The door behind him swung open, and he glanced over his shoulder to get his first look at the woman he’d be seeing a lot of very soon—literally. A brunette walked in, and not just any brunette, but the hot little number from the coffee shop, who’d basically told him to mind his own fucking business. The woman he’d been thinking about since he’d pulled out of the shopping center and driven to the compound. While her attitude had pissed him off at first, the more he thought about how she’d stood up to him, the more it turned him on. If they’d been in Hollywood, it would have made for a great meet cute—the scene in a movie when a romantic couple meet for the first time.
Logan grinned as he stood. The day is about to get a lot more interesting.
C
HAPTER 9
Pulling up to the guard shack and gate in the fence surrounding the Trident Security property, Dakota handed her license and department ID to the man on duty. It was her first time here, and she wasn’t surprised the company with high government clearance had more than adequate security measures. The physically fit guard had to be former military or law enforcement by the way he carried himself. Dressed in tan cargo pants and a navy-blue polo shirt, his eyes were sharp and assessing, even though his demeanor was friendly. Strapped to his hip was a holstered Smith & Wesson .40 caliber handgun. Dakota imagined he could easily handle any problems that may arise on his shift. After confirming her identity, he opened the gate and waved her through. She drove further up the long driveway until the trees on either side revealed the compound. Sawyer had told her to drive through the second gate on the interior fence that separated The Covenant from the rest of the buildings. If she hadn’t been told what to expect, she’d never have believed the über private kink club was behind the metal and concrete walls of a warehouse.
The second gate slid open as she approached. Glancing around, Dakota spotted several security cameras. Someone had known her vehicle was there and had granted her access to the inner sanctum. She parked next to the first building on that side of the fence as the text message with directions to the compound she’d received had instructed. The place was huge, with two other warehouses further down. In between the buildings, she’d spotted an obstacle course and a helicopter pad with—holy shit. If Dakota wasn’t mistaken, that bird was an MH-X Silent Hawk. They have a fucking stealth chopper! That is so freaking cool! Ric was an amateur helicopter pilot and was always showing her books, magazines, and internet articles about the latest aircraft with all the bells and whistles. Her friend and co-worker would be salivating right now if he were here.
Barking and voices caught her attention as she opened the driver’s door and climbed out. To the south of the parking lot was what looked like a Hogan’s Alley, similar to what the FBI and other agencies used for training. It was set up like any Main Street, USA, with store fronts propped up by angled beams behind them. Metal targets could pop up or swing out from various alleys, windows, and doors for shooting practice. Next to that was a four-story concrete building that was missing the glass from its windows. It was similar to what they had at the police academy, where officers would do searches for the bad guys and practice responding to different scenarios. The buildings usually had interior walls which could be moved around to change the setup so no one got complacent with the same routine.
Between the parking lot and the Hogan’s Alley, stood a group of six men and women, each with a K9 practically glued to their left leg. A woman with brown hair pulled up in a ponytail was demonstrating the “stay” command using hand signals with a lab mix. The other five dogs were either Belgian Malinois or German shepherds, both excellent breeds for law enforcement, military, or private security K9s. Dakota chuckled as the Malinois at the far left end apparently got bored. He lay down and rolled over onto his back as if asking for a belly rub. Instead of being annoyed at the dog’s inability to focus, the instructor smiled and shook her head as if it was a regular occurrence with the dog.
Dakota glanced around the compound again before heading to the door leading to the Trident Security offices. Inside, she introduced herself to the receptionist, who then picked up the landline phone on her desk and stabbed one of the preprogrammed buttons on it. “Ian, Officer Swift is here.” After receiving a response and hanging up, the young woman pointed to a closed door behind her. “He’s waiting for you. Go right in.”
“Thanks.” It had been about two weeks since she’d last seen the co-owner of the private company at a task force meeting. The more she interacted with the man, the more her respect and admiration for him grew. While he could be one of the most sarcastic people she’d ever meet, it was evident he was a good leader as well as an excellent Dom. From the bits and pieces of conversations she’d had with him or overheard these past few months, she got the impression his wife was a bratty submissive who kept him on his toes—he’d probably accept nothing less.
Turning the knob, Dakota pushed the door open and stepped into an office that clearly belonged to a man. The decor was mostly wood and leather, with earth tones giving a warm feel to the room. Sawyer was standing behind his desk and pointed to an empty chair in front of it. “Swift, have a seat. Thanks for coming. This is your new partner, Logan Reese, call-sign Cowboy. Logan, Officer Dakota Swift from TPD.”
As she approached, her gaze finally shifted to the other man in the room who’d peered at her over his shoulder before standing with a huge grin on his face. Oh shit. It was the Lone Ranger from the coffee shop parking lot—how hadn’t she noticed how good-looking he was? Because you were too busy being a bitch to him.
A deep, annoying chuckle emanated from his throat as he gestured toward the iced coffee in her hand. “We sort of met already, Boss-man, but it’s nice to put a name to the face. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Officer Swift.”
It was impossible to mistake the sarcasm in his voice, and Dakota rolled her eyes. The tone of her response matched his. “Why doesn’t it surprise me that ‘Cowboy’ is your call-sign?”
“Problem?” Ian was frowning while glancing back and forth between them.
“No,” they replied simultaneously. Dakota wished she could wipe the amused smirk off Reese’s face—his handsome face with those smoldering eyes and lush bottom lip that was ripe enough for a nibble. Damn.
“Good. Keep it that way. Take a seat and let’s get started.”
Sitting again, Ian leaned back and settled into the soft, black leather as Dakota and Reese sat in the guest chairs opposite him. “Swift, as I told you on the phone, Reese is a former Marine with no Dom training. That changes tonight. We have a few UC couples who’ll meet at The Covenant this afternoon at 1600 hours. The newbies will be getting a crash course in how to pass themselves off as Doms or subs. In the meantime, the two of you will spend your duty shifts for the next two weeks monitoring the perimeter of Heat—see if anyone looks suspicious or appears to follow a sub out of the area. Remember, this bastard is doing a damn good job of blending in, so it could be anyone.”
His gaze flitted to Reese, and Dakota’s automatically followed. She tried to ignore the scent of her new partner’s cologne as it wafted in her direction every now and then. She didn’t know what brand it was, but, damn, whatever it was, he wore it well. Giving herself a mental shake, she tried to concentrate on what Sawyer was saying. “Cowboy, Dakota’s been on this detail for a few months now and is up-to-date on everything we have. Pick her brain whenever you can. When you’re finally cleared for the club scene, and something is said or done that you’re not sure about, ask her; she’s been in the lifestyle for a few years, and there shouldn’t be much she hasn’t encountered before.”
Picking up a business card that had been sitting on the desk, Ian handed it to Reese. “Hit that place, today or tomorrow. It’s got a larger selection of fet-wear for men than we have in the club’s boutique—Dakota can help you out, if necessary. Pick up a few pairs of leather pants and a vest or two. Motorcycle or western boots are preferred by most Doms. At the training later today, Polo w
ill get you set up with a personal play bag for you to bring into the clubs with you. The standard items will be in it for appearances, but it also has a secret compartment for a few toys we don’t want anyone to know you’re carrying. Polo will go over all that with you. Dakota, dress in appropriate fet-wear for all training sessions. I want you completely comfortable with each other before we turn you loose. Since The Covenant, Heat, and most of the other clubs are closed on Mondays, I suggest you two go out for a drink and something to eat after training and get to know each other better. It’s imperative that you look like a D/s couple at all times.”
Reese cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to say or ask. “Does that mean we need to . . . um . . . play at the clubs?”
Before Ian could answer, Dakota shook her head, making sure she looked and sounded like the professional she was. “Not exactly. With my last partner, we did the basics for appearances—I’ll kneel at your feet when you’re sitting and appear as a submissive in every way. Davis and I made it known we weren’t into exhibitionism, so we disappeared into one of the play rooms for about an hour, then made it look like we’d had an intense scene before joining the crowd again. In your toy bag there will be a tablet that’s patched into the club’s surveillance system so we can monitor what’s going on out in the public areas while we’re supposedly sceneing.”
“After talking it over with Parrish, we’re updating that,” Ian said before Reese could respond, and Dakota’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “A majority of the victims were known to be brattier than the others. We’re instructing all the UC subs to step up their game. With any luck, our killer will target one of you. So, that means, yes, you might be doing some scenes in the public areas. Obviously, we’re not asking you to have sex or anything close to it, but a few punishments here and there may get the attention of our UNSUB. Again, Marco will be going over all this with you later.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got another meeting I need to get to, so unless there are any immediate questions or concerns . . .” Reese shook his head, and Dakota forced herself to do the same. Ian stood. “Then you’re off-duty 1600 hours.”
“Thanks, Boss-man,” Reese said, getting to his feet. When Dakota stood, he swept his hand to the door. “After you.”
She cleared her throat. “Thanks, Ian.”
As Dakota strode toward the door, her mind in a whirlwind, she felt rather than heard her new partner on her heels. When she reached the main reception area, a hand wrapped around her elbow, stopping her short. Reese turned her to face him. “Look, we obviously got off on the wrong foot earlier. Can we start fresh?”
She arched an eyebrow at him and was surprised when he held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Logan Reese. Retired Marine, hopeless gentleman, and all around good egg. And you?”
Unable to stop the grin that spread across her face, she glanced at his hand a moment longer before shaking it. “Dakota Swift. Tampa PD, grouchy bitch, and a bit scrambled.”
If she’d thought he was good-looking when he smirked, he was devastating when he full out smiled. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it? Care to join me on my shopping excursion? I honestly have no idea what’s in when it comes to leather.”
A part of her wanted to take him up on that, curious to see how he looked in snug, black, leather pants, but his charm was getting to her and no way was she getting involved with someone she worked with. Not while her undercover career was at stake. “Um . . . I think I’ll pass. I have a few things I need to take care of before coming back here later. I’m sure you’ll do just fine. Ask for Linda. She’ll be more than happy to help you. It’s what she does best.” Of course, she didn’t add that Mistress Linda was a sadist. Let him find out for himself. Hmm. Her inner brat was already making an appearance. “Gotta run. See you later.”
Before she could change her mind, she turned on her heel and practically ran for the door.
C
HAPTER 10
Following his new partner to the reception area, Logan watched as she marched out the door and headed to her car. Damn, he thought with a grin, Officer Dakota Swift is a real firecracker. Not only was she hot as hell, she had a temper and a chip on her shoulder to boot—a chip, Logan was looking forward to knocking off. Maybe this detail wasn’t going to be so bad—at least he was attracted to her. Too bad that attraction was one sided.
“Darn it!”
Logan turned his attention to Trident’s office manager as Colleen slammed the phone down on its cradle. Currently they were the only two people in the outer reception area.
“Something wrong?” he asked when she stood from her desk in a huff.
“Yeah. Jake’s over in the club with Roxy and has his cell turned off. Roxy does, too. They must be downstairs in the pit because they’re not picking up the landline, and Tap Corrigan at TS West needs to talk to him ASAP, as if I didn’t have enough to do today.” She waved her hand over the files and correspondence stacked in neat but high piles on her desk.
It was unlike the pretty woman to be stressed out—she ran the office with model efficiency. “I’ll run over and get him for you,” he offered since he didn’t have anything pressing to take care of at the moment.
“Really? That would be awesome, Logan.” Her desk phone rang, and she thanked him profusely before sitting again and picking up the handset. “Trident Security, how can I help you?”
Pushing the door to the parking lot open, Logan didn’t notice any vehicles that hadn’t been there when he went in earlier, so that meant Officer Swift had already hightailed it out of there. On the far, south side of the lot, Kat Michaelson, Boomer’s wife, was working with the new hires for Trident’s Personal Protection Division and the existing compound guards to train five K9s. Her aggressive and passive K9 training services were under contract with the Florida State Police and Tampa PD, and she was also hired to train dogs for professional and private use. Since the compound’s BDSM club, The Covenant, had become fodder for the paparazzi recently, thanks to a bitch with a vendetta, changes to the security measures had been made. The eastern fence line had been extended out a quarter of a mile, and a new guardhouse and entry gate had been added. The wooded area between the compound and main road helped keep prying eyes or cameras away from the club’s entrance.
Two of the dogs would be on duty with the guards, while Beau, Trident’s original K9, a lab/pit mix, would protect the inner compound, which was fenced off from the club’s building and parking lot. Beau was currently lying at Kat’s feet, so she’d probably been using him for demonstration purposes. The parking lots had cool surface treatments over concrete, which reflected sunlight instead of absorbing it, keeping it comfortable for the dogs’ paws in the hot summer.
Logan slowed his pace as he observed Kat putting the humans and their four-legged counterparts through their paces. Four out of the five dogs had been named Bravo, Delta, Sierra, and Mike. Only Ian Sawyer, a retired Navy SEAL and lifestyle Dominant, would use the military alphabet to spell out BDSM for the canines’ names. The fifth dog had started out being called Glock, but the goofy Belgian Malinois had quickly gone through a moniker change. He was now officially known as FUBAR—fucked up beyond all recognition.
From what Boomer had mentioned earlier, FUBAR was probably going to be a training fail, but Kat was going to give the dog with the ridiculously extra-large ears a few more days to hopefully turn around. If he didn’t, they’d find him a good home. If that happened, Logan would love to keep the dog, or any other one, having grown up with several, but he never knew when an assignment would keep him away. At least when he was here, he’d sometimes play fetch with Beau.
Passing through the pedestrian gate in the fence, he strode toward the warehouse that was home to The Covenant. The main entrance was up a flight of stairs to the second floor. It still amazed him that the metal-sided building was completely different inside. Reaching the top step, he found the place locked, as it usually was during off hours. A quick scan of his handprint on
the device beside the door unlocked it for him. The system was used throughout the compound, including the residences on the far side.
Entering the Victorian-themed lobby, he crossed the plush, burgundy carpet to the ornate, wooden double doors with iron pulls. They looked like they came from a vintage castle somewhere. A lot of thought and money had gone into decorating this place. Grabbing the left one, he opened the door and walked through.
The upper level was in the shape of a horseshoe, overlooking the play floor below, which had been dubbed “the pit.” A beautiful mahogany bar was to Logan’s left, at the bottom of the “U,” while sitting areas lined the balcony on both sides. At the far end was a small store, which sold fet-wear and adult toys, the office and supply room, and a hallway that lead to the new “garden.” Logan had seen it once and it was pretty cool, carpeted with a soft, fake grass, and filled with palm trees, tropical plants, and flowers. Of course, between all that were stations with spanking benches, St. Andrew’s crosses, and other BDSM equipment. Overhead was a clear, retractable roof to let the light from the moon and stars come in at night. To keep out the bugs and any cameras attached to drones, helicopters, or satellites when the roof was open, there was a thin netting that those underneath could see through. However, from above, it reflected light back off it, preventing anyone from seeing in.
Hearing murmured voices, Logan didn’t see anyone and was about to head to the grand staircase that led to the pit, but a crack split the air, freezing him in place. Suddenly, he wasn’t in Tampa anymore—hell, he wasn’t in the United States anymore—he was back in that hellhole in Afghanistan. His eyes glazed over as his legs began to shake and his stomach clenched.
“Clutch,” he whispered seconds before another crack echoed around him. When his best friend’s call-sign passed his lips a second time, it came out as a blood-curdling scream.
A Dead Man's Pulse: Trident Security Omega Team Book 1 Page 9
