by Lee Taylor
She hesitated just inside the entryway, thankful none of the store clerks were around, and peeked out.
Where was Michael?
A woman shopping for bras noticed her. Jessie's heart flipped over as she stood shivering with gooseflesh. She searched the area for Michael, finally spotting him at the Cashier, chatting to the clerk who'd helped him buy his underwear.
What was he thinking?
If she tried to get his attention, people would see her. If she went back into the changing room, she might wait ages for him. And how would she know when he'd returned?
She raised her hand, coughing loudly. "Michael."
He either didn't hear, or pretended not to.
She tried again, louder, her legs trembling.
He turned and looked at her and smiled.
The thong was going straight into the laundry when they got home.
He hurried over. "Sorry, Jessie. I got distracted. Those look fantastic. Can I see them without the T-shirt? You're wearing a bra, right?"
They'd attracted a small crowd by now, all feigning great interest in merchandise near the changing rooms. She shook her head.
He nodded.
She pulled the T-shirt over her head quickly and dropped it to the floor.
"Magnificent," he declared loudly. "Let me see the back."
Conflicting emotions swamped her. She wanted to kill him for exposing her to curious eyes, but she also itched to jump his sexy bones, right there. She turned slowly, tempted to stick out her bottom at the gawkers.
She looked back at him over her shoulder. He swallowed hard. "Get dressed, Jessie. Leave the thong on. I'll grab a few more and pay for everything. I need to get you home."
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Now that she and Michael had agreed on a timeline for her move, Jessie found the inspiration for her writing came easily. Sharing her life with him gave impetus to her thought processes. She was pleased with the direction Her Wise Protector was taking.
Jerry, the Super, had let her know she would be required to pay an extra month's rent in lieu of completing her lease. That seemed a small price to pay for being with Michael.
As she typed on her keyboard she found herself wiggling her fingers in anticipation of waking up beside him every morning.
She was on a particularly good roll one afternoon when the phone rang. She touched her fingers to Michael's collar. He hadn't insisted she wear it at home when she was alone, but she liked to put it on. It was a tangible connection to him.
She reached over and picked up the phone. The call display indicated an Unknown Number. Perhaps Michael was calling her from the office. "Hello."
"Hello, Jessie. Phil Glazebrook here."
She was tempted to tell him she was moving out of the building, and that it would be a relief not to be living near him anymore, but instead she replied, "Phil. Hi. How are you?"
"You're back from Panama. You were going to call me."
Her spine stiffened. He was too authoritative. Maybe he was a Dom? "Well, I've been busy catching up on my work."
"Ah, yes. Your next novel. I hope it's as good as the first one."
A vision of Phil's leering face surged into her brain, knocking the air out of her lungs. "Better, actually."
She clenched her jaw. Why had she said that?
"I've an opening this afternoon at three. We can talk about my proposal. You won't regret it. You still have the address?"
No. I won't be there. "Yes, I guess I can spare an hour this afternoon. I'll see you then."
She banged the phone against her forehead when she heard the click. "What's wrong with you?" she said out loud. "Why didn't you just turn him down? You have an agent. You don't need Glazebrook."
Michael would be irritated if she consulted with Phil. But then he scowled any time another man gave her a second look. She'd wear the collar, so she'd feel Michael's presence during the interview.
~~~
Stuart had been taking photographs at the Glazebrook house for a week. Michael preferred to print out the emailed pictures and study them with a magnifying glass. They were spread out all over the kitchen table. He pored over them again, desperately trying to pick out a blurry face at any of the windows.
The only unusual event in the photographs was the occasional appearance of a young Asian woman, who left the house from time to time, always accompanied by Glazebrook. His hand gripped the woman's elbow. She looked to be in pain, or afraid, though it was sometimes difficult to tell with Asian women. They drove off, only to return a half hour later, sometimes with groceries, but always with bags from Shoppers Drug Mart.
The woman's shoulders were usually hunched, but in one photo Michael detected something that made the hairs at his nape stand to attention. She wore a heavy leather dog collar around her neck.
Every muscle in his body tightened. Glazebrook was a Dom, the Asian woman his Sub, and not a happy looking Sub. He should've known after the uncomfortable conversation he'd had with Glazebrook.
He went through all the pictures of the woman again. Never once did she raise her eyes to look Glazebrook in the face, even though it appeared from the still photos she was manhandled into the vehicle.
What was Glazebrook hiding? If he was a Dom into sadomasochism as Michael suspected, had he outfitted a room off limits to the contractor as a dungeon? And where was Matilda Johnson in all this? Groceries were easy to explain, although supposedly no one was living in the house. And why so many purchases at a drug store? He made a note to follow up at the Shoppers in Rockland the next day.
He checked his watch. Ten-thirty. He called Jessie, hoping it wasn't too late, but she didn't answer. She'd probably gone to bed, but it bothered him. He'd tried several times during the afternoon to get hold of her.
A wrenching feeling in the pit of his stomach urged him to warn Jessie about Glazebrook, though it meant breaching privacy rules about his investigations.
An email from Stuart popped into his Inbox with an attachment. "These are from this afternoon and evening."
~~~
Jessie fidgeted with the key of her choker as she sat in Phil's office waiting for him. Perhaps it would be better to remove it. Quickly she unfastened the clasp and slipped the little key into her pocket just as Glazebrook came in the door.
"Sorry about the wait," he said, his eyes fixed on her necklace.
Her skin crawled, but she kept her hands off the choker. "I've only been here a few minutes."
"Very punctual," he said with a touch of sarcasm. "I like that in a woman."
It was too personal. If he'd commented that punctuality was an admirable trait, she wouldn't have felt so violated.
Determined to keep the conversation on a business-like footing, Jessie opened her mouth to speak, but Glazebrook drew a forefinger across his lips.
She was indignant, but her indignation turned to apprehension at his next words. "I like to be the one to speak first, Jessie, if you don't mind."
She knew in a moment of cold certainty that if she did object it would do her no good. What was this about? She swallowed her words.
"Good girl."
Fear skittered up Jessie's spine as Glazebrook came to stand behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.
She tried to rise from her chair, but he held her down.
"What's going on here?" she asked.
He chuckled, sending a cold shiver across her nape.
"We could've talked about your book, about the people I might have put you in touch with from the television and movie industry. I'd prefer, however, to discuss where you got your knowledge of BDSM; whether you're a true aficionado or just a good researcher. Do you enjoy being a Sub?"
A thick lump threatened to close off Jessie's throat. "That's none--"
He put his hands round her neck, pressing the metallic choker into her skin. "None of my business? I believe it is. It took me a bit to put it together, both you and Atherton mentioning a visit to Panama. Then I saw him parking in the V
isitors' Lot at Camden Manor. Now you're wearing his collar."
What could it possibly matter to Glazebrook that she was in a relationship with Michael? Surely this wasn't about jealousy? "I don't understand," she rasped, scarcely able to breathe for the pressure of his hands.
"Mr. Atherton has become a thorn in my side."
Jessie's mind went into overdrive, but try as she might she couldn't make a connection between Michael and this creep. She said nothing.
"I see you've no idea what I'm talking about. Come and I'll show you."
He reached into his pocket. Jessie couldn't see what he pulled out, but her blood ran cold when he clicked something onto the ring that had held her key. "Convenient of Atherton to provide this. On your feet."
He yanked the leash, forcing Jessie to stand.
"You can't do this--"
He dug his fingernails into the back of her neck. "Do not speak," he hissed, "unless I give you permission. And you will address me as Master."
She shook her head. He pulled on the leash until his fist rested against her throat and her nose was an inch from his. "Your reply is ‘Yes, Master'."
"Yes, Master," she breathed, close to gagging at the odor on his breath. He'd eaten something with garlic.
He pulled her towards the impressive wall-to-wall bookcase and reached for a heavy legal tome on the top shelf. "You won't need your purse. Leave it on the chair."
She'd hoped the cell phone in her purse might be a means of calling for help, but her heart lurched when she realized he'd thought of that. She obeyed, tossing the purse to a chair, astonished to see a panel of the bookshelf swing open. He led her through the concealed door, then closed it somehow.
They were in a hallway that hadn't seen any renovation since its construction. He pulled her along the dark panelled corridor, then up several flights of stairs. She imagined in former times this had been the servants' part of the house. He took the stairs quickly and she stumbled to keep up, scuffing her shins.
They passed several closed doors, finally stopping at one that he opened without knocking. A young Asian woman leapt to her feet from a plastic chair, her eyes wide with fear and surprise. To Jessie's horror, she was dressed in the kind of nurse's uniform one might find at Scallywags. She had small breasts, but the low cut front left nothing to the imagination. The hem fell just below her bottom. A dog collar had been fastened around her neck.
"This is Nurse Maechunbu. That's Korean by the way for whore."
The girl studied her bare feet.
Glazebrook lifted the hem to reveal that the girl wore no panties. Red welts striped her bottom. "As you see, Maechunbu is indeed a whore, and has had to be punished."
Jessie's mind went numb. This was a nightmare she'd stumbled into. Surely she would wake up soon. None of this could be real.
Through the fog of fear, she suddenly became aware that there was someone lying in the narrow bed next to the chair, someone so frail the bed might have been empty. It was an elderly woman, hooked up to an intravenous machine, apparently asleep, or unconscious.
"If dear Matilda was awake I would introduce you, but Maechunbu makes sure she doesn't wake too often. It's an inconvenience having her here, but she refused to sign the house over to me, and I wanted it so badly. What I want I always get. The others were so compliant. Getting my hands on their houses was a piece of cake. Matilda proved more stubborn."
Jessie understood now. Michael had been looking for this woman. It was one of the cases he'd been working on. He'd got too close and Glazebrook didn't like it. It was also evident the man was insane, though she wasn't about to share that opinion with him.
Somehow she found her voice. "So you forged the paperwork and imprisoned her."
"Lamentable, but necessary. She'll die eventually and no one will be the wiser."
Except me.
Why was he telling her all this?
Glazebrook tapped the end of the leash against his chin. "No one will believe Maechunbu, even if she was brave enough to go to the authorities, which she isn't since she's here illegally. She knows she's better off with me than in the hell-hole I rescued her from."
Jessie wasn't sure where she found the courage to ask, "What about me?"
"Simple. Mr. Atherton will get the message he should back off if he wants to see his Subbie again, alive--"
He raked his eyes over her.
"--and well."
Jessie felt like she'd fallen into a pit of snakes.
Michael, Michael, Michael.
Glazebrook hooked a finger under her collar. "Where's the key?"
She shook her head, swallowing hard. "Michael has it."
He touched his nose to hers. "I can always tell when a woman is lying, Jessie. Give it to me now, or I'll rip it off."
"It's in my pocket," she rasped.
"Déjà vu, eh?" he chuckled as he fished out the key and swiftly unlocked the fastening. The choker fell to the floor. Glazebrook kicked it away.
Jessie wanted to weep. The collar had lent her Michael's strength; now she was totally alone. She felt exposed.
Glazebrook nodded to the Korean girl. She picked up a stainless steel tray from the hospital style dresser next to the bed and brought it to him.
Adrenaline pumped through Jessie when she saw the hypodermic needle the "nurse" took from the tray. The girl squirted liquid from it then passed it to Glazebrook. Before she could protest, he swiftly jabbed the needle into her arm. He started counting backwards from ten. The room tilted when he reached six, and she crumpled to the floor.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Jessie's eyeballs felt heavy. In fact, her whole face felt heavy. She tried to move, but couldn't, caught in a net of some kind. She opened her eyes. The floor loomed up from three feet below, sending her blood pressure soaring. She was tied up and suspended in mid air. Her wrists were bound behind her back. Ropes crisscrossed her breasts--naked breasts she realized with a sharp jab of fear that intensified when it became clear she was completely naked.
A rope knot pressed against her clit. Every movement caused the knot to rub against the sensitive nub. More ropes supported her head and thighs. Her feet had been spread wide and tied as well. She recognized her predicament as the work of a Kinbaku master.
Escape would be impossible. She'd been gagged with what she suspected was plastic wrap. Calling for help wasn't an option.
Movement was limited, but from what she could tell, she seemed to be in some sort of dungeon, similar to the rooms at Scallywags, except rougher, more cellar-like. She shivered. It was cold, and she was terrified.
There were no windows. A large searchlight contraption on a tall tripod provided the glaring light in the room.
How long had she been here?
She held on to the belief that Michael would quickly realize she was missing, and would move heaven and earth to find her. But how would he know where she was? Why hadn't she told him she was meeting Glazebrook?
She drew in a ragged breath, listening for any sound in the eerily quiet building.
She heard whimpering--faint.
She raised her head to focus on the source of the sound. Five feet away the Korean girl hung suspended in the same way, minus the crotch belt. Jessie realized with growing horror that Glazebrook had done much more than tie the woman up.
Chains led from the dog collar to clamps on her nipples. From there the chain looped downwards to somewhere between her legs. Weights hung from the nipple clamps, distending her sensitive flesh.
Jessie blinked, gasping at the sight of what looked like blood on the girl's breasts. The bastard had ringed her nipples with acupuncture-like needles positioned in a pattern all around the edge of her areolas.
Viewing images of such aberrations on Google in the course of her research was one thing. Seeing it inflicted on an actual person made Jessie want to heave. But if she retched she might choke with the gag.
She didn't want to think about the object that protruded from the Korean's bottom.
<
br /> Tears trickled from the weeping girl's closed eyes. She too had been gagged.
Jessie understood the message. This was what Glazebrook planned for her if Michael didn't cooperate.
She closed her eyes and began to hum the theme from Titanic.
~~~
Michael stared in shocked disbelief at the photo in front of him. It was time stamped 2:55 pm and it clearly showed Jessie entering the offices of Phil Glazebrook.
She was alone, so evidently she'd gone there of her own accord, though she looked nervous. Jealousy ate at him. Why had she said nothing about meeting the creep?
A snake coiled around Michael's bowels. He grabbed the magnifying glass, relief sweeping over him that Jessie was wearing his collar. But it was short-lived when he rifled through the rest of the pictures. He called Stuart. "There's no picture of the woman in image 346 leaving, Stuart. Did you miss her?"
Michael heard him clicking through the pictures.
"Nope. Anyone who came in or out, I got 'em. She never left. Unless there's a back entrance I don't know about."
Michael hung up, slumping onto the hated chair before his knees gave out. He looked through the photos again. Glazebrook had left through the front door at 6:05 pm--alone.
Jessie was somewhere in that house.
It was clear she'd been lured there. Glazebrook had somehow found out about her connection to him, and was probably intending to use her as leverage to make him back off his investigation. That thought actually encouraged him to think Matilda Johnson might still be alive.
But his intuition that Glazebrook was into sadomasochism lay like a lead weight in his gut. He remembered the fear on the Asian girl's face. What had the man done with Jessie? What might he do?
If only he'd listened to his gut instinct and warned her about Glazebrook.
A call to the police would be useless.
Yes, officer, I believe my girlfriend is being held prisoner by a prominent local lawyer, who, by the way, might be torturing her.
As an ex-cop he could imagine the sly winks and elbowing that would follow that call.
Maybe Jim could get a search warrant, though they had precious little evidence to convince a judge.
