by Tess Oliver
"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.
"Well, when your clients are paying seven figure yearly fees, you have to make sure things are perfect." He laughs faintly. "It's a lot to take in, I know."
He mistakes my silence as awe when I'm merely trying to tuck it all into my head for later, when I'm back in the real world. Because there is absolutely nothing real about the world I'm sitting in right now.
I'm sitting on a cushioned bench leaning back on my hands as he masterfully cleans away the foam with a towel.
"And just like that I'm ready for a string bikini," I quip.
Blake laughs. "I think we're going to get along fine. Now climb into that tub, and we'll get you smelling and looking like a bouquet of roses."
The water is just the right temperature. Silky, fragrant bubbles wobble on the surface as I sit down against the sloped side. "Wait, let me adjust the pillow." Blake slides a velvet covered pillow into place on the rim of the tub. "There, lean back and put this sleep mask on. It'll help you relax enough to get rid of that headache once and for all. I can still see twinges of it in your face. It's going to leave ugly lines in your forehead."
I slip the sleep mask over my eyes and rest my head against the pillow. It's by far the most luxurious bath I've ever taken. It's definitely a step up from sleeping in a sidewalk tent with Yoli talking in her sleep. I think about Yoli and the others at the park. By now they've noticed I didn't return with them. Olson would know by now. He most likely informed Clark already too. With the way things are going, I might just want to stay undercover, I muse.
"I'll get you some breakfast." I hear Blake's voice and lift a heavy, relaxed arm to wave good-bye at him, having no idea if he's even in the room anymore.
20
Angie
The warmth of the bath water and the coziness of the steam-filled room eases me close to sleep. I try to sort out how I'll stay safe and alive and inconspicuous until I can get out with all the information we need to end Freestone's underground operation. So far, all I know is that he provides food and health essentials to young women who for one reason or another find themselves trying to stay alive on the city streets. Not exactly something that would earn Freestone hard time. The drugged champagne and one way mirrors in the bathrooms were definitely problems, but there were no smoking guns yet or evidence that pointed to the murders of disgruntled club members.
I swirl my hands through the water, creating a rhythmic wave of bubbles over my skin. My headache is nearly gone. Then I sense that I'm not alone in the bathroom. I reach up and pull the sleep mask from my eyes. A man is sitting on the bench at the foot of the tub, his forearms resting on his thighs as he watches me soak.
I sit straight up, inadvertently exposing my naked breasts as the sweater of bubbles falls away. I slip back down to hide them.
His blue eyes follow my breasts below the water's surface and linger there before lifting his gaze to my face. "I've already seen them. Although, I do think they are even better wet." His face is so symmetrically chiseled he looks more like an artist's sculpture than a real man. The overhead lights reflect off his short black hair. The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up, exposing a long tattoo of words scrolled along the side of his left forearm. His right bears a different kind of permanent mark, a series of two to three inch long scars lined up like the rungs on a ladder. Each scar is deep and straight and far too evenly spaced to have been an accident. The top button of his shirt is undone, but the casualness doesn't take away the serious arrogance floating around him. Few men are so astonishingly striking. Since I'd seen his picture once, I know with certainty I am looking at Kane Freestone.
"I'm sorry," I say, trying to keep the bite out of my tone. "I thought I was alone in this bathroom."
He is tall when he stands, with broad shoulders and a waist that tapers down to narrow hips and long legs. He walks over to the side of the tub and sits on the edge. The water is hot, but my skins erupts in gooseflesh as his large hand circles through the bubbles. I stare up at his face and study it closer. It is hard to see the mad genius or the diabolical mastermind in the starkly handsome face hovering over me. His long, thick lashes make him look young. His short, mostly empty file mentioned he was thirty. I should be repulsed but I can't find one drop of distaste. Under any other circumstance, the entire scene would be a woman's fantasy, lush surroundings, a dream bath and an incredibly good looking man stirring the water with hands that look more than capable of bringing on an orgasm with a mere touch. I push away the erotic thoughts and remind myself that I'll be in mortal danger the entire time I'm part of his sordid underground world.
Confidence pours off of him in heated waves as he stares boldly at my lips. "How do you find your room?" he asks as he pulls his hand from the water. The foamy bubbles have cleared giving him an unobstructed view of my naked body, which he takes without hesitation.
I jump into character. "Considering I've spent the last few months sleeping in parks and alleys and even the front stoop of the library, it'll do."
The side of his firm, full mouth tilts up slightly.
"I guess I'll count that as a smile," I pause. "I don't know what to call you."
"Kane will do. Unless I ask you to call me something else. Which I might occasionally do, depending on the circumstance."
"I'm rather fond of Milord," I say playfully, deciding if I don't keep his interest I'll be out on my ass. "When I watch television, that is, when I have access to one," I amend quickly, "I rather like those movies where the women are in fancy gowns and the men are in black coats and top hats."
"Milord," he ponders aloud. "Might work."
The bathroom door swings open and cool air sweeps in to replace the steam. Blake looks nothing short of mortified when he sees his boss in the bathroom. I half expect him to drop to his knees and beg forgiveness. "I'm sorry, sir. I brought her some food and—"
"That's fine, Blake." He pushes up from the rim of the bath. "By the way, I've postponed tonight's activities to tomorrow. I have other things to tend to." Kane looks back at me before returning his attention to Blake. "The women need a night off. Tell them they can spend the evening by the pool. See to it that Barton cooks them up something special."
What luck. It seems my stay won't be long. Spending my first night with the other women by the pool, an underground pool, apparently, is sure to be a gold mine for information gathering. I will have to work hard to gain their trust and friendship right from the start.
"Yes, sir. I'll let everyone know." Blake's gaze flits to me. My skin is beginning to prune, and the water is getting cold. "And what about our newest guest? Should I get her a swimsuit?"
"No, she stays here."
I practically sink underwater in disappointment. A perfect opportunity is lost.
Kane leads Blake out. I can hear a conversation in the bedroom but can't make out the words.
Blake returns alone. "You'd better get out before you wrinkle into an old woman. I brought you the chef's specialty, eggs Benedict. You need to eat. You've got a big night ahead. You'll need your energy."
Blake wraps a large towel around me as I stand. "So I'm going to the pool party after all?"
"No. Mr. Freestone has a party of his own planned. You're the only guest."
Blake is being unusually quiet and avoiding direct eye contact as he insists on patting me dry.
"I feel like a pampered queen," I joke but don't get the reaction I expect. The visit from his boss seems to have knocked him off kilter. I, on the other hand, feel ridiculously relaxed and it's not just the bubble bath. So far it feels as if I landed an undercover assignment in a five star resort.
But it is not long before everything takes a dark, twisted and unexpectedly tantalizing turn, and I find myself in over my head and inextricably bound, both physically and mentally, to Kane Freestone's secret world.
21
Maddox
My phone rings as I pull into the pothole scarred parking lot of Corky's Bar. I park my motorcycle. The bar is a rundown saloon in the middle of a strip mall. The original owner wouldn't sell his patch of land to the developers, so there it sits looking ancient and weirdly out of place between brightly painted, neon lit shops.
Knowing without looking who the call is from, I briefly consider not answering it. But it's not worth the future lecture. "Hey, babe, I'm going to be late tonight. A few more hours probably."
Tiffany's scoff ruffles through the phone. "I thought we were going to finalize our decision about the wedding venue tonight. I've got a casserole in the oven. I was hoping we could kiss and make up after the bad morning."
"We can do all of that when I get home. I've got to go. I'll be home in a few hours."
"Fine," she says in a tone that assures me nothing is fine. She hangs up without a good-bye.
I shove my phone into my coat pocket and head into the bar. The outside, with its crumbling stucco walls, tinted windows that have been scratched with every form of graffiti and cement pathway that is littered with black gum spots, looks inviting compared to the interior. Only half of the early seventies copper light fixtures actually produce light, which is probably a good thing. There are a few mismatched tables and chairs set up in the center of the room. A jukebox, the only sparkling piece in the place is glowing neon green and white in the corner as it churns out an old Aerosmith tune. It's still early and most of the stools at the long wooden bar are empty, but the one person I need to see is sitting at the far end holding a mug of beer. He's showered and shaved, a good thing considering the reek he carried into the precinct after his undercover stint on the street.
I sit on the stool next to him and order a beer.
"Why am I not surprised to see you, Maddox?" Olson says without looking my direction. He lifts his beer mug and takes a drink.
"I need to know where she is, Olson."
His dry laugh is irritating. "Guess the rumors are true. Maddox has more than a little thing for his partner. Must kind of complicate things having that pretty little fiancée in the mix."
The bartender, an old guy with a craggy face and thick white hair, places a beer in front of me. I take three long gulps to cool off from Olson's irritating comment. I need him on my side. He's my best chance to find Ten.
I put the mug down hard on the counter. "Didn't take you for a gossip, Olson. And no one knows shit about me. Just tell me what she's doing and I'll leave you to your charming little watering hole."
Olson's hair is combed back with some strong smelling gel. I catch a whiff of it as he turns his face to look at me. "Sure thing, Maddox. And then I'll walk into Clark's office and hand him my badge so he can shove it far enough up my ass that I can't retrieve it. Which will be fine because I'm sure he'll make sure I never work on another force again."
"Fuck Clark. This has nothing to do with him. He's an idiot for sending her undercover in the first place."
"Is he?" Olson reaches for a bowl of peanuts and plucks one out of the bowl. "Seems like his idiot plan worked. Tennyson was our best bet for getting into Freestone's secret club." It's obvious he wants to suck his words back in. "Fuck, I've already had too damn many of these."
"So my hunch was right. She's gone undercover to get into that weird fucking Lace Underground case Clark has been working on. Why the fuck would Clark do that?"
Olson washes his peanut down with beer. "Ten begged him to let her do it. I'd just gotten off the streets, and she was in his office. She pleaded with him, telling Clark she was his best chance to get inside. Seems she was right."
"What do you mean?"
Olson's gelled hair stays perfectly in place as he shakes his head. "Nope. Told you enough already."
I signal to the bartender for another beer for both of us. "Come on, Olson. You've already opened your big mouth, you might as well just tell me what you know."
His brow arches at me. "Wow, you've got it bad for her. You know all I have to do is tell Clark you're asking about this and he'll be asking for your fucking badge."
"So both of us have our jobs on the line, which means we can trust each other not to say anything to Clark." I shove the new beer in front of him. "Now tell me where the fuck is she?"
Olson wraps his fingers around the mug handle. "Hell if I know where she is, Maddox. She showed up at the park with her red braids and her teenager clothes, looking pretty damn cute, I might add." He sees the look on my face and it seems he's found another set of words he wants to suck back. "Anyhow, the girls at the park disappeared one night. It's a pattern I observed in my time in that fucking sidewalk tent. About every three weeks the young female park inhabitants vanish. They are back in the morning looking fresh and especially happy. This time, I stayed awake and followed them. They took Ten with them. They were excited and laughing as they headed to a deserted street near the park. I waited in the shadows and saw a black passenger van pull up. This douchebag Rowan, an occasional park inhabitant, stepped out. He ushered them all in and the van pulled away. No plates and windows tinted so dark there was no way to see who was driving it."
I grind my teeth together. "That's it? You just let her disappear into some sketch ass van with some douche named Rowan. Weren't you supposed to be watching her?" I can hear just what a major asshole I'm being, but I can't stop myself.
"What the fuck was I supposed to do? Run after the van on foot? Christ, you need to take a fucking step back and look at yourself, Maddox. You're not thinking straight. Ten is a damn good cop. We all know she can take care of herself just fine. And she did a helluva job out there. Got herself noticed right away."
"Wait, you said the girls came back."
He shook his head before I could ask. "Ten wasn't with them. I asked one of the girls where she was. Can't get a fucking word out of them. It's almost as if someone has threatened them that if they talk, they'll find themselves at the bottom of a trash dumpster. Only they don't act scared about it. They just tell me to fuck off. So the van is all I got."
"What about that guy, Rowan?"
"When I packed up my things to leave the park, I noticed all of his things were gone. He seems to have disappeared too."
I flinch at the word disappeared.
"Look, Maddox, she's a big girl. She can handle herself. You'll see. She'll shock the hell out of all of us when she emerges from this thing with the huge prize of bringing down Freestone."
I finish the beer and throw my money on the counter. "Is it the park at the end of town, near those old industrial buildings?"
"Yeah, the one the city has designated as a safe place for the homeless. But you can't just show up there. I spent weeks there and couldn't get a shred of information out of those women."
"Yeah? Well you're not me. Don't worry. I won't let any of this lead back to you."
"If it does, then I will kick your fucking ass."
I laugh and slap him on the shoulder.
"Well, I'll at least give it a good fucking try," he says to my back as I walk out.
22
Angie
I haven't eaten eggs Benedict often. I'm more of a strawberry waffle kind of girl, but the food Blake brought me was melt in my mouth delicious. My extreme hunger probably added to its perceived divineness.
Blake removed the plates and returned with a zipped up garment bag and rolling suitcase. "Here are a few things to put in the closet, then we can get you out of that towel." He opens a door that leads to a walk-in closet and disappears inside with the garment bag and suitcase before I can even see what's inside of them. Blake still seems tenser than he was earlier and that makes me edgy.
"Mr. Freestone has given specific instructions," he calls from inside the closet. He walks out carrying a sheer white lace teddy on a satin hanger. He's carrying something in his other hand that I can only make out as strips of leather. "You'll find soon enough he's very particular and likes things just so."
/>
I'm absorbing the information. Freestone might have obsessive compulsive disorder but that new detail has less of my focus than the sheer lingerie in Blake's hand. "Is that tonight's party dress?" I ask with humor but there's plenty of hesitation in my tone.
"Yes." The garment looks as if it weighs no more than a butterfly's wings. "It's pretty, don't you think?"
"I suppose."
Blake seems to let go of some of the tension that had seized him since he walked in on his boss overseeing my bath. He smiles and shuffles in his unique, graceful way toward the vanity. "Look, darlin', I know this whole thing takes a little getting used to but at least you're off the street. You're safe and clean and well fed." He seems to be trying to reassure himself about something. "And besides, Mr. Freestone rarely chooses a girl for himself. Even then, when he does, he gets distracted quickly. He always has so much going on, he just doesn't have time for—you know—pleasure."
"So what you're telling me is not to get too used to my lovely room and the marvelous bathtub because I'll be back in my tent just as soon as he tires of me?"
Blake motions me to sit at the vanity and starts brushing my hair with a silver brush. "No, that won't happen. I mean he might get tired of you soon. Although I have to say I've never known him to sneak in and watch one of the new girl's bathe. That's why it took me by surprise. Anyhow, he won't toss you back onto the streets. He'll keep you here for the club members."
I stare at his reflection in the mirror. He pretends to be concentrating on my hair, but there's more behind his expression. "And that's better than being his personal pleasure toy?" I ask.
He laughs at the name I've given it, but he certainly doesn't try to argue against it. "No, it'll be fine."
"You said that with about as much conviction as a serial murderer telling the judge he's innocent."
