Whip Me Up, Tie Me Down
…a Private Delights novel…
By Lavender Daye
Copyright © 2014 Lavender Daye
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your store of choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Special thanks to my editor, Jen FitzGerald
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
Chapter 1
“Drop the weapon.”
“Fuck you.”
Not an unexpected reply, but at least she’d tried. Sometimes they went easy, but a female cop with her slight build didn’t inspire fear in most criminals. Not until she whipped their ass and restrained them.
“Do it now, asshole.” Pistol up and level in her favorite shooting stance, Sgt. Lizette Kently sighted in on the scarecrowish man’s shoulder. Or what passed for a shoulder under all the grime. She’d rather disable than kill, but every situation was a fluid, unpredictable drama. And the damn customers seemed to get younger every day. “I’m going home tonight, whether you’re in custody or a body bag. Decide.”
His gun waved in the general vicinity of her position.
“I got a hostage, bitch. I got a gun. I call the shots.”
Sure he did. One wiggling crack-head trying hard to get away from his big dirty-ass chest didn’t count in her book. Never losing eye contact, Lizette shook her head and pulled her lips into a thin smile. “Yeah, yeah, we have guns, too.” She tipped her head in the direction of her partner without losing sight of the drug dealer. “That makes us two guns to your one.”
“Stay back or I’ll kill her.”
She took in the whole package and focused on the tension in the room.
Pitching her voice into an I don’t give a rat’s as tone, she said, “Here’s the thing. I don’t care about your gun ‘cuz I never miss. Tell me you’re choosing the body bag so I can get home early.”
A short sharp whistle told her Kevin was in place and ready for anything. Good man.
The scumbag’s eyes widened a second, then blinked hard a couple times. “I got a hostage.”
Sounded like he was trying to shore up his own bravado even as his hand slipped halfway across the body of the skinny chick. Who, from the looks of it, wasn’t into cooperation.
Lizette’s tone eased up a notch.
“I. Don’t. Miss. What’s it been, Kev? Ten years since I missed a shot?”
From behind her and to the left, her partner’s voice sounded cool and easy. “Twelve, I think. No, wait. Eleven. Remember that guy?”
A half laugh left her mouth. She’d played this game before. Worked like a charm. “Damn, I had five years of perfect shots and that dumbass ruined it.”
The gun pointed in her direction wobbled in the scum’s hand while hers never faltered. “But it’s been eleven years, now. Not one low shot since then.”
“Yeah, Sarge. Good thing, too,” Kevin said. “I remember the mess, blood everywhere.”
“Screw the mess,” Lizette said, “I had to throw away my favorite pair of combat boots. Couldn’t get the blood stains out.”
“What a bleeder. It was like a red orgasm spraying all over the place.”
“Shame how my pistol dipped like that. I had no idea that a cock shot bled so much.”
Scumbag’s hands visibly trembled. Lizette kept her smile to herself and waited.
Her partner’s twisted sense of humor was legendary at the station and she knew if she kept quiet for a minute, he’d add another visual.
“Almost threw up at the crime scene when the EMT’s pulled the guy’s pants off and his little dick was half hanging off.”
The gun dropped to the floor and scumbag’s hands went up. Kevin took the lead, circling around the scene to cuff the dealer, a wide grin on his handsome face. “Works every time.”
Lizette holstered her Glock and grabbed the skinny chick before she could run, slipping cuffs around her boney wrists while cussing the dealer under her breath. The customer didn’t look more than thirteen or fourteen, too young to be out this late and in this shitty neighborhood. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Sal, and I’m not a kid.”
Damn, attitude already. “How old are you, Sal?” Lizette asked, her hand wrapping all the way around the little girl’s upper arm. Damn drugs made skeletons out of users.
“Eighteen.”
Yeah, right. Attitude and balls from a little girl. What was the world coming to? “Try again.”
The sullen face was a mask Lizette encountered way too often. ”Help me out here, Sal. Tell me you have ID and a family to bail you out.”
With no answers forthcoming, she put the girl in the back of her squad car and radioed it in. She’d put her in lockup, alone if possible, and get her transferred to juvie unless she proved to be legal.
Kevin had the dealer wrapped and strapped in the cruiser right behind her unit. With everyone secured, he leaned his ass against the side of her car for a confab. “This is the third bust this week. What the fuck is going on here, Sarge?”
She’d been his boss for over a year and they’d found an easy camaraderie. He was a good guy and they worked well together. “Hell if I know. We’re the burbs, not downtown. I’ll check with the captain, see if he’s heard anything about the increase in drug trade.”
Kevin nodded. “I’ll hit up a few buddies, see if they’ve heard any talk. Somebody’s got to have a finger on this.”
“Keep me posted. For now, let’s get these two into the tank.” A bust at the tail end of a shift blew spaghetti, but they still had an hour left on the clock. If they could get through all the paperwork by shift’s end, she’d be surprised. Unpaid overtime. Oh, joy.
***
Lizette pushed open the back door to the house she’d shared with her grandmother for most of her life. The place was silent and still, the air temperature somewhere between too hot and too cold for the a/c unit to kick on, and the hum of the unit was usually the only thing she heard when she got home now. She was lonely but unwilling to do anything about it this month.
With three days off and a long list of stuff to take care of before her next shift at the Jensen PD, her priority was a shower and sleep. As much as she loved working four ten hour days, some of those days were longer than the hours she clocked. Waiting for a social worker to pick up Sal tonight had taken a heavy toll. The kid was practically a baby, thirteen and on the streets. Using drugs.
Who the hell put their little girl out on the street at such a young age?
Biological emotional morons. Egocentric adults with no desire to be parents. Baby factories with no sense of responsibility.
She loved her job. Damn it, she liked the feeling that she was doing something good for her community. She liked keeping people safe. One thing she couldn’t abide? Abuse of a child.
Lizette growled out a curse into the empty house. At least her parents had given her a chance. They’d left
her with Gran.
Faint images of her biological parents lingered, most a reflection of old pictures Gran shared one night long ago. Thank God for the one good thing her parents did. They’d opted to leave her at her grandmother’s house. Now her house. Gran had been the best parent a child could hope for.
Lizette walked halfway down the long hall and stopped at the first bedroom. No need to turn on the light, because she knew exactly what a little illumination would reveal. The bed was stripped, the sheets already washed and put in the linen closet in the hall. Boxes were stacked and ready to be assembled on the bare bed, masking tape at the ready.
It was time.
Well, it would be time tomorrow.
She moved on down the hall to the room once used by her mother and turned on the light. When Lizette had finished her stint in the Navy and come home, Gran insisted they redecorate. And thank the good Lord for that, because the difference between the before-the-military kid she was and the after-the-military adult she evolved into was like comparing a skunk to a racehorse.
Lizette made quick work of a shower, her head buzzing with the things she wanted to finish tomorrow. One thing the Navy taught her was planning and follow-through. She had a list and would damn well get it all marked off by the end of the next day. Once her body relaxed, she was out for the count.
***
Jefferson Alexander Wortham, III maneuvered his rented Mustang around the potholes in the parking lot of Mark’s club and wondered what in the hell the man was thinking. He, of all people, should know it was bad business to have a crappy parking lot for customers.
He grinned and shut off the engine. Man, he’d been trying to think of something to harass his friend with for the last three days and now he had one.
The building’s entrance beckoned, the wrought iron gates splayed open in the vibrant midmorning sun. Mark’s email inviting him to visit the club had arrived a few minutes after he’d told the man he was moving to Texas. They’d shared a dorm room at Harvard, and a few lovely ladies, too. Not that he made a habit of it like his buddy did.
He hadn’t gotten a clear picture of what kind of club it was, but knowing Mark, he expected something decadent and high class. A den of iniquity filled with naked patrons and wild women.
He pushed through the front door and looked around.
Huh.
The place was quiet. Silent as a hung jury.
Damn. The entrance could easily pass for a high class hotel or restaurant, richly colored carpet, dark wood paneling on the walls.
Interesting in the absence of customers.
Little to use in the way of information gathering but this was definitely an option for relaxation, provided people actually visited the place.
The wide, chest-high concierge station fit right in with the ambiance but was conspicuously empty. Not a soul in sight at midmorning. Maybe he’d taken a wrong turn and was at some other country club, one that hadn’t opened yet.
He stepped around the desk and leaned through the opening. The next room was also devoid of people, populated with what could easily be the main showroom of a designer furniture store.
The idea of wandering the empty building didn’t appeal so he stopped, turned back to the first entrance and noticed a long hall to the left. Faint sounds of activity in the area had him moving in that direction.
The cute brunette he found at the end of the hall made up for the lack of Mark’s presence. She was working behind the bar with two men, one dressed in a plain white shirt. The other was in uniform with a beer logo on the pocket. The casually dressed man noticed him first and cleared his throat. “Um, Joanne, I think we have a customer.”
From behind the bar, another woman lifted her head. All he could see was tousled hair and sharp eyes while she evaluated him and she didn’t appear happy. “We don’t open for another hour.”
“I’m looking for Mark Harrison.”
She came fully to her feet and gave him a once over. He didn’t like the conclusion her expression suggested. “I believe he’s in a meeting all morning. Can I help with whatever you need?”
The cool reception was a sign of good management on his buddy’s part. This was an employee who took care of the boss and the business.
“He should be expecting me.”
She lifted a handset on the bar and shot him a look. “Name?”
“Jake Wortham.”
“Mildred, there’s a Jake Wortham here in the bar, says he has an appointment with Master Mark.”
“Tell Mildred I said hello,” he told the woman. Hell, he hadn’t seen Mark’s personal assistant in too many years to count.
The blonde’s expression didn’t change, her gaze never leaving his face as she asked, “Are you sure you’re in the right place? There’s no record of your appointment.”
Hell of a day and hell of a woman, that Mildred. “Try Jefferson Wortham.”
And hell of a time to get that particular expression from a beautiful woman. She relayed the message and the corner of her mouth curved in an almost sweet smile.
“Would that be Jefferson Alexander Wortham, III?”
Half a laugh left his mouth at Mildred’s correction. If only Mildred were a few years younger, and unmarried, he might just give her a run. Not happening. “Please remind the dear lady that the formal version of my name is intended for formal occasions, and this isn’t one.”
The beauty in charge didn’t repeat his response to the sweet lady on the phone, but her expression evened out into a noncommittal smile. “Up the main staircase and take a left. It’s the third door on the right.”
“Thanks.” As he turned away, he heard her say, “Welcome to Private Delights.”
Chapter 2
Mildred was at her desk when he opened the door, looking as put together and in control as she had when he and Mark were running the roads of Boston.
“Sweet Miss Mildred. How are you?”
Her right brow rose above the fine lines of her face, her only acknowledgement of his greeting. But then she stood and he moved around the desk for a hug. “You haven’t changed one bit. How’s Mr. Thomas?”
“He’s good, thank you for asking. And what are you doing these days, Jefferson? Have you come to cause trouble again?”
“Me? Trouble? I’d never even attempt it with your watchful eyes on me.”
She smiled and waved him off toward a door to her left. “Go. I have work.”
Mark was sitting in his office chair, a cup of coffee in hand, and he stood for a hug and a back slap before Jake heard the door shut behind him. The other men in the room, both familiar, got to their feet and offered handshakes.
“Jake, you remember Steve Gladston and Derek Lyons, don’t you?”
“Hell, yes. That was a great party in Atlanta. I swear I woke up in another state the next morning.”
“The state of inebriation, you mean?” Derek asked.
“More like mummification. I don’t know what you were serving, but it hit hard after the first hour.”
“What brings you to Texas?” Steve asked.
“New job. I’m teaching at the University of Texas in Arlington this semester.”
“Really?” Mark asked. “You get busted at Harvard for chasing coeds?”
“No.” He settled in a chair and accepted a cuppa Joe. “Besides, I needed to get out of Boston.”
“Family trouble?” Mark asked.
“No, not this time.”
Steve coughed. “A woman, huh? Psycho or pregnant?”
“Well?” Derek nudged him.
“All right, a woman. But not pregnant or crazy. Hell. She’s beautiful and sexy and successful…”
“I hear a but coming,” Mark said.
“She just doesn’t do it for me. No spark at all. We parted friends and I’m fine with it.”
“We can help you with women,” Mark told him. “There are at least a dozen single, unattached female members. I’ll fix you up.”
One thing he didn’t nee
d while in Texas was female companionship. The job wouldn’t allow the distraction. “No. And I mean hell, no.” He took a sip of coffee and changed the subject. “Anyway, I was ready for a change in scenery and a UTA headhunter was looking for an adjunct professor for one semester. Since I had friends in the area who almost always show me a good time, it sounded like a good idea.”
“Almost always, huh?” Derek laughed. “We’ll try harder this time.”
“Blonde or brunette?” Mark asked.
“Don’t even think about fixing me up. I don’t want complications right now. Let it be.”
“Come to the club tonight and meet some of our members. Might change your mind.”
“I doubt it,” he told Steve, “but I’ll be here tonight, if only to see what you’ve created.”
***
Lizette grabbed a tall bottle of water and took it with her to her grandmother’s bedroom. Five cartons full of clothes were boxed and ready to be donated to charity, two more stood open in front of the closet. The dresser was empty, the lingerie and incidentals tossed into a large trash bag.
The furniture was ancient, bordering on antique, but still serviceable. Knowing Gran wouldn’t appreciate getting rid of anything truly useful, she decided to keep the bedroom suite for a while. Maybe turn it into a guest room or take in a roommate.
Back at the closet, she pulled out boxes of shoes and vowed to never become as much as a clothes horse. Gran, even at the age of ninety, wore the latest fashions, constantly adding to her collection.
Not Lizette’s style.
As for the shoes? Temptation like the devil himself sat on her shoulder. Serious thoughts pushed her to open all the boxes just in case a pair or more called her name.
Not. Happening.
She closed the last box and added it to the stack in the front room with a sigh of relief, but when she sat down on the fluffy pink rocking chair in the bedroom’s far corner, she noticed one more box.
On the top shelf.
Son of a bitch. Bone tired and ready to be finished with this chore, she gave serious thought to leaving the damn thing right where it was.
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