out a hand, palm up. “I want to see the
bill for them so I can reimburse you.”

He gave her a sheepish grin. “I lost it.”

Crossing her arms and cocking her hip, she frowned. “You lost
it? You expect me to believe that?”

“I was kind of hoping you would.” Before she could respond,
he quickly continued. “Tell you what, you can pay me in food. They cost about
as much as a home-cooked steak dinner with baked potatoes, asparagus, and
something for dessert.” He gave her the boyish, “aw-shucks” expression which
usually had women falling at his feet.

“They did,
huh
?” Yeah, she didn’t believe that for a
minute, but it was still worth a shot.

“Yup. What do you say? You can cook at my place since we’ve
only had one date so far, which means I’m not allowed in your place yet. And
I’ll even be your sous chef and help cook.”