False Pretenses [Rod and Cane Society 2]

by Cara Bristol

  He felt ill. People could lose their jobs, maybe even their friends.

  "A saving grace is that the reporter used pseudonyms. However, some individuals still may be identifiable by the nature of their particular circumstances,” Otis said. “I recognized my wife, Lizzie. She was described as a female divorce attorney who handles high-profile and celebrity cases. Few women in this city other than Lizzie fit that description."

  Jared nodded. “I could tell Melania had been quoted. I recognized certain pet phrases she uses."

  The newspaper section headed Dan's way. The offending column ran above the fold, its headline blaring its message in twenty-four-point type.

  CITYSCAPE UNCOVERED

  MEN'S ROD AND CANE SOCIETY

  SPARE THE ROD, SPOIL THE WIFE

  Dan absorbed the headline in a quick scan, but his attention was riveted on the much smaller but more shattering byline. Cassidy Myles.

  Time slowed to a crawl, and Otis's and Jared's voices faded to a drone. Betrayal roared through him, flooding his face with heat from neck to hairline. The tips of his ears burned as if on fire. Dan's throat threatened to close, and he swallowed spasmodically. The two remaining newspaper sections reached him. He shoved one to his neighbor on his left.

  Dan raised his hand—the one that had so lovingly, enjoyably spanked Emma—and tightened it into a fist. He slammed it down on the table “Goddamnit!"

  A couple of the men jumped. Jared raised his eyebrows, while Otis shot him a censuring look. Crisis or not, self-control was to be maintained at all times.

  How could she? He'd trusted her. She'd said she loved him! He'd spanked her! Her enjoyment, her excitement had seemed so genuine. Had her response really been an act, a con to finagle more information for her column? Jesus, was he in the story? Choking back bile, Dan scanned Emma's article, growing sicker with every damning paragraph. He wasn't mentioned, but plenty of other people were, the intimate details of their private lives stripped bare for public entertainment. Though she'd made a cursory attempt to appear unbiased, the column's underlying tone indicated that Emma—aka Cassidy—considered domestic discipline and spanking to be deviant and perverse.

  The article's sordid details rolled through his mind like an armored tank, flattening memories of the intimate moments he'd thought they shared. Emma had missed her calling—she should have been an actress. She'd performed a show worthy of a Tony award. Dan's chest hurt as if he'd been stabbed.

  "I checked our database,” said Steven Glickman, who oversaw membership. “There's no record of a Cassidy Myles in the organization."

  Otis leaned back in his chair and tapped his Mont Blanc on the conference table. “But clearly,” he said, glancing at the newspaper, “she has inside information. Somebody within Rod and Cane assisted her, perhaps by secretly recording conversations."

  Dan took a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. He squared his shoulders and exhaled. “Cassidy Myles is a pen name,” Dan said woodenly. “Her real name is Emma Dupree."

  "Shit.” A muscle twitched in Jared's jaw.

  The men glanced from Jared to Dan, their gazes ping-ponging as if watching a tennis game.

  "You two gentlemen know her?” Otis asked.

  Dan nodded. “I've been seeing her."

  "Seeing?” The full weight of the president's gaze settled on Dan.

  "Dating.” Making love to. Spanking. Foolishly trusting.

  "So you collaborated with her. You're the inside contact,” Paul accused.

  "I didn't help her. I didn't know who she was.” He'd been duped like all the other people Emma had interviewed.

  "That's a convenient excuse!” Paul snapped.

  Jared spoke up. “Miss Dupree is a friend of my wife. She's a member of the Auxiliary."

  "I wasn't aware of that,” Dan said tightly. He hadn't thought it possible to feel like more of a dunce, but apparently it was. Was anything he believed about Emma real and true? He'd known of her ambition, but hadn't realized how far she would go to get her story. She'd let him spank her!

  "I don't know much about her,” Jared said, “other than she and Melania are friends."

  That was more than he'd known.

  "I will vouch for my wife that she was unaware that Emma was a news reporter,” Jared added.

  Dan swallowed. “Emma's primary job is insurance. At least I think it is.” He had no idea if anything she'd told him was true. Bitterness filled his mouth. “She's been freelancing for the Sentinel."

  Otis leaned onto his elbows and steepled his fingers “So she's a member. Interesting.” He fixed a pensive gaze on Dan. “How did you two meet?"

  Dan grimaced at the viciousness of fate that had propelled them on an intersecting trajectory. “I was passing through her neighborhood when I spotted her searching for her cat. I stopped to help.” The one true fact—perhaps the only one—was that Emma hadn't deliberately sought him out to squeeze him for information. She didn't know he was a Rod and Cane member. Or did she? Their meeting had been accidental, but he had a position of prominence in the organization. Had she recognized his name when he'd introduced himself? Christ. Dan raked a hand through his hair.

  "What are you thinking?” Jordan looked at Otis.

  Otis tapped his pen. “Her membership status affords us a few options on how we handle this. It might actually be better for the Society that she's not a stranger. If there is any fallout, it will occur this week, and the severest damage will be limited to a few individuals."

  "I think you're right.” Jared nodded. “Although I recognized Melania in the article, most people won't."

  It offered little solace to Dan. His head ached and his stomach soured as if he had a hangover—he thought perhaps he did. He'd ingested too much Emma.

  Jordan bent his head over the newspaper. “Cassidy—Emma—doesn't identify where Rod and Cane is, only that it's on a quiet, tree-lined, residential street. She mentions a public official once used the building, but doesn't say it was the governor's residence, which would have pinpointed our exact location."

  "So you don't think Rod and Cane will be on the Indigo Infamy Line?” asked Glickman, referring to the bus tour that drove curiosity seekers by the homes of people infamous for criminal activity, wrongdoing, or exceedingly poor judgment.

  "God, let's hope not.” Jared threw back his head and laughed, the first expression of mirth expressed in the room since the meeting had begun. He sobered. “But Jordan is right. I don't think we'll have hordes marching outside the building."

  Otis rapped the gavel lightly, drawing everyone's attention.

  "Moving forward, we need to do three things. First, Steve,” Otis regarded the membership chairman. “On the off chance that members might not catch it, activate the telephone tree and notify the membership immediately that the column has been published. We don't want anyone being blindsided at church, on the golf course, or at the grocery store. Remind them confidentiality agreements remain in force, and if questions arise, they should rely on the plausible deniability strategy training they've received."

  "Got it. I'll get with Legal and Public Relations and offer a quick refresher course tomorrow evening,” Steve said.

  "Excellent idea."

  "Second"—Otis peered over his reading glasses—"we sit tight. Let's see what happens before we move forward with any public statements.” He shrugged. “It's possible the article will have no tangible effect. Sometimes the best course of action is to do nothing. If we jump out with a denial, we'll only call attention to the article. If there is any media follow-up, refer all press calls to me or to Jared.

  "Third, let's reconvene on Wednesday to decide upon disciplinary action merited by Miss Dupree. Jordan, as disciplinary proctor, your presence will be required."

  "Absolutely.” Jordan nodded.

  Of all the steps Otis had outlined, that one made the least sense. To a committed member, termination—the only possible penalty for a violation like Emma's—would be serious indeed. But for a woma
n who'd joined for the sole purpose of digging up dirt, it wouldn't matter at all.

  Otis removed his glasses and fixed his gaze on Dan. “Given your personal relationship with Miss Dupree, you will be required to abstain from voting. You may, however, attend to advocate on her behalf."

  Advocate on her behalf? After she ripped out his heart and stomped on his trust like it was dirt under her feet? Not likely. But he'd show to see justice meted out. “Of course,” he answered. Emma was damn lucky he couldn't vote.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Sixteen

  Emma parked behind Dan's SUV and scanned the quiet street, half expecting to see a coterie of TV news reporters and protesters staked outside Rod and Cane headquarters. To protect her sources’ privacy, she'd substituted pseudonyms for real names and did not cite the specific the address of the Society. But any journalist worth his press pass could learn its location. While the street was calm, the real storm brewed inside the building. She dreaded facing Dan.

  Emma eyed the mansion, uncertain whether to enter. She had a passcode, assuming Rod and Cane hadn't deactivated her already. She didn't belong at Rod and Cane; she never had. Would she add insult to injury if she waltzed in as if she had a right to be there?

  Go. Stay. Go. Stay. How could she make amends if she couldn't make a simple decision? She was saved from having to when the door opened and a contingent of men filed out. Despite their casual dress, their aggressive, almost military bearing indicated they carried positions of authority within the organization.

  Melania's husband, Jared, descended the steps and headed to a sleek Mercedes. At the rear of the pack, Dan emerged, flanked by two other men. She recognized Rod and Cane president Otis Davenport from his portrait in the hall, but didn't know the other man. Emma squeezed her eyelids shut for a second and swallowed, steeling her courage. Before she lost her nerve, she opened her eyes, released the car door, and stepped out.

  Head bowed in conversation, Dan didn't notice her immediately as she ascended toward him. The instant he did, his body went rigid. The hurt that flashed across his face before fury replaced it lanced her to the bone. With curiosity, then eyebrow-arching recognition, the two men glanced between her and Dan.

  Emma forced herself forward. She stopped two steps below him and sought his gaze, but he stared over her head as if she were invisible. Anger she'd expected, but his refusal to acknowledge her hit her like a slap across the face, dashing her vestiges of hope. She'd destroyed the best thing she'd ever had.

  Davenport broke the silence. “You must be Miss Dupree. Or do you prefer to be called Miss Myles?” The question could have been sarcastic, but it was delivered in a tone seemingly detached from emotion; it sounded matter-of-fact. Emma could imagine Otis Davenport as a judge determining the fate of those who came before him. Why did she have the feeling he was deciding hers?

  "Miss Dupree. Emma Dupree...sir.” The title of respect slipped from her lips, elicited by Davenport's innate authority. Emma wet her lips. “I, uh, came to talk to Da—Mr. Tanner."

  A muscle twitched in Dan's cheek. “We have nothing to talk about.” He shifted his gaze from Otis to the other man and back again, everywhere but at her. “Otis, Jordan, if you'll excuse me...” He started down the steps.

  Emma grabbed his arm. “Dan, please. You have a right to be mad, but let me explain.” She had wanted him to look at her, but the icy glare he fixed on her now froze her to the spot.

  "Did you write the article?"

  "Yes, but—"

  "There's nothing else to say, then."

  "I wrote it, but I didn't mean to publish it. It was sent by...mistake.” She hurried through her explanation, omitting Ron's involvement. He was immaterial. She'd joined Rod and Cane under false pretenses, cultivated confidences and friendships, written the article, and almost sent it in. Ron merely had pulled the trigger on the gun she had loaded and left lying on her coffee table.

  Contemptuous disbelief contorted Dan's expression. As if flicking a strand of unwanted cat hair off his sweater, he plucked her hand from his sleeve.

  "Dan, please...” Despair knotted in her chest, and Emma opened her eyes wide to hold the tears at bay. She didn't want to break down here.

  "I'll see you on Wednesday.” Dan nodded at the two men and strode down the steps without so much as a glance in her direction.

  Emma pressed her lips together and wished for a massive earthquake to crack open the ground and swallow her or at least bury her under a load of brick.

  "If you have a moment, Miss Dupree, perhaps we might go inside and discuss this matter,” Otis said. The command in his tone indicated it wasn't a suggestion. If she thought she detected a flicker of compassion in his gaze, it was pure imagination. She considered herself lucky Davenport wasn't raging at her. She wanted to go home and curl into a ball of misery, but she nodded.

  "Have you met Jordan Bevy?” Davenport gestured toward the other man.

  "Uh, no. I haven't.” Emma extended her hand. What could she say? “Pleased to meet you” under the circumstances seemed ludicrous.

  Perhaps Bevy sensed the same. “Miss Dupree,” he repeated her name as he shook.

  "Jordan, you should join us.” Otis looked at the other man, then at Emma. “Do you have your badge?"

  Of course he would confiscate her ID card. She'd expected as much. She'd only joined the Auxiliary to dig up the dirt, but she felt a sense of loss, as if she was being stripped of something meaningful. Emma nodded, extracted her pink badge from her handbag, and offered it to Otis.

  "You'll need it to enter.” With that, he keyed a code into the reader.

  Emma swiped the magnetic strip on her badge through the machine and followed Otis and Jordan into the building.

  The past presidents of Rod and Cane stared at her accusingly from their portraits hung high on the walls of the rotunda. Emma's heels echoed loudly in the quiet as she crossed the marbled floor, flanked by the two men. They again badged in through large double doors at the far side of the room. During normal business hours, a guard manned the entry.

  They passed into the museum promenade, a long hall that never failed to startle Emma. If the rotunda left an innocuous, imposing impression, the promenade displayed the true heart of the organization. Paintings depicted women throughout history being paddled or caned, while curio cases contained a variety of spanking artifacts. One glimpse into the interior of the long chamber revealed all one needed to know about the purpose of the organization.

  Otis took the lead, heading for a room midway down the promenade. They entered a dark wood-paneled office, and sensor-controlled lights flickered on. Thick, sound-absorbing carpet lay beneath their feet, and heavy burgundy drapes covered floor-to-ceiling windows. A massive desk occupied a corner of the room, while a conference table filled the space on the other side.

  Jordan shut the door, and the room instantly shrank. Emma pressed her damp palms against her thighs; she had nothing to fear physically from these men, but butterflies skittered through her nonetheless. To calm herself, she focused on the items in the room.

  Sports memorabilia adorned the walls and shelves. When Emma spotted several photographs of Otis's wife, Liz, one of the women she'd surreptitiously interviewed for her column, and a picture of a much younger Otis in a football uniform, she realized this was his office. Though they were too far away for her to be able to read them, several plaques, certificates, and other community commendations were mounted on the walls.

  "Please, be seated,” Otis politely commanded, gesturing to the conference table. “May I get you a cup of coffee?"

  "No, thank you. I'm fine.” She slipped into one of the chairs. She clutched her handbag on her lap.

  The men took their seats, Otis facing her, Jordan beside her.

  "I asked Jordan to join us because he is Rod and Cane's disciplinary proctor."

  Before Emma could ponder the significance of that, Otis continued. “Please tell us what happened, Miss Dupree.” The p
resident's blue-gray eyes assessed her over the rim of his glasses. She guessed he was about sixty, but only the dusting of gray at his temples betrayed his age. His appearance bore the vibrancy of a man ten or even fifteen years younger.

  Emma pushed up her spectacles and took a deep breath. She'd lied and sneaked around enough; it was time to come clean. “I joined the organization to get information to write a column about Rod and Cane because I thought it would be a hot story.” She twisted her purse straps. “But I then got to know...the people.” She paused, thinking of Melania. Her friend would be as hurt as Dan was. “And...and after I was spanked for the first time, I understood what Rod and Cane was about in a way I never had before.” The heat of embarrassment flooded her face as she revealed private, intimate moments, but the spanking had been pivotal in her decision.

  Otis nodded slightly. “The power and beauty of spanking is its capacity to instantly and efficiently reshape attitude."

  Cheeks burning, Emma continued. “I decided I couldn't publish the column after all. I intended to delete it, but someone got into my computer and sent the story to my editor.” Emma bowed her head and untangled her hands from her purse. “I was horrified when I saw it this morning."

  She glanced from Otis to Jordan. “I accept responsibility, but I want you to know I had changed my mind."

  "How did you hear about Rod and Cane?” Otis asked.

  "I found a discarded directory."

  At this, Otis's lips thinned. All outdated Rod and Cane materials were to be shredded, Emma knew. Someone had violated security protocol in tossing the manual into the trash.

  "It requires the sponsorship of two male members for a single woman to join the Auxiliary.” Jordan raised his eyebrows. “How did you accomplish that?"

  "A professor who taught with my father at the university was listed in the directory. My mother and father are rather...unconventional. I convinced the professor I desired the discipline I'd missed growing up. He got someone else to sponsor me too. They didn't knowingly violate the Society's rules. No one I interviewed was aware they were speaking to a reporter.” Shame heated her face. “They didn't even realize they were being interviewed or that I was recording the conversations.” She'd not only violated Rod and Cane's rules, but journalism ethics as well.