by Ann Raina
"He'll have his reasons."
"The shortcut theory applies to him, just in another meaning. He took the first chance to escape."
Julian shook his head. "I'm sorry he did that."
"He'll be sorrier if he gets caught."
"Chain yourself, Julian," Kyra said, waiting at the center counter. Oliver had called, and she was about to leave.
"No, Kyra, please… Don't make me do this. I'll stay down here. I promise."
"Not good enough. Put the cuff around your ankle." She moved away from him. The emergency call box for the police was in the living room. She did not know why she thought Julian to be a threat suddenly, but she trusted her gut feeling. He had been so carefree around her the whole day and now that it was time for bed, urgency or heat--for lack of a better word--had crept into his eyes, and she did not like it at all. They had been outdoors half the day and she thought of it like…restlessness. Now that he had gotten some freedom he did not want to give it up. Not even for the night.
"You got me chained in the garage. I obeyed you. I wanted this, yes, but… Please, wasn't that enough? I want to go to the bathroom at night and not use a bucket. It's so humiliating."
"No. My final word. Chain yourself. Now."
Julian slumped on the mattress with a heavy sigh and regretted the action bitterly. With a cry he turned on the side. "Oh, fuck!" He clenched his teeth, glaring at her. "Yeah, just enjoy the show." He flinched, groping for the chain. "I fucking don't believe it! You treat me like a dog!"
Kyra waited with bated breath, her hand on the counter, ready to turn tail if he stood to attack her. Hit by his stare, she lowered her chin. There had been fun and entertainment during the day and now she spoiled it. The cuff snapped shut and Kyra resisted the urge to check on it. She made sure with a glance though that he had not snapped it through thin air. "Good night." She turned away and he did not answer. She did not expect him to.
At Oliver's house Pierre opened the door. Kyra gaped at him. He giggled. "I'm sorry," she managed to say. "I've never seen you…fully dressed."
"I'm on my way to work," he explained matter-of-factly, but that did not alter the situation to the better. Kyra tried to save face, but she had to laugh. "Oh, I know what you think, but my stage clothes are at the club."
"I thought so." She wished him a good night and watched him walk down the path to Oliver's Oldsmobile. The allowance to drive a car had come with the allowance to work. Oliver would not drive him every time and wait for him or pay a taxi. Pierre had taken the opportunity, but never overstepped the boundaries. He drove to work and back. Oliver could probably check the mileage. Kyra thought, it would be against all her rules and conviction to control another person's life like that.
"Hello, Kyra," Oliver welcomed her at the bar. "You look exactly as if you need a drink. Right?"
"It was a strange enough day to have a drink, yes. Make it a double."
"Oh!" Oliver put two glasses on the bar and poured brandy for her and scotch for him. "May I pry into your little private life or shall I wait?"
"I guess I owe you on this one." She took the glass and toasted to him.
"Always glad to hear that." Oliver was eager. "Shall we plunk on the couch?" They sat down comfortably and Kyra pulled up her legs. With the glass rolling between her hands, she told Oliver about the morning's run and its consequences. "I knew, he'd try and make you punish him," he muttered and wiped his mouth. "God, Kyra, your imagination is quite elaborate, I dare say."
"Yeah…" She tipped the glass to empty it. "He was so…willing. So eager. And…" She stopped, catching her breath. Telling the story of Julian in her garage had brought it all back. Like a movie you saw a second time. Not as good as the first time, but close. "I don't know…I was afraid to hurt him more than he'd accept, but…"
"But it didn't happen. He was satisfied. Whoopee!"
"I don't know if it can go on like this."
"Hey, no, Kyra, don't step back now and play the guilt ridden virgin! He invited you. You said so. If half of it is true, he got the time of his life at your very apt…hands."
"Shall I remind you what I did? If the prison administration gets a whiff of it my reputation goes down the drain."
"Why should anyone tell?"
"Well, he could."
"Oh, but that's ridiculous, Kyra. He made the offer and…"
"And it could mean he did it on purpose. To threaten or blackmail me. Remember? There's a cop checking on us every week. If he shows them the welts…"
"He will think of it as justified punishment. Remember?" His serious gaze set on her troubled face. "There were no guidelines for the prisoners to be treated. It might not look all the best, but still you were within your limits. And," he anticipated her comment, "you are the only one who took a convict into your house. There have to be stricter rules than when keeping him in a room in the basement." He raised his brows, waiting for a reply. Kyra stared into her empty glass. "You did not misuse your rights. Okay, he provoked it, but it's nothing you have to be ashamed of. Did your father smack you from time to time?" Oliver asked in a low voice, indicating he would not mind if she refused to answer.
"He wasn't soft with me, that's true."
"And did you see his treatment as exaggerated?"
She smiled, but it wilted away. She understood the road Oliver's argumentation was taking. "If he did give me a smacking I earned it. He was not cruel."
"See? You did nothing wrong." Oliver frowned. "I do see something wrong in smacking girls, but that's just me."
"He wanted a boy anyway. Half of my life was filled with me being Kyle instead of Kyra."
"All the better. Julian's truly a man. So smack him if he asks for it. You're not cruel, Kyra, and I'm confident you know the limits much better than your father." He looked her up and down. "You being a man would have been a challenge for me. All that wavy hair, that delicate face…"
"But I wouldn't offer myself as submissive, Oliver, no way!"
"No?"
"Can that smut grin! Honestly, I can't imagine…no. Simply no."
"I remember you telling me the same about being dominant when you first found out about your neighbor's love life."
"I found out that you're gay," she corrected.
Oliver shrugged the argument off. He stood to refill her glass. "That was pretty obvious when you saw me walking with Pierre hand-in-hand."
"Yeah, fine, whatever. But you were very eager to tell me the juicy details. That wasn't my decision." She took the drink. "Thank you."
Oliver sat down again. "You're welcome. You wanted to know. Admit it."
"No."
"You did." He laughed at her pouting. It was a heartfelt laughter, shaking his paunch. "You were practically sneaking into my garage."
"I needed an electric screw driver."
"Which I would have fetched for you, but you were glued to my ass."
"You're mean."
"I'm honest." He opened his hands, still chortling about her expression. "Curiosity is not a bad thing. I'm always curious. Makes my life interesting and new every day." He waited with that half grinning, half knowing expression until she nodded. "See? Wasn't so hard. And--since you're in confessing mood--wasn't the decoration of my garage your inspiration for Mr. Delinquent over at your kitchen?"
Kyra pretended to be grumpy, but it was a short-lived effort. Oliver knew her too well and she truly did not need to hide anything from him, which made their friendship a warm, cozy place to slip into every time one of them felt cold. "Darn, Sherlock Holmes, you got me on this one. What shall I do?"
"Give me credit for leading you down the right path."
Kyra sighed and nipped the drink. "I don't know yet. Really. Don't gimme that look, Oliver. He's handsome, yes, and nice and everything, but he's also a delinquent. I am abusing him in a certain way. That's not debatable."
"He is making amends, Kyra. And so far you don't complain too loudly. And he neither." She gave him a lopsided grin. "Nobody's perfe
ct. My wonderful sub wasn't in the mood to play yesterday night. Hard times. For him. For me."
She put down the glass. "Spare me the intimate details, okay? I can hardly live with what I do myself. So how shall I comprehend your strange vision?"
"Strange vision?" He pretended to cough in astonishment. "Oh, my, there's a strange ringing in my ears. Kyra, you told me you whipped him almost bloody then made him come like a raging bull. Maybe my sessions take a little longer, but, hell, they aren't stranger than that!"
"I didn't put a slave in the kennel!"
Oliver laughed. "Oh, right, Gregory! I'm sorry. I hope Mrs. Bickerham didn't get a heart attack while staring at his naked ass!"
"Nope. She just came to my place and complained." Kyra smiled. "And Julian laughed his ass off when she was gone."
"Oh, I want a picture of your face now. Hmm, my dear neighbor, you look as if you liked what you saw."
"And you liked Julian mowing my lawn."
"It would've been a better show without…"
Oliver never finished the sentence. The loud wailing of the burglar alarm at Kyra's house shook them out of the pleasant reverie. Kyra stood. "Where's your gun?"
"Over by the door."
Kyra opened the drawer, took the ESG, a specially designed electric shotgun for use in civilian quarters, and ripped open the front door. "Call the cops!" she shouted and was gone.
The front door of Kyra's house was closed, so either the burglar had closed it or tried to enter across the porch. She slipped the key into the door, crouching to be a small target if the burglar was armed. They usually were not as burglars expected to be alone and undetected while they made their sweep. But he had to be stupid to try her house! Suddenly she heard noises over the wailing, like hard knuckles hitting flesh. Grunts. Curses. She burst the door open, rolled through the hall like she had learned in judo and was on her feet a second later, darting for the living room.
Julian fought with a stranger, trading blows, smashing the burglar into the cabinet. He cried out, strained. Dishes crashed and shattered. The man fought back. In the dim light coming from the porch Kyra saw the frame of a guy almost as tall as Julian. She ran through the room. He was aware of her. He must have had the senses of a cat! She got down on one knee, aiming. "Police! Freeze and put your hands on your head!"
The burglar made a quick turn in her direction, hitting Julian on the cheekbone the same instant. He swiveled round, jumped down between counter and wall and was on the porch in the blink of an eye. Kyra shot.
The bullets hit his back. Loaded with an energy field that immediately sent a strong pulse through the body, they were meant to stun the aggressor. He fell flat on his face and did not move.
Kyra put up the gun and ran to check for Julian, who sat hard on the mattress. His legs were too weak to carry him. "Hey, are you okay?" She switched on the lights and shut off the alarm.
"I've had better days."
She turned and gasped. "Oh, God!" His face was bleeding from a vicious cut on his brow and another on his cheek. "Don't touch it! Are you hurt elsewhere?"
"Aside from my whole body? No." Julian sank back on the mattress, wincing with pain.
His hands shook and she touched them briefly. "An ambulance will be here in a minute."
"So nice you had an alarm on."
"Yeah, it's always good to be prepared." She brought a wet towel and held it to his cheek. He looked as if half of his face had been cut up. He also bled from his nose and upper lip, which already swelled. "Here. I'll see that you're taken to a hospital."
"No. It's not that bad."
"That's not on you to decide." She opened the ankle cuff, cautious to leave the gun well out of his reach. "Do you know who he is?"
"No, but better handcuff him. You never know how long they're stunned."
"Right." She handcuffed the burglar and took off his hood. She had never seen the man. What could be seen since his face had also been battered. His nose was a bleeding mess. On her way back into the kitchen she found a pistol close to the right cabinet. "Wow, what's that?" She knelt to scrutinize it. "A Glock 9mm full automatic? With a silencer?" She turned to Julian, who lay panting and fighting the pain. "What kind of burglar was that?"
"How the hell shall I know?" Julian grimaced. From afar sirens wailed through the neighborhood. He squeezed his eyes shut and writhed with pain. "God, it hurts."
She knelt beside him. "I guess I owe you thanks for taking care of my home while I was away."
"Yeah." Her light kiss on his forehead earned a coaxed smile. "Much better now."
"Don't joke. I'd better have you taken to hospital. That cut looks like it should be stitched."
"No. Some band aid will do."
"Right." She stood with the gun in her hand. The patrol car halted with squealing breaks, the ambulance followed. She let the paramedics into the living room and the cops out on the porch. "Here you go. All packed for interrogation."
"Wow." Pisetti pushed back his hat as he stared down the unconscious invader. "That's nifty!"
"And there's a monster weapon on my kitchen floor. Careful with it. I didn't touch it." She turned round the corner. "Did you touch the weapon, Julian?"
"I pushed it out of his hand, so, yes, I might've touched it."
Kyra turned back to Pisetti. "I want this noted and taken down. If it hadn't been for Julian Bithrell, my home would've been ransacked and--maybe, and I don't know that--that man would have waited for me to come home."
"For what reason?" Pisetti took down notes in his little handheld computer and frowned when he looked up.
"Considering the weapon--it's an assault weapon under the new law--he might have wanted more than just my jewelry."
"We'll see to that."
"Excuse me." Kyra directed the nurse from the ambulance to Julian. She felt insecure though she still held the gun. The intruder was out cold, but she still worried. "Take care of him, please. He says he wants to stay here, so…"
"I know, just stitch him up and make the pain go away." She smiled in understanding and knelt beside the mattress. She had a nice tan and her eyes were friendly and caring when she looked down. "I'll do what I can. So Mister…"
"Julian."
"Okay, Julian, I'll see after the wounds and give you a shot against pain and infection. Is that okay with you?" He nodded, but bit his lips when she filled the syringe.
Kyra was puzzled. Such a hunk and afraid of needles?
"Do you know the man?" Pisetti interrupted her musing. She shook her head. "Any idea why he chose your home?"
"I own a business," she shrugged. "People expect me to have money."
"And do you have money in the house?"
"Not much. It's in a safe. I never have much at home. And I don't own any…expensive rings, chains or whatever." She ran a hand through her tousled hair. "I don't know why he chose this house." She glanced back into the kitchen. A detective had arrived and took care of the large 9mm among the debris of two bowls and a plate. Pictures were already taken. "Not with a piece like this, anyway."
"And Mr. Bithrell? Did he have any contact with strangers the last days?"
"Aside from the impostor I told you about? No."
"Might he know the burglar?"
"Ask him." She made way for Pisetti to interrogate Julian and saw Oliver hurry into the living room. His eyes were wide with fear and his face pale. "I'm okay." She went to meet him. He hugged her tight as if he had feared for her life. "All right, Oliver, I wasn't shot to pieces."
He wiped his sweaty brow and cleaned his hand on his pants. "Well, you never know. Everything could have happened here! He might have attacked you!"
"He attacked Julian."
"What?" His eyes were even bigger now and he craned his neck to see beyond the counter. "Attacked him? Is he alive?"
"He's pretty roughed up, but, yes, he'll live." She handed back the shotgun. "Nice you had it handy."
"You gave it to me." He looked at it, disgusted. "I don't thin
k I could ever use it."
"If you had seen what I just saw you would." Oliver's brows hit his hairline. "They wrestled and that crook was winning." She shook her head and shivered suddenly. "Wow…"
"You okay? Do you want to sit down?"
"If I take another brandy I'll puke in the morning."
"I got that." He smoothed a strand of hair from her face. "But you feel kinda cold and clammy. Don't go into shock on me now."
"Hell, no. I was a cop, forgot that?" She straightened and took deep breaths. Yes, it helped, but the big gun in the kitchen troubled her. She knew it would make big holes. And the silencer told her the man using it was a professional. Why should anyone carry such a weapon if not for an instant killing? "I'm fine."
"People always say that when they are not. The nurse's back. Any questions for her?"
Kyra touched the woman's arm. "Anything I should know?"
She smiled, shaking her head and her short pony tail danced. "He's one stubborn mule. I said he should have the wounds checked at the hospital, but I can't force him." Her smile wilted. "I tended the two cuts in his face, but he's got many hard bruises along the torso. His ribs don't feel as if they're broken, but you could only know with a more distinct check than just my hands. A doc should look after him tomorrow. And you might tell this doc that he's got a phobia about needles. I had to talk his ears off to do the injection."
"Thank you." She took the painkillers the nurse handed her and breathed deeply. "Why would anyone bring such a weapon for a burglary?" She knew that this was the fact that made her shake like a leaf. Not the intrusion in itself. Not the fact that he had traded blows with Julian. The weapon.
"What are you mumbling?" Oliver frowned.
Kyra turned to the detective who had put the weapon in a clear plastic bag. He was taller than her by a few inches, blond with a crew cut that fitted the rest of his pristine appearance, clean shaven face, rimless glasses. He had a long, oval face with thin lips and a very serious expression. Kyra imagined him lecturing law at college. "Detective…"
