Our team could be downright deceptive when they wanted to be. They discovered the only location this bank had no cameras was within the vault where all the safety deposit boxes were kept. Since we sent over a man and a woman, they pretended to be a couple needing to secure some belongings in one of the boxes. One of our team members distracted the bank manager while the other lifted the master key and made a quick impression before putting it back. A little poly resin poured into the mold to create a usable duplicate key, along with a lock-pick kit were used to open the safety box in question. We’d hoped it would reveal where the funds had gone, but our team found an account book that led to another banking institution in Switzerland. The name on the account was Marque Diable Maléfique, which was French for Brand of Evil Devil.
We’d done a search on the name and discovered the origin was French, but throughout history there’d been someone from various countries around the world assigned the title to keep people guessing their true identity. The person was believed to be immortal at first, until someone noted in the 19th century that the skin tone and dialect of Diable Malifique had changed, indicating someone else had taken over the position and, therefore, proving the rumor false.
The individual’s job was to secure the most prestigious piece of weaponry of the era and utilize it to take over the world. Someone wanted total control and would stop at nothing until they got it, seeking out world domination by any cost necessary. The society, in which Diable was created, had an idealized version of what life should be like and would force everyone in the world to comply or be killed.
After a lot of red tape, we were able to acquire a copy of the records of those who visited both banks for the account and safety deposit box in question. We’d been able to narrow down three instances in the past few years when someone had made changes to both the box and the account. We were currently trying to get legal paperwork allowing us to view the surveillance videos of those dates to see if we could find a face to go with the malevolent name. I wasn’t looking forward to sitting through hours upon hours of video to try and match it up with someone that may or may not work for Pterodyne Systems or with someone who could be from Tennison’s past.
Our IT team was sorting through recent vacation records of all of the employees, along with the whereabouts of Tennison’s family members when the visits at the banks occurred. So far, there’d been several people out during that time frame. We just needed to reference any overseas travel to see if they were using a fake passport or their real name, and if any of them had known issues with him. Nothing about this case was simple. The more we dug, the bigger the mystery became.
One thing that did stand out was the issue of a weapon. I wondered if Mr. Tennison truly destroyed the plans for the weapons he and my dad were assigned to abolish. Either he had a copy of something that someone wanted, or he’d created a weapon so evil that someone was willing to take it at any cost. I’d need to find a secure location where we could talk freely, using an audio jammer, to ensure our conversation wasn’t overheard. I had numerous sensitive questions for Tennison and a contingency plan I’d like to run by him to try and lure our culprit out into the open. I just hope he and our team are receptive to the idea.
Tennison’s ex-wife, Amy, had been seen with the same man on numerous occasions, acting amorously. The reservations for all their hook-ups had been under her name, and any expenses had either been paid in cash or with her credit card. We’d taken some photos with a long-range lens to try to identify the man using facial recognition, but, so far, we were coming up empty-handed. He appeared to be of Middle Eastern descent, but we couldn’t be certain.
Blaine was skipping out on work and hanging out with a man fitting the same description as the one seen with Amy. I’d stepped up the lookout for both Blaine and his sister, authorizing spyware to be installed on their cell phones, as well as their mother’s. Something was fishy, and I didn’t like the smell that was wafting my way. I didn’t know who this man was, but we would find out soon enough.
As for Blaine and Cassidy’s father’s name, we’d discerned he went by the name Calleum Price. The only problem was Calleum didn’t exist before twenty-five years ago. The photo taken for his driver’s license and passport had been hacked. So who was he, and what did he look like?
To top things off, my dad was breathing down my neck, wanting me to wrap this case up. In one way, I wanted this to be done too. The case was completely frustrating with no direct lead to anything. On most assignments, we were able to find some shred of information pointing us in a direction that eventually led to the perpetrator, but with this…it was a fucking big, fat question mark. I’d never taken this long to solve something in the past, and it was making me examine my skills as a former operative. Could I seriously be this rusty? Any potential pathway we’d gain would end up fracturing—sending us on a wild-goose chase.
At least my day job was less frustrating. It pissed my dad off to know I was doing what I loved, and I was okay with that. I got to utilize the skills I’d trained for in the Air Force, helping redesign and shape the M-9I into a piece of aircraft that would be the envy of all fighter pilots around the world. Granted, I had quite a few arguments with Jesse over changing the design of “her baby” as she put it. I tried to reassure her I wasn’t trying to take over and change everything, only improve on her initial design.
The engineering team and I all agreed that the basis for the aircraft was spot on, only needing a couple of minor modifications to improve aerodynamics and reduce wind shear. It was the amount of weaponry she was trying to attach to the plane that had us all cringing.
I tried to explain the principle that less was sometimes more, especially when you’re in the air and in the middle of a dogfight. She seemed to believe the more heavily armed you are, the better your chances.
I’d discussed early on, with Mr. Tennison, the need for a possible demonstration with Jesse. We’d both agreed to work our contacts to have two jets similar in size and design to the one we were working on at the local airfield. One would be stripped of all weaponry, while the other would be fully loaded. With Jesse being a trained pilot, albeit single engine planes versus jets, she’d have enough knowledge to know the resistance you’d get when you tried to maneuver a fully loaded plane.
She’d pitched holy hell with me, refusing to go out to the airfield or do anything personal with me ever since I became her manager. I ended up having to knock on her door, throw her over my shoulder, and put her in a car to get her to the airfield to prove my point. She kicked and screamed up a storm. I wanted to tell her that her resistance just turned me on and made me hard for her, but that would’ve been pushing the boundaries of our relationship, or rather lack of one at this point. Besides, I wasn’t sure she’d be ready to hear something like that come out of my mouth. I was still pretending to be the southern boy with all the right charm and grace. If only she knew the Master was more dominant in my true personality.
Jesse continued to dismiss my claims about the handling of the jet, until she felt how hard it was to fly when you were loaded with enough rounds of artillery to take out a small town. At least the demonstration was a success, proving the maneuverability of the plane declined greatly. I explained that flying skills were just as important as weaponry. If you could outfly and out-trick the plane you were after, you’d only need one precise shot to take it down, or even defend yourself against the enemy.
As a treat, to lighten the mood, I put her through some drills to see how she’d take things. I loved seeing her smile and laugh with joy over the barrel rolls and inverted flying I’d put her through in the sky. Most women would’ve been barfing or screaming, but she was a thrill-seeker, just like me. No wonder we seemed to mesh so well together.
I’d wanted to buy Jesse lunch for finally allowing me to prove my point regarding her design. Unfortunately, she shut down, not even giving me the time of day as soon as the plane landed and came to a stop on the runway.
I coul
dn’t understand it. We worked in the same department, communicating with one another most of the day. We lived in the same building, acknowledging one another in the hallway when we saw each other. Something had changed, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. I didn’t know if she felt guilty for originally stealing my job, if she was mad because I kind of returned the favor by taking her promotion, or if, like me, she was afraid of what she was feeling every time we were close to one another. Hell, I walked around wearing two sets of tight boxer briefs just trying to keep my dick from targeting her like the heat-seeking missile it wanted to be.
Tennison had told me to give her time, and she’d come around. He’d let me know she’d called the club, asking if there was any change in her ability to get into Rapture. I’d been so caught up with Jesse as a whole, along with the project we were working on, that I’d forgotten all about my promise to try and get her in. No wonder I kept finding her at the mailbox, looking defeated. She was waiting for a chance to play.
I made it a point to drop by the club in my Master’s uniform to grab some letterhead so I could write her on behalf of the club and as her future Master. I’d had a severe case of blue balls lately, having to relieve myself in the shower, envisioning how beautiful she was taking her pleasure from me in the club. It was time for the little minx to emerge from her sheltered cocoon and release some of her built-up frustration, and I had the perfect plan for our next encounter… providing she still wanted to have fun.
I kicked off my heels as soon as I got home, poured myself a glass of wine, and settled onto my soft, comfortable sofa, breathing in a sigh of relief. I’d managed to survive another workweek with Derrick.
At first, I’d been embarrassed that initially I’d stolen his job from him, but my sister, Makenna, had called reminding me that I’d worked damn hard for that promotion. She thought I should make his job miserable and test his limits by acting the brat. She always did like to deflect her own issues on other people.
I countered saying she wasn’t working hard enough to work in her preferred field, when she admitted she’d called Alexander Prescott, and he’d forwarded her information on to the security company he’d invested in, without our father knowing about it. “I had an interview with the main owner of the company, some guy named Tony, and his lead computer hacker, a woman named Sophia. They didn’t provide last names, citing it wasn’t necessary in their line of work, which I could understand. But they did question the hell out of my knowledge and abilities. I felt like I was back in basic training, sis.”
Makenna had gone silent on the phone, leaving me in suspense. She had a flair for the dramatics, whereas, I wanted just the facts and presented them instantly. So I asked, “And? Don’t leave me on the edge here.”
“I got the job. I start once I’m released from active duty in three months.” I could hear the excitement in her voice. Finally, she’d get to prove what she’d known all along. She was a kick-ass woman able to take on anything she put her mind to. I couldn’t be happier for her.
After I got off the phone with my sister, I kept replaying the conversation we had over and over in my mind. In one sense, Makeena was right that I deserved the manager position, and in another, I still felt guilty. Derrick had foregone his dreams and took a different job all because of me. I don’t know why his words got to me, but they did. Actually, everything about him got to me—his looks, the way he dressed, his smell, and that ass in fitted pants. Just thinking about him made my heart beat fast.
She suggested I screw protocol and go after him, but I didn’t want to be considered the office slut sleeping with my boss to get to the top. I’d rather prove my knowledge and abilities, working hard to get my achievements.
I closed my eyes and recalled how Derrick had been looking over my shoulder at the redesign of the weaponry system I’d been working on. He was so close I could feel his breath waft across the side of my face and the heat from his body radiate over to mine causing my temperature to rise.
I’ll admit, I did concede to his issues with my original plans, but only after he showed me why it wouldn’t work. I’d worked diligently, talking with former pilots—yes, even my boss—to see what the preference for arming the jets would be. Being a civilian, I needed research to know what they’d find most helpful if involved in a dogfight or in handling a military strike. I can’t believe I’d been so focused on proving myself that I forgot one of the most important elements in the design: communicating with the pilots.
I still can’t believe he was able to secure a couple of jets from the Air Force to prove his point. What was it with him and needing to be the authority on everything? He was nice and polite most of the time, with his southern charm and all, but every once in a while, there seemed to be cracks in his exterior and a more authoritative disposition seemed to arise. If I’m being honest, the authoritative Derrick was kind of a turn on, but then again, I liked his soft side too.
Anyhow, his being so close to me, letting me soak in the aquatic scent of his cologne, took me back to the day we had fun playing in the swimming pool and imagining what it’d be like to roll around with him on the sand of a private island. My mind was spinning. I finally had to move my chair back, using the excuse of needing the ladies’ room, to break the spell he had me under. I literally couldn’t breathe around him. What the hell is wrong with me?
Either Derrick was questioning my work ability, or he was secretly into me as well. His eyes were always watching me. I’d looked up from my computer on numerous occasions and found him staring at me with a twinkle in his eye and a small smile playing across his lips. If I only knew what he’d been thinking.
At least he couldn’t read my mind or know the impact he had on me. I don’t know how he did it, but I caught myself daydreaming more and more about his hands all over my body, bending me to his will, kissing me like there was no tomorrow, while his southern drawl whispered words of…
The knock from my apartment door made me jump out of my daydream. Damn it! Why was I fantasizing about him again? Why couldn’t my libido leave well enough alone and focus on a vision of icy tundra instead of the male divine hotness of my boss? Didn’t he realize, as my boss, that he was now forbidden fruit that I wanted but couldn’t touch for fear of being cast out of the workplace?
I sighed in defeat, knowing it would never happen. I wasn’t lucky with men lately. I had the one encounter with the Master but haven’t heard from him in well over a month. Then I find myself falling for Derrick, only to discover he’s my boss. Yep, that’s my luck when it comes to the romance department.
Someone knocked on my door again. “Hold your horses. I’m coming.”
I was shocked to see a delivery guy. “Are you Miss Jesse Bradford?”
I nodded. “Yes, that’s me.”
“I have a delivery for you. Please sign here.”
No one ever sent me anything, except for my parents. They’d always send care packages to my sister and me to ensure we ate properly.
I quickly signed and handed the tablet back to the guy. He handed me a couple of boxes, an envelope, and a bouquet of red roses. “I have a message that you’re to open the envelope first and follow with the boxes in whatever order you’d like.”
I was shocked at everything before me, wondering who could’ve sent me all this. I laid the items on the coffee table and sat down opening the large manila packet. I was surprised to see a smaller envelope with the Rapture logo inside. I opened it to have a membership card fall out with my name embossed on it, along with a letter explaining a mix-up.
The letter read:
I was happy to have the mix-up handled and know that I now had access to the club that piqued my interests. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t dreamt of the encounter I had with the Master of My Dreams. I’d been thinking of him a lot lately. Between thoughts of him and working so closely with Derrick…I’d been pent up and frustrated, needing to come. Maybe now I’d get my chance. After all, it was Friday night and no better time to le
t off some steam.
The small box looked like it might contain something safe and familiar, so I opened it first to find a pair of lace-up black stiletto heels that’d wrap halfway up my calves. The height of the heels were at least four or five inches, which would give me a boost of confidence given my short stature. They looked amazing, and I could already imagine myself wearing them. But how did Rapture know my size?
I opened the bigger box to discover a crystalline-blue dress with a plunging neckline, diamond cutouts at the sides just underneath the breast line, a zipper running the full length of the back, and only enough length to barely cover my backside. Underneath the dress was a G-sting matching in color and a black G-string similar to the one Master had ruined. I picked both up and smiled, remembering how he drove my body to the edge and was there to catch me when I fell over.
I’d started to move the empty box, when I realized there was still some weight to it. I moved the tissue paper around to discover a small handwritten card with my first name scribbled across it, along with what appeared to be a jewelry box.
The anticipation got the best of me, so I opened the box first. It wasn’t what I thought it’d be, which was a necklace; instead, it was something better. I’d been around the BDSM scene enough to know I was looking at a collar. It was small, made of black leather, with a couple of sparkly rhinestones around each side, and the letters M and D stamped in the center. There’s also a buckle as a clasp at the back of the neck and a couple of hidden loops tucked between the folds of the collar for quick retrieval for a Dom to limit a sub’s movement. I knew this was a potential ownership.
I grabbed for the note, tearing the envelope in the process so I could read the card inside. It was a simple message:
Derrick's Choice (Titan Security Book 1) Page 9
