Bowles, Jan - Master of Submission [Masters of Submission 1] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic)

by Jan Bowles

  Before meeting Emma, his life seemed to be on hold. He didn’t feel particularly happy or unhappy, just listless and bored with the same old scene week after week. Surely there had to be more to life than merely making a living and visiting Club Submission? Maybe if a relationship based on mutual respect could develop between himself and Emma, then perhaps he’d start truly living again. As a young man in his twenties, he’d possessed an intoxicating zest for life. Fast-forward fifteen years and things had changed. A failed marriage, followed by an expensive divorce, had all taken their toll. All that now remained of Zane Anders was a hollow empty shell.

  He turned from the window and glanced across at Emma. She held the cell phone close to her ear and seemed to be listening intently. This demure, but surprisingly feisty Englishwoman had made him start to reassess his life. But why her? What was so different about Emma? What made her so special? He wouldn’t rest until he found the answer.

  “Zane!” Emma looked horrified and ashen-faced. He watched the cell phone fall from her hand and hit the floor. It bounced on the thick, luxurious carpet before coming to a complete rest.

  In two strides he was by her side. “Whatever’s wrong, baby?” She looked like she’d seen a ghost. Her hand trembled, fluttering to her throat, as she fought for breath.

  She lifted tear filled eyes to his. “It’s the police. They think they’ve found Chloe.”

  He gently stroked her hair, acutely aware of her obvious distress. “Hey, but that’s good news isn’t it?”

  “No, no it’s not.” She drew her legs up under the duvet and wrapped her arms around her knees. When she began gently rocking herself from side to side, a large teardrop squeezed from the corner of her eye, and slowly meandered down her cheek. “The police say they’ve found a woman closely matching Chloe’s description. They’re almost certain it’s her. Dear, God, she’s dead, Zane. They want me to come down to the morgue and identify her.”

  Zane held her tightly in his arms, protecting her from the evils of the world. He knew she was left bereft by the loss of her best friend. He whispered tenderly in her ear, “I know you’re in shock, baby, but why you? Can’t someone else in her family do the identification?”

  “She hasn’t any next of kin. Her parents were killed in a car crash when she was fifteen. Chloe never had many friends, I’m the only one the police could track down.” She drew in a deep ragged breath. “Oh, God, someone’s murdered her. Bastards. Who’d do such an awful thing to such a lovely, caring person?” She burst into tears again. They flowed unchecked down her cheeks. “She was so kind and caring, Zane. I’m really going to miss her.”

  “Shhh,” he soothed. “Thing’s are gonna work out just fine.” Zane held her closer still, realizing at that moment how much he cared for her. “You don’t know for sure she’s been murdered, Emma. It could have been an accident. Did the cops say where they’d found her?”

  “No.” Her lower lip trembled.

  “So what makes you think she’s been murdered?”

  “They’ve sealed off her apartment. They’re treating it as a crime scene.”

  It didn’t take him long to realize that Club Submission would soon be under investigation, too. Everyone, who’d known Chloe, would be a suspect, including himself. The shit was about to hit the proverbial fan—big time. The cops must love the chaos. They finally had a reason to close the club once and for all. They’d been trying for years, but had failed miserably, because everything at Submission was legal and above board. Matthew and Ethan saw to that. However, add a murder to the mix, and the days of Submission were surely numbered. The press would have a field day. There’d soon be a petition signed by thousands of self-righteous pricks that wanted America to return to the 1950s again.

  No, Club Submission was formed to allow freedom of expression to like-minded adults. So long as everything experienced there was consensual, why should these uptight zealots give a shit? As far as he was concerned, they could shove their sanctimonious piety up their boring, unimaginative asses.

  Emma’s high-pitched voice brought him back to the here and now. “The police won’t let me enter Chloe’s apartment. Not even for clean clothes, or my passport. I need my passport, Zane. How can I return to England without it?”

  Return to England? He’d only just met her, and he knew he didn’t want to lose her. Already he saw their perfect match falling at the first hurdle. He shook those selfish thoughts from his head, and concentrated on Emma. She was just sitting on the bed, gripping the duvet tightly, until her knuckles bared white.

  Zane decided to take control. He placed his hands on her bare shoulders. “Emma, look at me.” It took her a while, but eventually she lifted her gaze to his. “Go take a shower. You’re ankle is still swollen, so you’re in no fit state to drive. I’ll drive you there myself.”

  Still in a daze she slowly nodded. “Yes, yes, of course, thank you. I’ll go and get ready right away.” She slipped from the bed totally oblivious now to her nakedness. “What about clean clothes? I can’t wear the clothes I wore last night. It will give the police the wrong impression of me.”

  She knew as well as he did what the vanilla world thought of the BDSM scene. It was always wise to keep sexual preferences as discreet as possible.

  “Just wear them for now, baby. I’ll buy you a less revealing outfit on the way over there.”

  She clasped a hand to her forehead. “Oh, damn, what about my car?”

  “Don’t worry, I’m already on to it. I found your keys downstairs. I’ve driven your car up to the house.”

  A fleeting smile drifted to her lips, before wavering and slipping away completely. “Thanks, you seem to have everything covered.”

  “Pretty much so.” He felt their connection as they stared at one another, and then she turned away, and it was gone. They were virtually strangers. They’d known each other less than twenty-four hours, yet it already felt like a strong bond was developing between them.

  He just hoped they’d be able to ride out the storm that he knew was about to take over their lives.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Emma fidgeted nervously on the uncomfortable metal chair in the small, clinical room. She wondered how she would cope. Events had moved swiftly on from the unpleasant telephone call earlier that morning. Chloe, her best friend, was dead. She found it hard to accept, but nevertheless, it was now up to her to face the situation head-on. She knew her lifeless body lay nearby, awaiting positive identification. Clearly, the police had satisfied themselves that the body in their charge was that of her best friend, Chloe Watts. They were simply following procedure.

  Zane sat next to her, occasionally squeezing her hand. She was grateful he was here. She knew he had an important business to run. He’d mentioned a shipment of diamonds and emeralds that were due in right about now. He’d put himself out on her behalf, even stopping to buy her a change of clothes from the first store they’d passed. Jeans and a sweater seemed far more appropriate than what she’d been wearing at Club Submission last night. He’s a good guy.

  She liked Zane. They’d only known each other for a short while, but already he’d shown a caring side to his character. Strange, she hadn’t thought a man into domination and submission would be so genuinely concerned about her welfare. To his credit Zane had showed he was willing to step up to the plate. Not just for himself, but for others, too. Me.

  A sinking feeling twisted in her gut when the door slowly swung open. A man and a woman wearing solemn expressions entered the room. The woman, aged about forty, spoke first. She was smartly dressed. For some reason Emma was surprised she wasn’t wearing a white coat. She held out her hand, “Hi, I’m Kathy Rochelle. I’m a forensic pathologist with the Boston Medical Examiner’s Office.” She turned to the man with her. “And this is Detective Dave Mitchell of the Boston Police Department. He’d like a few words with you after you’ve made a formal identification. Provided you feel up to it.”

  Emma stood and shook the woman’s out
stretched hand. She was aware her own hand was trembling. “I’m Emma Parkes. Chloe’s best friend. I reported her missing when I first arrived here in Boston.” Almost pleadingly she asked, “ It’s possible it’s not Chloe, isn’t it?”

  Sidestepping her question, the woman said, “If you’ll just follow me please, Ms. Parkes.” The four of them walked from the room and down a long corridor. Emma felt as though she were a victim in some sort of ghoulish dream. Is this really happening? Will I wake up and find it’s all just been a horrible nightmare?

  Kathy Rochelle brought them to a stop in front of a plate glass window, measuring about ten feet by eight feet. A curtain lay drawn behind it, hiding the room beyond from view. Emma held her breath, knowing full well that her friend lay dead on the other side. Please don’t let it be Chloe.

  Shivering inside, she glanced across at Zane. He looked grave and tense, too, but he gave her a reassuring nod and squeezed her shoulder. Kathy Rochelle spoke again. Her calm voice was strangely comforting. “Emma, in your own time, can you tell me if Chloe has any distinguishing marks?”

  Emma slowly nodded. She felt her teeth chattering as she spoke. “Yes.”

  “Would you describe them for me please?”

  “She…she…she has a small tattoo on the inside of her left wrist. It’s of a red rose entwined with barbed wire.”

  “Thank you. Any other distinguishing marks?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  Kathy Rochelle squeezed her hand. “I’m going to draw the curtain back now, Emma. Are you okay with that?”

  “Yes.” But not really. Please, please don’t let it be Chloe.

  Emma watched the curtains slowly part. She sucked in a deep breath and held it. A body lay on a gurney, completely covered by a white sheet. With a nod from Kathy Rochelle, an attendant slowly pulled it back, exposing the head and shoulders.

  “Oh, God. Dear God.” Emma immediately held both hands to her face, covering her nose and mouth. Even though she knew what was coming, the emotional trauma at seeing her best friend dead shocked her to her very core. Her whole body began to shake. It looked like Chloe, but Chloe never wore an expression like that in life. Her face was contorted, as though she’d died in agony. Her mind fixated on the open eyes and mouth, unable to stop herself imagining the horror her wonderful friend had suffered.

  “It’s her, but it just doesn’t look like her.”

  When no one answered, Emma continued to stare at her friend, unable to look away even though she desperately wanted to. Chloe’s skin held a strange, greenish hue. The bridge of her nose had partially collapsed, and black skin tainted the area around her mouth. Doubt began to enter her mind as she stared at the waxwork copy of her friend. “I need to see her wrist to be absolutely sure.” Still keeping the rest of her body covered with the sheet, the attendant carefully revealed her friend’s left arm. The back of her hand showed first, and Emma noticed the blackened tips of her fingers. As a lawyer, she’d seen numerous pictures of dead bodies, but this was the first time she’d actually seen one in the flesh. Chloe had clearly been dead for some time, too. From the decay, she guessed for a week or more. The attendant carefully rotated her arm. There, there, yes it’s there. The rose entwined in barbed wire lay tattooed on the inside of her wrist. She was in no doubt now. It was Chloe.

  “Yes, it’s her. It’s Chloe Watts,” she managed to say, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. “What happened to you, Chloe?” she whispered to herself. Kathy Rochelle gave the signal and the curtains began to slowly close. Emma placed her palms against the glass, trying to stop their movement. Panic started to build as the enormity of the situation finally hit home. Rushed, garbled words spilled from her mouth. “No, no, no, please let me see her a little while longer. That’s my friend. She needs me. Who’s going to look after her now? Please don’t close it.” She followed the edge of the curtain until just a crack was left, and a small sliver of her friend remained. It was the last glimpse she would ever have of her. “No!” She slammed her fist against the glass. “It isn’t fair, she’s my best friend, I need to comfort her. Can’t you understand, she’s all alone in there.” Her legs began to buckle, and she could barely breathe. “No, no, no,” she sobbed. Strong hands rested on her shoulders and she turned into their embrace. Zane enveloped her in his arms, giving her the comfort she so desperately needed. An inner calm began to envelop her body and mind, as she breathed in his reassuring masculine scent.

  “Shhh, baby, I’m here.” His words soothed the heartache pulsing through her.

  Detective Mitchell’s voice broke through the surreal nature of the situation. “I need to ask you both some questions.”

  “Jesus, you cops are all the same. Can’t you see this lady is distressed? Just give us some space.” Zane sounded angry.

  “I appreciate that, Sir, but this is a murder investigation.”

  “I know that. We both know that. We’re well aware of the implications.” Zane cupped her chin, and she looked at him through teary eyes. “I’m here for as long as you need me, baby.” Even though her body shook uncontrollably, Emma nodded, and bravely forced a weak smile. Zane tenderly placed a palm to her cheek and held her face against his chest. Even he looked sad. He continued speaking, “Look, officer, just five minutes, that’s all I ask. We’re not going anywhere.”

  Kathy Rochelle placed a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “My office is just down the hall. Perhaps you’d like some time to gather your thoughts in private.”

  “Thank you. You’re a very kind lady,” Emma whispered.

  “Think nothing of it. One last thing, I’ll need to take your DNA for elimination purposes. It’s routine procedure, and nothing to concern yourself with. If you follow me, I’ll show you the way.”

  Kathy Rochelle led them to her office. “Take as much time as you need.”

  Zane sat on a chair and pulled Emma onto his lap. He stroked her hair as she laid her head against his chest. “That’s it, baby. Lean on me.” He feathered the golden strands from her face. “That’s a tough thing to witness. You’re one brave lady.”

  “It was her, wasn’t it?” She needed to know she hadn’t made a mistake.

  “Without a doubt. I remembered the tattoo on her wrist.”

  “I’ve seen photographs of dead bodies in my work as a lawyer. But somehow, it’s completely different when you see one for real. Especially when it’s someone you know and love. Just seeing Chloe lying there, so cold and alone, made me understand how fleeting life can be.”

  Detective Mitchell cleared his throat and entered the small office. “Zane Anders, I have reason to believe you know the deceased, too.”

  Zane sighed resignedly. “I was wondering how long it would take you cops to figure that one out. For the record, yeah. I knew Chloe or Giselle as she was called. To my knowledge she first visited Club Submission about two years ago.”

  “So when was the last time you saw her?”

  Zane grimaced and massaged the back of his neck. “About two weeks ago, I guess. As I said, she was known around the place as Giselle. I only discovered yesterday that her real name was Chloe.”

  The tenacious detective turned his attention to Emma. “Ma’am, it would help our inquiries if you could tell me why you’ve been living in Chloe Watts’s apartment.”

  Emma knew where this was going, and she didn’t like the implications one little bit. “There’s nothing sinister about my relationship with Chloe, Detective Mitchell. She and I were in the process of setting up a law firm together right here in Boston. She invited me to move in with her while final arrangements were being made. My arrival here in the US was planned months before she even went missing. Chloe had a key cut for me so I could come and go as I wished. When I arrived—”

  Zane interrupted. “Don’t say any more, Emma. The cops will twist whatever information you give them. They’ll put two and two together and make five.”

  As a lawyer, Emma knew Zane was speaking sense. She really s
hould insist on legal representation for herself, but for some stupid, illogical reason, she wanted to get her feelings and emotions out in the open.

  “No, Zane, let me speak. I want to have my say.” She took a deep breath before continuing, “Detective Mitchell, I can assure you that when I arrived, Chloe was nowhere to be seen.”

  “And you expect me to believe that, Ms. Parkes.” The way this homicide cop eyed her up, left her in no doubt she was a suspect. Maybe even the prime suspect.

  “I don’t give a damn what you believe, Detective. I have nothing to hide. All my personal possessions are being shipped across from Britain as we speak.” The furniture from her flat back in England had all been carefully loaded into containers. “The container won’t arrive here for another six weeks, but please, be my guest, and feel free to check out my story with the shipping company.”

  “We’ll need their address. We’ll also need the address of where you’re staying right now.”

  “The lady is staying with me.” Zane’s deep voice spoke authoritatively.

  “But—”

  Zane stared into her eyes. “Baby, I want you to stay with me, at least until you’ve sorted everything out. You’re too emotional and vulnerable to be left on your own.”

  She smiled. “Thank you, Zane. You’re a good man. I don’t want to put you out. As soon as I get my passport back, I can return home to England, and—”

  Detective Mitchell rudely interrupted, “Ma’am, let me explain something to you. Until our inquiries are completed, you’ll be staying right here in the US.”

  “You’re kidding, right? For how long may I ask?”

  “This is a murder investigation, Ms. Parkes. For as long as it takes.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was already starting to get dark when Zane finally drove the Merc through the impressive security gates at Anders Gems. He stilled the engine in the private parking space directly outside his office, and turned to Emma. She looked pale and appeared to be deep in thought.