Bound and Freed Boxed Set

by Nikki Sex

  "Yes." John explained that he wanted to personally deal with Lucille Irwin's transgressions. The minute he was well enough he planned to come to the station and speak with her on her territory. Lucille would feel safe talking to him there.

  "Why?"

  "As I told you," John said, "unfinished business. Tell her for me that I have decided not to take her to court concerning her breach of the Privacy Act, as long as she gives me just an hour of her time."

  Lorenzo's flat, alert cop's eyes narrowed as he rocked back on his heels. "You worry me, John Taylor. Is my partner about to commit suicide, too?"

  John laughed loudly. "Nothing like that. She is still really concerned that I may yet take her to court, right?"

  "Oh yeah," Lorenzo confirmed. "Lucille ain't sleeping, that's for sure."

  "Good," John said. "Let her know how you discovered that my police records had been altered, can you? That my record check was clean four years ago?"

  "Sure." Lorenzo shrugged. "No problem."

  "And tell detective Irwin what's on that video I gave you. If you still really want to punish her for making your life miserable, feel free to let her watch it. That will keep really her up at night. But then destroy it will you?"

  Lorenzo frowned and then blinked, possibly with an inner vision of what Lucille's response would be while watching that video. "Okay, okay," Lorenzo said. "I'll do everything you want, but what exactly are you up to, John?"

  "You'll see," John said schooling his face into an unreadable expression. "After all that, tell her that she's first on my agenda when I get out."

  Lorenzo shook his head and tisked. "You're a cruel man, John Taylor."

  John laughed. "Lorenzo my friend, you have no idea."

  27. Moving Home

  The day John was due to leave the hospital, André Chevalier unexpectedly arrived.

  John was sitting in a comfortable chair, under Kelly's careful eye. Using her left hand, her right in a sling and splint, Kelly was packing John's few possessions. She was going to drive him to her hotel. Luckily Kelly's Infiniti G coupe had automatic transmission so she could drive with one hand.

  Kelly's parents had wanted them both to come live with them, but even though everyone was getting on fine, and they had both accepted her engagement, Kelly didn't want to push it. Besides, living with her parents would seriously curtail their hopefully soon to be resumed sex life.

  "Mon ami! You are well?" André asked as he strode with confident elegance into the room.

  "André," John shouted and struggled to his feet. The two men hugged and kissed both cheeks in that French way. Kelly was surprised because ordinarily John didn't like people touching him, but that was clearly not the case with his friend.

  "André, may I introduce you to my fiancée, Kelly Flynn?"

  "The beautiful Kelly, je suis enchanté," André said and his grin flashed white against his tan skin. He captured her hand, lifted it and with sexy male grace, and kissed it.

  Kelly's eyes bugged out of her head and she felt a little zing of awareness when André took her hand. Whew. The famous André Chevalier! John's best friend in the whole world. Talk about sexual magnetism. This guy had it in spades.

  "C'est un très grand plaisir de vous rencontrer. Vous avez été un bon ami pour l'amour de ma vie," Kelly said.

  André's eyes lit with surprise and pleasure. "Mon Dieu vous parlez français ! Bravo!"

  "Okay you two," John said. "I only got a few words of that. English please."

  André's eyes sparkled, "Your clever woman said that it was her very great pleasure to meet the good friend of the love of her life. You speak French well, Kelly. And you, John, my young prince, I see you have found your rose.

  Kelly grinned with happiness. John spoke of André all the time. The man was well dressed and handsome. Not John Taylor movie-star handsome, but he had an unmistakable Dom presence. Kelly had felt it almost like an electric shock when he had touched her, and she had instantly fallen under his spell. He wore perfectly tailored charcoal slacks, with a well ironed, crisp white shirt with a black leather jacket. Whatever that scent he was wearing was, it smelled heavenly

  André was healthy and fit with a flat stomach and broad shoulders. He looked to be about the same height as John. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a pleasant face. Kelly thought his eyes were amazing. There was keen intelligence in those eyes – and natural authority.

  "What are you doing here?" John asked.

  "You have lost your home, oui? And you need a place to stay?"

  "Kelly and I were going to live in a hotel until we find something, but what do you have in mind?"

  "One of my clients works in real estate here in Portland," André said. "He has friends who have gone on a round the world tour on the ocean liner and they will be away for months. They have a house that they wish to have reputable people live in. I desire for you, mon ami, to have a beautiful, restful home in which you can recover your heath. There are gardens, and oh, many things that you will both enjoy. I am told that it is a big house on a lake near here, comprenez vous?"

  "Lake Oswego?" Kelly asked.

  "Oui, oui, the same."

  John shook his head. "André, you never cease to astonish me. How did you work that out?"

  Giving them both a boyish grin André said, "Me? I am very clever. When I heard you lost the home, I immediately asked my friend, and voila!"

  "Your timing is amazing," John said with no attempt to hide his awe.

  "Eh bien, this is assuredly true," André agreed with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh, many, many have told me this already, n'est pas?"

  They all laughed at this boasting sexual reference.

  John, Kelly and André left the hospital together, André carrying the bag, and teasing them both playfully about their injuries. Kelly had her right hand in a sling, and John had his left hand in a sling. This was fortunate however, André explained to them, because if they needed to row a boat all would be well, as long as they both sat on the correct side.

  The home was a mansion, directly on Lake Oswego just past Northlake Drive. They passed through the gated entry and when Kelly saw the house, she knew it must be worth ten million dollars or more. Adorned with Columbia River Rock, and copper clad windows, many of the internal walls were covered in walnut. It had boat lifts, an elevator, high ceilings, a full bar, dedicated media room, billiard and work out room and a six car garage.

  Oh yeah, Kelly thought. We can definitely rest and recuperate here.

  28. Lucille's Confession

  Lucille Irwin came into the police interview room, looking slim and pale. Her normally stern face seemed softer, less combative, yet more lined. John mentally chastised himself, genuinely troubled. He had made the woman wait to see what would happen for weeks, and that was far too long to torment anyone.

  She wore her usual light blue uniform shirt and dark blue slacks, but those slacks looked loose on her now.

  "Mr. Taylor, I wanted to say that I'm sorry," she began.

  "Please," John said. "Sit down." John gestured to the chair across the table from him, and Lucille sat.

  "May I call you Lucille?" he asked.

  "Of course," she said.

  "Thank you. You may call me, John. Please tell me why you are sorry, Lucille," John asked her in his best, soothing, yet compelling Dom voice.

  "It was wrong, it was against the law," she said.

  "No," John said. "You already knew it was wrong, Lucille. You were aware that your actions were against the law, that you could get in trouble, and even lose your job. Yet you did it anyway. So that is not why you're sorry. Tell me why you are sorry."

  Lucille expelled a deep breath. "Lorenzo showed me your police record of four years ago." John saw that the woman was deeply upset. She looked like she might cry. Lucille cleared her throat. "And then he let me watch that video of you, your father and your mother."

  There was a long, long pause of a full minute or more while Lucille got her breath back. Jo
hn remained motionless, his face schooled into neutrality, while she regained her composure.

  "I am sorry for your childhood, John," she said in a breathless rush, as if she was running to get speed up to jump a hurdle, or perhaps a number of them. "I'm sorry you were raised by monsters, and I can't believe that you are a normal person after all that you went through."

  "Thank you, Lucille," John said quietly. He didn’t think he was exactly 'normal' but he wasn't going to tell her that.

  "And I'm sorry I added to your pain by upsetting your fiancée and her parents," she added.

  "Thank you." John stood up and began to slowly walk back and forth across the small interview room, his left arm was still in a sling, and the other was in his pocket. He stopped from the other side of the room and faced Lucille. "You risked your career. Why? Why did you do it, Lucille? I really need to understand."

  "I don’t know why," she said.

  John paced up until he stood directly in front to her. "Yes you do," he said.

  "I don’t!"

  "Liar," he said without any heat.

  John backed off, walking back the length of the room. Generally there was a good reason for any inexplicable behavior, even though not an obvious reason at the time. "Do you think that if you tell me, that I will judge you, Lucille? Or that maybe I won't understand?"

  "No," she said in a small voice.

  "I can assure you that I will understand," John said. "You risked your career, Lucille without any reason at all?"

  "I was thinking of Kelly."

  "Thank you," he said with genuine appreciation, coming back toward her. "Very good. What about her?"

  "I thought that you were manipulating her, that she imagined that she was 'in love' when in fact you were an animal-torturing sociopath. I wanted to help her to see that," Lucille said.

  "Excellent," John said, sitting back down across from her at the interview table. "Now we are getting somewhere. You do know that Detective Martin felt the same way that you did?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "But he didn't feel compelled to break the law, Lucille," John softly reminded her. "This was personal for you, Lucille, wasn't it? Why was that? Did someone manipulate you and break your heart?"

  Lucille remained silent.

  John stood up and began pacing once more, letting her turn that last question over in her mind. John's movements were uniform and intentional, like waves against the shore, walking toward her and then withdrawing and walking away. He would get his answers. With patience and persistence, like chipping rock into sand, John knew he would wear the woman down. He was 'Father John the confessor' after all.

  John paused and studied Lucille. Her breath, her pulse, her movements, her skin… Lucille Irwin was trapped with him in this room, helpless and vulnerable from the big stick John was wielding, the very real threat to her career. The woman was an open book to a knowing and experienced Dom, and John was going to force her to tell her secrets whether she wanted to or not.

  Why? John thought. Why am I doing this? The answer came to him and he suppressed the impulse to laugh. Because making people squirm and own up, forcing them to tell me their secrets is serious fun for me.

  John walked toward her and stopped three feet away. "I was watching you from the first moment you came to my home, Lucille, did you know that?" he said softly. "Shall I tell you what I observed? I saw a woman who was in disagreement with her partner, who was irritated and argumentative, and I wondered if you had both just had a fight. But the next time I saw you, you were exactly the same. I came to the conclusion that you act that way with men in general. Am I right, Lucille? Who hurt you? Are you going to tell me?"

  It didn’t take much longer before Lucille Irwin crumbled and with the break came the tears. What was it with women and tears? How did they do that? John felt as if crying would probably make him feel better, too. If only he could figure out how to do it.

  Yes, Lucille explained in hitching breaths, she had been in an abusive relationship. And yes she had loved him and he was cruel to her, and broke her heart.

  "When was this?" John asked, moving to sit back down across from her.

  "Over a year ago," she replied. "I knew it was a mistake to get close," Lucille said roiling between anger and grief, "a mistake to believe that Jonathan loved me. I learned long ago never to depend on someone because they will disappoint you or hurt you, or not be there when you need them. I knew that I could only depend on myself."

  John waited, but it appeared that for now, that was all Lucille planned to say.

  "Lucille," he said leaning toward her. "I'm talking to you now because I think you deserve another chance. You're smart, you're keen, and I think you can be an excellent detective." John leaned back in his chair.

  Lucille had her hands folded in her lap, and was looking down at them.

  "Look at me, Lucille," he ordered in a commanding tone, and her eyes snapped to his face. "You know my history. I have had experience with betrayal myself."

  Lucille nodded and she colored, but she continued looking at him as requested.

  "I can tell you this," John said. "A year is taking far too long for you to recover from this betrayal. You are a young woman. You should have bounced back by now. Do you know why you haven't?"

  "No," she said.

  "You are still upset, Lucille, because it was not Jonathan that upset you."

  Lucille recoiled back in her chair, and her eyes flashed in disagreement.

  Leaning forward, John said, "No, Lucille, listen to me. I know what I'm talking about. Your problem is coming from a betrayal from an earlier man, a father, a step-father, a brother, perhaps a male relative of some sort. I don't know who it was. Yet I do know that it was an important man in your life. This man destroyed your trust, probably from when you were a child, and you have never recovered from it."

  Lucille Irwin had suffered childhood abuse - John knew this without one ounce of doubt. Was her abuse physical? Mental? Or perhaps sexual? Maybe she had suffered abandonment or neglect, some of the worst forms of abuse. A man had done this, too. It was men that she didn’t trust.

  John studied Lucille, watching as the gears seemed to shift in her mind, and her eyes widened, brightening with sudden understanding.

  John nodded when he saw that she understood. "You know what I'm talking about, don’t you, Lucille?" he said in a soft and soothing voice.

  "Yes," Lucille whispered.

  "Father?" he asked.

  "Step-father," she whispered.

  "I see," John said. "Thank you for telling me, Lucille. You are an amazing woman."

  When Lucille frowned and looked confused, John said, "It was brave to speak to me of your pain. And what you did in going to the Flynn's home with my police record took an extraordinary amount of courage or madness or both. You broke the law, Lucille and you risked your career, because you wanted to save Kelly from me. I think your intentions were good. You had Kelly's best interests at heart."

  John gave her the warmest smile he was capable of. "I simply have to like you for that."

  "Oh," Lucille said and her eyes welled once more. "Thank you."

  "Have you heard the expression, 'If the only tool you have is a hammer you tend to see every problem as a nail?' Abraham Lincoln said it."

  "Yes," Lucille said. "I'm not completely sure what it means in this case. Do you think it applies to me?"

  "Yes," John said. "It means that if your knowledge is limited, you try to fix every problem with the same solution. And you do that because that's all you know. In your case, Lucille, you have been behaving as if all men are untrustworthy bastards, because that is what you know. You treat men differently than you treat women, Lucille. I suspect that your conduct is largely an unconscious, yet consistent habit. Anyway, I would like you to get some counseling. Does the Police Service arrange for that?"

  "I think so." She said. "I've never looked into it."

  "Well," John said, "counseling is a stipulation of my agree
ment not to proceed with any complaint. I don’t want to cause trouble for you, Lucille. As I say, you were brave and I like you for what you tried to do for Kelly. But I also know that you're going to screw up again without professional help."

  "I see," Lucille said frowning in thought, and then anxiously biting her lower lip.

  "I hope you'll get counseling because you want to sort yourself out," John said.

  The woman looked at him: vulnerable, confused and utterly exposed. He felt the soft tendrils of human connection and the heady power from his natural inclination to dominate her. John couldn’t help but admire her courage.

  "But either way, Lucille, you're going to get help," John smiled kindly to lessen the blow, "because I say so."

  Lucille Irwin's eyes widened, and taken by surprise and relief, she burst out laughing.

  29. An Effective Gag

  Kelly just kept talking in one long flow of words.

  She had returned home from shopping, having bought, as far as John could tell, a ton of almost all unnecessary stuff. John had stayed in bed this morning, his body tired and heavy, needing more rest. By 11 a.m. Kelly, who was buzzing like the Eveready battery bunny, had burst through the door with her mouth in overdrive.

  God she was adorable.

  She was wearing a rust colored, button down sweater. It was left open, over a cream colored, super lacy, feminine blouse. It was so, so, girly. Her black jeans were straight-legged and man, they did things to that ass of hers that was both suggestive and obscene. No one could have as nice a butt as Kelly did.

  They both were still wearing slings. John, because he couldn't afford to wrench his left shoulder. Kelly because her right hand had to remain elevated. Besides that, her splint was really heavy.

  One handed, Kelly had unpacked numerous things in the kitchen, fresh fruit, a box of chocolates, including a bouquet of fresh flowers. She explained that they didn't have daisies, and that her favorite chocolates were on special, but she couldn't find a ripe cantaloupe and there was no point buying a hard one, didn’t he agree? But it had stopped raining just as she went to the car, and that was just as well as she had forgotten to take her umbrella, not that she had a hand to hold it with anyway, but she must be living right because the rain seemed to have stopped just for her.