Master in Melbourne

by Sindra van Yssel

  Maybe I’ll hear from her before then. He opened his laptop and started an email. The football trip might or might not be on. That would depend on the boys. But he’d come to a decision. Football or no, he was flying out. He didn’t know if his relationship with Zoe could blossom into something more than it was, especially with the two of them living so far away. Maybe the football trip would lead to something more permanent though, some way for him to make his living in Texas. He didn’t want to leave Australia, but who knew? One way or the other he needed to find out. If she’d moved on, fine. But he wasn’t going to let it end with silence.

  Maybe she’d welcome the news that he’d be in town. Maybe she’d tell him not to bother. Either way would be better than silence.

  * * * * *

  Zoe hadn’t returned his email, and none of the hospitals in and around Fort Worth admitted to having her either. Given her history, he supposed it was possible they might have her and not be telling strange men who called, but if that was the case there wasn’t much he could do. He couldn’t drive around to every hospital.

  That left Secrets. He didn’t expect to find Zoe there, but maybe he’d find someone who knew her. And if he ran into the twisted fuck who’d burned her with a cigarette, he might get to practice his left hook—but only after seeing if the man knew anything about her current whereabouts. Although from what Zoe had said, Stu didn’t know where she was living and she intended to keep it that way.

  Secrets was a long drive from where he was staying in Dallas, and isolated. The brown stucco exterior hadn’t been repainted since it was called the Big Thirst Tavern. The letters that proclaimed it such were gone, but not the faded ghosts where those letters had protected the wall from the weather. Probably the sign had been neon. The new name was emblazoned in tiny letters on the door, much smaller than the numbers of the address. He’d almost driven past it. Driving on the right-hand side of the road required more of his concentration than driving on the left.

  He walked in. There was a black-walled anteroom with a red leatherette couch. On a chair, behind a black-painted bar, was a curvy bleached blonde whose white-and-blue bolero jacket didn’t seem to attach in the middle. She had no blouse or bra underneath, and normally Nick would have been interested in seeing what the jacket might reveal with her movements. But she wasn’t Zoe.

  “Haven’t seen you around before, sugar,” said the girl.

  “Haven’t been here before either.” At least his accent would probably stop her from thinking he was a cop. “What’s the cover?”

  “Thirty dollars if you’re new, I’m afraid. You know anyone here who will vouch for you? That’d get it down to twenty.”

  “Zoe Calder. Do you know her? Is she here tonight?”

  The woman shook her head. “I know her, but she’s not here. Haven’t seen her in ages, actually. So I guess it’s the thirty.”

  “No worries,” Nick said, and counted three tens from his wallet. His odds had gone down. The only bright side was not being told that Zoe was there with another Dom. If she’d needed to move on, he thought he could deal with that, in time. But he’d be disappointed in her if she wasn’t answering his emails just to avoid having to tell him.

  The woman shifted her weight, and Nick wondered if there was something wrong with her seat or if she was wearing a butt plug, until he realized that the whole motion was meant to bounce her breasts. By some miracle her nipples remained covered. “Maybe we can hook up later this evening?” she asked. Her accent reminded him painfully of Zoe.

  Even if Zoe was over him, the last thing he wanted was to get attached to another Texan girl. He was tempted to tell himself that it would be for the evening, nothing more. Ships that pass in the night. But that was what he thought about Zoe, and now he couldn’t get her out of his head. Besides, he’d be rebounding. “No thank you. But I do appreciate the scenery.”

  The woman blushed but clearly didn’t know what to say, so he left the room through the black door and headed into the club. He decided he’d watch for an hour and see if he could get a feel for who might be a good person to ask about Zoe. He had all night, but the next day he had to be back with his footballers bright and early, and it didn’t look as if he’d have any more free time to speak of until the night before they were due to head back to Melbourne, four days away. Two parents were along to chaperone, but it wasn’t fair to stick them with the kids, even if he wanted to. Besides, he enjoyed spending time with the youngsters.

  The inside of the club was dark, lit only by some dim bulbs high up on the ceiling. Loud music somewhere on the edge between rock and country blared from the loudspeakers. A sub would have to really yell a safe word to be heard. He walked around the edge of the club, scanning faces in case the woman at the door was wrong about Zoe not being there, but he didn’t see her. He had to spend a few minutes watching a woman whose face was shielded by a leather hood to be absolutely sure, but once her dress came off to reveal unblemished skin he knew it definitely wasn’t Zoe.

  He wondered if the hood was on because she was concealing her identity or because of the sensory deprivation aspects of it; possibly both, he supposed. He wasn’t fond of anything that restricted air flow. Too many things could go wrong, although he recognized those who wanted the experience badly enough could probably anticipate what could go wrong enough to make it adequately safe. A little research did wonders, but too many novices didn’t seem to realize that gags and hoods were actually much more dangerous than floggers and paddles.

  The best view of the club was from a couch against the far wall, but he assumed that was for snuggling, and he had no one to snuggle with, so he stood to the right of it and watched. There were couples who kept to themselves, and there were people who mingled, seemingly knowing and greeting everyone. That’s the sort of person who might know where my Zoe is. He chuckled at the idea that she was his. He thought of her that way, but it wasn’t true. Not yet. For all his self-talk about wanting to know one way or the other, he wasn’t here for closure. If he found her he was going to do his best to convince her that they should be looking to move their relationship forward.

  BDSMers were usually pretty closed-mouthed about their friends in the scene, and if he asked the wrong person word could quickly spread that he shouldn’t be talked to. He had no idea what Stu looked like. Any of the Doms could be him, and if he still wasn’t over Zoe, he was a potential source of trouble. The female subs were more likely to be in Zoe’s confidence, but also more likely to circle the wagons to protect their own. He resolved to wait before making a move.

  As it turned out, he didn’t have to wait a full hour. A dark-skinned, raven-haired woman sauntered up to him, wearing nothing but a leather bra and panties and black boots. He was about to tell her that he wasn’t interested when she got the first word in.

  “I hear you’re looking for Zoe. Why?”

  Obviously she’d been talking to the receptionist. Word traveled quickly. “I’m concerned about her, that’s all really.”

  The woman clapped her hand over her mouth. “My god, you’re her Australian!”

  He suppressed a grin at being her Australian. It was too much like what he’d been thinking earlier. “Name’s Nick. Pleased to meet you.” He stuck out his hand.

  She shook it. “Juanita. I’m Zoe’s roommate. Or was. She said you had the cutest accent! She was so right!”

  Roommate. That sounded very promising, enough that he was going to let the comment about his accent slide. Whatever it was, he didn’t think it was cute. Why did people always think they were the ones without an accent?

  Juanita’s face fell. “She told me a lot about you. Only problem is, you’re too late.”

  “Too late?”

  “She went to talk to the guy she was with before, and the next thing I know she’s calling me and telling me that they’ve patched things up.” She leaned forward. “He’s not a good man. She has awful taste in men.”

  He didn’t bother to be insulted by the last
remark. She had said nothing about going to talk to Stu, so maybe she’d been hiding it from him. But there was something that didn’t sound right. “Have you talked to her since?”

  “Just that once,” Juanita said glumly. “She let herself into my apartment and got her stuff, and left a note about how I was wrong and he was wonderful. Well, fine, if she can’t even bother to tell me in person, screw it. I take it she didn’t bother to tell you either.”

  It did sound consistent. Except it didn’t sound like the person he knew. Zoe was stronger than that. “What exactly did it say, Juanita?”

  Juanita looked up at the ceiling and knitted her brows in concentration. “‘He’s really great. All your understanding doesn’t apply’. Kind of strange, isn’t it?”

  More than strange. Why would she put it that way? Why not just say “you were wrong about him”, if that was the point? He thought about it, but if there was a code in there, he didn’t know what it was. But then, the message wasn’t meant for him, it was meant for Juanita, presumably.

  “Juanita, does that sound like anything in Spanish?”

  Juanita raised her eyebrows. “You know, I’m not even a Mexican. I was born and raised here, and I speak English as well as any—”

  “You don’t know Spanish. Sorry. Any other languages you know, that Zoe knows? Any way that this could be saying more than it says?”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t speak Spanish.” She smirked. “And yeah, Zoe knows a little.” She paused and then shook her head. “But it doesn’t sound like anything in Spanish that I can think of.”

  “First letters? Last letters? Are you sure you remember it exactly right?”

  “H-r-g-a-y-u-d-a.” She shrugged. “Maybe it means something in Japanese. Do you speak Japanese?”

  “No, and it wouldn’t mean anything in Japanese, either. I don’t think you can mash an H, an R and a G together that way in any language.”

  ”Ayuda means ‘aid’, in Spanish.” Juanita’s eyes went wide. “Or ‘help’.”

  “Do you know where Stu lives?”

  “We need to call the police.”

  Nick considered it for a moment. Zoe might have been kidnapped, and that was certainly a police matter. But all Stu had to do was deny them entrance, stand in the doorway and say she was out. If they investigated, maybe they’d find more indication that Zoe wasn’t okay, eventually. But on the basis of what he and Juanita had, would they really force their way in and find her? He didn’t think they would in Australia, and he really doubted that Texas was any different. He’d seen Stu’s handiwork. He didn’t know that Zoe could wait for help. “Do you know where Stu lives?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s go. If I don’t come out in half an hour, you can call the police and they’ll have plenty of reason to bust in. I don’t think they’re going to do it on the basis of that note.” Not waiting for her to object, he grabbed her wrist and headed for the door.

  “Can I get dressed first?” Juanita hurried to keep up.

  He didn’t want to wait. “What’s going to be happening with Zoe while you do that?”

  “Dunno and don’t want to think about it, but I think the cops will listen to me better if I’m not wearing a leather bikini.”

  He stopped. “Good point. Where are your clothes?”

  “With Dahlia up front. She’s the one that told me about you.”

  “Let’s hurry.” He let go of her wrist now that he was sure she was with him. She had to take two strides to each of his one, but she kept up remarkably well. And to her credit, she didn’t excuse herself to go to the ladies’ room to change, but pulled a blouse and slacks on over what she had. He supposed it wasn’t too surprising Zoe had practical friends.

  “Let’s go,” she said, “I’ll fix it up straight in the car.”

  Chapter Eight

  They arrived at Stu’s house a long half hour later. Nick had broken the speed limit all the way there, but he took comfort in the fact that most of the other drivers were doing the same. He hadn’t expected to end up in a posh area where the homes bordered on mansions, but apparently Stu had money. A moment of doubt crept back into his heart. Maybe Zoe had gone back, attracted to a life of ease.

  He shook it off. Zoe didn’t seem money obsessed. Besides, from their conversations earlier she’d kept her job even during her relationship with Stu. She hadn’t been looking for a sugar daddy. When she came to Australia, she hadn’t even been that interested in looking for a man, as far as he could tell. She was independent, and it was one of the things he admired in her. No way had she gone back to someone who burned and scarred her.

  The house itself was ranch style, all on one floor. There was no car in the driveway, but there might have been one in the garage. On the other hand, virtually every window in the house was lit, so someone was probably home, and since there were no other cars, not a whole party of people. Apparently Stu didn’t care about his electricity bills.

  There was a practical problem, however, and that was the iron fence with the security gate on it. There was a button and an intercom on the fence. Stu wouldn’t have to come to the door to turn him away. He could vault the fence, no problem, but any notion of posing as someone with legitimate business would vanish if he did. His plan had been to get to the door and force his way in when it opened. That wasn’t going to work. Think. Think. He got out of the car, walked around it and rattled the gate. It was locked all right, but he figured it was worth checking. Whoever was behind all those lit windows would see mostly a reflection of the room they were in, even if they parted the curtains to look. He didn’t have to be too stealthy.

  “You’re really taken with Zoe, aren’t you?” asked Juanita, leaning out of the car.

  “Yeah.” He rubbed his chin with his hand. All he needed was for Stu to open the door. Although if nothing else worked, he’d break a window. Of course if he was wrong, they’d be locking him up or deporting him pretty damn quick. He wasn’t sure which they would do, and he wasn’t going to consult a lawyer. “Hide yourself in the car a second.”

  Juanita ducked back down.

  He walked around, opened the trunk and propped it up. In the darkness, there wasn’t any sense trying to simulate steam coming off it, so he left it at that and went back to push the button on the intercom.

  “What the fuck?” asked a low, rough voice a few moments later. So much for the idea that all Texas accents were beautiful.

  “Car broke down. Saw that your house was lit, thought I might bother you for some water for the radiator.” He didn’t think he could make much of a stab at a Texan accent, but he tried to imitate a character from a sitcom he used to watch. God knows what kind of accent he had, but he wanted to seem as much like he belonged as possible.

  “Go fuck yourself. This isn’t a fucking garage.”

  And I thought no one used that word as much as an Australian. His fists clenched. What kind of jerk wouldn’t even let someone have some water? He looked at the house and saw a silhouette of a man at one of the windows, well away from the front door. He shrugged and went back to the car. Maybe they’d have to go with the police after all, and he’d wasted valuable time. He was no action hero, he knew that. But he also knew that the police were going to require a lot of convincing.

  “Juanita, can you peek and tell me when the man goes away?” He moved to the front and pretended to be looking under the hood.

  “He’s gone,” Juanita said twenty seconds or so later.

  “Good. Stay in the car and stay safe, and call the cops if you start to get worried about how long I’ve been, but in ten minutes no matter what.” He turned and took a running start at the fence. He might be ensuring that he’d get arrested, but there was no way he was leaving Zoe there if that’s where she was. Not after traveling all this way. He got his foot high enough to plant it on the intercom box, grabbing a spike at the top as his momentum carried him up and he vaulted over. It was like climbing up someone’s back for a mark, but easier becaus
e the fence stood still. Since it was a few years since he’d been in his best football form, that was probably a good thing.

  He was headed toward the window he’d seen the silhouette in, thinking about how stupid he was probably being, when he spotted something between the left of the window and the front door. Near the ground there was a faucet, the kind one would attach a garden hose to. He sidled up next to the house, crouched and turned the faucet on full blast. “I’ll get us some water, Sheila!” he yelled, in case Stu missed the sound of the water.

  Sure enough, a man came to the door. He was bigger than Nick, but that wasn’t what worried him most. The man had a rifle in his hands, one hand on the trigger and the other clutching the barrel, and it would take him only a split second to lift and fire. If it wasn’t for his shock of red hair, Nick wouldn’t have noticed anything about him but the size and the gun, but the hair backlit by the lights in the house was hard to miss.

  The muscles and the gun, however, presented more of a problem. Fortunately, the man turned directly toward the faucet, looking for the lunatic who had turned his water on. Nick had moved to the other side of the door, expecting that. He stepped forward, grabbed the gun barrel with both hands and yanked hard, pulling it out of the other man’s hand. He threw it across the lawn, thankful it hadn’t fired randomly in the process. At least the man was disarmed.

  A huge fist rammed into Nick’s face a split second later, and he staggered away. He tasted blood on his lip. Maybe I should have hit him first off, rather than trying to disarm him. He hadn’t been sure one blow would take him out, however, and then he’d still have the gun. One on one, Nick figured he could take almost anybody. Having felt the punch, however, he wasn’t sure he could outfight the only man who mattered.

  “Stu?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” the man drawled. “Don’t think I know you.”

  “A f—” Nick bit back the words. If he failed, no sense in telling the man he was a friend of Zoe’s, because Zoe might be the one to pay the price. “A foe.”