Carte Blanche [Special Enforcers Series ]

by Kallysten

  "Thank you, Mistress Red,” he murmured as he took it from her.

  He, too, waited for her to pick up her glass and take her first sip before drinking.

  "Champagne is quite appropriate,” Maxwell commented. “New Dominants are always celebrated here. Especially ladies."

  He raised his glass toward her in a toast, and she nodded briefly in response.

  "You don't have many Dommes?” she asked, happy to finally have the opportunity to gather information.

  "We accept only the best,” he replied, although it wasn't really answering her question.

  She noticed the look he gave the envelope she still hadn't touched, and decided that maybe picking it up was best, lest he changed his mind. Taking hold of it, she placed it in her lap.

  "What about the subbies?” she asked after taking another sip from her drink. “I guess you have more of them. Many vampires among them?"

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Ray freeze, his glass halfway to his mouth. She thought he would look up at her, but he didn't. Although she would have been unable to explain why, she followed her instinct and ran the fingers of her free hand through his hair again. He relaxed into her touch. She smiled to herself.

  "A few of our members are vampires,” Maxwell said cautiously. “I'm afraid confidentiality rules forbid me to say more than that."

  As she tried to figure out a way to get around his reserve, Maxwell drained the rest of his glass and placed it on the table.

  "It was a pleasure talking to you,” he said as he stood. “Please, feel free to order anything else you may want, and bring us back your application soon. We'll be glad to have you with us."

  She didn't even have time to say goodbye since already he was striding away. She thought for a moment that she had chased him away with too many questions, but as she followed him with her eyes she realized his haste had probably been due to the woman he was now approaching. Vexed that he had left so fast, she finished her champagne and considered Ray at her side. Was it worth raising his suspicions by asking him about fellow vampires after he had heard her ask the same kind of questions to Maxwell? He had claimed that he didn't play with anyone other than his Master, but for all she knew his Master had given him permission to play with others before, and MacAlair could have been one of them. Even if part of her wanted to trust he'd never hurt anyone, and especially not someone to whom he had given control over himself, she realized she had no reason to believe any such thing. Until she found more information, he was a suspect, and she needed to treat him as such. The half-formed fantasy of coming back purely for play and finding him again disappeared beneath her duty.

  She finished her glass and said, “Stand up."

  Ray appeared startled by the order, but he stood nonetheless, clearly hesitating as to what he ought to do with his unfinished drink. Grace reached for the card on his belt, unhooked it, then clipped it back in place, this time hanging with the red side facing upward.

  "Why?” he asked, looking at her with his head tilted just so in puzzlement.

  She forced herself to smile. “I have a feeling you won't be submitting to anyone else tonight.” She stood, catching the envelope before it could fall to the floor. “Good night, Ray."

  "Why leave so early?” he asked. “We could—"

  "Early for a vampire,” she interrupted before he could tempt her. “Not for me."

  His eyes darted to the envelope in her hand. “But you'll be back,” he said, making the statement sound like a question.

  She only replied with another smile before walking away. As long as he was a suspect, she couldn't possibly come back and risk compromising her work. Once they found MacAlair's killer, however, maybe it would be all right to return.

  * * * *

  Hanging from Ray's belt, his card identified him as in a dominant mood, but the truth was something else altogether. Mistress Red was leaving the club, freeing him from her temporary rule, and still Ray felt the quiet peace of mind that only came when he let go of who and what he was to offer himself to someone. The pain that radiated though his backside couldn't have been more welcome in that regard, a precious reminder of the scene they had played. Even the glass in his hand was part of it all. She had ordered that drink for him, he supposed, hoping to please him. Ray had known before even tasting the mix of blood and alcohol that he wouldn't like it. As a rule, he liked his blood warm and without anything in it, which was why he never ordered blood at the bar in Carte Blanche. Nevertheless, even now that she had left, he kept taking small sips of the beverage, intent on finishing what she had offered him.

  He sat down on the sofa she had vacated, and could have sworn he could still sense her warmth, as unlikely as he knew it was. He closed his eyes to hold on to the calm and contentment he felt. His painful hard-on did not even begin to spoil his satisfaction. He wanted to come; no, he was desperate to come. However, every second that passed with his cock hard, aching and untouched was another second spent submitting to both his Sire and Mistress Red. The mere thought of it was almost enough to make him come in his pants without another touch.

  The sofa cushion shifted as someone sat next to him, but he couldn't be bothered to look and see who it was. He took another mouthful of blood and champagne; he wasn't getting used to the mix.

  "Ray?"

  A hand rested gently on his thigh. He looked down at it, a little annoyed, and followed the lace-covered arm with his eyes. One of the two girls he had been playing with earlier—he couldn't have remembered her name at that moment to save his own life—was curled up in the sofa next to him. She gave him a hopeful look.

  "Would you like to dance?” she asked with a little simper. “Or maybe you're too sore. She was very..."

  Paying no mind to her chattering was a simple matter of concentration, demanding no more effort than ignoring a buzzing fly. Her hand, however, was more difficult to ignore, especially when it was kneading his thigh, slowly making its way upward toward parts of Ray that would have wanted nothing more than to be touched. The idea to take her up on what she was offering, what she had offered in the past, never even brushed his mind.

  In one long gulp, he finished his drink and stood, startling the girl at his side. He left her there without a goodbye, a small part of him realizing that he was being rude and yet utterly unable to care. Pleasure and pain were still humming through his body and mind. If he couldn't serve a Mistress or Master anymore tonight, he preferred to go home.

  He didn't need to speak to pay his bar tab or retrieve his jacket from the coat check. Both only required him to hand over his card and nod in thanks when it was handed back to him. He slipped the jacket on after stepping out of the club. The leather settled on his shoulders, heavy against his bruised flesh, and he shrugged into the feeling to accentuate it a little more. By pure habit, he pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket and turned it back on. He was a little surprised when the phone chirped at him, announcing a message. With a few touches of his thumb, he opened his inbox. The one line made him smile.

  Call when you're done playing. K.

  He walked a little faster toward the apartment, only two blocks away, wondering the entire time whether Keller would want details—and whether those details would incite him to come back. It wasn't like him to go away like this, leaving Ray behind without a word of explanation. Ray had thought about everything he had done and said in the days and nights preceding Keller's departure, long days and even longer nights without any play, but try as he might, he couldn't figure out what he could possibly have done wrong.

  The five flights of stairs had rarely seemed so long. The lock creaked as always when he turned the key. He pressed the preset number as he took his first step inside the apartment and shrugged out of his jacket while the phone rang. Keller picked up on the third ring and bypassed greetings to immediately ask:

  "Where are you?"

  Leaving his jacket in the living room, Ray crossed the apartment straight to the bedroom and gingerly sat
down at the desk to take off his shoes. “Home. You?"

  Predictably, Keller ignored the question. “When did you get my message?"

  It should have been tempting to lie, especially when Keller had no way of knowing he was being lied to. The idea however did not even present itself to Ray. “When I left the club."

  He stood and picked up the drawing pad from the desk along with a pencil and went to lie down on his stomach on the bed, only stopping to straighten up the heavy comforter. In his ear, Keller's sigh was ominous.

  "What did my message say exactly?"

  The pencil slid with a familiar scratching noise on the heavy paper and left a curve in its wake, the line stark on the bright white pad.

  "To call you."

  A few quickly drawn lines, a little shading, and the curve became a lovely feminine hip.

  "What did my message say exactly?” Keller repeated as though Ray hadn't said a word.

  Ray lifted the pencil off the page, leaving the silhouette faceless for now, and flipped back through the pad until he found the drawing he wanted. Unfinished as well, it hinted at the features of an angry Keller. The pencil caressed the eyelid, adding a couple of thin eyelashes.

  "To call when I was done playing,” he said. “And I didn't. Are you mad enough to come back and punish me?"

  The silence, on the other end of the line, told Ray all he needed to know. “What did I do?” he asked, biting the words. On the paper, the pencil was furiously running back and forth, adding a gray background around Keller's face. “What did I do to chase you away? And what am I supposed to do for you to come back?"

  "Not everything is about you, Childe."

  The bored tone of Keller's voice hit Ray like a slap. The tip of the pencil slipped on the paper, marring the drawing with a thick line bisecting Keller's face. Ray stared at what he had done; hours of work ruined in a careless second.

  "Childe?” Keller said impatiently after a few seconds.

  "Yes."

  "Tell me about your night."

  The decision was surprisingly easy to make. He closed the pad and turned over onto his back. Pain blossomed again everywhere he touched the bed. When he closed his eyes, Mistress Red seemed almost close enough to touch.

  "Nothing much to tell."

  If Keller didn't care enough to be there, didn't care enough to apply the logical consequence to a transgression, then maybe he didn't need to hear about someone who did care. And next time Ray needed to play, maybe he wouldn't bother to ask permission

  Chapter 6

  Children were running past her as Grace bent down to kiss Laura's cheek. Her daughter dutifully stood still but rolled her eyes.

  "Mom, come on, do you have to?” She wiped her cheek with the sleeve of her jacket. “You're supposed to be tough and stuff."

  "Tough and stuff?” Grace repeated, amused. “Am I, now?"

  "Of course you are.” Laura sighed as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You're an S.E."

  Grace wasn't sure whether to smile or be scared of the lingering awe in Laura's voice every time she pronounced those two letters.

  "And as such, I have the right to kiss my daughter goodbye,” she said. “Now go. Be good."

  She watched Laura skip away, her pleated skirt dancing around her. She joined a group of girls, and they all entered the school together. Even then, Grace stayed on the sidewalk a little longer, not really seeing anything. After her divorce, she had taken a few months to think before deciding to finally use her Special Enforcer license, so long after she had earned it. If not for Laura, she wouldn't have waited to make up her mind; she had wanted this for a long time. Her daughter had changed everything, however. Working as a Special Enforcer and tracking vampires who murdered humans wasn't the safest line of work she could have chosen. It had taken a meeting with Hugo and his assurances that the job of S.E., in this town, wasn't anywhere as dangerous as what she had been warned about at the academy, for Grace to finally tell Laura that she wouldn't be a stay-at-home mom anymore. Laura had taken the information in stride and excitedly asked if Grace would come talk to her class on career day.

  Shaking herself into motion, Grace got back into the car and drove to the agency. The small, shop-like building stood in the center of the town, the faded awning announcing ‘Hugo Tyler, Special Enforcer.’ Hugo had promised that when he retired, he'd get a new awning with Grace's name on it.

  Most mornings, she arrived there first, and started her day by listening to the messages on the machine. They varied from day to day, but most fell into two distinct categories: concerned citizens who reported seeing vampires on their street, and remorseful ones who needed a spell cast on their home after inviting a vampire in.

  This time, however, Hugo was already seated at his desk. Dark circles beneath his eyes revealed he had probably not gotten much sleep.

  "Last night was a bust,” he said as soon as she entered. “But we do have a lead."

  Grace shrugged out of her jacket and walked through the customer area toward his desk in the middle of the room.

  "And what lead is that?” she asked, knowing not to take Hugo's abruptness personally.

  "MacAlair's address book.” He pointed to a slim black notebook in front of him. “There's a couple of names in there that came up as vampires after a quick check. You feeling up for some more ground work?"

  Grace looked around the office. In the back, a table hosted a computer, printer, and scanner, along with the coffee maker Hugo couldn't live without. On the wall behind Hugo's desk, books piled high on shelves that bent beneath their weight. On the opposite wall, closer to Grace's desk, wooden cabinets hosted case files as well as spell supplies. She had spent the past five weeks in here, transferring thirty years worth of reports to the computer, scanning pictures of known vampires and reorganizing spell books as well as supplies.

  "When do we leave?"

  Hugo smiled.

  Twenty minutes later, she was parking in front of what, a few years earlier, had been one of the most desirable apartment buildings in town. There were better ones now, more exclusive ones. The building, however, had lost nothing of its elegance. Getting out of the car, she looked up the sleek façade of glass and marble, and thought ruefully of her own apartment.

  "Where do vamps get money, anyway?” she grumbled.

  Hugo chuckled as he hobbled ahead of her. “Been asking myself the same thing for thirty years. Closest I can figure out, compound interest has a lot to do with it.” He stopped and rummaged in his overcoat's pocket. “You've got your badge, right?"

  Grace nodded. For years, she had kept that badge, the proof that she had successfully completed the academy training, hidden at the very back of her sock drawer. Since the day she had decided to join Hugo's agency, she'd kept it on her at all times. Even the previous night, when she had gone to Carte Blanche, she had brought the badge with her, hidden in the inside pocket of the coat she had left at the entrance.

  They found the super easily enough. He opened his door to them, a television remote still in hand. Short and stout, he seemed to be in his fifties, maybe. Hugo lost no time showing him his identification badge and explaining why they were there.

  "Of course I know him,” the super said with a sniff. “Never had a complaint about him. You're sure that's the vamp you're looking for?"

  "We just want to ask him a few questions,” Grace jumped in. “Nothing more."

  At least, not for now, she mentally added.

  "The rent's paid for two more months. Standard agreement. I haven't seen him for the past few days though. I don't think he's here."

  Hugo's smile was more teeth than niceness. “Mind opening up for us?"

  The man gave a shrug. “I can't say I'll be glad to, because if you ask me, you guys should have to get a warrant, like the police for humans. But I'm not the one making the laws, am I?"

  Hugo clapped him on the back as the man led the way up the stairs.

  "And if the law asked for me
to get a warrant, believe me, I wouldn't ask you to open that door without one."

  The man kept grumbling under his breath, though it might have been in regard to the five flights of stairs more than it was about civil liberties denied to vampires. The elevator was apparently out of service.

  He unlocked the door for them, giving the key an extra turn to make sure it'd lock back behind them when they were done, then left them to return, presumably, to his television.

  "Badge around your neck,” Hugo murmured. “And stake in hand. We're not here to kill, but we better be prepared for anything."

  Grace nodded to show she understood, and readied herself as he had indicated. At her second nod, Hugo pushed the door open and stepped in first, calling out loudly:

  "Keller Owens? I'm a Special Enforcer, and I need to talk to you. Do not attack, or you will be in breach of the law and I will have to kill you. All I want is to talk."

  There was no answer as they walked through the darkened living room. Venetian blinds on the window let in just enough light that they didn't bump into the few pieces of furniture. The heavy scent of cigarettes made Grace's nose twitch. Hugo stopped to look around, maybe searching for a light switch, and Grace continued to advance toward the hallway and the several doors she guessed were there. She tried to keep her breathing under control, but her heart continued to beat too fast. When she had been at the academy, she had dreamed of doing something like this. It had just dawned on her that a decade later, the thrill had not faded in the slightest.

  A light flickered on ahead of her, and she moved forward. She stepped through the open door at the end of the hallway, entering a bedroom and discovering the most unlikely sight she could have imagined finding.

  Ray was standing by the king-sized wooden bed. The sheets were tangled up behind him, but he was clearly alone—and naked, what looked like pajama pants in his hand. His eyes widened as he saw her, and his mouth opened. He didn't say a word, however. Instead, he dropped the pants and smoothly lowered himself to his knees, his arms sliding in position behind him. Already, his cock stood at half-mast.