by L. E. Harner
Triple Threat
L.E. Harner
Copyright
Triple Threat is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Laura Harner
Cover photograph by DWS Photography
Cover Art by Laura E. Harner
Edited by Jae Ashley
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-937252-48-9
Published by Hot Corner Press
Warning: All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any many without written permission, except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this book.
Contact the publisher for further information: [email protected]
Dedication
A very special thank you to my friends and co-conspirators Havan Fellows, Lee Brazil, and Tom Webb. You make this so much fun! Thanks again, for not laughing too long and too loud.
Acknowledgement of Trademarks
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following trademarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Apple: Apple, Inc.
Emory University: Emory University
Escalade: General Motors, LLC
Atlanta Braves: Atlanta National League Baseball Club, Inc.
PowerPoint: Microsoft Corporation
Converse: Converse, Inc.
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgment of Trademarks
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
About the Author
Also Available
Retribution by L.E. Harner
When Dom Zachary walks out the door with Master Archer, leaving his inexperienced sub to wait for his attention, he never imagines the boy would call an abusive slave trainer with a grudge instead. Now they must find the missing Jeremiah and make the bastard who took him pay. Their salvage business has never been so personal.
Chapter One
Archer’s lips came off my cock with a pop as I leaned across the bed and reached for the phone. So much for the early morning blowjob. Not that a ringing phone was usually enough to stop us, but this was a private line—the one reserved for family. No one would call us before noon on a Saturday unless something was seriously wrong. I glanced at the caller ID. Huh. Not a number I recognized. That ratcheted up the anxiety another notch.
“Hello?”
“Uhm, is Zack or Archer there?”
“Who’s calling?”
“My name is Ben. I’m a friend of Jeremiah’s.”
“Then you should call Jeremiah. This is Zack and you’re on my private number.”
“God, I knew you’d be an asshole.” There was a long pause, as if Ben was thinking about what to share. “I spoke with Jeremiah yesterday. He was upset that it didn’t look like he was going to get what he expected out of your…arrangement. He went out last night to meet up with someone he said could give him enough training that he might convince you to change your mind.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Hold on.” I turned to Archer—we needed to verify before we did anything. “See if Jeremiah is on the property.” I took a deep breath, trying calm my suddenly screaming nerves.
“Ben? Where are you? Is Jeremiah with you?”
“No, asshat. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Jesus. You sure as shit failed Dom 101. Jeremiah went out last night and said he would check back in with me after twelve hours. I haven’t heard from him since. Now you know what I know. Maybe you ace detectives should do something about finding him?”
The line went dead. I was already moving to get dressed while I hit redial. The call went straight to voicemail. I didn’t need to wait on Archer’s response to know to know Jeremiah wasn’t here. This Ben character was right, I’d failed Jeremiah in the worst way—I’d put my own needs ahead of his.
I raced from our room, still strapping my holster over my shoulder as I took the stairs two at a time. I already had the safe open and was just removing Jeremiah’s personnel file when Archer came into the room.
“Coffee’s on the way. Come here, Zachary, and bring the file. Tell me what’s happening.”
I blew out a breath, and took a minute to order my thoughts. “Sometime after we left Jeremiah yesterday, he must have decided to leave. What I know so far is a man named Ben called. He said was a friend of Jeremiah’s and that J was upset about my decision not to provide training yet. According to this man, Jer was going to seek training from another Dom in order to gain enough experience to convince me to change my mind.”
Archer gathered me to him, and for the longest moment, I just wanted to bury my face against his chest. A tap at the door heralded the arrival of Margie, our faithful housekeeper, cook, and all around household genius. She’d been a fixture in Archer’s life for over twenty years, and I think she might have been the only person he’d ever feared.
“Now, you boys know better than to tell me you only want coffee. Since you didn’t give me much warning, all I have are your favorite pecan rolls.” Margie’s voice held a gentle laughter and loosened some of the tension in my stomach. She set the tray she’d been carrying on the sideboard.
I stepped back from the comfort of the embrace and took the file to the breakfast table while they discussed a few household details. Once Margie was gone, Archer brought me a cup of coffee from the tray and sat down to review what we knew about Jeremiah.
According to the records, Jeremiah was an only child, raised by his father, who was now deceased. A college student, working on an advanced degree in ancient civilizations. I resisted an urge to snort at the impractical program of study, knowing full well that Archer would find the subject fascinating.
“Did he tell you why he went to Tristan’s for a job placement?”
Archer studied me for a moment, his lips slightly pursed and I felt the weight of his disapproval. “Didn’t you ever ask him?”
“Archer, I didn’t want him here. I didn’t think he was necessary—either as a submissive or a personal assistant. And in case you don’t remember, my hands were rather full with the plans for the party and working the last case.” My annoyance might have spilled over.
“Yes. I remember.” Archer’s voice held an edge to match mine. “A year ago, Jeremiah’s father was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and passed away eight weeks later, leaving behind substantial medical expenses and insufficient insurance. When Jeremiah added the healthcare bills to his existing college loans, he bordered on bankruptcy. At only twenty-four, he felt strongly he needed to earn his way and not just turn over bad debt. I found his attitude refreshing, which is why he was my top choice from Tristan’s available temps.”
“Okay.” I took a sip of coffee, looking for something there, but for the life of me couldn’t see how that information gave us anything to work with. Thumbing through the thin file of his previous work history, I saw a short string of jobs, from clerk to shift manager, before he started working in the Department of Classics office at Emory University. I remembered that from the initial interview. Working for multiple professors and the depa
rtment chair was apparently good training because Jeremiah had proven more than capable of juggling our shifting priorities.
I closed my eyes for a moment, remembering the look on his face. The hunger. The hurt.
Archer’s hand traced up my spine. “Don’t. This is not the time to examine what you might have done differently. Let’s find Jeremiah and bring him home. Then we can sort out what you’re feeling.”
“I should have––”
“No. That’s an order, Zachary. You’ve looked at the file. What’s the first thing that you’re going to do?”
I nodded my head. Archer was right––the recriminations could come later. For now I needed to focus.
“He’s not answering his phone. Neither is his friend Ben. We still have to consider that this whole thing could be a hoax or that Jeremiah is having such a good time that he forgot to check in.” I swallowed hard against the sour taste of Jeremiah subbing for someone else. “I’m going to check out his last address. Maybe someone there knows another way to reach him or knows who this Ben fellow is.”
“All right. I’ll continue to try to reach both Ben and Jeremiah. I’ll also call Tristan and see if there’s information that might not have been in the file. Do you want me to call Marcus or Wick?”
Did I? The temptation to call our friends was strong. As former cops, they might have a few more connections. My gaze drifted over to the computer then back to meet Archer’s stormy blue-green eyes. “I don’t think we have enough reason to believe something’s wrong, yet. Hell, we don’t even know for sure that this Ben is a friend of his. Let me go check his place and while you’re waiting, you can start making phone calls and maybe you can work your magic on the computer. We’ll find out what there is to know about young Jeremiah Watkins.”
Archer moved to stand close, and for a long moment all I wanted to do was lean in and take in the smell of him, of us––accept the comfort of his embrace. He cupped my face between the palms of his hands and tilted my head up so that I was forced to meet his gaze.
“Zachary, we don’t know that anything’s wrong.” He repeated my own phrase back. “Go find your boy and bring him home. We’ll deal with the rest of this then.”
Chapter Two
Rapping politely on the door hadn’t produced any results. Neither had leaning on the bell. The movement of shadow in the gap between the floor and door confirmed someone was inside. Since no one was coming out, I would go in. The flimsy lock yielded to my credit card. In fact, everything about this place screamed cheap. Or grad student on a serious budget.
With my gun out, and keeping my breathing even, I pushed open the door and waited. Nothing. No telltale sound of movement, no scurrying to hide. Which meant whoever was inside was one cool customer. It’s damned hard to sit and wait. When it became apparent that I was going to have to make the first move, I pushed the door open a little further and went in low, arms extended, finger on the trigger. I was a firm believer in never point a gun unless you were willing to shoot.
A young man leaned against the kitchen cabinets, hands tucked into the pockets of his black hoodie as he looked from the gun to my face, then over my shoulder before coming back to settle on my face again.
Moving so that my back was no longer to the open door, I kicked it shut and move cautiously toward the stranger. “Hands out of your pockets where I can see them.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Don’t you think if I had a gun I would’ve shot you by now? Are you Zack?”
I gestured with the gun, my finger still on the trigger. “Hands out of your fucking pockets.” Apparently some intelligence lingered underneath the smirk because this time he did take his hands out of his pockets––very slowly, keeping them open so I can see there was nothing in them. He’d obviously done this before.
“Assume the position, asshole. You look like you know it.”
“You’re not a goddamned cop—I don’t have to do what you say.”
“I’ve got the goddamn gun that says you do. Turn around, hands on the counter.” When he complied, I ran quick hands along his legs, checked his pockets and the waistband of his pants. Keeping my hand in the middle of his back, I slipped his wallet and a disposable cellphone from the pocket of his jacket. With a glance, I was able to confirm that this was the mysterious Ben.
“Who else is here?” He started to answer, then changed his mind, and I could see the lie form before he spoke it.
“My partners. We’re here to clean the place out.”
With a snort, I took a long look around the room. The apartment missed being shabby chic by a mile. Avocado green shag carpet so thin that the burlap showed, stretched from wall-to-wall. A low, saggy hunter green and black plaid couch hugged the wall. Across from the couch was a dusty entertainment center, the uneven layers showed the outlines of a long gone television and perhaps a game console. The living room and kitchen were combined into one small room and the two other doors were open, revealing a bedroom and bathroom.
Keeping the man’s phone, I made a quick check of the two other rooms and confirmed there was no one else in the apartment. “Sit down, let’s talk for a minute.”
“Fuck off.”
Swallowing my first response, I sighed, and thought about the possible trouble Jeremiah could be facing.
“Ben, I’m not here to bust your balls. You’re in Jeremiah’s apartment and he gave you my number. That tells me he trusts both of us to make sure that he’s safe. I need you to tell me what you know, help me find him.”
He looked at me for a long moment. Then, as if coming to a decision, he nodded, pulled out a chair, and sat at the small dining table. I did the same and set his phone and wallet on the table within easy reach but kept my hands lightly over the top of them.
Ben made no move to retrieve his items, just sat and stared at his hands as if considering his alternatives. Finally, the shaggy blond head looked up with eyes far older than the twenty-four years his driver’s license claimed. “I wasn’t bullshitting you on the telephone. I told you everything I know.”
“Why don’t you tell me again? Please? I might hear something I didn’t before. When did you get here—to Jeremiah’s place?”
“I never even saw Jer yesterday, we spoke on the phone. I’ve actually been here since Thursday night. I told him I needed a place to crash for a few days. I figured he wasn’t using his place right now because of the gig with you. So yesterday, he called me back, told me things weren’t going so well, and he might be here for the weekend.” This was Saturday and our party had been Thursday night. So far, his timeline held together.
“Okay, what time was that?”
“I don’t know…around lunchtime.” I thought back to what we’d been doing. That wasn’t too long after we had walked away from Jeremiah. I could still see those big green eyes staring at me, could feel the hurt as I took my comfort and left Jeremiah alone. I’d left him feeling unwanted, uncertain, and ungrounded. Feelings a submissive should never have. As if calling him boy was some sort of promise of things to come. Goddammit.
“Guilt sucks doesn’t it?” Yeah, Ben was a shrewd one…
“So you heard from him one more time after that?”
Ben shook his head and laughed softly at my evasion. “Yeah, he called back a few hours later to say he’d found someone willing to give him a little training in the lifestyle. I wasn’t sure it was such a good idea–– Jeremiah isn’t exactly the experienced type. But he’s a grown man and who the fuck am I to judge? Still, I could tell he was uneasy, so we agreed he would call me in twelve hours and if I didn’t hear from him I was supposed to call you. Now, honest to God, you really know everything I know.” Ben reached for his wallet, but I kept my hand on it for one more question.
“How were you supposed to find him when twelve hours were up if he didn’t give you an address or other contact information?”
“Oh.” Ben blinked at me. “For some reason, I assumed it was someone you knew.” Ben closed his eyes, his lips movin
g slightly as if he was replaying the conversation. “There was no name. Trust me, even when a guy gives you name, it’s usually not his real one. The only check we had was the cell phone. He was going to call mine and check in. I know the guy he was with heard that part of our conversation, because he was telling Jeremiah to get off the phone. Called him slave.” He lowered his voice. “Get off the phone, slave.”
If possible, my heart sunk further into my chest and nausea roiled. I closed my eyes for a moment, heard Ben’s chair move. When I looked up, Ben was once again leaning against the counter, long legs crossed at the ankle, a frown turning down the corners of his mouth. We stared at each other while I reached for my phone to call Archer.
“Got some news, babe. You’re not going to like it.” I repeated what Ben had told me. “There is only one person who comes to mind when I think of who Jeremiah might have met in the last couple of days, who would offer to train him and already be calling him slave.”
“That plays into what I found. I used Jeremiah’s laptop to access his cell phone account. He made a couple of calls to an unlisted temporary number, that sounds like this young man Ben you met. The only other call he made yesterday was to George Delaware.”
“Fuck. This could be bad, Archer. Real bad. That last kid he—”
Archer’s voice whipped across the nearly overwhelming dread that was gnawing at me. “You don’t have time for speculation, Zachary. I’ll work the phones. You need to get over there and develop a plan. Do you have something to write with?” He read out George’s address and I repeated it back, grateful my lover knew I needed action more than words.
Ben straightened when I stood to leave. “Will you stay here? In case Jeremiah comes home?”
“I can’t. I, uh—it’s Saturday. I have to work.” I took another appraising look.
Shit. How the fuck had I missed that? “I suppose you don’t need me to tell you that you’re walking a dangerous line…”
