by CP Smith
Kasey’s yoga studio was next door to Gypsy’s, and it faced the busy street. She’d hired two instructors and between the three of them offered classes from six a.m. until nine p.m. She catered to those who went to work early and stayed late furthering their careers. Her clientele was mostly high-stress professionals who needed to unwind at the end of the day, or zen out before heading into work.
To attract business, she’d had the bright idea to put her rooms in the front with big windows so women passing by would be drawn in, and men walking past would see women’s asses in the air and want to join for the show. It was a brilliant marketing plan and it worked. The number of men who’d joined was actually higher than the women. I couldn’t have been prouder of Kasey for making a success out of her business, but at this exact moment, while my ass was in the air, I could have killed her with my bare hands for putting me in this position.
Picture it . . .
Nicola, the fair-haired maiden, was stretching out her Gluteus Maximus when the dark and dangerous hero passed by the window. Imagine if you will how the color rushed further into her face when a familiar pair of boots stopped suddenly in her line of sight. Her eyes looked up between her legs and saw the same gleaming honey-colored eyes with dark, heavy brows staring back at her. Also, imagine, how the sight of those eyes sent her heart racing and her balance waning as she tried to lower said ass to the ground. Unfortunately, the fair-haired maiden was not as graceful as her friends were, you see, evidence to this fact was when she tried to recover. Down she went taking Angela with her as she tried to turn over. Nay, she was unsuccessful in righting her body before the handsome hero seemingly crushed his cup of coffee between his fingers, spilling it yet again down his front.
Get the picture?
“What the hell?” Angela laughed as I tried to climb off of her.
“Sorry, sorry,” I replied, embarrassed as I watched Triple D (Drop Dead Delicious) storm down the sidewalk heading back toward Gypsy’s.
“Quiet, please,” Toni Roseneau, the master yoga instructor, whisper-shouted.
Crawling on my knees and moving back into plank position, I inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly as I prayed to God Triple D would be gone from Gypsy’s by the time we were finished. Good Lord, I don’t know why this guy makes me nervous. My initial reaction to him made sense, but two days later. I should have shrugged it off and laughed about it by now.
At least this time it wasn’t my fault he spilled his coffee.
Shoo!
Paranoid that he’d come back and see my ass in the air again, I kept looking back over my shoulder to check.
“Nicola, you can’t focus your mind and relax your body if you keep looking over your shoulder,” Toni sighed in aggravation.
“Right, right, sorry,” I mumbled.
Angela nudged me on the shoulder and gave me a “what gives?” look. Rolling my eyes I whispered, “Detective Drop Dead Delicious caught me with my ass in the air.”
“Sweet, maybe it gave him ideas,” she whispered back. “Maybe, right now, he’s thinking about that golden pussy you possess and he’s waiting for you to finish this class.”
“Who has a golden pussy?” Kasey demanded as she leaned in from my other side, whisper shouting as well.
“Nicola does,” Angela told her.
“Guys—” I tried to break in as I watched Toni make her way toward us.
“Who’s waiting to find out?” Kasey kept going, smiling at me.
“Detective Triple D,” I added as I smiled in apology at Toni, who was now standing in front of me. Then I added since I was already in trouble, “My golden you-know-what is closed for business until it’s been buffed and shined. The playground is closed right now so drop it. ”
“Triple D?” Kasey asked, ignoring Toni as she glared at us.
“Later,” I whispered as I avoided Toni’s glare.
Toni could be a little hardcore about her classes. She didn’t care that her boss was a part of those interrupting one of her classes; all she cared about was a State of Zen for her pupils. With hands on her hips, Toni raised a brow and shook her head at the three of us.
“Our bodies and our minds have to work together to bring us into harmony. If you can’t zip it, then take it outside,” she ordered.
The three of us bit our lips to keep from laughing; then, like properly chastised children, we apologized.
“Sorry,” we replied in unison as we swan-dived into forward fold while I still kept my eyes on the window.
When class was over, I dragged myself out of the studio with the girls to head to Gypsy’s and get down to the business at hand. It had been at least ten minutes since I’d caught the detective staring at my ass, and I hoped he’d left.
As we walked the short distance from the studio to the coffee house, I heard a motorcycle start across the street. As anyone did when you heard the thundering roar of pipes, I glanced behind me and saw the detective on the bike. I stopped suddenly and stared since he seemed to have his eyes directed at me. There was no grin this time, not even a wink. He seemed almost angry as he sat there, perched on his silver beast of a bike, one leg on the ground.
He reminded me of a warlord on a horse, with the western sky at his back, the sun setting with shades of orange and yellow backlighting him like a conquering hero. It was reminiscent of one of my Highlanders as he sat atop his trusty steed surveying his land. He revved the bike again, interrupting my thoughts, then pulled away from the curb and shot past me without another glance.
“Damn, we missed him,” Angela cried out as she watched him turn toward the heart of downtown.
“He’s just some guy I spilled coffee on. There was no reason for him to wait,” I explained, more for me than for her.
Angela and Kasey made eyes at each other when I pulled open the door to Gypsy’s. I ignored their looks because I knew if I made more out of it than I already had, they’d keep at me.
The coffee house was quiet, thankfully, commuters going home had stopped in already, but the evening crowd hadn’t arrived yet. This worked for me since we were a large group and needed space in order to be comfortable. When our coffees were ready, we found a table big enough for all of us to spread out with the computer in front of us. Janeane pulled up the websites onto two separate tabs, and it began, the process of plotting a story. First were the characters. I had Triple D as the hero, Kasey as the heroine, now I needed a bad guy. A nasty, scary, want to hide under your bed while you read the story bad guy.
“Holy shit,” Janeane whispered. “We’ve got over a hundred messages on POF and fifty-four on SSD.”
“Open the first one,” Kasey told her.
“Ok, first one is from Fit and Freaky from Edmond. He says, ‘You’re hot, I’m down to drive an hour to meet you if you’re DTF’. “
“DTF?” I questioned.
“Down to fuck,” Janeane replied laughing.
“Seriously?” I questioned as I opened my notebook and wrote down the definition.
“What does he look like?” Kristina asked. “If he’s hot, maybe Nicola could use him to break her dry spell.”
“I’m not sleeping with some random guy,” I huffed, shoving her in the shoulder.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” she laughed back.
“See if my catfish messaged her. We put in the same info I had, so Taryn Rivers should have matched with him.
We’d chosen the name Taryn Rivers because we knew a girl in high school who was a real bitch and a fake friend. She'd gone after every boy one of us had dated until we’d caught her in the act. Since our profile was fake, we figured the name was fitting.
“Bingo,” Janeane laughed. “’Hey, beautiful, saw you’re new on here and thought I’d send you a message. Just got home from a Thunder game, but I’ll be up for a while if you want to chat.’”
“Pfft, he used the same line on me. He said he had season tickets. He even asked me to go to a game with him, the fucker.”
I could tell Kase
y was getting riled up, so I asked Janeane, “Check the submissive site, and see what we have on there.”
Janeane looked at Kasey then back to me and nodded. As she scrolled through the names, she started laughing.
“What?” Kristina asked.
“Well, your choices are a guy dressed as Robin Hood, a guy who should never have posted a penis picture since he’s about three inches long and . . . Hey, watch it”
The Robin Hood comment had us all shoving her out of the way so we could see the profile, but the three-inch man was still up on the screen. We all groaned in unison because he was cute and that made his shortcomings even more disappointing.
Angela moved the cursor to Robin Hood, and we inhaled sharply to keep from laughing.
“Is that . . . ?” Angela whispered.
“I think it is,” Kristina choked out.
Pictured in a green Robin Hood period costume, leggings and all, was Jared Park, former president of our senior class.
“I knew he was kinky,” Janeane grumbled so we turned to look at her. Janeane had gone out with Jared four or five times and had said at the time he was a great kisser, but a little bossy. Now we knew why. He was also president of the Thespian Club in high school, which I guess explained why he was in costume.
“What does his profile say?” I asked.
“Gorean male wants a slave girl slash submissive. Will train the trainable.”
“What the hell is a Gorean man? I thought he was Caucasian?” Kasey asked, confused.
Angela opened google and typed in Gorean. Once she found what she was looking for, she began reading.
“People who base their Dominance or Submission on the works of John Norman,” she read out loud.
“Ok, but who the hell is John Norman?” Kasey asked.
“Oh, my God, he wrote the Gor books,” I whispered. “John Norman is an author of nearly thirty novels about Gor, a primitive, male-dominated planet. The Gor books have men enslaving women, and the suggestion is that female slavery is, in some sense, the natural order of society.”
“Ha, I bet the women’s libbers hate this guy,” Angela chuckled.
“Jesus, you’re telling me Jared lives his life according to this man’s work? I knew he was a jerk,” Janeane seethed.
“Ok, we’re getting off-track here. Is there anyone else of interest?” I asked to diffuse Janeane’s anger and keep the group focused.
“Yeah, here’s one,” Janeane announced. “Dark Prince . . . I’m a dominant looking for a submissive slave.”
“What does his message say?” I asked.
“’Taryn, your pictures entice me. The hint of the forbidden, a tantalizing taste of what you could offer me, your Master. I require complete submission from my slaves. I will dress you, feed you, and cage you as I see fit. In the easiest possible terms to explain this lifestyle, so there are no misconceptions as I’ve had with others in the past, I own you. You become my property when you agree to be my slave. I will do with you what I feel is in your best interest and in return for your submission, I will take care of you for the rest of your life—Dark Prince.’”
You could have heard a pin drop when Janeane finished reading and I’d admit that my heart rate increased infinitesimally with the seductive quality of the message.
A slow grin pulled across my lips. I loved it when my characters came into focus early in a project. Before I could give an opinion about Dark Prince, Angela jumped in with a rush of excitement. “I don’t know about you guys, and the whole slavery thing aside, but for research purposes this guy is . . . well, he’s—”
“Perfect,” I finished for Angela.
***
Rounding his desk, Dallas Vaughn still had his mind on a certain heart-shaped ass, and it pissed him off. He should have had better control of his urges at thirty-four, but when he’d seen that ass in the window attached to that girl-next-door face, he’d reacted. His jaw had tightened and his hand had flexed violently when he noticed the pants she wore were practically see-through with the setting sun shining on them. He had sucked in a breath on a half groan at the sight of her rose-colored pussy right before his coffee exploded all over his shirt.
That was twice in one week that woman had been responsible for ruining his shirt and a perfect cup of coffee, and he didn’t even know her fucking name. Now, he had images of a firm ass he wanted to spank, and a perfect pussy he wanted to sink into until she shuddered with release, running rampant in his mind.
He’d gone back to Gypsy’s and placed his order for a new coffee, glaring at the barista when he asked about his shirt. He’d cleaned up as best he could, grabbed his coffee, and headed back outside to his bike. When Sandra Dee with her big green eyes and long flowing hair exited the yoga studio, he watched her for a moment. Yeah, she’s the girl-next-door all right, Dallas had thought, as he scanned her body one last time. Too fuckin’ bad he had a caseload a mile high and a serial killer to find. If he didn’t, he’d be inclined to find out just how soft that hair was, how firm those breasts were, or how sweet those lips tasted.
“You mind telling me why you’ve come back twice in one week covered in coffee?” Reed asked his partner, breaking Dallas from his thoughts.
“Nope, just having one of those weeks,” Dallas grunted.
“Did this trip to the coffee house include the owner of that perfume you were wearing when you got back last time?”
“Drop it, Reed.” Dallas sighed as he pulled the shirt from his body and grabbed a backup he kept in his drawer.
“Waitress?”
“Drop it.”
“Barista?”
“No,” Dallas grinned since he knew his partner wouldn't quit asking, “Sandra Dee.”
Reed whistled low and grinned. It’s always the innocent-looking ones the tough guys fall for, Reed thought.
“Are you stayin’ late again tonight?”
“Yep, I’ve got at least twenty more files to go through,” Dallas mumbled as he grabbed the top one off the pile. When he saw Reed reach for the next file, he stopped him.
“Why don’t you get your ass home before June tears you a new one? This case won’t be solved tonight and I can call you if anything comes up.”
Reed had eyed him for a moment before he asked, “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure I don’t want June to tear you a new one.”
Nodding, Reed stood and grabbed his suit jacket from his chair. He watched his partner for a moment, but as he turned to leave, he called out, “See you in the morning, Vaughn. Just so, you know, Sandra Dee may have caught your eye, but it’ll take Sandra Bullock to hold your attention. You need someone feisty, willing to talk back to you; not the perfect woman from 1950.”
Dallas grinned at his partner and shook his head. For a man, and a cop, Bill Reed had a romantic side. He tried to fix Dallas up on more than one occasion, all of them disasters. Dallas didn’t need or want any distractions right now, though. He needed to focus his attention on the Shallow Grave Killer. With that in mind, he opened the file as he watched his partner leave and he began looking for a link to his other victims.
Four
Standing outside the two-story building that housed the detective's division for the Tulsa Police Department, I hesitated. Even though I’d promised the girls I wouldn’t work on the book without them, I didn’t think speaking with a detective about police procedure qualified. I figured there wasn’t any harm in gaining insight into police investigations while they were at work. The reason for my hesitance wasn’t that they would be angry, but more about running into a certain detective again.
I’d called ahead and spoken with a Lieutenant Cross. He was a gruff man who’d sounded extremely put out by my request, but finally agreed to let me speak with a detective. I’d specifically asked for a seasoned officer, one who had been on the force more than ten years, hoping to avoid a certain detective for obvious reasons—I was embarrassed he’d seen my ass in the air. I may be extremely attracted to the man, but the last
two times we’d come into contact had been disasters. However, attracted or not, since I was using him for my hero it was best if I steered clear of him. Preferably, an ocean’s distance between us, but since I couldn’t disappear as I always did to write this book, I’d have to settle for precautionary measures such as calling ahead to ask for a older officers to help me. Dammit, I should have asked for a woman detective. That would have assured me I wouldn’t end up with Triple D.
The Lieutenant had put me on hold, then, after a few minutes, he’d returned and barked out, “I’ve got someone in-house if you can come within the next hour.” I agreed immediately, of course, and he told me to report to the second floor and ask for a Detective Bill Reed. When I asked his age, so there were no surprises, he’d growled, “Old and ugly. You wanna talk to Reed; get down here in an hour.” Then he’d hung up as abruptly as he'd spoken.
He was totally going in my book.
So, here I was, entering the elevator of the detective division, on my way up with a notebook, coffee in hand, sunglasses and a baseball cap covering my face and hair . . . just in case.
When the doors opened, I took a deep breath and exited. I walked down the hall until I found the door that read Detectives Division. When I walked in, I found what I expected in a civic building. Gray everything. The walls, the floors, even the desks. The standard and boring city-issued décor was quite honestly kinda cool in a Law and Order kind of way. Since I’d started writing, I’d had to rely on history books and pictures to influence my stories and keep them authentic. Seeing these offices helped to cement in my mind the world my characters would live in daily. It was actually exciting to be able to see firsthand how my fictional world would develop.
After taking in the room, I approached the receptionist. She was an older woman with gray hair and a kind smile, who was dressed smartly in a business casual blue blouse and black slacks. I told her why I was there and she put the phone to her ear and buzzed Detective Reed while she instructed me to take a seat. Five minutes later, a large man with salt and pepper hair, sparkling blue eyes, and a friendly smile came around the corner.
