Leather and Grace

by Maggie Ryan

  “Are you sure that someone can’t just step on when one of you steps off?” Jason asked.

  “Even if they did, they’d have to have one of our rings to operate it. It won’t move unless the ring is first pressed into the indentation, which activates the elevator. Exactly like one of those special key cards in some hotels or office buildings that allow only the people registered or those working to access restricted floors. Quentin and I chose to use rings instead of cards as they aren’t so easily left on a table,” Brody explained.

  “So with what you told me about the ring earlier, it had to be Beth’s, though it didn’t necessarily have to be her using it,” Jason said.

  “Yes. Have you gotten back anything from the lab on the ring?” Quentin asked.

  “Just that there are no useful fingerprints, but we’re still waiting on the other tests. If there is anything, we should know in a couple of days. I expedited the request.”

  “All right, and there’s one more thing that Marti had to contribute,” Brody said. “She was able to give Peter Mike Farraday’s current phone number. He’s living in Baton Rouge now. His story is a bit less mysterious, but still important. It seems he quit because he overheard a conversation between two men that made him decide he’d rather leave than be fired.”

  “Are your employees prone to fearing they’ll lose their jobs?” Jason asked, flipping another page over in his notepad to take additional notes.

  “No, I wouldn’t think so,” Brody said. “We don’t even have a large turnover, because we offer wages that a person can actually live on. It’s always been our belief that happy employees keep our clients happy. Without happy clients, we’d have less income, so the least we could do was share that income fairly. In fact, I can’t even remember the last person we fired, can you, Quentin?”

  “No, but I came awfully damn close tonight.”

  “Shit, what did Conner do now?”

  “Later, it doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Quentin said. “So what about Farraday?”

  “Oh, right. He confessed that he’d lied on his application. You know we do our best to vet our employees, but evidently we were too trusting to question the recommendations the applicant puts down. Seems Farraday paid a few friends to pretend to have either employed him or worked with him before, and supplied them with the information he knew we’d want to hear. You know, how he is a great guy, can be trusted with everything from client confidentiality to money, blah blah blah; enough to answer whatever questions we might have before employing him. The truth is that he had not only been fired from the last club he’d worked in, which was located not in Louisiana at all but in Houston, but he’d also skipped town when learning that a warrant had been issued for his arrest.”

  “No wonder his name didn’t come up in our system,” Jason said, lifting his eyes from the pad. “Did Peter tell you why the warrant was issued?”

  “Yeah. Seems that a woman wanted to make a formal complaint about a Dominant in the club. Mike supposedly talked her out of it, or at least he thought he had. He was trying to protect a friend of his, who had already been warned that if he messed with the rather loose rules of that particular club, he’d be banned. Anyway, the woman left, but went to the police the next day. When they came to the club to interview Mike, well, let’s just say his boss blew a gasket. Loose rules or not, he was adamant about safe, sane, and consensual. Hearing that the woman was accusing one of his members of rape, and one of his employees of attempting to keep the rape hidden… well, the shit hit the fan. Mike was taken in for questioning and released, but failed to show up for court. I guess that’s when he decided to split for greener pastures.”

  “That’s not good, and though we would never have hired him if we’d known, I still don’t see him as harming Beth. I mean, they might not have been close, but she never once said anything to me about being uncomfortable around him. Besides, according to our records, he didn’t immediately split; he stayed until closing. If he’d had Beth with him at that point, the crowd would have been so thin that someone was bound to have seen her.”

  “He didn’t,” Brody said. “Marti said they hooked up when the club closed. When he said he was squatting with a friend, she took him back to her place and is willing to swear he didn’t leave until Monday. She said they won’t ever be serious but they do hook up occasionally.”

  “Okay, that might clear him of Beth’s murder, but I’m still going to follow up on the arrest warrant,” Jason said.

  “I’d give that a day or two,” Brody said. “Seems that he’s really a good guy at heart. Told Peter he’d been sweating for two years and was going back to turn himself in. He also said to tell you that he was heartbroken when he heard about Beth.”

  Quentin nodded but didn’t speak.

  “Don’t give up,” Jason said.

  “I’m not, but fuck, we’re running out of suspects,” Quentin said, his voice lower, as if exhausted.

  “We just haven’t turned over the right rock,” Brody said. “I’ve instructed Peter to dig into every employee…”

  He was interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing. Quentin pulled his from his pocket and seeing the name he’d only entered a few hours earlier, he looked around the room before pressing the button to answer.

  “Grace, where are you?” The sound that came from the phone was so shocking and so loud that he pulled it away from his ear. The rooster’s crow chilled him to the bone, but hearing a scream of absolute terror threatened to shatter his soul. “Grace!” His own scream was met with the brief change of color stating the call had ended. Jason was on his feet but Quentin didn’t seem to notice, attempting to push past him in order to get to the door.

  “Quentin, wait!” Jason shouted.

  “Fuck that, Conner has Grace.”

  “How do you know?” Brody yelled as Quentin wrenched the door open.

  The last words they heard before he disappeared was, “Because he’s telling me he’s cock of the walk now.”

  ***

  Jason had his phone in his hand, dialing it even as he stabbed at the call button for a nurse. He was barking orders into his phone when a nurse ran into the room.

  “What’s going on? We saw Quentin running like a bat out of hell…”

  “Get whoever is head of security on the phone. Tell him to shut down the hospital. No one goes in or out.”

  “That will take more than a nurse,” she said even as she made the call from the phone on Brody’s side table.

  “Just get him on the line,” Jason snapped before speaking to Brody. “What’s Conner’s full name and what does he look like?”

  “Conner Matthews, Caucasian, six foot, blond, muscular, in his early thirties.” As Jason took the receiver from the nurse, he put his own call on hold so he could speak to hospital security. Repeating the information Brody gave him, he added, “He’s a suspect in the abduction of Grace Hensley. She’s petite, probably no more than 5′2″, long auburn hair, last seen wearing blue jeans, a green t-shirt, and black flats. I don’t know what Matthews is wearing.” He paused and his voice changed when he spoke again. “I know this place is huge, so the quicker you get your men on it, the faster we’ll know if they are still here. Miss Hensley hasn’t been gone longer than a half-hour or so. I’ve got officers on the way to help search.” He gave the man his cell number, with instructions to let him know the moment he discovered anything.

  “Oh, God,” the nurse said. “What can I do to help?”

  “Spread the word,” Jason said. “Tell everyone you know that Grace has been taken. Let me know if you find anyone who has seen her.” Nodding, the nurse left and Jason turned his attention back to Brody.

  “All right, just in case he’s managed to slip out already, what’s his address?” Brody pulled the computer to him and quickly had Cullen’s employee file open and recited the address. Jason barked more orders into his phone.

  “Get officers over to the Plaisir and send a car over to his address.” H
e paused and shook his head. “Do you want to be the one who has to explain that you didn’t think he’d be stupid enough to take his victim to his house, only to find out that was exactly where he took her? No? Then get a car over there now!”

  Again, he consulted Brody. “What does he drive?”

  “A blue Jeep.” Looking at the file again, Brody gave him the Jeep’s license plate number. After Jason passed that along with an order to issue an APB, Brody asked the detective to pass him his cell phone that was on the table and called the club.

  “Look, I don’t have all the details but I want you to shut the club down… hold on, Detective Stewart wants to talk to you.” Handing him the phone, he said, “It’s Trent Singleton.”

  “Mr. Singleton, do not allow anyone to leave. I’ve got men on their way to interview everyone.” Jason paused and shook his head. “Fuck! All right, don’t let anyone else leave, and make a list of anyone who has left already.” Pausing to listen, he spoke again. “No, that’s fine. Let them get dressed. We’re not attempting to embarrass anyone. The dining room will be fine.” He nodded and then said, “Thanks, I’ll give you back to Brody.”

  The moment he did, Brody told Trent to take care of business and that he’d call back later. Ending his call, he said, “Fuck this leg! I can’t do a fucking thing to help!”

  “We’ve got a lot of people on it. I’ve got to go, but Brody, you can do something. You can pray.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Grace tried not to make a sound as she slowly woke, her head aching and her thoughts fuzzy. Not to mention that whatever she’d been drugged with had her stomach roiling with nausea. Forcing herself to concentrate, she attempted to put the pieces of her memory back together.

  The machine on the hospital’s fifth floor held only healthy selections of beverages. She’d been walking back to the nurses’ station to ask where she might find carbonated sodas when a nurse stepped out of a room and directed her to the cafeteria, and told her that if she got them out of the machines in the vending area instead of the actual cafeteria, it would be faster. Grace had thanked her and decided to take the stairs, since she planned on adding a chocolate bar to her own order.

  By the time she’d reached the ground floor, her legs were shaking. It took her another few minutes to find the alcove that held a large variety of vending machines. She’d been bent over, taking the can of Sprite out of the machine’s bay, when she felt a presence behind her. Before she could straighten up, she’d been pressed into the glass door of the machine, crying out as the shove pinned her wrist between the hard plastic of the bin’s door. The next thing she felt was a prick in her neck and then… nothing.

  Keeping her eyes closed, she tried to assess where she was. As her mind cleared further, she knew she wasn’t in any room, as she could not only hear sounds of insects buzzing around her, the air was thick and humid, and the aromas of plant life were mixed with an almost briny scent, albeit one with an underlying layer of decay. Her stomach continued to churn, not helped by the almost indiscernible rocking she felt but couldn’t place. Was she in a car moving with the windows down to allow the night air inside? Her body ached and felt cramped. Was the stiffness she felt a side effect of the drug? When she tried to flex her arms, she had to stifle a groan at the sharp pain the slight movement caused in her shoulders. Hearing a splash, she froze. Oh God, she wasn’t in a car, the motion she felt was from the current pushing against some sort of boat. One low to the water, as droplets from whatever had caused the splash had landed on her cheek. When an owl hooted and a small squeal told of the bird’s success in capturing his prey, she understood exactly where she was. She had been taken into the maze of channels that twisted and turned, doubling back or even disappearing with the seasons, like the venomous cottonmouths that called the dark bayous home.

  The swamp offered so much, gave sustenance to those willing to work hard and learn how to pull a living from a place that was both beautiful and mysterious. A place where murky waters hid more than alligators… a primordial place where evil also roamed. A perfect place to make a person lose their soul to the devil as they slipped the evidence of their sins into the water and watched the water lilies part for only a brief moment, then merge again to cover a watery grave. Whatever the lilies failed to hide, the beasts lurking beneath would as they greedily accepted the gift of sustenance, becoming partners in keeping untold horrors from the sun’s light.

  A sudden bump almost had Grace opening her eyes, but it was the ungodly screech that had her almost whimpering in an involuntary reflex of the need to locate the direction of the threat. Had she been wrong? Didn’t roosters belong on farms? The question flew away when the sound of a woman screaming split the air. She lost her battle to remain a silent, unmoving observer when she heard her name being screamed with such a sound of despair that her heart stuttered. Quentin was a big man, a man who kept himself under control, a man who loved with a passion that promised to take her to heights she’d yet to imagine, and yet, she feared that not only would he blame himself for her disappearance, if her body was ever found, he might not survive. Quentin, I am so sorry. I promise to fight. I promise to try to come back to you but if I don’t… please, God, please don’t give up on life… don’t give up on love.

  “I know you’re awake but I’ll be happy to play it again. From the beginning, or just that last part?”

  Not only did she not wish to hear what she now understood was a recording, she knew that if she had any chance at all, she needed to be ready for any opportunity to escape, no matter how small. Opening her eyes, Grace saw rough wood that rose to form the gunwales of a canoe… no, not a canoe… a pirogue. She’d seen them on television, always amazed to watch them slip through the waters without turning over, as they looked so very unstable. The bump she’d felt had been caused when whoever was paddling had turned toward the bank to beach the craft. She attempted to push herself up, but all that did was cause the pirogue to tilt towards the water. The laugh she heard had her wanting to twist around but she’d realized that the reason her shoulders were aching was because her hands were not only behind her back, her wrists had been bound.

  “Be still. I’ve not yet dismissed you. You have more lessons to learn, Miss Hensley. And as I am the teacher, I will set the agenda.”

  She felt the boat rock harder and then lift as her abductor stepped out. Grace couldn’t help but gasp as she was yanked up by her arm, her feet stumbling to find purchase as she was helped from the boat. The bank before her was a mass of the lush green kudzu vine that twisted around trunks and branches, draping like Spanish moss from tree to tree. When she was given a shove, she understood that she was expected to climb.

  “I can’t, not without my hands, it’s too slippery.”

  “Pretend there is a twelve-foot gator behind you.” As if to reinforce that suggestion, Grace heard a huge splash and began to crawl up the bank, sliding back only to push with her knees and feet until she’d gained the relative safety a few feet above the water. Sinking down onto her knees, she saw the tangled, knotty roots of huge trees that stuck up from the dirt like some sort of tangled mass of limbs attempting to decide which direction in which to run.

  “I believe you’ve had a long enough break. Rise to attention, Miss Hensley, class is resuming.”

  “Why are you doing this? I’ve never—” Grace cried out as she was backhanded, the stroke knocking her to the side, her stomach winning as she retched in the mass of leaves, her headache blooming back to pound like a drum in her skull. She didn’t cry out again as she was hauled back into the kneeling position. She didn’t flinch but she knew that if she were going to die in this place, a place that was created to be beautiful, a place that had been filled with God’s bounty to provide sustenance to his people, a place that birthed men such as Quentin, then she wasn’t going to go quietly into the night. Looking up, ignoring the pulsing in her cheek, she said, “Go to hell.”

  A second blow to her other cheek sent her to the
ground again, the coppery taste of blood filling her mouth as she bit her tongue.

  “I can do this all night, Miss Hensley. Either we shall continue to test your pain tolerance, or you can choose to be a good little submissive and obey.”

  Again she was hauled back to kneel, her head reeling and her face already swelling. Spitting out the blood, enjoying the fact that it splattered on her attacker’s feet, Grace knew that another blow might send her into oblivion… one from which she might never awaken. She had to survive long enough so that Quentin could find her. She couldn’t fight if she was unconscious or… or dead. Bowing her head, she was ready to endure whatever was coming to gain every second of life that she could.

  ***

  Seeing that the back gate of Plaisir had been opened, Quentin barely slowed as he turned into the drive and then swore as he swerved, almost colliding with a car that was pulling out as he was pulling in. Recognizing both the car and the face behind the wheel, he leapt from the bike. As it continued forward until it fell with a crash onto its side, he was already running towards the car.

  Though the driver had already killed the ignition and opened the door, Quentin reached in and dragged him out, slamming him against the side of the Jeep.

  “Where the hell is she?”

  “What the fuck? Get your hands off me!”

  “I swear to God, if you have harmed a single hair on her head, if you’ve left her to die like you did Beth, I won’t need a gun. I’ll kill you with my bare hands. Where the fuck is Grace?”

  Conner Matthews shook his head. “How would I know?” The back of his head cracked against the frame of the Jeep when Quentin’s fist landed.

  “Don’t lie to me! Where is she!”