 
# Captive

### Lace Underground Book 1

## Tess Oliver

**C APTIVE**

Copyright © 2018 by Tess Oliver

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

### Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

OBSESSED

About the Author

# 1

### Angie

The big chair nearly swallows me as I sit back against the cushions. My hands smooth over the supple leather. The feel of the cool upholstery sends a deep shiver through me, deep enough that Dr. Hoffman doesn't notice. My eyes drift shut and I imagine the soft leather cuffs around my wrists and ankles.

"Detective Tennyson?" Hoffman's voice pierces my languid thoughts. Her voice is slightly nasal with that calm, controlled undertone that every psych student learns before receiving their fancy printed certificate declaring them fit to heal minds—warped minds, lost minds, broken minds. _My_ mind doesn't fit neatly into one but all three.

I open my eyes. Hoffman, a woman who could be forty or fifty, her lack of expression makes it hard to know, is wearing a bright pink scarf that doesn't go with the rest of her tightly conservative look, a straw colored pantsuit and hair pulled so severely into a ponytail it pulls her eyes up at the corner. In the dull confines of her office, she seems the quintessential psychiatrist, stone faced, non-judgmental, never a hair out of place, but something tells me, at home she struts around in faded sweatpants, snapping gum loudly while she sips beer from a bottle.

I tilt my head at her. "I'll bet that hair band comes out the second you walk those sensible shoes through your front door."

Hoffman smiles in response and adjusts the yellow notepad on her lap. "Detective Tennyson—" She starts again but pauses. "Should I call you Tennyson or Angie?" Another pause and she seems to have a moment of awkward shyness before speaking again. "Or may I call you Ten? I understand that's what they call you—"

"Whatever works for you," I say, but think having her call me Ten, my nickname on the force, will sound strained.

"I like Angie," she says seemingly satisfied about reaching a decision. "I once had a friend named Angie. We used to spend every Friday night at each other's houses watching movies and talking about boys." Hoffman wiggles her bottom some before sitting back farther on the chair. Her moment of childhood reverie ends abruptly, and she lobs the first zinger.

"Tell me about the Lace Underground, Angie."

My pulse skips into overdrive. After two nightmarish months of withdrawals followed by a month of what was lightly referred to as debriefing, weeks of having details and memories squeezed from my mind like water wrung from a dishtowel, I was finally free to discuss the Underground. I'd waited for the day as much as I'd dreaded it. And it seemed that inside Hoffman's outdated office with its green walls, tan carpeting and floral drapes, that day had arrived.

Only now, I wasn't ready for it. I wasn't ready to peel that sore open again.

I glance around. "Your office reminds me of my Aunt Clara's house, the way it looked when I was a kid." I rub the soles of my shoes over the rug. "Her carpet was the same color." I look up expecting to see disappointment in her expression. It's there but still behind the stone mask. "Her walls were the same green. Only she had this really creepy collection of ceramic clowns sitting on a shelf. She loved those things." Hoffman waits for me to continue, so I do, happy to have the earlier topic dropped. "One day my cousin, Lori, and I were using pillows as shields. We were beautiful princesses moonlighting as brave knights, and we were in hot pursuit of a dragon. The couch was our drawbridge. Lori threw her shield at our invisible prey and Phinneas the Clown, my aunt's favorite, naturally, shot off the shelf and broke into a million pieces. My cousin broke down in sobs, so I took the heat for it."

"That was valiant of you," she says and makes a note of something on her pad.

I shrug. "I was playing the part of a brave knight. Guess it rubbed off."

"Do you still see your cousin?"

"She stopped chasing dragons and started chasing boys. Literally." I drum my fingers on the arm of the chair, a habit I inherited from my dad. "She followed her boyfriend to Alaska. She's happy, I guess. As happy as you can be in a place where it's either windy, snowing or dark."

More light scribbles on her notepad. I wonder briefly if she's just doodling. I sure would be with the boring shit I'm bringing up.

Hoffman takes a not so sneaky peek at the small timer she has on the table. She's like everyone else. It's a job and she's waiting to go home and yank on those sweatpants and pull that cold beer from the fridge.

"Tell me more about your family," she says. "You have three brothers, right?"

We are at the prying into the family connections part of the session. I'm good with it. Better than other subjects.

"Luke and Keith are older than me, and Everett is twenty-four, one year younger."

"Do you see them much?" She stops and seems to wish she could pull the question back in. But she is a pro. She recovers. "Of course I mean before this." Her recovery is rougher than I expect. "Since before you went on assignment," she adds unnecessarily.

"They live in different states with families and jobs. I see them and Mom at Christmas."

She reflects so long over each question, it makes me feel like a fragile porcelain doll. It annoys the hell out of me.

"Your dad died when you were fourteen?" she asks, again unnecessarily.

"Yes." I stare blankly back at her, and she gazes back expectantly. I grin faintly to let her know that my answer is complete.

Hoffman's lip twitches the tiniest bit in disappointment. She regroups by shuffling her notepad and tapping her chin with her pen.

"Let's get back to my first question. What can you tell me about the Lace Underground?"

I fiddle with the zipper on my sweatshirt and sense that Hoffman is getting impatient. I lift my face to her. She has hazel eyes. They are bloodshot around the edges. I wonder if she's been binge watching something after work hours, when she's lounging in her gray sweatpants and eating microwave popcorn. Game of Thrones or Gilmore Girls, I want to ask but decide against it. After talking to broken people like me all day, I'd opt for Gilmore Girls.

I rest my elbow on the soft leather arm of the chair and lean my temple against my fist. "Dr. Hoffman, do you go to church?"

"I did as a child," she answers smoothly, like a professional who, no doubt, gets silly off tangent questions all day. "Why do you ask?"

I drop my supportive fist away and sit forward, now resting my forearms on my thighs. I've dropped so much weight my muscular legs look like skeleton bones wrapped in faded denim. I look at my twiggy thighs for a second and then continue. "You asked me about the Underground," I say calmly but a silent storm is surging in my chest. "Close your eyes," I command politely and am more than surprised when she complies.

"Think about being that little girl in church. Remember how they drilled the concept of purgatory into your innocent, impressionable mind. A terrible, horrible place void of hope, a hot burning pit so bleak, the despair, anguish and regret would consume you. A place so hideous it kept you from peeking at your neighbor's math test for an answer and made you rethink sticking your chewing gum under the theater seat. Do you have the place in your head, Dr. Hoffman?"

It seems her skin is a shade lighter. Her lashes flutter dark and restless against her ivory cheeks. She nods almost imperceptibly.

"At the same time you think about hell, visualize heaven, the place the Sunday School teacher insists will open its pearly gates to all who earn it. A place where every fantasy comes true and every desire is satisfied. A place that feels safe and where the only emotion is heightened pleasure. A place where you can feel like you belong even if you have no idea why."

I take a deep breath. She mirrors mine with a breath of her own.

The sudden silence prompts her to open her eyes.

"You asked what the Lace Underground is like. That's your answer."

Hoffman discretely picks up her pen and scribbles quickly, almost frantically to catch up. There are a few beads of sweat on her upper lip that weren't there seconds earlier. She absently wipes at them with the back of her hand.

"What about Kane Freestone?"

It is only a three syllable concoction of letters, but it sends pulses of electricity through my bones, my muscles. I hide the twitch in my cheek by allowing my hair to fall forward on my face.

"What about him?" My voice sounds tweaked, unnatural. Hoffman catches it too.

"Any thoughts?" she says with a shrug as if asking me to comment on the weather or the color of her suit.

The words spin around in my head before I can straighten them into coherent phrases. But I need to talk. The sooner I talk, the quicker she signs my release to get back to work. And I need work. "He was a twisted monster. I hated him as much as I couldn't live without him. He made me feel dirty and wrong . . . and desired and loved. At that time, during those months in Lace Underground, he was the center and soul of my existence. And as stone cold and heartless as he was, I think I was his center. I was the soul of his existence." The unfamiliar tone coming from my throat stuns the doctor more than me. Maybe she isn't the utter, complete pro I gave her credit for.

I have her undivided attention, so undivided that I'm sure a six-eyed alien could walk through the room and she wouldn't flinch. She doesn't dare stop to take notes. Her lips part with anticipation as she waits for me to continue.

I search but there is nothing more. My head shakes weakly. Hoffman sits back hard as if she finally releases a breath she's been holding for days.

"What about the serum?" Her neatly drawn brows scrunch as she looks for a different word. "The elixir?

"The drug?" In the Lace Underground it was called 'nectar', but after several grueling months of detox, I came to the easy conclusion it was nothing more than a drug. No science degree necessary.

Hoffman flips over a page of her notebook and runs her finger along a handwritten list. She looks up expectantly.

"If you have a copy of what I said about it, why are you asking me?" I sound snippy but can't stop myself. It's all right, I tell myself. She knows I'm only here to get my badge back.

"I wanted to hear it from you."

"Nectar," I say wryly, "leaves you in an emotional dead zone. No inhibitions, no happiness and, more importantly, no sadness. But internally—" Heat rises in my cheeks and I flush thinking about it. I press my hands between my knees worried I might instinctively rub them over my crotch. My pussy moistens at the thought of it. "Internally, it's as if every nerve in your body is working in overdrive. Every physical sensation is magnified by a thousand. It's like an explosion taking place inside a bomb shelter." My head starts to hurt. I reach up and rub my temple. The common gesture startles the good doctor.

"Do you need something? Water or I can open a window?"

"No, just a small headache."

She looks at her timer. This time more boldly. "We're almost through for the day." The way she purses her mouth gives me fair warning that another zinger is about to be lobbed my direction. She was ripping off the bandages quickly, maybe hoping that would move things along faster.

"How did you feel when you saw your partner?" She glanced down to get his name. "Detective James Maddox?" She says his name with crisp precision. "What was that moment like?"

The pain in my head gets sharper. I sigh, hoping to relieve the pressure building in my temple. "Ache," I say quietly. My voice is more normal now but the edge of sorrow can't be missed. "Pain and hurt so intense it could never be healed."

"So when you saw Detective Maddox, you felt a terrible ache?"

I blink at her, sitting on her tufted leather sofa seemingly forgetting about my description of the drug.

"Me? I'm talking about Maddox." I was drugged out of my mind but that moment in time was still etched in my memory like a carving in a marble statue, hard and permanent. "I felt lost. I felt it through every bone in my body."

Dr. Hoffman rubs her temple now.

I smile. "Guess it's catching." I wonder if she goes to a therapist herself. Or maybe beer and Gilmore Girls are all she needs to recharge for her next work day.

Hoffman nods and drops her hand quickly. "Yes, it seems so. One last question that I hope will give us a place to start next time we meet." She reads her notes and then peers up at me. "You volunteered for a highly dangerous undercover assignment. Up until that time, you and your partner had won several medals for bringing down a large drug cartel along with three of the top local drug dealers. You were busy on the streets. What was it that prompted you to go undercover on the Lace Underground sting operation?"

The day I volunteered seems so long ago, as if an eternity has passed since then. But it is still clear and sharp in my chest. "Disappointment compounded by a mega dose of heartbreak."

Hoffman waits patiently for me to elaborate but the pain in my head says we are done. She reads my expression and jots down a few notes before smiling up at me.

"Disappointment and heartbreak. That's where we'll start next time. Good session, Angie."

# 2

### Angie

_Six months earlier_

I tapped the pine tree shaped air freshener dangling from the rearview. "Did I ever tell you about my Uncle Carl's dairy farm?" I squeeze another pack of hot sauce onto my burrito and toss the squished package into the bag at my feet.

Maddox takes a gargantuan bite of his burrito and licks sour cream off the side of his thumb. His green eyes flash my direction as his unshaven jaw slides back and forth to chew. He uses the pause between bites to suck hard on his straw.

"I guess not then," I continue."Carl had about five hundred head of cattle on his farm. When the weather conditions were just right, a little rain followed by a good breeze, the stench from Uncle Carl's farm could be smelled through the entire valley."

Maddox struggles again to pull a sip of cola from the cup. I grab my cup and hand it to him just a little too forcefully. He drains away two inches of my soda and hands it back. "Why the hell are you talking about your uncle's dairy farm?"

"Because the smell in this car reminds me of acres and acres of cow shit." I toss the rest of my burrito into the bag and wipe my hands on the last napkin. I tap the air freshener again. "Is this the same little tree you hung two years ago after that junkie puked in the backseat?"

"Yup. Those things last three or four years."

"Just going to go out on a limb here, because I'm no car freshener expert," I qualify, "but I think you're wrong about the four year shelf life."

"If you want to continue the stakeout outside on that hot sidewalk go right ahead. And that manure smell is your fault. You're the one who swung yourself over the pasture fence to chase that two-bit car thief."

"I didn't see the pile of shit on the other side. I had to toss those running shoes, by the way. Couldn't get the smell out. But even racing after the creep with my shoes clumped in cow pie, I got the guy. No thanks to my partner."

"Told you, I pulled a hamstring at the gym that morning." With the napkins gone, Maddox uses the edge of the food bag to wipe his mouth. He leans his head back against the seat and keeps an eye on the street in front of us. His long black eyelashes flutter down for a second, covering his extraordinary, unearthly green eyes.

I kick my fist out at his arm. "Don't fall asleep now. Norville said the connection was sometime this morning. It's nearly twelve, which means morning is almost over." Norville, a strung-out junkie who knows everything going on within a fifty mile radius, is our go-to snitch for drug transactions.

"I'm not sleeping," he says without opening his eyes. "I'm resting my brain." I take the opportunity to marvel at his perfectly chiseled facial features, straight nose, strong jaw and a chin with a wickedly hot cleft. It was unfair how mother nature put so much beauty into one human. But Maddox didn't ever seem to notice that conversations stopped when his six foot plus frame stepped into a crowded room. He didn't seem to notice the heads turning, both sexes, when we walked into a restaurant or even into a bust.

My eyes sweep up to the sun visor, and I secretly sneer at Tiffany's picture. Maddox clipped it there at her insistence so she could be his 'guardian angel'. Tiff, as he lovingly calls her, has satiny gold hair and large blue eyes. Even her skin is like cream. And in case I didn't know, after being reminded a hundred million times by my pride-filled partner, Tiff is going to be a dentist. Maybe her patients can call her Dr. Tiff.

I wipe my sunglasses on the end of my t-shirt and lift them, only to find that they are greasier than when I started. I resort to the hot breath method of lens cleaning which makes them only slightly better. My bottom scoots across the vinyl seat and I slump back.

"Norville needs to be more specific with his insider info. Getting details from him is like dealing with the cable company when they tell you the service guy is coming sometime between Monday and Thursday." Maddox sounds tired, and I angrily wonder if he and Tiffany were up late last night.

He sits up and shakes the sedan with his large frame. His shoulders inch past the seat on each side and he has to push the seat clear back to get his long legs under the dash.

Maddox turns the ignition to accessory and the radio pops on. The volume is low, but the speakers suck so it sounds better. The Rolling Stones' _Angie_ creaks through the crummy speakers. Maddox reaches for the volume. "Hey, Ten, here's your song." He starts to croon along with Jagger and damn, if he doesn't look and sound beautiful doing it.

Hearing Maddox sing my name scratches at my heart. My hand shoots forward and I turn it off. He sings a few more notes before noticing that Mick has fallen silent. "Uh, I was singing to that. And I was sounding pretty fucking good too. Your mom once told me I sound just like Mick."

I rest my head back against the seat. "My mom, an interminable flirt, also tells the mailman he looks like George Clooney."

"Well, does he?"

I blow a subdued raspberry from my lips. "Clooney's ass maybe."

Maddox turns the radio back on and squelches my protest by promising not to sing. He thinks it's because his singing annoys me. If only that were the case.

He starts drumming a beat on the steering wheel. Unlike his singing, it's annoying. "So how is what's his name?" he asks casually.

I know exactly who he's asking about, but I wait to see if he comes up with the name, knowing full well, the forgetful moment is an act. He drums faster and then stops. "What's his name again? Bryce? Fluffy name. Sounds like something you'd name a pet rabbit."

"Then I guess Brodie is lucky that his name is not Bryce. And Brodie is fine. We're going out to dinner and a movie tonight. If this damn stakeout ever ends."

"He's kind of a dick, if you ask me." Maddox continues his steering wheel melody but it's far less intense.

"Didn't ask you," I say curtly.

The car wiggles side to side as Maddox reaches across to the glove box. We'd been just a front seat console away from each other for five hours, but the second he passes into my personal space, my heart races ahead. He unexpectedly turns his head while still leaning in front of me. He's close enough that I can count the freckles on his face. Three. But I already knew that stupid, meaningless fact. I also know exactly where the thin scar he got from crashing his bike through a sliding glass door at the age of ten dissects his right eyebrow.

Maddox smiles faintly at me and holds up a stick of gum. I shake my head. He backs out of my personal space, but I can still feel the heat of him in the air around me. I can still smell the faint fragrance of his shampoo, even through the stink in the car.

He sits back hard enough to make the entire car shudder. He unwraps the stick of gum but pauses before pushing it into his mouth. "Ten," he says tentatively as if he's not sure where his sentence is going. He looks at me and his jade green eyes pierce right through me. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you."

A black Escalade with darkly tinted windows zips past our car, spraying it with fine grit from the asphalt.

I sit up straight. "It's gonna have to wait. Looks like shit's about to go down."

The black SUV pulls up in front of the liquor store. A slim, short guy with an oversized gray hooded sweatshirt hops down from the driver's seat and leaves the car running. He glances around just enough to let us know we've got the right guy.

"That's him, that's Vinny," Maddox says.

Our suspect hurries on his bright blue, unlaced high-tops into the liquor store.

"Car's still running," I note. Maddox is already out the door.

I watch for a few seconds as my partner strolls across the street, coolly, calmly in his faded jeans and black steel toed boots. His bicep thickens, stretching the tattoo on his arm, as he rakes his fingers through his dark hair. His long strides make quick work of the space between us and the idling SUV.

From the corner of my eye, I catch a movement. A gangly guy, maybe nineteen or twenty, wearing a Mortal Kombat t-shirt and backwards baseball cap, rolls toward the SUV on his skateboard.

I slip out of the car and stick my hands in my pockets as the guy looks my direction. He seems to easily convince himself that the woman walking across the street is just heading to the liquor store. Maddox has already pulled the keys from the Escalade. He leans casually against the side of the car, out of view of the sidewalk and tosses the keys on his palm as he waits for the transaction.

The driver steps out of the liquor store carrying a brown bag. He spots the kid on the skateboard and tilts his head toward the adjacent alley. I stop in front of the shoe store on the opposite side of the alley and pretend to browse the sandals, but I can see right through the window pane and out the shop window on the alley side. Vinny, a drug-pushing middleman has been selling tainted heroin and people are dying from it. He is in a lot of trouble, but he's just a stepping stone. We need Vinny to get to the source of the lethal drugs.

I cough once, the signal for Maddox that the transaction has taken place. He steps out from behind the Escalade. "Now just what are you two boys doing?"

"Fuck." Vinny shoots out of the alley and grabs the passenger door handle. He rockets into the Escalade and bolts over the console to the driver's seat.

The skater takes off, but isn't going to get far in an alley.

Maddox walks to the driver's window and taps on it. "Guess you need the keys."

I'm entertained enough by the scene that my attention is diverted from my suspect. It takes a second before the sound of skateboard wheels grinding over cement pulls my attention back.

The junkie shoves me hard in the chest as he skates past. I stumble back several steps before taking off after him. "Wait, I'm just trying to save your life, you stupid dumbass!" I yell. My feet slap the pavement hard. I'm fast and his skateboard is slowed by the cracks in the city sidewalk.

I close in on him. His hat flies off as he hits a rut and the board is airborne. He lands hard and makes the split second decision to kick the board back toward the lady cop chasing after him. I don't have time to react or slow my sprint. The board is flying straight at me. At the last second, before I can jump out of the way, the fast moving board hits a crack and flies into my shin.

"Fuck!" I push off the ground to avoid falling face first onto the cement. Just like the board seconds before, I'm airborne. My subconscious shouts at me to tuck and roll. I somersault and manage somehow to land on my side. Thudding pain shoots through my entire body. I roll twice before stopping against a newspaper stand.

"You all right, Ten?"

I wait for a second to see if anything feels broken. Just bruised. I push to sitting and look in the direction of Maddox's voice. Somehow, in the midst of my tumbling act, my partner managed to catch the skateboarder. He's holding the jerk by the back of his shirt. The guy is comically flailing his tight fists through the air never making contact with anything. The whole scene has pulled a group of boys out from the local comic book store. They have a good laugh at the angry guy punching at the air.

Maddox gives him a sturdy shake. "Knock it off, Rocky. We are just trying to help you. Look what you've done to my partner. You're in big fucking trouble. Trust me, when we do the good cop, bad cop routine, she's always the bad cop."

The guy has dirt smeared on his face and looks as if he hasn't bathed in a month. He curls his lip at me as I stand up. He's been skipping the toothbrush too it seems. "She's definitely a _bad_ cop," he says snidely.

The guy flinches as I limp toward him. I pick up his skateboard on the way and decide to hop on and give it a whirl, avoiding the painful steps on my right shin. Sirens scream in the distance. Two black and whites are heading toward us.

"Hey, bitch, get off my board," he sneers.

I stop and look at him, ready to lecture the ass about calling me a bitch but decide it's not worth it. Instead, I turn back to the group of boys watching the scene. I put my heel on the end of the board and spin it around. "Here you go, boys." I push the board toward them. They grab it and run.

"What the fuck?" the junkie whines. "You can't do that."

I shrug. "Just did." I lift my chin to Maddox. "Let's book him. He needs a shower and food and a few weeks without jamming needles into his veins."

Maddox is still holding the guy's shirt as he reaches down to pull out the envelope of tainted heroin. "Don't you know this stuff'll kill ya?"

The black and whites pull up to the curb. "The cavalry is here," I quip. "Why don't you hand junior off. Wait, what happened to Vinny?"

Maddox motions behind me with his hand.

I spin around and look back toward the Escalade. Maddox has handcuffed Vinny to the street light pole. The idiot has shimmied up the pole like he's harvesting coconuts. He's a good ten feet up but seems puzzled about where to go next.

Maddox hands off the junkie to Officer Evans, and we walk over to the light pole. My gait is hampered by what I'm sure is a massive bruise. Maddox stares up at Vinny who has, for some reason, decided to continue his climb. "Where you gonna go when you get to that long arm with the light, Vinny? We could just leave you up there, only I need my cuffs back. Can't catch bad guys unless I have my cuffs."

Vinny looks down at the circle of officers that have now surrounded the pole, more for amusement than to show any kind of force. Officer Murray takes out his phone and snaps a picture. Vinny grunts and says something under his breath before inching back down the pole.

Maddox gets his cuffs and hands Vinny off to the officers. He motions for me to follow him back to his car. "Let's go get an ice cream. We deserve it. Nice little gymnastics display by the way. But not a ten. The landing was a little rough."

"You think? I thought it was a _ten_." I hobble after him. "I'm injured so you're buying. And I'm getting a double fucking scoop." We climb into the car. "So what were you going to tell me before all the fun started?"

Maddox sets his hands on the steering wheel and stares blankly at the dials on the dash for a few seconds. He starts the car. "Nothing really. It can wait."

# 3

### Maddox

Captain Clark is sitting at his desk looking over some files and pictures with his best buddy, Detective Grimly, as I burst in.

"Knock, asshole," Clark snarls at me without looking up from the pictures.

Grimly shoots me a fatherly scowl over his shoulder. I back up two steps and knock on the inside of the door. "We got Vinny."

"Do you want a hug and kiss?" Clark mutters. Clark is a Santa sized dude who likes to chew toothpicks and does the comb-over thing. His face looks like a sack of potatoes and he has a personality to go along with the look, but Mrs. Clark, Glenda, to be exact, is a sweet smiling, flawless skinned brunette who bakes cookies for the station and has an infectious laugh. She's the kind of woman you want to find standing up at the chalkboard when you walk into your new classroom because you know it's going to be an awesome year. Numerous theories about how potato-faced Clark landed a beautiful charmer have been bandied about the station for years. Unless he has a secret trove of treasure, the only other plausible theory, and one that brings up a little barf in my throat when I think about it, is Ten's suggestion that the guy 'knows how to fuck like a rock star'.

Ten's profoundly off kilter footsteps sound behind me. "Did you tell him we have Vinny?"

I look over at her. "Yeah, he says he has a kiss for you."

"No, thanks. I've had my fun for the day." She's rolled up the leg of her jeans. The crash with the skateboard has morphed into a black and blue goose egg.

Clark peers up over the rim of his glasses. "Christ, Tennyson. Get some ice on that thing before it swells."

"I think that ship has left the barn." Ten winces as she leans over to touch it.

Grimly laughs arrogantly thinking he's caught her saying something stupid. "I think the saying is ship has sailed or the horse has left the barn."

Ten claps him on the shoulder. "Thanks for straightening that out for me, Grimly."

Rather than burning shoe leather chasing down criminals, Grimly spends most of his work day ass kissing the big ass sitting in the chair across from him. Which is just as well because no one wants to partner with the guy. He's a lousy shot and trigger happy to boot.

Ten pulls up a seat and rests the foot of the bruised leg on the armrest of Grimly's chair. His cheek gets all twitchy, and it's obvious he's irritated but Ten ignores the twitch. It's one of the million and a half things I love about her. She reaches across Clark's desk and spins one of the pictures around.

"Help yourself, Tennyson," Clark says wryly, but he knows Ten is one of his best detectives, so he leans back and lets her look at the picture. I stand over her shoulder.

A pasty faced man is curled in a fetal position in the middle of what looks like a posh bathroom, complete with marble floors and high gloss fixtures. The pool of blood beneath his head is a good indication that the guy is no longer enjoying his elegant lavatory.

"Is that a dead rat or a bad toupee?" I ask. Ten's shoulders shake in a laugh, but Clark is less amused.

"It's a toupee. Although I'm sure it wasn't a bad one when it was on his head. Howard Rainier is worth billions," Grimly says and sits back with a confident smile as if he is the only person on the planet with knowledge of the man's wealth. Grimly's nice blue sweater brushes against the dirt crusted sole of Ten's shoe. He makes a show of brushing off the dirt, his earlier confidence replaced by irritation. "Do you mind, Tennyson? This is a dry clean only sweater."

A laugh shoots from my mouth, and I make no attempt to stifle it.

Grimly shakes his head in disgust. "I'll go check out those names," Grimly says curtly before standing abruptly and walking out.

I look back as the door snaps shut. "Jeez, was it something we said?" I sit in the chair Grimly vacated, but I don't mind having Ten's shoe on the arm. One of those crazy ass images that you know shouldn't happen but your subconscious insists on laying on you passes through my mind, and for a brief second, Ten is sitting on my lap wearing nothing but a blue pair of panties.

It's not easy but I shake the image loose and sit forward. "So what about this Rainier guy? Why did somebody off him?"

Clark shifts his gaze from me to Ten and back again. "It's not something I'm broadcasting yet, but in the past two months, two billionaires have been killed. Same method. A blow to the head."

"So they're related." Ten pulls around the second stack of pictures.

"We don't have enough evidence yet," Clark says.

Tennyson hands me two of the pictures. They are two young girls who look like they've been living on the streets for a long time.

"What do these girls have to do with it?" I ask.

"Do you have to ask? Billionaires and their kinks." Ten pulls her foot down and winces as it hits the floor harder than she expects.

"I don't know if we can generalize about billionaires," Clark says.

"You're right," Ten agrees. "Old creepy men and their kinks. Better?"

Clark doesn't answer. Ten's sharp tongue has earned her plenty of marks on her record, but her fearlessness has earned her accolades too.

Clark tosses another picture in front of us. It's a slick looking guy with piercing blue eyes and a square jaw. Ten's gaze lingers just a second too long on the photo. I suddenly have the urge to punch the guy with the piercing blue eyes and square jaw.

Ten sits back and pushes the picture back to Clark. "Is he dead too?"

A dry laugh vibrates Clark's moustache. "That'd make life a whole lot easier. This is Kane Freestone, a very rich man but still alive and kicking. At least as far as we know. They call him the mad genius. He was a biochemist. Went to MIT and a couple other big name schools before getting scooped up by Mayer Pharmaceuticals. He left there about five years ago because they wouldn't give him funds to finish his research."

"Research on what?" I push the other pictures back to him.

"Not quite sure but his coworkers thought it was something dangerous enough to rat him out. He went underground, started some secret society called Lace Underground."

"So . . . they are hiding out making petticoats?" Ten quips. Her nose scrunches up. Her leg is bothering her, and she gets grumpy when she's hurt.

I tap her arm. "Go put some ice on that. It'll numb the pain."

She nods but doesn't get up. "If this is a secret society, how come you know about it and what does it have to do with the odd collection of pictures on your desk?" I can see the flecks of gold in Ten's brown eyes sparkle with interest. She loves things that are twisted and secret and hard to untangle. And from the baffled look on Clark's lumpy face, this seems to be one of those cases.

"Unfortunately, about all we know is the name. Like I said, Freestone is a genius. He keeps things pretty well sealed up. These girls are just a few of a dozen or so who have disappeared in the last two years. They're street kids, drug addicts, low level thieves and prostitutes. We think the two murder victims might have had something on Freestone, maybe two club members gone rogue."

Ten sits up in her chair, and I know exactly what she's going to say. Sometimes I think I know her better than she knows herself.

"So street kids go missing and it's whatever." She shrugs for a visual. "But two old cranky, fake hair wearing men turn up dead and it's bring out the torches and pitchforks?"

"Did I say that Tennyson?" Clark looks at me for back up but doesn't get it. "We've been looking for the girls." He smacks his hand down on a folder on his desk. "I've got a whole fucking file of missing girl cases. We're working out the details for an undercover sting right now, and it doesn't include you two clowns." He sits back hard and his chair rolls a few inches back. "Go put some ice on that leg." Clark lifts his chin my direction. "You too."

"What the fuck did I do?"

"You started this by walking in here without knocking, and the copper-haired menace goes wherever you go."

Ten sits forward. "You should send me."

"Yeah, I'd like to send you somewhere, that's for damn sure." Clark pulls a toothpick out of the glass bowl on his desk and starts chewing on it like a cow on grass. He's pissed but Ten ignores the red complexion and flared nostrils.

"You need a woman to go undercover, right? A street kid?"

"No," I say abruptly without thinking. There's more to my protest, like no fucking way am I letting you do something so dangerous, but I keep that part tucked inside.

Ten looks hurt. "Thanks a lot, partner." She stands up and bites her lip as she puts all her weight on the leg.

Clark talks around the toothpick. "No need to give it another thought, Tennyson. Not happening." He waves his hand to shoo us out.

Ten limps out, and I follow close at her heels, trying to come up with a good reason for blurting _no_. Nothing comes to mind except the truth. She hobbles into the lunch room.

I scoot past her. "I'll get you the ice pack from the freezer."

She's quiet and I don't think it's the pain. I pull the ice pack out of the fridge. As I turn around, she's tying her long copper hair up in a ponytail. The arm movement lifts her t-shirt up high enough to expose the golden skin on her flat stomach. I take a deep breath and hold it until the shirt slips back into place.

I walk over and hand her the ice pack. She doesn't lift her brown gaze to me as she grabs the ice pack. We walk out to the common area where those of us, who are not important enough for offices, sit.

I race over and grab her chair and roll it over to my desk. "I've got to go interrogate Vinny." I wave to my chair. "Sit here so you can put your leg up on your chair."

Her tiny freckle covered nose wiggles side to side in consideration.

"I'm sorry, Ten," I finally say. "I know you could handle it. It's just, I need you working the streets with me." My excuse sounds lame, but she nods and reluctantly sits at my desk, propping her foot up on the chair. She holds her breath as she places the ice over the lump on her shin.

"Maddox," Clark calls from his office. "Get in here. I've got some information for you before you sit down with Vinny."

I walk back to his office. He's still sitting behind his desk and chewing the toothpick. He hands me a slip of paper with some names. "These are some contact names. I need you to see what he knows about the people on that list."

I glance at it. "Right." I stand in his office and stare out at Ten. She's drumming her fingers on my pile of paperwork. I turn back to Clark.

"Hey, Cap'n, remember what I asked you about a few days ago?"

"Yeah, I remember. Like the note says, I don't have anyone else who needs a partner right now." Clark pulls the toothpick out and tosses it in the trash. "Still don't know why you want a change. You two are a great team."

"Yeah." I start to leave but spin back. "Wait. What note?"

"The one I left right on top of the paperwork on your desk."

A cold invisible fist plows into my stomach as I turn back toward the center office. Ten is holding a paper in her hand. I freeze to the spot, not knowing how to move forward.

Ten grabs the ice pack off her leg. My chair shoots back as she stands.

"Let me explain, Ten," I say, sounding like a desperate sap. I search for a good reason, anything but the truth. She is still limping but like always, she's remarkably fast as she races out of the room.

I stop and look at the note she dropped back onto the desk. "Can't get you a new partner, Maddox. You'll have to stick it out with Tennyson, Clark."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

# 4

### Angie

I smack the door open to the ladies' restroom, startling Susan from the record's office. She sees my face and decides not to say hello as she brusquely dries her hands and darts out of the bathroom.

I pace a few circles on the dingy tile floor and then stop in front of the sink. I rest my hands on the edge of the basin and avoid looking at my reflection. Three years, my voice thunders in my head. Three years with the same partner. Maybe he was just sick of looking at me, talking to me. Maybe he just didn't trust me anymore. I tend to be impulsive, but fuck, so does he.

I turn on the sink and lean down to splash water on my face. The grit from the city sidewalk washes down the drain. I glance up at the mirror. The pain shows in my face. Even the freckles across the bridge of my nose look agitated. Maybe if I had golden hair and baby doll blue eyes. "Maybe if I laughed like a twittering bird and constantly told Maddox how to dress," I say aloud. My words bounce off the plaster walls.

A sharp jolt of pain shoots up my leg reminding me of the lump on my shin. Stupid fucking junkie. Stupid fucking job. It wasn't even fulfilling anymore. Maybe I should try dentistry. I shake my head at the reflection in the mirror and remind myself it's not Tiffany's fault that Maddox can't stomach having me as a partner anymore. Or is it? I allow myself to go there for just a second. I allow myself to step into the sweet imaginary world where Maddox's sparkly, successful, loving girlfriend is jealous because Maddox seems just a little too fond of his partner and she begs him to find a new one.

My brown eyes stare back at me. My lips have always been too full. In middle school, I developed a habit of turning my mouth in, like an old, disapproving woman, to hide my lips. I quickly forgot my oversized lips when my stringy, tom-boy physique, the one that made me star of the track team, was suddenly taken over by curves. I wore the tightest bras in the world just to stop my boobs from growing. Not shockingly, it didn't help. It was the last thing I wanted. I was growing up in a house filled with boys. Turning into a woman only made me that much more invisible to a dad whose entire focus was on my brothers' sports careers. Keith was going to be a baseball player, and Luke, the giant, was a football star in high school. Even undersized Everett had his sport of motocross. I raced with him on the dirt tracks near our home and a lot of times I beat him. But Dad only focused on Everett's career. I was like the companion horse the trainers take out on the race track to keep the champions competitive.

Laughter that borders on shrieking is muffled by the bathroom walls. The excitement seems to be coming from the front office where Margaret and Thomas take complaints from citizens and direct people to the right place in the building. The buzz of the thrilled voices fades behind the ache in my head. Maddox doesn't want to work with me. Maddox can't stand to be near me. Maddox is sick and tired of me. Maddox wants a new partner. In a few years, we'll just pass each other on the way to precinct briefings or at crime scenes. He'll look the other way to avoid seeing the embarrassment and rejection in my face. Those thoughts hammer from the inside of my skull. They fall like cement on my chest.

The lump on my shin looks extra ugly from above. I push the leg of my jeans back down, not caring that it's causing me pain. A small dry laugh escapes me, one that borders on a sob. "And I thought that skateboard was going to be the worst part of my day."

The crummy bathroom with its mold stained tile floor, hazy mirrors and hideous fluorescent lighting is making me even more depressed. I reach for the door. Maddox, my traitorous partner, was no doubt across the building in the interrogation room with Vinny. My injury seemed like plenty of reason to head home early. At the moment, even my shadowy little apartment sounds better than the station. I need to stay clear of Maddox. The last thing I can stomach is hearing his lame excuses for not wanting to work with me anymore.

I draw in a shuddering breath, a breath that tamps down the sobs waiting to spill out. But just barely. The only time I had ever felt such overwhelming despair was on the day the police came to our door to tell us dad had died in a car accident. That day, a black hole opened up in our house, and we were all sucked into it for months. But I stayed in the longest. I had to figure out how to live on knowing the last words I'd said to my dad before the semi-truck lost control and cut his car in half were 'I hate you'.

I reach for the door and duck quickly out of the way as it swings toward me. Margaret is smiling ear to ear, turning the thin lines around her eyes into crevices. "I can't believe it," she gushes. "I'm sure you knew, but how on earth did you keep it a secret?" She continues on as if I'm right there with her in her one sided conversation. "Oh boy, there will be broken hearts in the world now, eh? The girls down in _evidence_ will be in tears. Of course we knew it would happen soon. Still, I've known Maddox since he was a smart-mouthed rookie." Margaret presses her hand to her chest. "I feel like a proud mom." She stops her long, seemingly pointless monologue, and her smile fades. "Are you all right, Angie? I heard you got hurt today. Here I am rambling on about the engagement, and I didn't stop to ask how you were. You don't look so good."

I swallow to relieve the sudden dryness in my throat. "I'm heading home," the words creak out. "Did you say engagement?"

Her broad smile returns. "Yes, such wonderful news. And Tiffany is such a great catch. I'm just as proud as can be." She slips past me into the stall.

The gray door shuts and she fiddles with the loose lock a second. I'm absorbing the barrage of words she threw at me in the last few seconds. I try to convince myself I misheard, but all of her comments seem to point to one conclusion.

The throb in my head turns to a numbing ache. I've reached a low point where it seems nothing matters and a flaming asteroid hurtling toward earth is just wishful thinking.

I walk out of the bathroom and because my day has evolved into a day straight from hell, I run right into smiling, shiny, great catch Tiffany. No words are exchanged just her overzealous smile and my forced grin. I wonder if she can see the strain in my cheeks as I keep my teeth locked together.

"Hey, Angie, I'm sure you already know," she twitters as she sticks out her slim white hand. It's weighed down by a diamond engagement ring. The glittering stone almost outshines the tiny palm trees she has painted on each nail. It seems extravagant and frilly for a future dentist and future wife of a detective who likes to stuff his egg McMuffin with French fries and prefers motorcycles to cars.

It takes all my strength to seem even the tiniest bit interested in the ring. The worst part of all is that everyone assumes I know about the engagement. Obviously Maddox didn't bother to tell me because while we were working together, he was daydreaming about what it would be like to have a new partner. A better partner. Anyone but Angie Tennyson.

"It's stunning, Tiffany," My voice sounds hollow and tinny. "Congratulations." I search frantically through my life's lessons on protocol and polite talk for my next comment. Nothing comes. If feels like my entire reason for waking up in the morning has just been stripped from my life for good.

Tiffany ends the awkward pause. "I was just heading into the office to see James. I thought I'd surprise him for lunch."

"We ate burritos," I say dryly. "On the stakeout," I add.

Tiffany waves her palm tree fingers and sparkling rock. "You know James. A burrito won't stop him from eating again." She finally seems to sense the disappointment that is pouring off of me and sidles past. "I'll just go see if he's hungry."

"Yep, heading back to my desk too." Since my burrito comment didn't slow her quest for lunch with Maddox, I decide to let her find out on her own that he's down in interrogation.

I just need my keys and a quick escape out the back door.

Tiffany picks up her pace when she realizes I'm right behind her. She opens the door to the offices. The same frenetic activity from the front of the station meets us in the back room. I see Maddox's tall, dark head above the circle of people around him. News travels fast in the precinct. Maddox catches sight of his bride-to-be, and I take a small amount of pleasure in his delayed smile. His green gaze lands on the face behind Tiffany, my face, the face of the partner he has to _put up with_ on a daily basis, like a persistent skin rash. But he's not looking at me like an annoying rash, he's looking at me like he can read every thought in my head. He's looking at me like he can feel the ache in my chest and the throbbing pain in my head. There's just enough apology and empathy in his handsome face to make me cringe. It is the last thing I want from him.

A round of cheers thunders through the crowded maze of desks and file cabinets when the others see that Tiffany has walked into the room. Everyone likes Tiffany, and for good reason—she's an everything girl. She has it all. And now she has Maddox for good. We've been working together for three years, finishing each other's sentences, sharing each other's packets of ketchup, exchanging barbs and secret looks that only two close friends could have between them. For three years out in the field, I had his back and he had mine. I would have taken a bullet for him, and I always thought he'd do the same for me. But it turns out I didn't know him at all.

I scurry to my desk like a mouse trying to escape a trap. My desk is cluttered with paperwork and old coffee cups, but I don't care. I sweep the papers into a semblance of a pile and grab my purse from the desk drawer. Without trying, my eyes sweep up and get caught into some invisible magnetic field that draws me right into Maddox's intense gaze. His green eyes look like emerald colored spotlights, holding me fixed and frightened like a deer on the road.

The party of congrats going on around him has shifted to a new focus, the diamond ring and the pretty girl attached to it. Maddox ignores it all as he tilts his head slightly to the side. It's the tiniest movement. Anyone else would have missed it, but I know he is asking me to step aside and talk. I hate that he looks apologetic. I hate that I feel pathetic. I hate today.

I need a fuck. It's a first. I'm looking at Maddox and he's looking at me and I'm thinking of another man. I need to call Brodie to arrange an afternoon fuck. I deserve it. And I don't want a simple roll off the clothes and hop into bed for some light petting and quick banging. I want to have my clothes ripped off as I'm smacked up against a cold plaster wall.

I ignore Maddox's silent request to talk and search my purse for my phone. I head out of the office and leave the frivolities and the partner with the heartbreaking grin behind. Now, more than ever, I feel like I'm in the way with Tiffany in the room. All the light shines over her, just like it shines over Maddox. He's found the right person. She's a good match for him.

I head out through the back hallway to the parking lot. The conversation in the break room is all about the engagement and about how lucky they are to have found each other and what a stunning couple they will make. I can't swallow why everyone is so fucking thrilled. It is as if a new Brad and Angelina duo has just spontaneously landed in the precinct. Maybe after dealing with murders, drug busts and domestic abuse all day everyone just needs a little fairy tale to pull them from reality. That's what they have, Maddox and Tiffany, a fairy tale. A fucking fairy tale.

I shove out the back door aware of footsteps behind me but not interested in finding out who they belong to. Then his voice shoots across the parking lot. The suffocating weight on my chest lightens and deepens all at once.

"Ten, please. I was going to tell you." Maddox's damn long legs carry him too fast across the lot.

I race to my car and click the remote a thousand times to make sure it's open when I get there. The car chirps angrily along with my thumb presses.

"Fuck, Angie, give me a damn chance."

My eyes are filled with tears that I sure as hell didn't want. I swipe at them with my forearm knowing full well that wiping them will only make it more obvious that I'm crying. _You cry too easy_ , my dad's deep, authoritarian voice drones through my mind. _Tears make you weak, Lil' An_. I shake his voice out of my head. _So not helping right now, Dad._

I'm in such a hurry to get in the car, I smack my bruised leg on the edge of the seat. "Shit, shit, shit." Tears burn my eyes. I grab the handle but the door rips from my hand.

Maddox is holding it. His gaze flickers with more emotion than I expect and it pushes a sob between my lips. I shake my head. "So help me, Maddox, I'll just drive off with you holding that fucking door. So prepare to be dragged along the street."

"Or you prepare to drive without a fucking door. Christ, Ten, I just want to talk. After everything we've been to each other—" He quickly amends his phrase. "After everything we've been through together. I just want to talk. You owe me that."

Anger quickly dries my tears. I turn my face up to his. He's so fucking tall, the sun behind him blinds me. But I can see his expression. There's more anguish than I anticipate. I'm glad. I don't want to be the only one suffering on this fucked up day.

"Maddox, I hope you two will be very happy but you're wrong. I don't owe you anything." My words stun him enough that he lightens his hold on the door. I pull it shut and lock it.

He doesn't make a move toward the handle again. He just stands there towering over the car like a tall Greek god with his thick, dark hair and aggravatingly good looks. I turn on the car and press the gas. I take one last glimpse back at him in the rearview. He watches my car until I'm out the driveway and around the corner.

# 5

### Maddox

I kick the hell out of the back door before it swings open. Tiffany's face appears on the other side, her blue eyes wide with concern. "Sweetie, was that you? It sounded like you were kicking the door."

I squeeze my teeth together and breathe through my nose. Steel toed boots might protect feet from falling objects, but it seems a head on collision with metal doors, not so much. I motion Tiffany back inside the precinct, but she leans to the side to look past me.

"What were you doing out in the parking lot?" She says it with humor but there's an edge of suspicion in her tone. I was sure she noticed me following Ten out. She just wants me to admit it.

"I needed to talk to Angie before she left."

She steps back into the cool, dark hallway. "Angie's gone for the day? That's probably a good thing. I ran into her outside the ladies' room and she looked terrible. Pale and tired."

I don't want to talk to Tiffany about Ten. "She got hurt today." I brush past her. I wasn't expecting her to show up to the office this afternoon and it's thrown me. I hadn't mentioned the engagement to anyone and especially not to Ten. I wanted to tell her earlier, on the stakeout, but couldn't find the words . . . or the courage. After what happened with Ten finding out about my request for a new partner, the last thing I needed was for Tiffany to saunter in with her ring.

Tiffany shuffles behind me on her heels. "I thought we could go grab a bite to eat. I haven't eaten all day. I'm dying for a chicken salad sandwich." Tiffany is practically skipping to keep up with me.

"I had a lunch break already. I told you I've got to head down to the interrogation room." We stop short of the office. The excitement and cheering has died down and everyone has gotten back to the work day.

Tiffany wipes some lipstick off the bottom edge of her lip with her thumb. My gaze is pulled to her mouth, only I'm not thinking about my fiancée's lips. I'm thinking about the crazy deep curve of Ten's bottom lip. There's no lipstick. Ten doesn't wear the stuff. I know it's because she's self-conscious about her full lips. When she confessed her insecurity to me, I had a good laugh, which earned me a solid thump on my arm. Somehow she'd convinced herself they were clownish. If she only knew how often I'd imagined those _clownish_ lips on me.

"James." Tiffany's irritated tone pulls me back to the conversation. "Can't they find someone else to question the person? I was really hoping we could talk about venues."

"Venues?"

She smiles. "For the wedding."

I shake my head. "No, I've got to question the guy myself." I lead her along the hallway that bypasses the offices and heads straight to the front desk.

"You know, if she just cleaned herself up a little. Dressed a little more feminine. Put on a dab of makeup. She'd be very pretty," Tiffany says as we head along the hallway.

"Who?" I ask as I open the door for her.

"Angie." Tiffany slips past me. "A little more effort in her appearance. Don't you think?"

I don't answer. It feels like a loaded question. I lean down to kiss her. It's a quick kiss because every eye in the front office is on us. There's even an applause for the stupid kiss.

"Don't you people have work to do?" I say with a forced smile.

"Anyhow, I know she's a good friend." Tiffany has not dropped the subject yet. "Why don't you just suggest it? Or maybe I should . . ."

"No," I say sharply and soften my tone when I see her eyes flicker. "Bad idea, Tiff." I kiss her again to stop her suggestions. "I've got to go," I say to hurry her along.

Margaret stops Tiffany on her way out to look at the ring one more time. The rock sparkles as she waves at me from the door.

I think about Tiffany's comments. She's always trying to find ways to fix people, people she decides need fixing. But she's wrong. She's wrong about Ten. "I wouldn't change one damn hair on her head," I mutter to myself before heading over to interrogation.

News travels faster than the internet in the precinct. I'm stuck stumbling through questions about wedding plans and honeymoon locations on my way to the interrogation room. I end up with a business card for a cake baker. Officer Trent's sister is apparently the best baker in town. A sticky note from Gina in the forensic lab with a phone number for her cousin's florist is stuck in my palm. I thank everyone and shove the phone numbers into my pocket. The wedding is the last thing on my mind. Spending the next few hours questioning slimy Vinny isn't high on the list either.

My phone echoes through the narrow hallway leading to the interrogation rooms. I know it's Ten before I even grab the phone from my pocket. "Ten," I say quickly, but she talks before I can say more.

"Just tell me. And I want a simple answer not some big, long bullshit response. When did you stop trusting me? When did you decide you couldn't count on me to have your back?" There's a slight waver in her voice, and it makes me squeeze the phone in my hand.

"Never, Ten. That's not what this is about. Fuck, you're the best detective on the force."

She laughs but it's not her usual laugh. "Obviously, since you can't wait to pawn me off on some other poor sap."

"I'm not trying to pawn you off. You're being dramatic."

"Then what the fuck, Maddox?"

Earlier, I'd followed her out to the parking lot to explain everything, but the truth was, I couldn't explain a fucking thing. I had nothing then and I have nothing now. I have my life and she has hers and that was the way it had to stay. I was asking for a new partner for self-preservation and sanity reasons, but not in the way she thought.

"I guess your silence says it all. Later, Maddox. I'm off to get laid."

I'm thankful she can't see me flinch through the phone at the idea of her naked in some other guy's arms. "We'll talk more tomorrow, Ten."

"I think we've covered the subject just fine." The call is ended.

I fight the urge to throw my fist into a wall and unlock the interrogation room. Vinny is leaning his head on his forearms taking a nap. He lifts his pinched, pale face and skewers me with bloodshot eyes. "Bout fucking time," he grumbles. He looks past me. "Hey, I'd rather talk to the red haired babe with the sweet curves."

He startles when I slam the door shut hard enough to rattle the one-way window.

"You picked the wrong fucking day to get yourself arrested, pal. There ain't no good cop or bad cop today. No red haired, curvy babe. There's just me."

Vinny's face blanches as I swing the chair around and sit down on it.

# 6

### Angie

I am breaking my number one rule about guys. Somehow, I talked myself into showing up at Brodie's place for a surprise afternoon tryst. Only the sex I'd been imagining probably had just a bit too much hair pulling and ass spanking to be labeled something as frilly as a tryst. Brodie, the guy I'd been dating off and on for three months, was a longshoreman. His shift at the docks ended at noon. It's a short but strenuous work day. And dangerous. But the pay is good so he's content. We didn't have much in common except great sex, and the day had left me feeling so empty I just wanted to get lost in a good round of fucking.

The disappointing call with Maddox, where the jerk couldn't even be bothered to make up some fake lame excuse for wanting to ditch me as a partner, made me more determined than ever to end the day sweaty and satisfied between the sheets. Hell, there didn't even need to be sheets. The floor, kitchen table or shower wall would do just fine.

Brodie lived in a neighborhood of tract homes, the kind where every house looks the same and the only thing that sets them apart is the landscaping. Some houses have dressed up the otherwise monotonous neighborhood with nicely trimmed hedges, roses and flowering trees. I turn the corner onto Brodie's street. His house is at the end with its brittle lawn and empty planters. His truck is in the driveway. There's another car parked out front, a green Volkswagen Jetta. The sun is reflecting off a glittery string of beads dangling from the rearview mirror. It seems my surprise plan, my breaking of the guy rules, is about to slap me in the face. Fortunately, I'm so numb from the day, I can barely feel it.

Movement at the house carries my focus to the front door. It opens. I pull my car to the curb under the shady cover of a tree and wait. Brodie is tall and built but not like Maddox, I decide and quickly want to smack myself for the comparison. But it seems I'm being screwed by both tall, well-built men today. And not literally, like I hoped. A pert brunette in shorts and a sweatshirt walks out onto the stoop and then stops to turn around for a kiss before hopping down the steps and skipping to the Jetta.

It is official. My day went from fucked to super-fucked. I pull away from the curb and drive slowly past the house, wanting to make sure Brodie sees me and to let him know that I certainly see him. It is my passive-aggressive way of letting him know it's over. It takes him a second to recognize the woman behind the steering wheel of the car cruising past his house. Our eyes lock for a second. His mouth tightens.

I turn the corner and drive through the dull neighborhood with the cookie cutter houses. My phone rings as I turn the next corner to head back to the freeway. It's Brodie. I let it go straight to voicemail. The one good thing about discovering Brodie's other woman on a day where my heart has been ripped to shreds and stomped on by my partner, is that I don't even have enough emotion left to give a damn. I briefly consider calling Brodie back thinking maybe I can keep him around just for sex. But that seems like too much effort for a man who is not all that great in bed.

I head back to the freeway. The tires chirp on the car as I slam my foot down on the gas pedal. A flurry of ideas run through my head, a drive to the beach, a run through the park, sitting on the couch watching reruns of Friends and downing raw cookie dough. The last one sounds like the winner.

I near the off-ramp for the precinct and a new idea pops into my head, one that doesn't include overdosing on Ross and Rachel or cookie dough. My mom always told me it's never a good idea to make a big decision when you're angry or upset. And my day has left me far past angry and upset. Even though my mom makes the best brownies this side of the Rockies and when I was a kid she knew exactly how to braid my hair before a track meet, she was wrong about the big decision thing. An impulsive, rash decision sounds way better than a drive to the beach or a jog through the park.

# 7

### Angie

I pass across two lanes and hit the off-ramp at full speed. I park in my spot, the one marked with a yellow sign that reads Det. Tennyson. I climb out of the car, telling myself not to take no for an answer. This is just what I need, I tell myself over and over. It's time for a change. Maddox wants a new partner, then he can fucking have one.

I walk briskly through the building, keeping my head down to let others know I don't want to chat and I especially don't want to talk about the exciting Madiffany news. I've made my own name up for the duo and decide it works just fine. I'm bracing for a big fight with Captain Clark, but I'm determined not to back down.

Two pieces of luck in an otherwise unlucky day—Maddox is nowhere in sight and Clark's door is open. He has a policy that if his door is open, you can walk in as long as you knock once before entering. I hear his deep, baritone voice a few feet before I reach the blinds on his office window. I can see him clearly, but the person he's talking to is tucked too far into the corner of the office. It seems strange considering there are two empty chairs directly in front of the captain's desk. A shot of adrenaline jolts through me as I consider the possibility that the corner visitor is Maddox, but I push that ridiculous thought away. Maddox is more of a walk in and sit on the edge of the desk sort of visitor. I knock on the open door.

"Actually, Tennyson, I'm in a conversation."

"Jeez, it stinks in here." The smell of sweat, grease and bitter grime has permeated every inch of the office. I lift the collar of my t-shirt up over my nose and blink the odor away from my eyes.

"That's why the door is open. It's my new air freshener called 'dirty ass'. Otherwise known as Detective Olson." Clark motions to the visitor tucked in the corner.

Detective Olson is sitting on a metal chair. He's normally a semi-sloppy guy who always looks as if his shirt and pants were just pulled out of a wet laundry basket, but today he's taken the grunge look to a whole new level. He has on a ripped, grease stained overcoat that makes him look vaguely like a creepy flasher. His bare toes can be seen through the tips of his filthy worn shoes, and he is wearing a pair of pants that look as if they are wearing everything Olson has had for lunch for the last three months. The pervasive, pungent smell polluting the captain's office seems to be rolling off Olson in waves. But it doesn't stop him from gobbling up a submarine sandwich. Bits of lettuce tumble to the floor in front of his worn shoes.

"Christ, Olson," Clark growls, "I'm going to have to have a ten person cleaning crew come through here after you're gone. What is it you want, Tennyson? If it isn't obvious, Olson just got off an undercover assignment and we're debriefing."

"Yes, it's comically obvious." Before he can order me out, I sit in one of the empty chairs. "I want in on the Lace Underground investigation. Send me undercover."

Olson scoffs hard enough to spit sandwich from his mouth. Clark yanks a tissue from the box on his desk and makes a pathetic attempt at sailing it toward Olson. The tissue doesn't make it a foot before floating gracefully to the floor like a supple leaf from a tree.

I turn to Olson. "Just vacuum that sandwich, Pig Pen. You don't even know what we're talking about."

He scoffs again but has the forethought to cover his mouth first.

"Olson knows more about the Lace Underground than anyone else on the outside, which isn't saying much," Clark says. "I'm not sending you undercover on it. Way too dangerous. No one knows exactly what's going on in this secret society, but whatever it is, it ain't wholesome or legal. There are at least ten girls missing and those are only the ones where someone cared enough to report it."

I scoot the chair around to talk straight to Olson. The unsavory fragrance wafts my direction. I swallow to get the bitter taste out of my throat, but it only intensifies the odor. "If Freestone is luring rich men into his society, what's with the trashy sex perv coat and the sweet smell of Olson's shower-free body?"

Clark gets up to close the door. "I know I'm going to regret this." He swings it shut and returns to his chair. He takes out a peppermint to suck on, apparently hoping it will mask some of the odor. I have serious doubts about that theory and turn down the offered mint.

"Like I said, it's too dangerous." The mint clacks against his teeth as he pushes it against his cheek to talk. "I could have sent Olson in undercover as some rich asshole looking for whatever kinky good time Freestone is offering, but I decided it was too dangerous. Even for Olson. Besides, this undercover gig suits him better. We all know he's a slob." He laughs at his comment. Olson is unfazed and too focused on his sandwich.

Clark gets serious again with a throat clear. "So I'm certainly not going to send a wom—" He stops abruptly, knowing he just stepped on my favorite button. "I'm not sacrificing any of my detectives, man or woman," he amends quickly.

"Anyhow"—Olson swallows his mouthful before continuing after a warning scowl from Clark not to talk with it full—"Freestone is looking for wild, pretty young girls."

I blink at Olson a few seconds without a word to let him figure out his misstep.

"Not that you aren't pretty, Ten." Olson nearly chokes on his own tongue, tripping to get over it. "I mean everyone around here thinks—"

"Shut the fuck up, Olson, before you bury yourself deeper," Clark barks.

I skewer Olson with my gaze for another moment before turning back to Clark. "I want this, Captain. I can do it. How much do you know? How can I get in as one of the girls in the Underground?"

Clark crunches down hard on the mint and winces as he rubs his cheek. "Think I've got a cavity. Look, Tennyson, as much as I want to bring Freestone's operation down, I'm just not willing to risk it. You and Maddox are carving a big notch in the drug problem around the city, and that's where I want you to stay."

"Except that Maddox wants a new partner."

Clark's face smoothed. "You know about that?"

"I was sitting at his desk today, icing my leg." I let that fact sink in a second. He shifts his jaw side to side in remorse over his wide open for all to see memo to Maddox. "Ever hear of email, Captain? But that's old news." I sit forward and look him straight in the eyes. We have a good relationship, but occasionally, he slips into his father figure character with me. I'm not having it this time. "Look, I'll go in, but I won't stay long. If things get sticky I'll find a quick way out. Either way, I'll find out enough about the location of the sketchy secret club. I'll bring it back to you. Then you can send in the cavalry or whoever to stop Freestone. It's a win-win."

"Unless it's a lose-lose." Olson gets up and shifts to the chair next to me. Instinctively, I scoot my chair away from him. Clark rolls his chair back so fast it hits the file cabinet behind him.

Olson isn't the slightest bit bothered by the fact that we're shoving furniture around to stay out of his circle of stink. "My miserable weeks undercover bore little fruit. All I know is the girls are suddenly gone one night. Then they're back the next morning. I asked around to some of the other street people to see if they knew what was going on and they freaked out. No one wants to answer or have anything to do with it."

I look up and down at his over-the-top disguise. "Maybe that's because you look like a fucking flasher or stalker instead of a homeless guy."

Olson moves his shoulders beneath his overcoat. "I thought I looked pretty convincing but might be why none of the girls would get within ten feet of me."

"Ya think?" I sighed. "So you just spent—" I pause for him to fill in the span of time.

"Two months."

My eyes widen. "That explains the stench. So you spent two months living on the streets and all you found out is that people run when you ask about the missing girls? But wait, you said they all come back."

Olson, who is maybe ten years older than me, grins. The lines around his mouth are creased with grime. "I see you never outgrew your smartass rookie phase, Ten. And I do have more, but since you're not part of the investigation." He reached up to twist an invisible key in front of his mouth. His fingernails were black, and his knuckles were crusted with dirt.

I turn back to Clark. "I won't let you down, Captain. Send me in. Please. Let me do this."

Clark looks at Olson like my mom used to look at my dad when it seemed they were about to give in on something. "The truth is, we don't have many ideas on how to get to Freestone." Clark sits back but then shakes his head. "But I would never forgive myself if something happened to you, Tennyson." He laughs dryly. "Shit, Maddox would personally put me in the grave."

"He'd probably be relieved. Then he could have his new partner," I say flippantly as if it doesn't matter, as if I didn't drive around for hours wondering when the heaviness would leave my chest and my limbs.

Clark looks at Olson again. "What do ya think? Even with the scant information you have, we might be able to get her close enough to Freestone to find out where and what the hell is going on in this secret society."

"If she can get out of there alive," Olson adds darkly. "While I was out there every girl came back. But from the bits of information I picked up, every once in a while, a girl doesn't return. No explanation and the other girls keep a tight lip about it."

Clark slaps the arm of his chair. "Olson's right. I can't do it."

"I'll get in and get out. Alive." I lean forward with two goals—to look him harder in the eye, letting him know I am dead serious and to get out of the circle of stench flowing around Olson. "Captain Clark," I say with as much charm as I can muster, "I. Have. Got. This."

Clark's barrel chest lifts and falls with surrender. "Maybe this could work." He sticks his elbow on the desk and points at me, reminding me of my dad telling me what I was doing wrong during the mile relay. "There's no way we can send you in with a wire. Freestone is too clever, and from the information I have on him, he trusts no one. He has a few confidantes and that's it. A wire or any hint that you're not actually a kid off the streets and you'll wind up just like those guys with their skulls bashed in or worse."

I smile. "Not sure where worse goes once you get your skull bashed in." Adrenaline is surging through me and, at the same time, a dose of apprehension. I'd been undercover before but posing as a junkie or prostitute out on the streets was child's play compared to this. None of us have any idea where this secret club takes place, which means I disappear and my usual safeguards and safety nets are stripped away. It will be just me and my wits, and even though I feel pretty confident about those wits, I'm not completely sure how they'll hold up facing whatever the hell is waiting for me in the Lace Underground.

Clark is squinting at me, seemingly trying to read my thoughts. "Tennyson, you're not doing this because of the note about the partner switch?"

"Nope," I say too confidently, and it sounds forced. "I need something new. I'm getting stale. Today, I got outsmarted by a damn skateboard. It's time to push myself." I'm still absorbing the entire notion that I'm going undercover on a big investigation. At the same time, my head is spinning from the stinky man sitting next to me. I turn to him. "What other information do you have, Olson? How do I get noticed by Freestone?"

Olson lifts open his coat and pulls out a notepad. He fans his face. "Whoa, do I need a shower," he comments before flipping open the notebook.

"You need more than a shower," Clark quips. "I was thinking about calling the guys at the fire station to see if they could come hose you off in the parking lot. By the way, don't bother to get too clean. I'm going to need you back out in that roadside tent hanging with your homies."

Olson's mouth drops open. "What the hell? Why?"

"Cuz you're going to be keeping an eye on Tennyson while she's on the street. If Freestone picks her up, we need to know it."

"God dammit," Olson mutters as he looks at his notes. "Cherry Cola," he says, without any context or preamble. Clark and I wait for him to continue.

I can see the dirt inside Olson's nostrils as he faces me. "Not sure what it's connected to but it seems to be a code word for the girls hanging out in the park. It starts with Cherry Cola, that's what I heard them say to each other."

"Was that while you were lurking in the bushes snooping on them in your flasher trench coat?" I ask.

Olson lifts his dirt covered middle finger at me. "On second thought, Ten, you'll do just fine at the park with that smart mouth."

I know the park he's referring to. It's at the end of the city limits. At one time, it was a nicely kept picnic spot, a place to bring kids to play, but as the homeless population grew they sort of claimed the park as their sanctuary. The city manager and police chief decided it was better having them in one place and off the sidewalks and bus benches. So the park became a sort of campsite for runaways and people down on their luck.

"But you don't know who Cherry Cola is?" I ask.

He shakes his head and some flakes fall from his hair. I sit back again to get farther away from him. "I know this sounds strange but the homeless kids hanging out in the park seem to want to disappear. Like they think something better is waiting for them on the other side."

"The other side?" I ask. "What do you mean the other side?"

Olson shakes his head again, dislodging more flakes. "No, I'm using the wrong phrase. Underground. Someone has them convinced it's better for them underground. And the journey to the underground starts with Cherry Cola." He flips through his tiny notepad. The outside cardboard is coated with black fingerprints. "I kept a tally of the days between episodes. It's three weeks."

"What episodes?" Clark asks before I can get the question out.

"The time between the girls disappearing for the night. I never saw them leave or come back. They would all just be back in the morning looking cleaner, happier, less homeless."

"Less homeless?" I think aloud. "Strange. But they all came back? You're certain?"

"Yep. I kept track in my notebook. I had nicknames for each of them so I could keep count of them."

I sit back and look at Clark. He's wearing the same level of confusion that I'm feeling.

I turn back to Olson. "Well, fuck, that's about the most useless bunch of information ever. Two months?" I ask again.

Olson shrugs. "Let's see if you can do better, big shot."

"Yeah. Let's just see." I look at Clark for one last confirmation.

"It's against my better judgment but let's try it."

"You'd better get in there quick then." Olson looks at his notebook and counts a series of tally marks. It's three weeks this Saturday."

"Which gives me four days out on the streets to figure out this Cherry Cola clue."

"And convince the park inhabitants that you're not some undercover plant," Olson adds.

"For starters," I say. "I'm going to skip the coat."

"Yeah?" Olson smiles. He seems pleased with what he's about to say. "You'll be sorry. You won't be sleeping in your comfy bed, Ten. You'll be outside, and the elements don't care if you're undercover or the real thing."

"I'm not a cream puff. I grew up with three brothers and a dad who believed the only good vacation was when you hiked ten miles to a remote location with a forty pound backpack on your shoulders. I'll be just fine."

Clark's phone rings. He answers it. "Clark here." His face hardens and his brows crunch together. He pulls free a file folder from the pile of paperwork on his desk. He opens it. It's the faces and names of the missing girl cases. His wide finger moves down the list. "Yeah, Rachel Booker? I've got her." He pauses and listens. For some reason his gaze now flicks my direction. He nods. "Right. Thanks for letting me know." He hangs up and looks at the faces on the page again before closing up the file.

"What's up, Cap'n?" Olson asks.

"One of the girls has been found." Clark looks at me. "Her body was in a dumpster in an alley. Slit throat and multiple bruises. Coroner's looking at her right now."

"More reason to send me in," I say quickly. "Let's stop this guy before more girls show up dead."

Clark shakes his head. "I fucking hope I don't regret this."

# 8

### Angie

Yoli, short for Yolanda, I assume, lifts the end of the heavy green tarp and I scoot under it for relief from the rain. I'd spent a good three hours deciding what to wear to make me blend in with some of the other park inhabitants, while at the same time making sure I didn't catch pneumonia on my first night out. Fortunately for me, I never threw stuff away, and the back of my closet was a treasure trove of worn out clothes from my teenage years. I still fit in most of them except a few of the skinny jeans that had gone way past my level of skinny. My favorite Levis, the pair that I had lovingly worn so often and on so many adventures that I'd created a series of holes all the way down from the thighs to the knees, still fit perfectly. I'd found them balled up under the aviator jacket I scored at a garage sale. The jacket had corny orange patches on the shoulders and the fleece lining looked less like fleece and more like sad cotton, but I concluded it would protect me from any night air chill. What I hadn't considered was that the jacket was too threadbare to protect me from rain. Aside from wearing the appropriate clothes, I'd needed to wipe several years off my appearance. I decided Tawny Smith, my new persona, was going to be nineteen. It was one of those rare occasions when my freckles came in handy. I had braided my dark red hair into two braids and topped the look off with a floppy brimmed felt hat that reminded me of something worn at Woodstock.

Yoli and Becky, the other girl huddling under the tarp with us, both nibble on half a sandwich someone left on the park bench. Apparently workers from nearby offices and buildings occasionally lunch in the park and leave their leftovers for the park's inhabitants. I am still working up the courage to eat someone else's leftovers. It's only my second day in the park, but I figure by nightfall, my stomach will be chewing itself if I don't put something in it.

Yoli, a petite seventeen-year-old, is always smiling. Even now, sitting on the curb around the slide and swings, huddling under a tarp and eating a stranger's leftovers, she's grinning. She told me life in her home was unbearable because of her stepfather and she has no intention of ever going back. The other girl, Becky, has curly brown hair and a tattoo of roses that crawl up her arm and around her neck. Apparently, her boyfriend was a tattoo artist and a successful one at that. The quality of the tattoo on her neck seems to confirm it. But it seems Chaz, as she calls him, was into some illegal shit along with the ink business. The cops yanked him out of his bed one morning and dragged him off, leaving Becky alone and penniless.

Besides the hours I spent perfecting my street kid wardrobe, I spent a good hour concocting a believable backstory, complete with an abusive mother and grandmother who had no interest in raising me. But I quickly discovered it didn't matter. Everyone out at the park was more concerned about their next meal and staying safe and warm and dry than the woes and tragedies faced by their fellow park mates.

What I did discover early on is that the park gives them all a sense of community. They have little but they share what they have. No one questioned me or my motives or my past. It seemed they had no option but to trust everyone. Paranoia and suspicion were only going to work against you when you were out alone on the streets.

Yoli offers me one last chance at the sandwich. "Are you sure, Tawny? With this rain, there won't be many more people eating lunch at the park today."

I feel guilty taking the last bite from her, but I decide since she's been living at the park for six months, she knows what she's talking about. I close my eyes and push the bite into my mouth. It's mostly bread crust and mustard, but it tastes good.

"Where did you find this tarp?" I ask. "It sure is keeping the rain out." I decided long before I arrived at the park not to bring up Cherry Cola with the hopes that one of them would bring it up first. Then I could innocently ask them about it.

"Oh jeez, that's it," Becky says as she pulls her old army jacket tighter around her. "You have asked the golden question."

"Have I?"

Yoli is smiling and readjusting herself for what seems like a potentially long answer. "Well, now that you ask," she says and pulls the tarp farther forward to shield us from rain being blown our direction. "One day I was walking along the freeway overpass, just minding my own business, like always, when from the corner of my eye a big flash of movement drew my attention to the freeway below. A massive tarp." She points up to the canvas cover above our heads. "It had blown free from a truck. I think it was carrying potting soil or fertilizer," she adds.

"Which explains the earthy odor," I say to an agreeing nod from Becky.

"The tarp must have caught the wind just right because it blew up into the air. It dipped and dashed over the cars, eventually getting tangled on the freeway sign hanging from the overpass." Yoli continues with her story, but my attention has been drawn to Rowan. Rowan has thick hair that is a little out of control, reminding me a bit of Maddox. It's hard to tell the age of some of the people in the park. Poor nutrition, lack of sleep and constant exposure to the elements makes some of the inhabitants look older than their natural age, but I estimate Rowan to be about twenty. He's handsome in a rugged, roguish sort of way, and he reminds me of Mark Stockton, a guy I went to high school with. Mark wasn't very social, and he always seemed kind of dangerous and mysterious. The girls in high school were always debating whether he was crush worthy or cringeworthy. He never returned for senior year, and since he was mostly friendless, we could only speculate about what had happened to him. His somewhat sketchy mystique helped formulate the farfetched tale that his dad had been in the CIA and they had to relocate suddenly to some far-off, exotic location. Rowan has some of the same mysterious, sketchy edges to him. I determine that he is a person to keep an eye on.

Rowan is standing in front of the tent he's constructed at the far end of the park where a dirt trail leads off into a copse of oak trees. The rain has slowed to a light drizzle. He is taking long, slow drags on his cigarette. His eyes are black and shiny like slate. Even from the distance and through the mist in the air, I can see that he's watching the three of us huddled under the tarp.

"And so I hung way over the sign, thirty feet above fast moving traffic," Yoli's voice drifts between my thoughts. "But I got the thing free, and now here we sit, dry and happy."

"Let's just leave it at dry," Becky says.

Yoli winks at her. "Yes but we're two days away from—" She stops when Becky shoots her a shut the hell up look. I'd already calculated that Yoli was the likely source for rumors and gossip at the park. Whereas Becky seemed to like to keep things sealed up.

But withering look or not, I jump on it. "Two days before what?" I ask airily.

"Nothing," Becky says quickly.

Yoli's face drops. She pretends to be interested in the pattern the rain has left on the sand in the swing set area. She avoids looking at me when she repeats what Becky says. "Yeah, it's nothing."

"I understand," I say dejectedly. "I haven't been here long enough to be one of the group." I sigh and make it sound a little mournful. "Story of my life, I'm afraid."

From the corner of my eye, I see Yoli elbow Becky.

"We can't tell her and you know it. It's up to—Jeez, it's getting hot under here," Becky complains and dashes out from under the tarp.

Yoli casts me a sheepish half smile. "She's always so dramatic." Before I can ask her more, she drops our canvas cover back. "Yay, I see some sun. I'm going to take a walk down to the market. Sometimes I get lucky and find perfectly good bread or fruit that they pull from shelves because it's past its prime. Wanna go?"

I glance toward the end of the park. Rowan has pulled a twisted, broken beach chair out of his tent. He's sitting on it and has switched tobacco for weed. Our female huddle is over, but he's still watching us. Or me, to be exact. My detective intuition tells me there's more to his bold stare than just general leering. He seems to be assessing me. It's hard to know if it's just because I'm new to the park or if he's deciding whether I can be trusted.

"Thanks for the invite, Yoli, but I think I'll stay here. I didn't get much sleep last night. I think the guy in the cardboard lean-to was snoring. Either that or there was a bear in the park."

Yoli laughs. It's a good, genuine laugh. It's hard to understand how a girl like her ended up sleeping in a park scrounging for leftovers and stale food. "That was no bear. It was Grover. Poor guy. He's been homeless off and on for twenty years. And he does resemble a bear when his beard is extra long."

I help Yoli fold up the tarp. She tosses it into the tent she has graciously offered to share with me. The local church has done fundraisers to buy tents for some of the park inhabitants. I see now how important that small gesture of generosity has been.

Yoli pulls a plastic grocery bag out of the stack of belongings she has shoved in the corner of the tent. She pulls the handles of the bag over her wrist like a woman with a handbag. "Wish me luck," she says as she walks spritely toward the sidewalk.

Olson has managed to snag himself a tattered tent at the opposite end of the park from Rowan. He's pitched his pathetic shelter near the bathrooms, a location that has its perks, along with its obviously pungent disadvantages. Aside from Clark, Detective Olson is the only person who knows about my assignment. That fact takes me directly to thinking about Maddox. I have no idea what Clark will tell him, but I can only assume my partner will notice my absence. Maybe Maddox will be relieved that I'm out for a few days. That thought drops a lump into my throat.

I head to the bathroom but stop in front of Olson's tent to tie my shoe. The earlier rain has pushed Olson inside. He's leaning against a pile of old clothes reading a throwaway newspaper.

"Any clue as to why that guy Rowan keeps such a close eye on me?" I burble from the side of my mouth while concentrating on a lace that doesn't need tying.

"Might be those Orphan Annie braids," he quips unhelpfully.

I switch to the other shoe, which also doesn't need tying. "You're a big help."

Olson stays inside his tent but moves closer to the opening. "See if you can get to know him. I tried and he wanted nothing to do with me." I glance through the netted opening. Olson has switched out the flasher style coat for a worn out ski parka. The downy stuffing is poking out through numerous holes. I can't hold back a laugh.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing. That coat is just so, so sad. But it's better than the other one. I'm going to see if I can charm my way into Rowan's friend circle."

It's his turn to laugh. "Yes, charm him by all means, Ten. Just be careful. I'd say a guy like that only wants one thing from a pretty new friend like you."

I smile and stand up from my crouch. "You think I'm pretty. I'm going to tell everyone at the station," I tease in a sing song voice before heading into the bathroom.

But the moment of levity is quickly tamped down by a sudden darkness that creeps into me. I look at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks and nose are red from the cold air, but my hair has stayed firmly locked in the braids. I decide I need to drop the young innocence act and go for something bolder when I talk to Rowan. I pull the bands from the braids and shake out my hair. The color has been described as everything from rust to copper but to me it's just red. It's filled with waves. I'd braided it wet, after my last luxury shower where I spent a good ten minutes just letting hot water run over my skin. It's only been two days, but my scalp is starting to yearn for the avocado oil conditioner I've been using on my hair. Maddox had teased me that it smelled good but that he kept having an urge for tortilla chips when he was near me. And that memory takes me even deeper into my suddenly dark mood. Somehow my mention of the station sends a cold chill through me, and the notion that I might never see it again takes hold. There was no basis for the grim prediction. There was just something internal that suggested it. Might have been intuition, might have been just latent worry about the dangers of my assignment or it might just have been a dash of homesickness.

I take a deep, steadying breath. I can't let myself go down that particular rabbit hole. It was one of the mental hazards of being undercover. After having lots of people around who supported you and had your back, suddenly you were completely alone in an unknown place, filled with strangers, including yourself. I am no longer Detective Angie Tennyson with a strong, capable partner, a shiny badge and a reliable weapon on my belt. I'm Tawny Smith with little girl braids, no money or phone and one bite of a stranger's sandwich in my hollow stomach. I let that sink in for a second, then head back out to the park. I'm not sure if Rowan is a good place to start or a waste of time, but he's next on my target list.

# 9

### Maddox

Ten's car isn't in the lot when I pull in a half hour late for my shift. I'd spent a good chunk of the morning staring blankly at possible sites for the wedding. After an hour or so, where I gave no more feedback than the occasional 'sure if that's what you want' answer, Tiffany snapped shut the laptop and left in a huff to have breakfast with her sister. I was certain my lack of interest in wedding details was going to be the main topic of conversation.

I climb off my motorcycle and pull off my helmet. Partner intuition tells me something is off. I knew Ten left angry yesterday, and she had every right to be mad. She was also not someone who held a grudge. I check my phone but she hasn't returned a text or replied to my voicemail.

It occurs to me on the way into the station that Brady or Brodie or whatever the fuck his name is might have dropped her off at work. She mentioned a movie date. Maybe she stayed overnight at his place and she didn't have her car. That scenario made my teeth grind against each other.

Activity is buzzing and booming as usual in the station as I push through the hallway to the central offices. I'm relieved to see that the excitement about the engagement announcement is over. No one mentions it or slaps me on the shoulder on the way through, which is good. A slap on the shoulder wasn't a good idea with the way I was feeling.

My gaze shoots straight to Ten's desk. It's empty. Even her usual clutter has been straightened into a semblance of a rational pile. I catch a glimpse of Clark heading into his office and pick up my stride.

"Hey, Clark." It seems he purposely ignores me and shuts the door behind him.

I stop and debate whether or not to just barge in. It wouldn't be the first time. Instead, I walk to my desk. Detective Rogers is sitting at her desk filling out paperwork. She and Ten are two of only three female detectives in the precinct. They take lunch break together whenever they are sick of their male counterparts.

"Hey, Rogers," I say as I drop down onto my chair. "Have you seen Ten?"

Rogers is nibbling on a rainbow sprinkle donut. She glances toward the captain's office before answering, like she needs a cue card or some kind of instructions to say the right thing. "Cap'n said she took a leave of absence. I thought you knew."

"Knew what?" I'm sitting up straighter now.

"That she took a leave of absence," she repeats unhelpfully. "I just assumed since she's your partner that she would have told you."

"So she told you?" I ask, sounding like a jealous sap.

Rogers shakes her head and her pale yellow ponytail swings side to side behind her. "She didn't tell me. I heard it from Captain Clark."

My chair rolls two feet across the tile floor as I get up and head to Clark's office. I knock once, hard, and don't wait for the damn invite. Clark picks up the phone in an obvious attempt to avoid talking to me.

"I'm just about to make an important call, Maddox. Come back later."

His laughable ploy doesn't stop me. I walk to his desk and sit down in the chair.

Clark puts the phone down. "Or have a seat," he mutters. "Nice work on the tainted heroin case. The guys in Texas just called me to let me know that Vinny's tip was right. They shut down the whole operation."

I'm never one to mince words. "Where's Tennyson?"

"Leave of absence." Clark's never one to mince words either. He doesn't usually avoid eye contact, but he's pretending to be interested in something on his desk. "Now get out so I can make my call."

"Why? Why the hell would she take a leave of absence, and why wouldn't she tell me?"

"Maybe she just needed a break from you. Like you needed from her."

I stare at him over the pile of work on his desk. The files for the billionaire murder cases are sitting under the file for the missing girls. "She's not answering her phone."

Clark's big round shoulders bob up and down. "See. That proves my theory that she needs a break from you." He reaches for his phone. There is just enough sweat on his upper lip to assure me he's lying. It's his Pinocchio's nose.

"Not leaving until you tell me where Ten is."

"You'll leave if I have you dragged out in fucking handcuffs." He picks up the phone. "Yeah, it's Clark. Tell Silvana to get his ass in here. His new partner is waiting." He hangs up and flinches when he sees my face.

"You are not partnering me with Silvana."

"Well, I can put you back on traffic patrol with Winston. Like the good ole days."

Silvana knocked weakly on the door. His jowly cheeks peered around the corner. "Hey, Cap'n, you wanted to see me."

"Yeah, come on in, Detective." Clark looks coldly my direction. He's a good captain, but he gets his trousers in a bunch when someone questions his authority. Something I do on a regular basis. His mouth is twisted tight signaling that I've pushed him to the edge. "Detective Maddox finds himself temporarily without a partner, so you're filling in for Tennyson."

Silvana has those big, bushy kind of eyebrows that make him look as if he's wearing permanent joke glasses only there are no glasses. They bunch up like fuzzy caterpillars as he casts me a wary look. "Maddox? Really?" I can't tell if he's fearful or excited, but I know exactly how I'm feeling.

"Yeah, really. Now both of you get out of my office. I'm busy."

I stand up and loom over his desk for a second. Clark doesn't look up.

"I'll get my stuff," Silvana says enthusiastically.

I turn to Silvana and stick up three fingers. "Three rules. You don't talk to me. You don't shoot that damn gun . . . ever. I don't want to end up like your last partner with a bullet in my ass. And if you fart, you're riding in the fucking trunk."

Silvana nods emphatically. "Right. But just to let you know, I've been working on my target practice. I'm like Sundance Kid these days, without the Redford good looks," he chuckles. "And the doctor gave me something for the—"

I point at him. "Not a good start, Silvana. You're already breaking rule number one."

"Right. Good point."

I yank open the office door hard enough that it swings open and smacks the adjacent wall. Silvana plods quickly out behind me.

"Hey, Maddox, how is this gonna work," Silvana sputters between breaths. "You know—partnering without talking?"

"Rule number one," I remind him but he continues.

"Just one thing so I know what's in store for the day. I hear you and Ten were working on some drug ring that was pushing tainted heroin. Is that what we're working on?"

"Sure," I say after a pause. "But first we're going to find Ten."

# 10

### Angie

The guy I know only by his first name, Rowan, a name that might very well be an alias like Tawny, has pulled his shirt off to catch the few rays of sun squirting through the viscous clouds overhead. The rain has left behind the fragrance of soggy asphalt and wet tent canvas. The sweet, pungent smell of marijuana drifts up from the joint tucked between Rowan's fingers. He has a smattering of tattoos across his knuckles, but I can't make them out.

I slip the coat off my shoulders as I sashay over to the park bench that is chained to the sidewalk a few feet outside his tent. The bench has every inch of its blue surface covered with graffiti. I drop my coat over the back of it and sit down on an artist's impressive felt tip drawing of a pirate ship. I turn and put my feet on the bench and bring my knees to my chest. I don't say a word and wait for him to speak first.

Rowan takes a long drag on his joint. His chest, also covered in tattoos, puffs out as he holds the smoke in before releasing it with a single cough. He squints at me through the stream of smoke curling up into the cold, humid air. "Where are you from, Taw-nee?" He pronounces the name with a slow, southern drawl even though I don't detect any genuine accent.

"Here and there." I spin on my bottom and put my feet on the ground. I motion to the joint. "You going to smoke that all by yourself?"

His faint smile is appealing. Just like with Yoli, it's hard to fathom how someone like Rowan ended up living in a tent in a remote city park. He sits back on the rickety beach chair, stretches his legs out and holds the joint toward me.

I get up slowly and add a little shake to my _shake_ as I walk toward him. He boldly watches my lower half, then lifts his gaze to my face as I take the joint. It has been a long time since I've had a hit of pot. It burns my throat as I inhale. I have to work hard to subdue the follow-up cough.

"Thanks," I mutter as I hand it back to him still trying to stifle the cough. I haven't eaten or slept much in two days, and the pot goes straight to my head.

The chair creaks with each movement. "So you've got secrets then, huh Red." It's not a question. "I like your hair down. Better than those country girl braids."

I shrug to let him know I'm not that easily wooed. Even though something tells me he's a highly skilled wooer. The flaps on his tent are pinned open. Never able to leave my detective's curiosity behind, I glance inside. A large downy sleeping bag and fluffy pillow are piled in the corner. A small table is set up with toiletries, toothbrush and paste, a comb, which from the looks of it, he rarely uses. There's even a razor. "Nice set up," I comment. "Do you have a sugar momma somewhere keeping you comfy out here in the park?" My teasing provocation is deliberate. I've found it's always easier to pry secrets out of someone who is on the defense, but Rowan seems unfazed.

Rowan dabs the joint out on the cement near his feet and pushes it into his pocket as he stands up. His pants drop low on his hips, and his rock hard abs roll out in an impressive six pack. He walks toward me. It's hard to read his expression. I stand my ground to show him that a muscular build and cool, even stare don't intimidate me.

He's close enough now that I can smell a dab of aftershave on his skin. He's either a fastidious, extra vain homeless person or he really is being kept by someone. He steps closer. I look him right in the eye. His gaze shifts down to my lips.

"That is a million dollar mouth, Red. You could be making a fortune just with those damn lips. What exactly are you doing out here in this park?"

My muscles tighten as I perceive some suspicion in his tone. "I'm just out here trying to survive like everyone else." I worry that I'm just wasting my time, breath and who knows what else by messing with this guy. I've already got him pegged as someone who sleeps around just to get perks and money. I'm convinced he has nothing to do with the Lace Underground.

Rowan's gaze is magnetic. I drag my eyes from his, finding it easier to move on with my fake persona. As my gaze sweeps the flattened cardboard in front of the tent, a sort of welcome mat in front of his home, I see some lettering. In its former life, before it became a welcome mat, the box had contained soda. Cherry Cola to be exact.

I tamp down the rush of adrenaline by clamping my hands into fists. Detective Olson found only one real clue during his time on the street, and that clue was Cherry Cola. There was no other context to the cryptic clue, but I knew I wasn't standing on 'just a coincidence'.

Seconds ago, I was ready to brush this escapade off as a waste of time. My interest is piqued. I need to warm up again and keep Rowan's attention. I lift my gaze and find that keeping it won't take much effort. His eyes land on my lips again, then his scrutinizing gaze drops to my breasts. I purposely push them harder against the thin, cotton fabric of my t-shirt.

"You are a piece of candy, aren't you, Red?" He moves even closer. I can see a short scar on the side of his nose and another on the side of his chin. It seems he's been in more than his share of fights. "How are you at keeping secrets, Red? I mean real secrets, important top secret kind of shit?"

I shrug and bite my lip flirtatiously hoping to use my feminine wiles to knock him off guard. Maddox would have a hearty laugh about my plan.

"What kind of secret?" I ask. I lift my hand and drag my fingertip down the hard muscles of his chest. His abdomen contracts a little as my finger continues seductively to the button on his jeans. I let my hand fall away. He hasn't taken his eyes off of my lips.

"Hmm, let me think of a good example," he drawls. "If I take you into that tent, strip you naked and fuck you hard, would you keep it a secret?"

I flinch inwardly. To do undercover right, you have to resort to anything that keeps your cover solid. I wonder just how far this will go.

I take a shuddering breath to let him think he has me turned on. "I could try and keep it a secret," I say. "But what about when I scream your name as I come? People will hear."

Rowan steps so close now I can feel the heat rising off his naked chest. He lifts his hand and presses his fingers over my mouth. "I could cover your mouth. But then I think it would be much more fun to hear my name on these lips." He pushes my hair back and leans his mouth close to my ear. His breath tickles my skin as he whispers. "And I would definitely make you scream, Red."

A dry chalky taste clutters my throat. I swallow discretely to clear it.

"I've got no doubt of that. Is that your big top secret shit?" A coquettish laugh slips from my mouth. I silently congratulate myself on how convincing it sounds. I sidle closer and jump into flattery mode, a sure fire way to get a guy like Rowan off his game. "Any girl can just look at you and know you've had many girls scream your name inside that tent. But I'll bet you have more secrets to share." Desperate measures are needed. I can't let this guy slip away. He might be my only chance to make this assignment a success.

I press myself up against him and am not surprised when my belly rubs against a rock hard erection. He groans when I push myself a little closer.

"Shit, Red, you are testing my willpower here."

"Then give in to your sweet tooth and taste the candy." I briefly imagine Maddox and me having a good laugh when I recant the story of my undercover flirtations. I switch right over to being angry with myself for even thinking about the jerk. The touch of irritation makes me more bold. I'm determined to make this assignment a big fucking success just so I can rub it in Maddox's face.

I reach between our bodies and rub the back of my knuckles along his rather impressive erection. He surprises me by grabbing hold of my wrist to stop my slow tease. I'm astounded at how insulted I feel. Maybe Maddox would have every right to laugh about my attempt at seduction. It seems I can't even entice a guy living in a tent in the park.

Rowan surprises me again by squeezing my wrist just a little too hard. He lifts my hand to his mouth and drags his tongue across my knuckles. "You are sweet, Red. But I can't risk it."

"Risk what?" I ask airily as if I really don't care.

"If you're chosen, the boss doesn't like spoiled goods."

I laugh to pretend I think he's just teasing me, but he looks plenty serious. "And just who would the boss be? That bearded guy who snores like a bear? Or maybe it's that little lady at the end of the park who likes to talk to the birds."

Rowan smiles at me and winks. "You'll see soon enough, Red. Just be ready. Now since you've got me rock hard, I need to go inside and take care of some business." He turns to go into his tent but takes one last, appreciative look at me. "Fuck, I might just be up for a bonus this time," he says out loud, but it seems the words are just meant for him.

I scurry away, not wanting to be anywhere near when he takes care of business. Olson has dragged his filthy self out of his tent. He's standing against a tree near the bathrooms smoking a cigarette. I walk to the drinking fountain nearby and take a long drink. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and mutter to him as I walk past.

"I found Cherry Cola and I'm in." I keep walking not wanting to draw any connection between us. I don't need to look back to know I've left Olson with his chin on the ground.

# 11

### Maddox

I knock again on Ten's apartment door, but there's no answer. She'd given me a key with explicit instructions to use only if the building was on fire or if a meteor was heading directly to her apartment. There was no meteor or fire, but I jammed my key into the lock anyway.

Silvana was a good six inches shorter than me, so he bent sideways to look around my arm. "You've got a key to Ten's place," he says with a teasing tone and then glues his mouth shut when I turn to look at him. "Your secret's safe with me, Maddox."

"There is no secret, Silvana. So shut the hell up about it." I open the door. It's hot inside and unusually clean. There are typically at least a few pairs of shoes and socks and an empty pizza box or chip bag on the kitchen table, but the whole place is spotless.

"Maybe she went on a vacation," Silvana suggests.

"Except her car is in its parking spot and Ten hates flying."

"Train?" Silvana followed rule one for the first ten minutes of the car ride through town before breaking into what others have termed the Silvana sideshow. He's a nice enough guy when you look past his lack of skills as a detective, but he's the last thing I need right now. It is like babysitting a big, dumb kid who likes to talk and laugh at stupid jokes.

"Or maybe a bus," Silvana adds. "You can take one of those luxury cruise buses anywhere in the country. They're real comfy and they serve good food. Probably not five star stuff but better than plane food. Shit, did I tell you about my flight to Denver on one of those economy planes?" Again, it only takes one look from me for him to put a quick end to his plane trip story. "Nothing. Not even a lousy bag of peanuts or pretzels," he blurts quickly just to give me the cliff note version.

I'm trying to picture Ten sitting on a crowded bus with a load of chatty gray haired tourists talking about baked bean recipes and their grandchildren's birthday parties. There just wasn't any fucking way.

I walk into the kitchen. The coffee pot is clean and dry, another big clue that Ten hasn't been here. Aside from a half tray of eggs, a bottle of ketchup and some cheese that was blue but that definitely was not blue cheese, the fridge was empty. Ten rarely cooked. She preferred to eat out, but this was pathetic even by her standards.

I shoot down the hallway to her room and think about how mad Ten would be if she knew I was going through her stuff. Her bed is made. Another anomaly. I pull open the closet. Her favorite sneakers are sitting on the floor. There's no way she would go on a vacation or anywhere without them.

It is time to hit the streets and talk to some of our connections. My mind keeps going to the day in Clark's office when Ten asked him to send her undercover to find whoever it was that was kidnapping runaway girls and clobbering billionaires. But I push the thought out of my head. There is no way Clark would send her undercover on something like that. It's way too dangerous. Not just for Ten but for anyone.

I head back to the front room. Silvana walks out of Ten's kitchen with his arm buried in a box of Lucky Charms cereal. His fist pulls free and cereal and marshmallows sprinkle the kitchen floor. I don't even know what to say. I just hold out my arms in question.

"Sorry, Maddox, but the medicine my doc has me on makes my stomach hurt if its empty." He shovels in the handful of cereal and makes a show of rolling down the inside cellophane bag before closing the box.

"I'm sure Ten won't notice the stretched box or spilled cereal. Let's go. I want to talk to Norville."

"Norville? Isn't that your snitch?" he talks over his mouthful, and I instantly remember another major complaint from his past partners.

"No, it's my first grade teacher, I want to talk to him and find out why the hell he encouraged me when I told him I wanted to be a cop." I wave him out of the apartment so I can lock it.

Thankfully Silvana has swallowed the cereal before he blurts out a laugh. "You're so damn funny, Maddox. Everyone told me you were, but I said 'I don't know that Maddox seems kind of intense'. Kind of mean, you know? But you're not. You're a funny guy." He keeps blathering on as I walk past him on the metal stairs leading down from the apartment. "No wonder all the women have the hots for you. I mean, other than the obvious, the whole big shoulder, movie star face thing."

Silvana reaches for the passenger side door. It's locked. He waits for me to climb in and unlock it. Instead, I start the car.

Silvana taps politely on the window. "Hey, Maddox, it's locked."

I stare straight ahead at Ten's shabby little car and wonder just where the hell she could be.

Silvana taps again. "Gotta open up, buddy." He says with a nervous laugh. "Come on, Maddox. Fun time is over."

My phone rings and I yank it from my pocket, hoping its Ten. Tiffany's voice floats through the phone. "Hey, my big honey bear, I just want to remind you that we have a cake tasting date today at Shirley's Cake Shop. I texted you the address."

"Come on, Maddox, let me in." Silvana has pushed his pillowy face against the window.

"Isn't it a little early for them to start baking a cake? The wedding is eight months away." Normally I'd be down to taste a bunch of cake but today wasn't a good day for it.

Tiffany laughs but it sounds edged with irritation. "Funny man. Shirley's cakes are really popular. You have to get on her schedule months in advance."

Silvana peers into the front windshield. His cheeks wobble forward like a dog with jowls. "Come on, Maddox. Let me in."

"Hey, Tiff, I've got to go. I'll see you at the bakery."

I slap my hand over the door lock button and open the door. Silvana thuds down in the passenger seat with the same laugh. "Thought you were gonna make me walk back to the station."

"I was seriously thinking about it." I pull out of the parking lot and head toward Norville's favorite hangout, the pool hall.

After his cereal feast, Silvana dropped into nap mode while I drove across town to the shady pool hall where Norville liked to hang out. Silvana snored along with the beat of the music, but he woke up as soon as the car slowed to a stop.

I turn off the engine.

Silvana rubs his chubby fists into his eye sockets, reminding me of a pudgy faced kid just getting up from a nap. He sits up higher in the seat. "Sorry, must have dozed off. I didn't get much sleep last night. Sleep apnea," he adds even though I don't ask.

"And here I was thinking that you were having a wild threesome with two hot women."

Silvana laughs. "Don't I wish. Boy, do I wish. There are these two sisters who live in the apartment next to me—"

"Don't want to know anything about sister neighbors or anything close to your sex day dreams, Silvana." I lean forward to get a better view of the pool hall. Like so many bars on this side of town, the street in front of it is sticky with old puke, spilled beers and blood from the occasional bar fight. Sometimes I get lucky and Norville is sitting on the benches outside the hall. Lady Luck isn't with me today.

I climb out of the car.

"Should I come too?" Silvana calls before I shut the door.

"Or you could stay there and knit a sweater. Up to you." I hear the passenger door open and shut behind me. Silvana's feet skitter across the asphalt to catch up to me. "I used to be a pretty good pool player back in the day," he says between breaths.

I glance sideways at him. He's in terrible shape, but he can't be more than thirty. "Back in the day?" I repeat. "You sound like my grandpa telling me how they used to have to get up to change the television channel _back in the day_."

We reach the sidewalk in front of the pool hall. A hooker known on the street as Pretty Polly is sitting out front on the bench shining up her knee high boots. "Wooee, if it isn't the mouthwatering Detective Maddox. Hey, my offer for a freebie still stands, baby."

Silvana hits my arm. "Did ya hear that? Free. Boy, the perks that come with those jade green eyes of yours."

I stop short. He slams into me and wobbles like a punching clown.

"Why are you talking? And stop talking about my eyes. It's fucking creepy."

Silvana laughs. "I didn't label them jade green. That's what the girls down in forensics say about them. I sure as hell wouldn't ever say anything like that about another dude's eyes. You catch my—"

"Silvana, you're still talking. Stop." I pull out my phone and text Norville to get his ass outside.

"Are we going in?" Silvana asks. "I could use a cold brew to wash down that dry cereal. Ten didn't have any milk. The refrigerator sure looked empty. Maybe she went to Europe or someplace faraway."

He follows me around the corner of the building to wait for Norville. "Told you Ten doesn't like to fly. And don't bother to bring up a cruise ship. That's just not her style."

"True." Silvana laughs dryly. "Ten's style is a little hard to pinpoint. She's definitely different."

Norville slinks around the corner of the building, searching around as if people were following him. His hands are shaky and he has dark rings under his bloodshot eyes. "What's up, Maddox? I got nothing new."

"I know." I hand him twenty dollars, which he grabs from me like I'm handing him a million bucks. He shoves it into his pocket and crosses his arms tightly around himself. His feet can never stay in one place, and he dances around like a little kid trying to hold his pee. He looks at Silvana and searches around again.

"Where's my copper haired cutie, Ten?" Norville asks and then pulls a cigarette out of his pocket. It's been smoked halfway already. He lights it with a shaky hand.

"I was hoping you could tell me," I say.

Norville waves the smoke away from his face and squints up at me. "What do you mean?"

"Ten took a leave of absence. I was hoping you might have heard word on the street about something . . . anything. Fuck, I'm just grasping at straws here. So you haven't seen her?"

"You mean like undercover?" He smiles, showing off brown mottled teeth. "I still remember when she was posing as a hooker. She was good. Bout nearly had me convinced she was a lady of the night." Norville motions with his cigarette toward Silvana. "Who's this?"

"Never mind that," I stop Silvana from answering. "If you hear anything let me know. And don't spend all that twenty on drugs. Put some food in your stomach. You look like a walking cadaver."

Silvana's clumsy footsteps pound the sidewalk behind me. "Do you ever watch that?" He puffs as we head across the street.

"Watch what?"

"The Walking Cadaver. I mean the Walking Dead. It's a cool show."

I climb in the car and once again consider not letting him in.

"Oh come on, Maddox," he says as he taps the window.

I unlock the door and he climbs inside. "Where to next?"

I stare through the bug crusted front windshield. She has a new boyfriend but self-preservation and raging jealousy kept me from trying to find out anything about him, even his last name. The only information I had was that he worked as a longshoreman and his name was Brodie or something like that. We have a few other street connections but after the conversation with Norville, it seems I would just be wasting time with them.

Damn it, Ten, where the hell are you?

# 12

### Angie

I spend another interminably long day in the park doing nothing except thinking about how badly I want some French fries and a diet coke . . . and a hot shower . . . and my couch and remote. Throughout the endless hours of monotony, the anticipation is chipping away at my nerves.

Rowan walked away from the park early in the morning and there had been no sign of him since. Yoli, Becky and the other young woman, Emily, who rarely spoke to anyone, spent most of the day sleeping in their tents as if resting up for something. It occurred to me more than once that I should have been doing the same, but I was too impatient to rest.

Dusk darkens the sky and I decide to walk to the bathroom and wash the day's grit off my face. Olson is sitting against the brick wall of the restrooms reading a newspaper. "You look like an expectant hen waiting for her eggs to hatch. Tone it down," he advises. I know he is right, but it raises my hackles nonetheless.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just remember to stay awake tonight." I walk into the bathroom and stare into the grainy mirror. I've been in the park for three nights. My eyes look hollow from lack of sleep and lack of fresh water. Removing the braids had been a mistake. My hair looks as if I just drove across country in a convertible. Even the comb I brought in my tattered backpack is useless in the red nest on my head. My fellow park campers seem far more resilient than me. Yoli looks fresh faced and happy every morning as if her body and mind have evolved perfectly to living on the streets. It's as sad as it is slightly intriguing to know that humans can adapt to any living conditions. I was sure Yoli's healthy state of mind, even with everything she's been through, had as much to do with her looking fresh faced as anything else.

As if my thoughts conjured her, Yoli steps into the bathroom. "Jeez, I slept way too long. My head feels groggy." She walks up next to me in the mirror. Her eyes are clear and her cheeks are rosy.

"I look like a corpse next to you," I note. "Maybe I should have hibernated for the day like the rest of you. Is today some national nap day or did I just miss the memo?"

Her laugh echoes off the bathroom walls. "You're so funny, Tawny. We just want to be rested for tonight." She sucks her lips in apparently deciding she's said too much.

"It's all right, Yoli. If this has something to do with Rowan, I might already be in on the secret. Sort of anyway. He didn't fill in many details."

Yoli sighs loudly. "Thank goodness, I was having such a hard time not telling you. I told Becky the second you showed up to the park with your bedroll that you were going to be invited. Becky wasn't so sure." Yoli looks back to make sure there are no feet in the stalls behind us. It seems now that the _secret_ portal is open, Yoli is going to pour out everything she knows. "Becky is sort of paranoid. For some reason, she has talked herself into not trusting you. I think she's just a little jealous is all."

I laugh at my reflection. "Is it the crazy ass red clown hair or the dead look in my sunken eyes?"

"Oh please, Tawny. You know you have that sex appeal thing going on. Becky has a crush on Rowan, and he hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you got here."

"Not sure what that sex appeal thing is, but it's not looking back from that haggard reflection in the mirror. There's nothing between Rowan and me. Where is Rowan anyhow? I haven't seen him all day."

"He always disappears on party day. He'll be back later."

"So he goes off to some party? What kind of party?"

Yoli turns on the water and wets the toothbrush in her hand. "No, he's getting ready for the party. Tonight's party," she says like I should understand her without question. She sees the confusion on my face. "He really didn't fill you in at all, did he? You'll see soon enough. Who knows, you might even win the golden ticket or at least that's what we call it because just like Willy Wonka's factory no one really knows what's happening inside. I don't know anyone who got the invite. I've only heard rumors of girls who were chosen. Once that happens, they are gone for good, no doubt living a marvelous, carefree, posh existence." She shoves the toothbrush in her mouth.

I use the opportunity to toss out just a few of the billion questions I have after her rambling speech about Willy Wonka and golden tickets.

"What are the girls chosen for? I assume it's not for a tour of a chocolate factory. How do you know this place exists if you've only ever heard rumors? And who is playing the part of Willy Wonka?" I add for fun. "Where do these golden tickets lead to?"

Yoli holds back her hair and spits into the sink before wiping her mouth with a paper towel. "I know about as much as you except it's some place called Lace Underground." She covers her mouth. "Maybe I'm not supposed to say that. We could get dropped from the party list if we tell any outsiders, and trust me, once you're on the list, you want to stay there. I can't imagine how tragic it would be not to be on the list anymore."

I pull an invisible zipper across my lips. "Your secret is safe." I'm doing a happy dance in my head. I've found Cherry Cola, and it seems Rowan is a direct connection to the Lace Underground. I figure I'm pushing my luck but try again for the name I'm looking for. "So who is Wonka? Who is in charge of the Lace Underground?"

Yoli shakes her head. "No, I've said too much. It's not important anyhow. Like I said, no one I know has ever been chosen. Now get yourself cleaned up. It's almost party time."

# 13

### Angie

A church bell chimes somewhere in the distance signaling midnight. Yoli advised me not to wear my shabby aviator coat to the party, and I have only my arms to keep the nighttime chill out. As often as Maddox and I have driven through most every nook and corner of the city, Yoli, Becky, Emily and I are standing on an unfamiliar corner on a dead end street that is surrounded by empty industrial buildings. Every single street light is busted and shards of glass litter the cracked sidewalks as if even the street cleaner forgot the street existed. The street sign has been stolen or purposely removed, but I'm able to get a general sense of the location just from the traffic noise on the freeway a few miles north.

"About time. I'm freezing my butt off," Becky says as a large passenger van turns the corner. The vehicle is painted black from front to back, and the windows are tinted so dark it's impossible to see inside. It looks sketchy as hell, but my party buddies are hurrying to the edge of the sidewalk to meet it.

"Ready?" Yoli asks me.

"It would be a lot easier to be ready if I knew where the heck I was going in the black pimp mobile."

Yoli elbows me to be quiet as the passenger door opens up. It's not a big surprise when Rowan drops down from the van onto the sidewalk. He's wearing a shirt for a change and his hair is brushed. He's cleaned up for the event, leading me to believe that the park tent is only a prop. I have a sudden urge to laugh as I consider that Rowan might be undercover too. Considering I rubbed my fingers over his erection, I hope that's not the case.

Rowan winks at me but no words are exchanged by anyone as we wait to climb in through the sliding door on the van. There's a static charge of excitement in the air. I feel like a kid about to get on a roller coaster ride, but I have no idea why. I'm more than surprised to see that half the seats in the fifteen person van are filled. All young women and at first glance, it seems all people who live either on the streets or in shelters. Those are the only two commonalities I spot.

The same giddy quiet fills the interior of the passenger van. We are heading toward something rewarding. There just can't be any other explanation for the charged anticipation of the passengers. Was it possible that Clark and the others had the Lace Underground completely wrong? Was it possible that the secret nefarious society was just a group of good Samaritans helping out the homeless population?

The door slides shut bathing us in complete darkness. The overhead lights twitter on. The windows are also tinted from the inside, so there is no way to see out. The occasional dim pulse of light from a headlight or passing streetlight is the only sign of life outside the van. The driver and Rowan are blocked and muted by a partition that has no windows. We are cargo being transported inside a box with no clues about the direction we're traveling. It's done purposefully, a quick conclusion that just as quickly wipes away the notion that these are just good Samaritans.

Yoli leans her head closer and whispers like we're in a theater. "People are extra excited because it's rumored _he_ will be there. Someone might be chosen."

"Who's he?" I whisper back. Yoli has been a godsend for gathering information. At the same time, she keeps clarifying bits to herself, leaving some definite gaps. She peers up at the top corner of the ceiling, and for the first time, I notice a small security camera. A cold chill runs through me at the idea that we are all being watched. At the same time, I chastise myself for not noticing something so obvious. I glance around without moving my head too much. There are three more cameras, giving a view from every angle.

"Willy Wonka," Yoli whispers. She sits back quickly and faces the front. Whatever is about to go down, Yoli does not want to lose her place on the _list_.

The van rattles over train tracks, giving me a clue to our position in the city. The nose of the van is heading up so we are traveling north, and we just passed the Pacific Railway crossing. I close my eyes and decide to concentrate on the direction we are traveling. With any luck, I can map out some of the journey in my head. I'll be of no use to the investigation if I can't even relay where they took us.

My inner GPS tells me we are heading out of town and traveling closer toward the coast. The van is sealed tightly enough that I can't smell any of the outside air. But the inside air is most definitely fifteen people who have not had a good shower in days. Including myself. I think back to the day I sat in Clark's office, pleading with him to let me go undercover, all the while avoiding Olson's stench. That thought shoots me farther back to the moment when I got double slapped by my partner, Maddox. I wash away the heartbreaking memory to keep focused.

A slight right turn feels like an off-ramp. The van heads into a full circle. It's the Beach Boulevard exit. It's a long ramp that takes you off the freeway and then circles you all the way around toward the beach. I'm about to silently congratulate myself for figuring out our direction when the van takes a quick left turn and then a right. Another right before veering right again. I've lost my sense of direction, mostly because the only time I've ever used Beach Boulevard is to head straight to the coastal highway.

The van goes through another series of turns. The other passengers are getting antsy and sitting up like passengers anxious to get off a taxiing plane. A light wave of nausea passes through me, a result of sitting in an airless van with no way to predict the next turn.

"You all right?" Yoli asks.

"Just getting a little car sick. Wish we could open a window."

She laughs off the suggestion. An optimistic response considering she is stuck sitting right next to me. "We're almost there," she whispers.

I peer up at the camera again. It's like a big black eye, watching us, keeping a close focus on the cargo. The van stops unceremoniously. Seconds later and much to my relief, the door slides open filling the space with fresh night air. I catch a hint of ocean fragrance, but it seems we are still several miles from the coast.

We are parked inside an empty warehouse. The massive rolling door snaps shut before I catch a glimpse of the outside world. My fellow passengers seem to know the drill. Voices and laughter pick up along with their pace as they walk behind Rowan to a gray metal door. I peek back and by chance catch a glimpse of the driver as he climbs back behind the wheel. He's big and buff like a bouncer or wrestler. The bicep I see as he gets in the van is covered with black tribal patterns. He's wearing a blue cap, but I don't catch any other distinguishing features. I wonder if he's heading out to pick up another round of 'party' guests.

So far the secretive van ride, the spying cameras and the bleak, empty warehouse location are not screaming _yay_ party in my head. Then Rowan opens the gray door, and glowing light pours into the shadowy warehouse. Music is thrumming through a narrow passage as we head toward more light and the rich aroma of food. My mouth waters and my stomach tightens to attention. There is such a variety of fragrances, I have a hard time untangling them. Cooked beef of some kind and something that smells like deep fried onions. Onion rings maybe. And there's even some sweet, cakey smells tucked in between the savory. My head spins with the idea of a hot meal. The aroma seems to give everyone a burst of adrenaline. We move like hungry cattle through the passage but instead of turning toward the yummy smells, we turn away from them. I'm shocked at how close I am to tearing up about the prospect of heading away from the food. It seems I'm a spoiled, pampered kid compared to the other women in the group.

My shock increases tenfold when I realize we are being led down another corridor to a massive bathroom. But it's not just any public bathroom. It is gleaming with clean white tile. Shiny chrome fixtures arc out from at least a dozen open shower stalls. Fluffy white, five star hotel style towels have been mounded near to the ceiling on dressing benches and vanities, vanities that are set with baskets of brand new cosmetics of every type and color. There is even perfume, expensive from the looks of it. Though I'm not much for smelling flowery.

Before I can take in all the surroundings the other women are shedding their clothes and hopping into the showers. Rowan has left the room and the door is closed, seemingly giving us all some privacy.

Yoli is already naked as she grabs my hand. "Isn't it wonderful. And the hot water never runs out like those crummy sinks at the park. You can pick out any shampoo and soap you like from the basket."

Fragrant steam is already clouding around me as I tentatively take off my clothes. The dirty clothes are left in piles on the floor. I heap mine in a corner to make sure I can find them again in the chaos. Laughter and excited conversations bounce off the wall. It seems the main topic is food.

I've lost my partner. Yoli is standing under a showerhead, with her eyes closed and smiling from ear to ear. I walk over to the basket at the end of the line of pretty vanities and search through the bottles for some nice smelling shampoo. I decide on something citrusy and lift my face to the mirror before turning away. Instantly, it's as if the frivolous ambience and lush steam in the room fall away and are suddenly replaced with a grim, harsh silence and painful spray of ice water. In my career I have stood in front of a one way mirror often enough to know when I'm looking into one. The thin porous metal backing of the mirror allows light through one direction but only provides reflection on the mirror side. The side I'm standing on. Hair stands up on the back of my neck when I can sense a pair of eyes looking straight at me. I'm now hyperaware of being stark naked. The opaque steam clouding the room isn't enough to provide cover. I regain my composure quickly. Only a cop would know a one way mirror. Hopefully, I stunted my reaction enough not to let on that I spotted the creepy invasion of privacy.

I turn away from the mirror and walk briskly along the other vanities. I spot only two more one way mirrors. I find an available showerhead at just the right angle away from the stationary mirrors. Voyeurism or not, it has been several days since I enjoyed something other than a sponge bath in the park restroom sinks, and I'm not going to pass up the opportunity.

Many of the other women have finished their showers and are standing naked and utterly exposed in front of the vanities as they brush their wet hair and try on new cosmetics. Yoli is standing directly in front of one of the peeping tom mirrors, but there is nothing I can do. Yoli has been so friendly and generous, I feel traitorous not mentioning it to her, but doing so would be dangerous. It would blow my cover. And considering I am unarmed and naked in a big public bathroom and unaware of my location, I am in no position to expose my identity. One thing is certain, this is no innocent party thrown by a group of do-gooders.

# 14

### Kane

Her large brown eyes stare through the glass, locking with mine. Only that is impossible. "She sees me," I say.

"Just looks like it," Rowan says quickly. "She's new at the park. Told you I had something special this week."

Her gaze pulls away from the mirror. My eyes drop to the smooth skin of her shoulder, the seductive line that ducks in gently at her waist before rounding into the curve of her ass.

"What do you think?" Rowan asks anxiously.

"Let her eat with the others. Then bring her to me."

# 15

### Angie

Aside from the creepy mirror incident, it is truly a party, and the fact that there are seemingly no boys allowed makes it that much more fun. Each of us were allowed to pick from an array of shimmery sundresses and sandals to wear for the event. Our clothes, underwear and all, had been swept up for cleaning. Yoli mentioned they would be returned at the end of the night 'smelling like sunshine'. That explained why she seemed to be wearing a ludicrous amount of layers. She knew her clothes would be fresh and washed by the end of the night. Yoli took street smart to a whole new level.

Luscious gravy covered meatballs are piled high in a silver chafing dish and there are baked potatoes with all the possible toppings a hungry girl could want. By the time I finish piling on the butter, sour cream and cheese, I have more toppings than potato. Aside from tea and ice water, a luxury I didn't even realize I missed until I saw the frosty glasses sitting on the table, there are flutes of champagne. And while I am no expert on the bubbly drink, it tastes like the good stuff.

Yoli and I pull up chairs at one of the tables and sit with our filled plates and champagne glasses. White linen tablecloths and bud vases of pink roses have been set up around the room. Music plays through overhead speakers, but it can hardly be heard over the conversations and laughter.

Yoli and I tap our glasses together. I take a good long drink. It tickles my nose. It's good and I finish half the glass. "I feel like I'm at a wedding." I smooth my hands over the silky fabric of the dress I'm wearing. It has spaghetti straps, a tight bodice with tiny buttons running down the front and a flirty short skirt. It's like nothing I have in my closet.

"Maybe it's the champagne, but I've decided I love this dress. It feels just like silk." I take another drink of champagne. It seems to be going straight to my head, which I blame more on lack of sustenance in my body than being a total lightweight. Which I am.

"You should slow down on that champagne," Yoli warns. I think it's a little unnecessary since I've only had three fourths of a glass.

"It's so good. I can't stop drinking it." I take another sip.

"That's the goal," she mutters cryptically before plowing a forkful of food into her mouth.

"What do you mean?"

She answers with a shrug and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as she chews the food. She opted for some heavy blue eye makeup and mascara. It makes her look harsh, less friendly.

The first bite of potato is so good, I find myself mirroring her and plowing in a large bite so fast my eyes water. I drink it down with more champagne as I survey the room. "There's no one here but us women. No food servers or people watching that we don't steal the table linens."

Yoli breaks off a piece of roll. "They have the food catered. It's all set up before we get here. And as for making sure we don't steal the table linens—" She motions discretely to the heavy drapes that line the entire front of the room. Three black cameras are positioned on the brass rods holding the drapes.

I swing my face back toward her and grab the table edge as the room spins and twirls. "Whoa, that isn't good."

"Told you so about the champagne." Yoli reaches for my glass. "Eat the food and I'll get you some water.

Yoli gets up. I glance at her champagne flute. She's hardly taken a sip. I look around but realize the spins have only gotten stronger. It seems some of the women are pleasantly drunk and others are drinking only water or tea, avoiding the champagne altogether. I stare at the plate of food and decide it looks less appetizing than it did a few minutes ago. My potato goes out of focus for a second. I close my eyes and open them. It looks like a potato again.

Yoli returns with a glass of water. "You haven't eaten enough. It's the only thing that will counter the champagne."

I stare down at my plate. "I don't understand. I was starved when we walked in here. Maybe I'll just eat the roll." I pick up the bread and tear off a piece. It sticks in my dry throat. I gulp the cold water and put the glass down. "Yoli, this isn't regular champagne, is it? I don't drink much, but I've never had it affect me like this."

Yoli avoids looking at me by focusing on her plate. The blue eye makeup is creased across her lids.

"Yoli?"

She peers up at the cameras as if they can hear the conversation we're having. She leans closer. "No one knows for certain but most of us have had the same experience with the champagne. Some of us just pretend to drink it because we don't want to be taken off the list. And some girls like the heavy buzz it gives them. It also makes you feel like shit after it wears off."

"Like a lousy hangover?" I ask, not looking forward to suffering the headache and nausea inside a squalid sidewalk tent.

"Something like that," Yoli mutters quickly without making eye contact. She seems to brush off telling me something else and takes a quick breath to produce a smile. "Either way, I think it's supposed to help us forget about the night, so we don't blab about it all over the place."

I sit back hard and the jolt sends a new wave of dizziness through me.

Yoli reaches over and takes my hand. "I'm sorry. I should have told you earlier. It's just you were gulping it so fast, I didn't have time. You'll be fine if you just eat. It wears off much faster that way."

I put my fork into a meatball and push it reluctantly into my mouth as if it's a golf ball and not a moist piece of meat. Earlier, the fragrant aroma of the food had me close to tears, but even with a hollow stomach, I have no appetite.

"It does that to some people," Yoli assures me. "They don't want to eat. That's why most of us avoid the champagne. We're here for one thing. Food. And the shower and shampoo of course."

"That's why you don't want to be taken off the list," I say. "That's why this night is such a big deal. Food and showers and clean clothes." They were simple necessities for most people, but for the girls without a home or place to belong, they were exquisite luxuries. It was why no one questioned or balked at the unseemly ride in the dark, virtually windowless van.

"Keep eating," Yoli advises. "I'm going to go talk to some friends." I can't blame her for deserting me. I'm a hazy headed mess, barely able to keep my eyes from crossing. I am utterly disappointed with myself for falling for such an easy trick. I try to blame it on my weakened state from being hungry and tired, but I deserve a solid kick in the ass.

I stay safely sitting on the chair as the frivolities continue around me. Yoli has joined two girls at the dessert table. She is running her finger through some frosting on a slice of cake. Her eyes flit my direction, and she points to the dessert table. Even though I have what Maddox refers to as an unholy sweet tooth, I can't even think about eating a piece of cake.

I relax back against the chair and try to assess just what it is that has me so lightheaded. It's some kind of drug, but it's different than the ones I know about. I'm not sleepy or close to passing out cold. While my head is dizzy and my appetite is diminished, I'm still having rational thoughts. And as much as I hate to admit it, I feel pretty fucking good, without worries or trepidation. It's a sort of serene, happy place I've landed in. I feel my face warm as it occurs to me I'm past serene and feeling more than just a little aroused. The silky fabric of the dress rubbing against my bare nipples has tightened them to hard buds, and the same smooth, cool fabric pressed against my naked pussy has it aching for some attention.

Yoli brings over a fudge brownie. "These are to die for. Just in case. How are you feeling?"

I look up at her. The room has slowed from a whirl to a slow spin. "Surprisingly, not too bad. Might even be able to take a bite of that brownie in a few minutes."

"I told you it wears off pretty fast." She moves on to huddle with another group of friends. I'm in no state of mind to count the girls who are scooting around, bouncing from table to table and making rounds to the food table, but it seems there are at least three van loads of young women at the party. What a crime that the city has so many homeless people dwelling in its borders. And these are just the young females. But for one glorious night a month they get to leave their sidewalk or shelter or park bench and have a hot shower, wear silky clean clothes and eat themselves silly. It seems that I'm not going to have much to bring back to Captain Clark other than recanting the details of a nice party put on by an invisible group or person along with the embarrassing story of me getting stupidly high on drugged champagne.

The wooziness in my head makes it hard to estimate how much time has passed, but as the chafing dishes empty and the dessert table is reduced to an ordinary table covered with a chocolate and strawberry stained tablecloth, the party goers seem to be losing steam. Everyone is sitting around looking satisfied and full and ready for a good long sleep. The scene reminds me of my aunt's house after the turkey has been dismantled into a skeleton and the last dinner roll has left the basket. There's a touch of sadness in the air, which I attribute to the party coming to an end and the stark reality of returning to the streets.

I'm able to finish a portion of my food and half a brownie. Yoli was right. Some of the heady rush from the champagne has dissipated.

Yoli is deep in conversation with Becky on the other side of the room. I haven't been much fun tonight and I'm disappointed. If I'd had my wits about me I might have found out more about the people behind the generous supply of food and toiletries.

The room stretches on forever as I make my way across the floor to Yoli. Becky sees me first and makes some excuse to dash away before I reach Yoli's side.

"Wow, she really doesn't like me," I say.

"She's just upset about the news going around." Yoli looks at me. "You've probably noticed some cheer has been tamped down. It's hard because we don't want to let on that we know, especially with the cameras." For no apparent reason she feels the need to whisper the word camera. Her stunning proclamation helps clear my head more.

"What news?" For the hundredth time I want to kick myself for gulping the blasted champagne. Tonight might very well have been a gold mine for my undercover assignment, and I spent a good deal of it in a cloud.

Yoli leans closer. I can smell the expensive perfume she lavished on herself in the bathroom. "There's this girl Rachel. I didn't know her personally but I knew of her. She used to work a street corner near the strip club on the other side of town. She always came to these parties." Yoli waves her hand. "Before me. But people know her name because she was chosen. She got the golden ticket. Her best friend said she joined the Lace Underground and that was the last time anyone saw her." I know before she even continues how the story ends. "Until the cops found her body in a dumpster," Yoli adds with a dramatic flourish.

I cover my mouth to look shocked. "That's horrible. Does anyone know what happened to her?"

Before Yoli can answer a bell rings and the door opens. Rowan, who seems to be a jack of all trades, rolls in a large cart piled with freshly washed and folded clothes. Whoever is in charge of things seems to have a team of launderers working through the night.

The large man with the tribal tattoos enters next with a rolling bin like the kind used in a hotel laundry room. It is piled high with brown paper wrapped packages. The sight of the packages revives the somewhat somber mood with excited chatter.

Yoli takes off before answering. I decide it will be easier to pry information from her once we are back at the park and away from cameras and the other girls. I hang back and wait for the others to collect their clothes and their packages. Several girls, too excited to wait, open up the gifts and twitter with happiness like kids opening wrapped boxes at Christmas. The packages are filled with essential toiletries like toothpaste, shampoo and soap. There are even packages of new underwear. The inconsistencies of the night are as vast as they are perplexing. A delicious, endless supply of food but cameras are in place to watch over the diners. Hot showers complete with soaps, shampoos and cosmetics, but the unsuspecting bathers are being watched through one way mirrors. Tempting flutes of champagne that leave you feeling pleasantly vulnerable. It was like the ultimate mix of good and evil, like the nice stranger who offers you a bag of candy before yanking you into his van. And for one girl at least, for Rachel, the golden ticket Yoli likes to talk about landed her not in some fantastical place but in a city dumpster. That sobering thought helps remind me why I am undercover. My prime worry is that the night will end, we will go back to the park and I won't know much more than when I climbed into the black van.

I hang back, waiting for everyone else to get their things. The entire time, it seems Rowan is keeping an eye on me. It's not so much a distrustful eye as a proprietary eye. Like I'm some valuable possession that he doesn't want taken away. It's unsettling and unexpected.

I reach the cart with the freshly washed clothes. My ripped and torn jeans and t-shirt are the last items left. I reach for them, but Rowan takes hold of my wrist. My first instinct is to throw his grasp off of me. I quickly remind myself that I'm not Detective Tennyson but Tawny Smith, street kid with nothing to my name and little in the way of a future.

"Hold on there, Red. You need to stay in the dress."

I look past his shoulder down the corridor where the others, including Yoli, have shuffled toward the bathroom to change out of their fairy godmother gifts and back into their rags.

I look back at Rowan. He seems far too pleased with himself, like the cat who caught the big fat mouse.

"But everyone else is changing."

"Yes, but you're not everyone, are you sweet candy?" Rowan releases my wrist and waits politely as the last girls leave the main room.

The adrenaline in my veins has leapt into overdrive. It seems my body has figured things out before my head. I blame it on the residual drug in my brain.

"Make sure they all get to the van on time," Rowan mutters to the driver. The driver, an olive skinned man with piercing gray eyes, gives me a solid, unabashed once over before leaving.

Rowan walks around the cart to my side. He stares at me for a second and smiles. "I knew you were going to be worth a bounty the second you slinked into the park with those audacious curves and those amazing fucking lips. Follow me, Red. Things are about to get more interesting in your tragic little life."

There are just enough scary undertones in his words to make me consider running. I wouldn't even have to blow my cover. I could just as easily be a scared nineteen-year-old not wanting to be the kid who climbed into the van with the candy man.

But there's one big problem. I begged and pleaded with Clark to put me on the assignment. I assured him I wouldn't let him down. If I run at the first sign of danger, I will never be able to show my face at the precinct again. Maddox will never let me live it down and I can't stand the thought of him thinking I was a coward. Then, the emotions of that day when Maddox broke my heart, not once but twice, and in quick succession, come back to me. My chest aches with the thought of it. After several drugged hours of being inexplicably serene and happy, a strange, overwhelming sense of loss suddenly pulls at me, threatening to drop me to my knees with grief. It seems the chemical is wearing off completely and leaving behind a terrible void, exposing every raw feeling I have tamped down inside. It must be the aftereffects Yoli mentioned. It explains her elusive answer. This was no regular hangover.

Rowan motions me to move along. I push back the wave of emotion as best I can. My feet come unglued from the floor and I follow him, not as the wary detective but as the innocent, naive Tawny. Rowan unlocks a door at the opposite side of the party room. He leads me into a small room that has chairs, desks and computers. The monitors are connected to the cameras. I catch a glimpse of the first group of girls climbing into the black van before Rowan shuts off the screen.

I scan the wall and see the transparent side of the mirrors. Many of the women are still changing back into their street clothes. Rowan hits a button to darken the mirrors, making them opaque.

He walks over to me and looks into my face. "Looks like the champagne has worn off, Red. Don't worry, we'll get you more and have you feeling right as rain in two sips."

I shake my head lightly. "No," I say a little too emphatically. "No, I'm fine." The horrifying reality of my lie is that the notion of more champagne and whatever drug it contains sounds tempting.

Rowan pulls two strips of cloth from his pocket. I flinch as he nears me. All I can think is I'm about to be strangled. "Just a precaution, Red. Blindfold for your eyes and I'll bind your hands to make sure you can't remove the blindfold."

My instincts and survival skills kick in and I'm ready to knee him directly in the balls if he reaches for my hands. Instead, I grit my teeth and allow him to secure my hands behind my back. The blindfold goes on next, blocking out the sordid little voyeur's room Rowan and whoever else he's working for have set up for themselves.

The room is cold. I have the urge to cross my arms to cover myself but am quickly reminded they are bound behind my back. I can hear Rowan shuffling around, then a beep and he's speaking into a phone. "All ready in here." His footsteps near me again and my fists clamp in defense. Only I'm virtually defenseless. My mind goes straight to a new strategy of swinging my leg around for a kick. I've dropped more than one combative suspect with a good kick to the head, but I'm at a disadvantage when I can't see my opponent. Again, I remind myself that guileless Tawny would not know how to knock someone out with a kick. I'm in no position to blow my cover now. I have to be compliant. I brace myself for whatever comes next.

"Good luck, Red. Win me that bounty, eh?" Rowan's footsteps retreat.

# 16

### Angie

Cool air rushes in as a door opens. I can hear footsteps going both directions, then the door swings shut. Gooseflesh rises on my arms. No one has spoken or made a sound but I sense that I'm not alone. Suddenly, I feel near to naked in my flimsy dress. Considering my lack of bra and panties, I'm as close to the definition as one can get. But it's more than that. A shiver runs through me as a feeling of not just being watched but scrutinized from head to toe washes over me.

Then a sound, the slightest movement followed by the feel of warm breath on my shoulder. "Did you enjoy the food?" His voice is smooth, clean and hard, like a shot of strong whiskey. My mind dashes back to the picture Clark handed me in his office, the picture of the possible mastermind of the Lace Underground. I try to match the voice with the striking face and blue eyes in the picture. I can remember staring at the photo, thinking the man staring back at me sure as hell didn't look like a brainy chemist who concocts pharmaceuticals.

"It was delicious. Thank you," I say, and am shocked at how politely supplicant I sound.

"I noticed you were enjoying the champagne." His smooth hard liquor sound swirls around me. I want badly to find it harsh and unpleasant, but the sound of it is too soothing, too confident, too damn seductive.

"It was delicious too," I say.

"Good, I've brought you some more."

A glass presses against my lips, and the sweet smell of champagne tickles my nose. I lean my face back and pull in my lips but not before drawing my tongue across my bottom lip to lick the tiny droplets left behind by the effervescent liquid.

"I might drip the champagne on your lips just to watch you lick it off." There should be a joking, teasing laugh with the suggestion but none follows. A serious quiet falls over the room. I shuffle my sandals around on the cement floor.

"Don't you want another drink?"

I shake my head. "I think I've had enough."

A phone beeps, startling me. "Yes, we're through here, Rowan."

"No wait," I say, realizing I have blown my only chance of getting into the Lace Underground. Every other girl found in a dumpster with her neck slit would be my fault. "I hesitated only because it made me dizzy."

"One of the side effects but that goes away after awhile."

The door opens. "Out." He orders. I hear nothing but can only assume it's Rowan. The door shuts sharply. It seems I'm alone with him again.

He moves so quietly, I don't realize he's lifted the champagne to my lips until the glass touches them. I take a few good sips before he removes the glass. Instantly, the liquid buzz goes to my head. Whatever it is, it's some powerful shit.

I hear the glass clink lightly as it's put down somewhere in the room. His movements are so stealthily quiet, I have no idea where he is. I nearly jump out of my sandals when fingers touch the top button on the dress.

"I'm not here to hurt you, just to see if you fill all the qualifications." He's undone two buttons before he finishes. I should be tense with resistance since it seems he is undressing me, but the sip of the drink has softened that instinct to defend myself. I feel myself bending both mentally and physically to the notion of being stripped naked. He is an utter stranger, who is by all accounts a murderer, yet I stand perfectly still as he unbuttons my dress. I breathe in a hint of something pleasant, a cologne or aftershave. The masculine fragrance mixed with his own natural scent sends a surge of heat through me. At the same time cool air brushes across the skin between my breasts. The bodice of the dress is open.

A deep, quiet groan rolls through the room as his fingers part the dress. He takes care not to touch me. I suddenly grit my teeth for a different reason. I want to feel his hands on me. My pussy clenches at the thought of him rubbing his thumb over my erect nipples.

Without warning, his hands lift the skirt of my dress. All the while, I can do nothing except stand and submit to his visual examination. In the darkness of my blindfold, I imagine his eyes surveying my naked body. It makes my pussy surge with moisture.

"It seems you are cinnamon everywhere." His deep, seductive drawl laps at my senses. "Sweet, sweet cinnamon." The silky fabric of the dress slides back down my thighs. I falter forward slightly at the disappointment of not being touched. "And you react so quickly to the drink. That only adds to your perfection." His tone is tighter, less relaxed as if he is straining against his own wave of desire. It only serves to make me hotter.

I feel his finger drag over my shoulder, the heat of it leaves a trail on my skin. With my hands secure behind my back, the spaghetti strap slips down to my elbow. He does the same to the other side. In seconds, I'm standing naked from the waist up. I feel him circling behind me. Any earlier tension in my body is gone. I'm relaxed but at the same time desperate to be satisfied. The throbbing need between my legs only intensifies as his hot breath brushes along my shoulder. I gasp as his fingers barely touch my skin to push my hair aside. His mouth presses against the back of my neck, and his tongue leaves a hot, wet trail behind. I feel vulnerable yet not in danger. A warm, comforting sense of being wanted, being desired fills my chest. It's as if every invisible binding I have to keep me tethered to my real life is being cut and thrown away. I have no idea who I am, but my mind is telling me I want to be his. The rumor about Kane Freestone is true. He's a mad genius, a mad fucking genius.

He gently lifts the straps back up to my shoulders, and with the same patient care, buttons the dress. "Tell me yes or no, my sweet sin."

I'm in such a heightened state of arousal, I'm ready to say yes to anything he asks. The blindfold helps me refocus and find some shred of reality. "How do I say yes, when there's no question?"

"Yes or no," he repeats. "You can walk away from here, return to your life on the street and this will go no further. It's your choice."

The blindfold, the cryptic words, it's no wonder so little is known about the Lace Underground.

"If you wish, I will call Rowan in to untie you. He'll arrange a ride back to the drop off point. And you can put this behind you. Or you can say yes and your life will start afresh. No more sidewalk tents or grimy park bathrooms." He sweeps his finger alongside my cheek to brush the hair off my face. "I need an answer."

This was my assignment. Go undercover and find a way into the Lace Underground. It seemed an impossible task, a long shot and yet the opportunity is right in front of me. I could bring this whole thing down on my own, without men like Clark or Maddox to stand behind me. Or I could walk away and go back to the park and back to the precinct as Detective Tennyson. But then I would have failed.

His phone beeps. "Have my car brought around, Rowan. I think we're done here."

"Yes." The word blips off my lips in a quick succession of letters. "Yes," I say again.

"Good choice." The door opens and shuts. It seems the room is empty.

I take a deep breath and try to process the intensity of the last few minutes but I can't.

# 17

### Kane

Rowan is grinning. He knows he made a good choice. I only hope he's right.

"Bring her to the Underground," I tell him without stopping.

"The club members will be fighting over her, don't you think?" he calls.

"They won't get a chance," I answer without looking back. "This one is mine."

# 18

### Maddox

The hot water running over my head does nothing to ease the tension. The bathroom door opens and shuts, bringing in a rush of cool air to temporarily erase the steam. Tiffany is still in her panties and bra as she combs her hair up into clips.

I smear the condensation from the glass to watch her.

She giggles. "Are you being a peeping tom?"

"Don't know. Is it creeping you out? Because if it is, then yes."

She turns around and throws a clip at the shower. "Stop, you know I like it when you watch me."

"Then join me," I suggest.

"I can't. I just dried my hair and I've got to meet my mom and sister for gown shopping in two hours."

"This won't take two hours. Hop in. You can dry your hair again."

"Says the man whose grooming routine is ten seconds with a comb." She continues with her hair brushing. Just once I would like her to do something as sexy and spontaneous as jumping into the shower with me.

I shut off the water and climb out. I lean over to towel dry my hair.

She kisses my back. "Don't be mad."

"Not mad," I say sounding mad. "I've got to get to the station anyhow." I dry myself partially and walk out to the bedroom still dripping.

"You're going to get the carpet wet," Tiffany calls from the bathroom.

I ignore her and search for the jeans that I dropped purposely on the floor next to my bed for the morning.

"I hung your jeans in the closet," she says, leaning out of the bathroom.

I turn and look at her. "Why?"

She huffs. It's a sound I found adorable just six months ago, but lately I find it irritating. Mostly because I know a lecture will follow.

"Just because you're a detective doesn't mean you have to show up to the station looking like a slob in wrinkled jeans."

"Yes, it fucking does." Her blue eyes flinch at my words, but that doesn't stop me. "That's exactly what it means. Why the hell else does anyone want to get stuck in the hell of being a detective if not to lose the stupid crisp uniform and be able to dress like a slob? It's one of the perks. Hell, it's the only perk."

Tiffany slams the door shut. Months ago, it was a move that would make me head straight to the bathroom door with an apology and kiss, but then months ago, I wouldn't have spoken so plainly to her.

I finish dressing, comb my wet hair with my fingers, adding weight to Tiffany's grooming comment, and head out the door. The fifteen minute drive to the precinct gives me enough time to work myself into a fucking lather about Ten. It's clear to me that Clark knows exactly where she is and I'm done with the dance. I can't function or think straight not knowing where she is or if she's all right. I've already convinced myself that my short temper with Tiffany this morning has more to do with Ten missing than with Tiffany not climbing into the shower with me.

I skipped coffee at home so I head straight to the break room to pour myself a cup. Silvana has somehow picked up a sixth sense about me and shows up at the break room before I finish filling my cup.

"Hey, Maddox, the captain just handed me a file folder on some guy whose neighbors think he has a meth lab in his back house."

I drink the coffee and stare at him over the top edge of the cup. My reaction seems to dampen his enthusiasm for the assignment. He waves the folder around weakly. "Just thought I'd give you the heads-up."

I need to stop giving the guy a hard time, but it's about the only fun thing to do without Ten around.

"Should I get my badge and gun?" Silvana asks.

"First I need to talk to Clark."

"He's in a terrible mood today. I saw him tear Richards and Garcia a couple of new assholes this morning after they fucked up on a robbery sting."

I drain the coffee cup, smack it down on the counter and head toward the door.

"If you ask me, I think it's a good idea to avoid the captain this morning," he recites quickly before I walk out.

"Didn't ask you."

Clark's office door is slightly ajar, my invitation to walk in. I skip the required protocol of knocking first.

"Christ, Maddox, since you refuse to knock, I might just require you to wear a bell around your neck like a fucking cat."

I yank back the chair in front of his desk and sit down. "I need you to tell me where Ten is so I don't lose my fucking mind."

"Can't do that, Maddox." Clark grabs a pen to write something down, but I'm thinking it's a ploy. When the subject of Ten comes up, he finds places to look so he doesn't have to look me in the face.

"Look, Cap'n," I resort to my negotiator's voice, hoping I can pry at least a few splinters of information. I resort to a few lies as well. "Ten and I were working on multiple cases. I need to talk to her about them. You just wiped out the team without even warning me. How am I supposed to effectively do my job if you keep me from my partner?"

"You seem to forget that you asked me to give you a new partner. Which I did."

"Fuck that request. I was temporarily out of my mind. I need . . . I want Ten back in the car with me."

Clark makes a show of dropping his pen on the desk. He leans back and crosses his fingers over his large belly. His double chin is getting large too, especially when he drops his face to give me his fatherly look. "Back when I was a fresh faced, nervous, skinny—" He looks down at his belly. "Yes _skinny_ new kid on the force, they partnered me with Officer Brooks."

I sit back hard on the chair. "Am I seriously going to have to sit here and listen to you reminisce about your rookie days?"

"Officer Brooks," he continues unabated by my question, "had pearly blonde hair that she kept twisted into a perfect knot at the back of her head. She had a long, creamy white neck and she filled out her uniform like a goddamn playboy bunny. When we were out on patrol, all I could think about was Officer Brooks sitting just a foot away with her long neck and her curves. But it wasn't just the way she looked, she was funny, smart, confident. I had no fucking choice but to fall in love with the woman. It was a given. Thinking back on it, I'm not entirely sure how the captain at the time didn't see it coming. I mean she was something."

"I hate to snap you out of your erotic daydream, Clark, but your point?"

"I'm not thick-headed, Maddox. I know why you wanted a new partner."

I open my mouth to protest but nothing comes out. I sit forward. "Look, I just need to know she's safe."

Clark's mouth pulls tight.

"You don't even know that, do you? You can't even assure me that she's all right because you don't fucking know."

"Enough, Maddox." Clark slams his hand on the desk, sending several loose papers off the top of a pile to the floor. His nostrils are wide with anger, but there's regret there too. He knows he sent her into something dangerous, and he knows the whole fucking thing could backfire at any time.

"Does it have to do with those dead rich guys? That secret society?"

Clark lowers his voice to an icy cold temperature. "You need to stop asking. Drop this now, Maddox, or I will put you on suspension for disobedience."

I kick the back of his desk. "Fuck that. Suspend me then."

"Your persistence in finding her is only going to make it more dangerous for Tennyson. Leave. It. Alone."

A rancid smell precedes footsteps into the office. "Clark, glad I found you. She's in."

The two word statement causes Clark's face to smooth like stone.

I turn around in the chair. Olson pales beneath the street grime on his face. "Maddox, I didn't know it was you."

"Guess that answers my question about who 'she' is." I cast a questioning look at Clark.

His nostrils are less flare-y, but he's still plenty mad. "If there's nothing else, Maddox, I think your new partner is waiting for you. And close the door on your way out. I need to meet with Olson."

I stare at him long and hard before rising from the chair. I look Olson up and down before walking out and swinging the door shut behind me. I've been ferreting out all the snitches Ten and I have in the city when all the time Detective Olson was the guy with the goods. And once I had him alone, I was going to find out what he knew.

# 19

### Angie

I wake with a start. As my bleary gaze takes in my surroundings adrenaline jolts through me and I sit up. But I quickly collapse back against the cloud of pillows behind me. I touch the fabric on my stomach. I'm still wearing the silky sundress given to me at the party. The bodice is fastened now but a momentary warmth floods through me as I think back to fingers opening the buttons and pushing the straps off my shoulders. I open my eyes slowly this time so as not to freak myself out. I'm in a vast and lushly appointed bedroom. The four poster bed where my aching head and body are being cradled by a soft, inviting quilt and pillows is of a sleek modern design. White, gossamer netting hangs from the canopy frame over the bed. My eyes are drawn to silver rings, a pair of which have been bolted near the top of each bedpost. I can only assume they help hold the netting in various positions to keep out morning light. That's when it occurs to me that while there are plenty of light fixtures in the room, there are no windows, only several recesses in the walls to allow for storage of unusual pieces of furniture, including an odd looking chair that reminds me of something you'd find in a gym and a short couch that is shaped like a wedge. One nook is empty save for four silver rings, larger than the ones on the bed, at each of the four corners of the closet sized opening. An orange chaise and mahogany dresser take up one corner of the room. A chrome vanity sits against a wall with a plush orange stool sitting in front of it. There are three doors. I assume one is a bathroom and one a closet but then my head is hardly clear enough to make any reasonable assumptions.

I close my eyes again hoping to sleep away the grogginess in my head. I'm close to slipping into a blissful sleep when a shadow falls over the bed. My eyes pop open. A pleasant round face with unusual purple eyes is smiling down at me.

"You're awake. Thought you might sleep forever." The youngish man is dressed in a skin tight white t-shirt and well fitted black trousers. His dark hair is shaved close to his head and he has a silver stud in each ear. He moves gracefully and feminine, like a classically trained ballerina. The eyes seem to get their purple color from contacts. "Come, come, darlin', we need you up and ready."

"Who are you?" My voice is scratchy like my throat is filled with gravel.

"I'm Blake, your personal lady-in-waiting." He curtsies and pretends to hold out the ends of a dress. He turns to the dark mahogany nightstand and pours me a glass of water from a crystal pitcher. "That frog voice won't do at all."

I have difficulty sitting up. Blake lowers his hand for me to take. His palm is smooth, no working callous. He pulls me up to sitting. I brace my hands on the bed to steady myself before taking the glass of water. I greedily gulp it down like a woman who's been wandering the desert without a canteen.

"Where am I? And more importantly, how the heck did I get here?"

"You are in your room or the room that's been chosen for you. It's the nicest one, which makes sense since you're going to be his." Blake refills the glass and hands it back to me. "As for how you got here, what's the last thing you remember?"

I'm still trying to sort out what he's talking about when he tosses the question at me. My head aches just enough to make it hard to recall. I rub my forehead in a pathetic attempt to stop the pain. Blake reaches to the drawer in the nightstand and pulls out a bottle of aspirin. He shakes two onto his smooth, clean palm and hands them to me.

"Aspirin," I say with relief. "Wait. Aspirin. I remember Rowan handing me two pills. He told me they were aspirin for the headache. I was still blindfolded so I couldn't see what he gave me. But I swallowed the pills. I remember getting woozy and my knees giving way. I think I landed in Rowan's arms. I don't remember anything else until a few minutes ago when I opened my eyes in this room."

"That's about right. Mr. Freestone takes every precaution to make sure this place remains impossible to find. By the way, those are the real deal. Aspirin, I mean."

I swallow the tablets and survey the windowless room. The temperature is just right, not too warm or too cold. Even the humidity is perfect. I need to act completely clueless. I am fairly certain I know the answer to the next question but I ask it anyhow. "Why aren't there any windows in this room?"

Blake laughs. "You wouldn't see much if there were. This is a subterranean complex."

"So we're underground." That fact, now confirmed, makes me shudder inwardly. I wonder if there's a term for being undercover and literally underground. It's like vanishing without a trace. I am on my own. I have to go along with the whole damn game or risk revealing myself. Aside from being drugged and transported to the secret location, nothing else seems the least bit sinister, including my 'lady-in-waiting' who looks anxious to get started on his duties. Whatever those might be.

"Guess underground still beats living on the streets." I force a light tone. My stomach growls, and I press my arm against it.

Blake points down at my arm. "We'll get you breakfast just as soon as we get you primped and pretty." He tilts his head. "You sure have an interesting hair color. And with that face, it'll be fun to get you spruced up." Blake is wearing Birkenstock sandals. They shuffle over the lush ivory carpeting that covers the room from wall to wall. He tosses open one of the doors to reveal the entrance to a shiny marble-lined bathroom.

I throw my bare legs and feet over the side of the bed. The aspirin is only just starting to work its magic. With some food, I'll be my clear headed self again. Then it's time to start mentally logging evidence. It seems I'm going to find out exactly what goes on in the Lace Underground. I'm anxious to start tiptoeing through the Kane Freestone's notorious secret world. At the same time, I have to prepare myself for whatever is expected of me to get the job done. It's not going to be pleasant or easy, and it'll probably take me years of therapy to get the scars out of my head, but in the end, I'll show Clark and Maddox and the guys in the precinct just how a woman detective gets things done. After all, none of them could have gotten even this far on the undercover operation.

Blake has disappeared into the bathroom. The sound of water rushing into a tub and the fragrance of bubble bath fills the air. I'm still shaky from the champagne and long night, and I make my way toward the bathroom like a hundred-year-old lady. A quick glimpse in the vanity mirror assures me I look like one too.

Blake's smiling face appears in the bathroom doorway. He holds up a bottle of something and a towel. "First thing we need to do is get rid of unsightly hair," he chirps.

My step falters. "Unsightly hair? You mean—"

Blake's purple glazed contacts flash to my pussy. "The pubes have to go. Mr. Freestone likes things smooth and clean."

I swallow back the sudden dryness in my throat. Up until that second, I could only surmise that I was going to sleep with strangers. Now it's a solid fact. I just wonder how many sweaty, grabby billionaires I'm going to have to bed before I have enough evidence and a safe way out of the underground. Get in character, Angie. You are Tawny.

I shake off the tension and walk toward Blake. "I guess Freestone likes to make everything just right for his club members, eh?"

Blake shoulders rise in surprise, effectively blocking the door. "Darlin', you're not here for his club members. Mr. Freestone has chosen you for his own personal use. At least for now." He smiles proudly. "Puts a little more pressure on me, but I'm up to the task."

His earlier statement about being there for _him_ makes sense now. I am going to be the mad genius's toy until he tires of me. Then he'll throw me out to his pack of wolves. I was going to need to work fast and stay clear headed through it all. It wasn't going to be easy. First and foremost, I needed to avoid the champagne.

I enter the bathroom. It's much larger than its sleek marble opening portends. My heart skips a beat and rare, girlish excitement overtakes me as the massive soak tub comes into view. For a second I forget where I am and fleetingly imagine I'm in a posh five star resort about to get pampered into feminine oblivion. The bathroom is bigger and more well furnished than my entire apartment. There is a plush chaise lounge at the foot of the bath and two velvet upholstered benches sit across from each other in the center of the room.

"What, no wet bar?" I ask.

Blake has a humorous glint in his eye as he walks to a panel on the wall and opens it. With a few button pushes, a marble panel opens up and a motor buzzes as a shelf filled with liquor bottles and glasses rolls out.

"Silly me for asking."

"You look like a rock and roll type but something soft for a bubble bath." Blake reaches back into the controls and suddenly Rod Stewart is crooning one of his slow songs. The echo is loud. Blake adjusts the music lower and it becomes a soothing background hum.

"Go ahead and strip off the dress, darlin'. Hope you don't mind if I call you that, it's just a habit I have."

I shake my head. I've already concluded that I have met my perfect connection to all that goes on in Lace Underground. It seems Blake and I have no choice except to become close friends, but maybe a little closer than I expected. I hesitate about taking off my dress.

Blake catches the pause and laughs. He has a good laugh, the kind that makes you want to hang out with him just because you know he likes to have fun. He puts his hands on his hips, reminding me of my Aunt Terry just before she was about to lecture me on being too wild in the house. "Darlin', I can tell you that I have about as much interest in seeing pussy as you have, so off with the dress." He shows me the can of hair remover again. "This was specially formulated by the boss. We need to get you foamed up."

It's more than a little unsettling having a strange man knelt down between my naked legs spraying foam around my privates but Blake is a pro. He goes right on with his conversation as if we're just two friends having a latte at a coffee bar. The foam starts to tingle on my skin. I fidget as the light tingle starts to sting.

"Don't worry about the stinging sensation. There's a soothing lotion to go with it. After this, we'll drop you in that tub, and I'll go get your breakfast. But while this stuff does it's thing, I need to get a blood test." He says it casually as if it's a perfectly normal thing to suggest.

I'm still processing his statement as he walks to yet another panel in the bathroom. It seems to be some kind of medicine cabinet. He returns with a band of rubber, a syringe and a vial. "Don't worry, I'm a trained nurse. I'm sort of the go-to doctor in this place."

I'm only half listening as I watch him prepare to take my blood. "Exactly why are we taking blood?" I ask.

"To make sure you're healthy and not carrying any STDs. We've got a full-time lab technician. By the way, are you on birth control?"

A terse laugh shoots from my mouth. "The whole fantasy of this bubble bath scene just went to the cold side of practicality and yes, I am but my belongings are back at the park."

"No problem. You'll be getting a different kind to start. It'll basically stop those pesky periods."

"Mr. Freestone really likes things to run efficiently down here," I comment. It seems the Lace Underground is not a seedy two-bit operation but a well-managed, high end business.

"Well, when your clients are paying seven figure yearly fees, you have to make sure things are perfect." He laughs faintly. "It's a lot to take in, I know."

He mistakes my silence as awe when I'm merely trying to tuck it all into my head for later, when I'm back in the real world. Because there is absolutely nothing real about the world I'm sitting in right now.

I'm sitting on a cushioned bench leaning back on my hands as he masterfully cleans away the foam with a towel.

"And just like that I'm ready for a string bikini," I quip.

Blake laughs. "I think we're going to get along fine. Now climb into that tub, and we'll get you smelling and looking like a bouquet of roses."

The water is just the right temperature. Silky, fragrant bubbles wobble on the surface as I sit down against the sloped side. "Wait, let me adjust the pillow." Blake slides a velvet covered pillow into place on the rim of the tub. "There, lean back and put this sleep mask on. It'll help you relax enough to get rid of that headache once and for all. I can still see twinges of it in your face. It's going to leave ugly lines in your forehead."

I slip the sleep mask over my eyes and rest my head against the pillow. It's by far the most luxurious bath I've ever taken. It's definitely a step up from sleeping in a sidewalk tent with Yoli talking in her sleep. I think about Yoli and the others at the park. By now they've noticed I didn't return with them. Olson would know by now. He most likely informed Clark already too. With the way things are going, I might just want to stay undercover, I muse.

"I'll get you some breakfast." I hear Blake's voice and lift a heavy, relaxed arm to wave good-bye at him, having no idea if he's even in the room anymore.

# 20

### Angie

The warmth of the bath water and the coziness of the steam-filled room eases me close to sleep. I try to sort out how I'll stay safe and alive and inconspicuous until I can get out with all the information we need to end Freestone's underground operation. So far, all I know is that he provides food and health essentials to young women who for one reason or another find themselves trying to stay alive on the city streets. Not exactly something that would earn Freestone hard time. The drugged champagne and one way mirrors in the bathrooms were definitely problems, but there were no smoking guns yet or evidence that pointed to the murders of disgruntled club members.

I swirl my hands through the water, creating a rhythmic wave of bubbles over my skin. My headache is nearly gone. Then I sense that I'm not alone in the bathroom. I reach up and pull the sleep mask from my eyes. A man is sitting on the bench at the foot of the tub, his forearms resting on his thighs as he watches me soak.

I sit straight up, inadvertently exposing my naked breasts as the sweater of bubbles falls away. I slip back down to hide them.

His blue eyes follow my breasts below the water's surface and linger there before lifting his gaze to my face. "I've already seen them. Although, I do think they are even better wet." His face is so symmetrically chiseled he looks more like an artist's sculpture than a real man. The overhead lights reflect off his short black hair. The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up, exposing a long tattoo of words scrolled along the side of his left forearm. His right bears a different kind of permanent mark, a series of two to three inch long scars lined up like the rungs on a ladder. Each scar is deep and straight and far too evenly spaced to have been an accident. The top button of his shirt is undone, but the casualness doesn't take away the serious arrogance floating around him. Few men are so astonishingly striking. Since I'd seen his picture once, I know with certainty I am looking at Kane Freestone.

"I'm sorry," I say, trying to keep the bite out of my tone. "I thought I was alone in this bathroom."

He is tall when he stands, with broad shoulders and a waist that tapers down to narrow hips and long legs. He walks over to the side of the tub and sits on the edge. The water is hot, but my skins erupts in gooseflesh as his large hand circles through the bubbles. I stare up at his face and study it closer. It is hard to see the mad genius or the diabolical mastermind in the starkly handsome face hovering over me. His long, thick lashes make him look young. His short, mostly empty file mentioned he was thirty. I should be repulsed but I can't find one drop of distaste. Under any other circumstance, the entire scene would be a woman's fantasy, lush surroundings, a dream bath and an incredibly good looking man stirring the water with hands that look more than capable of bringing on an orgasm with a mere touch. I push away the erotic thoughts and remind myself that I'll be in mortal danger the entire time I'm part of his sordid underground world.

Confidence pours off of him in heated waves as he stares boldly at my lips. "How do you find your room?" he asks as he pulls his hand from the water. The foamy bubbles have cleared giving him an unobstructed view of my naked body, which he takes without hesitation.

I jump into character. "Considering I've spent the last few months sleeping in parks and alleys and even the front stoop of the library, it'll do."

The side of his firm, full mouth tilts up slightly.

"I guess I'll count that as a smile," I pause. "I don't know what to call you."

"Kane will do. Unless I ask you to call me something else. Which I might occasionally do, depending on the circumstance."

"I'm rather fond of Milord," I say playfully, deciding if I don't keep his interest I'll be out on my ass. "When I watch television, that is, when I have access to one," I amend quickly, "I rather like those movies where the women are in fancy gowns and the men are in black coats and top hats."

"Milord," he ponders aloud. "Might work."

The bathroom door swings open and cool air sweeps in to replace the steam. Blake looks nothing short of mortified when he sees his boss in the bathroom. I half expect him to drop to his knees and beg forgiveness. "I'm sorry, sir. I brought her some food and—"

"That's fine, Blake." He pushes up from the rim of the bath. "By the way, I've postponed tonight's activities to tomorrow. I have other things to tend to." Kane looks back at me before returning his attention to Blake. "The women need a night off. Tell them they can spend the evening by the pool. See to it that Barton cooks them up something special."

What luck. It seems my stay won't be long. Spending my first night with the other women by the pool, an underground pool, apparently, is sure to be a gold mine for information gathering. I will have to work hard to gain their trust and friendship right from the start.

"Yes, sir. I'll let everyone know." Blake's gaze flits to me. My skin is beginning to prune, and the water is getting cold. "And what about our newest guest? Should I get her a swimsuit?"

"No, she stays here."

I practically sink underwater in disappointment. A perfect opportunity is lost.

Kane leads Blake out. I can hear a conversation in the bedroom but can't make out the words.

Blake returns alone. "You'd better get out before you wrinkle into an old woman. I brought you the chef's specialty, eggs Benedict. You need to eat. You've got a big night ahead. You'll need your energy."

Blake wraps a large towel around me as I stand. "So I'm going to the pool party after all?"

"No. Mr. Freestone has a party of his own planned. You're the only guest."

Blake is being unusually quiet and avoiding direct eye contact as he insists on patting me dry.

"I feel like a pampered queen," I joke but don't get the reaction I expect. The visit from his boss seems to have knocked him off kilter. I, on the other hand, feel ridiculously relaxed and it's not just the bubble bath. So far it feels as if I landed an undercover assignment in a five star resort.

But it is not long before everything takes a dark, twisted and unexpectedly tantalizing turn, and I find myself in over my head and inextricably bound, both physically and mentally, to Kane Freestone's secret world.

# 21

### Maddox

My phone rings as I pull into the pothole scarred parking lot of Corky's Bar. I park my motorcycle. The bar is a rundown saloon in the middle of a strip mall. The original owner wouldn't sell his patch of land to the developers, so there it sits looking ancient and weirdly out of place between brightly painted, neon lit shops.

Knowing without looking who the call is from, I briefly consider not answering it. But it's not worth the future lecture. "Hey, babe, I'm going to be late tonight. A few more hours probably."

Tiffany's scoff ruffles through the phone. "I thought we were going to finalize our decision about the wedding venue tonight. I've got a casserole in the oven. I was hoping we could kiss and make up after the bad morning."

"We can do all of that when I get home. I've got to go. I'll be home in a few hours."

"Fine," she says in a tone that assures me nothing is fine. She hangs up without a good-bye.

I shove my phone into my coat pocket and head into the bar. The outside, with its crumbling stucco walls, tinted windows that have been scratched with every form of graffiti and cement pathway that is littered with black gum spots, looks inviting compared to the interior. Only half of the early seventies copper light fixtures actually produce light, which is probably a good thing. There are a few mismatched tables and chairs set up in the center of the room. A jukebox, the only sparkling piece in the place is glowing neon green and white in the corner as it churns out an old Aerosmith tune. It's still early and most of the stools at the long wooden bar are empty, but the one person I need to see is sitting at the far end holding a mug of beer. He's showered and shaved, a good thing considering the reek he carried into the precinct after his undercover stint on the street.

I sit on the stool next to him and order a beer.

"Why am I not surprised to see you, Maddox?" Olson says without looking my direction. He lifts his beer mug and takes a drink.

"I need to know where she is, Olson."

His dry laugh is irritating. "Guess the rumors are true. Maddox has more than a little thing for his partner. Must kind of complicate things having that pretty little fiancée in the mix."

The bartender, an old guy with a craggy face and thick white hair, places a beer in front of me. I take three long gulps to cool off from Olson's irritating comment. I need him on my side. He's my best chance to find Ten.

I put the mug down hard on the counter. "Didn't take you for a gossip, Olson. And no one knows shit about me. Just tell me what she's doing and I'll leave you to your charming little watering hole."

Olson's hair is combed back with some strong smelling gel. I catch a whiff of it as he turns his face to look at me. "Sure thing, Maddox. And then I'll walk into Clark's office and hand him my badge so he can shove it far enough up my ass that I can't retrieve it. Which will be fine because I'm sure he'll make sure I never work on another force again."

"Fuck Clark. This has nothing to do with him. He's an idiot for sending her undercover in the first place."

"Is he?" Olson reaches for a bowl of peanuts and plucks one out of the bowl. "Seems like his idiot plan worked. Tennyson was our best bet for getting into Freestone's secret club." It's obvious he wants to suck his words back in. "Fuck, I've already had too damn many of these."

"So my hunch was right. She's gone undercover to get into that weird fucking Lace Underground case Clark has been working on. Why the fuck would Clark do that?"

Olson washes his peanut down with beer. "Ten begged him to let her do it. I'd just gotten off the streets, and she was in his office. She pleaded with him, telling Clark she was his best chance to get inside. Seems she was right."

"What do you mean?"

Olson's gelled hair stays perfectly in place as he shakes his head. "Nope. Told you enough already."

I signal to the bartender for another beer for both of us. "Come on, Olson. You've already opened your big mouth, you might as well just tell me what you know."

His brow arches at me. "Wow, you've got it bad for her. You know all I have to do is tell Clark you're asking about this and he'll be asking for your fucking badge."

"So both of us have our jobs on the line, which means we can trust each other not to say anything to Clark." I shove the new beer in front of him. "Now tell me where the fuck is she?"

Olson wraps his fingers around the mug handle. "Hell if I know where she is, Maddox. She showed up at the park with her red braids and her teenager clothes, looking pretty damn cute, I might add." He sees the look on my face and it seems he's found another set of words he wants to suck back. "Anyhow, the girls at the park disappeared one night. It's a pattern I observed in my time in that fucking sidewalk tent. About every three weeks the young female park inhabitants vanish. They are back in the morning looking fresh and especially happy. This time, I stayed awake and followed them. They took Ten with them. They were excited and laughing as they headed to a deserted street near the park. I waited in the shadows and saw a black passenger van pull up. This douchebag Rowan, an occasional park inhabitant, stepped out. He ushered them all in and the van pulled away. No plates and windows tinted so dark there was no way to see who was driving it."

I grind my teeth together. "That's it? You just let her disappear into some sketch ass van with some douche named Rowan. Weren't you supposed to be watching her?" I can hear just what a major asshole I'm being, but I can't stop myself.

"What the fuck was I supposed to do? Run after the van on foot? Christ, you need to take a fucking step back and look at yourself, Maddox. You're not thinking straight. Ten is a damn good cop. We all know she can take care of herself just fine. And she did a helluva job out there. Got herself noticed right away."

"Wait, you said the girls came back."

He shook his head before I could ask. "Ten wasn't with them. I asked one of the girls where she was. Can't get a fucking word out of them. It's almost as if someone has threatened them that if they talk, they'll find themselves at the bottom of a trash dumpster. Only they don't act scared about it. They just tell me to fuck off. So the van is all I got."

"What about that guy, Rowan?"

"When I packed up my things to leave the park, I noticed all of his things were gone. He seems to have disappeared too."

I flinch at the word disappeared.

"Look, Maddox, she's a big girl. She can handle herself. You'll see. She'll shock the hell out of all of us when she emerges from this thing with the huge prize of bringing down Freestone."

I finish the beer and throw my money on the counter. "Is it the park at the end of town, near those old industrial buildings?"

"Yeah, the one the city has designated as a safe place for the homeless. But you can't just show up there. I spent weeks there and couldn't get a shred of information out of those women."

"Yeah? Well you're not me. Don't worry. I won't let any of this lead back to you."

"If it does, then I will kick your fucking ass."

I laugh and slap him on the shoulder.

"Well, I'll at least give it a good fucking try," he says to my back as I walk out.

# 22

### Angie

I haven't eaten eggs Benedict often. I'm more of a strawberry waffle kind of girl, but the food Blake brought me was melt in my mouth delicious. My extreme hunger probably added to its perceived divineness.

Blake removed the plates and returned with a zipped up garment bag and rolling suitcase. "Here are a few things to put in the closet, then we can get you out of that towel." He opens a door that leads to a walk-in closet and disappears inside with the garment bag and suitcase before I can even see what's inside of them. Blake still seems tenser than he was earlier and that makes me edgy.

"Mr. Freestone has given specific instructions," he calls from inside the closet. He walks out carrying a sheer white lace teddy on a satin hanger. He's carrying something in his other hand that I can only make out as strips of leather. "You'll find soon enough he's very particular and likes things just so."

I'm absorbing the information. Freestone might have obsessive compulsive disorder but that new detail has less of my focus than the sheer lingerie in Blake's hand. "Is that tonight's party dress?" I ask with humor but there's plenty of hesitation in my tone.

"Yes." The garment looks as if it weighs no more than a butterfly's wings. "It's pretty, don't you think?"

"I suppose."

Blake seems to let go of some of the tension that had seized him since he walked in on his boss overseeing my bath. He smiles and shuffles in his unique, graceful way toward the vanity. "Look, darlin', I know this whole thing takes a little getting used to but at least you're off the street. You're safe and clean and well fed." He seems to be trying to reassure himself about something. "And besides, Mr. Freestone rarely chooses a girl for himself. Even then, when he does, he gets distracted quickly. He always has so much going on, he just doesn't have time for—you know—pleasure."

"So what you're telling me is not to get too used to my lovely room and the marvelous bathtub because I'll be back in my tent just as soon as he tires of me?"

Blake motions me to sit at the vanity and starts brushing my hair with a silver brush. "No, that won't happen. I mean he might get tired of you soon. Although I have to say I've never known him to sneak in and watch one of the new girl's bathe. That's why it took me by surprise. Anyhow, he won't toss you back onto the streets. He'll keep you here for the club members."

I stare at his reflection in the mirror. He pretends to be concentrating on my hair, but there's more behind his expression. "And that's better than being his personal pleasure toy?" I ask.

He laughs at the name I've given it, but he certainly doesn't try to argue against it. "No, it'll be fine."

"You said that with about as much conviction as a serial murderer telling the judge he's innocent."

"Well, if I'm being totally honest, and I read you right away as a girl who prefers all the cards up front, it's just more stressful and frankly a little lonely when you're here for the boss. The other girls have a blast. They share rooms and they have almost all the same luxuries as this room. Club activities are only twice a week. And the security team, like the driver you saw on the night of the party, they make sure the club members behave. If one girl gets so much as a bruise or scratch or is mistreated, the offending member risks being kicked out."

It seems I didn't need to go to the pool after all. Blake is a huge source of seemingly unfiltered information.

"I guess some of these club members get pretty kinky, eh?"

Blake leans back to admire his handiwork. He pulls my hair around my shoulders. "He likes the hair down," he adds. "Every club member is different. Most of them are high powered businessmen with stressful jobs who come here to relax unfettered by the usual constraints of society. Some like to be the dominant and some prefer to be on the receiving end of a good erotic punishment."

The word dominant clicks in my head. My gaze lands on the pile of leather strips Blake had dropped on the vanity. I reach forward and pick one up. The leather is soft and supple, cool to the touch. It's short enough to fit around my wrist and is tethered together with a crisscrossed leather lace. There is a silver ring attached to each. In addition, there are two slightly longer and more narrow leather straps. Anklets, I conclude. The silver rings around the room begin to make sense and at the same time send a cold chill through me.

Blake and I look at each other through our mirror reflections. "You'll enjoy yourself, darlin'. I promise. Besides, that's what the nectar is for. It warms you up, if you catch my meaning."

"The nectar? It wasn't my imagination then," I say. "It has aphrodisiac qualities."

"Yes, compliments of our brilliant leader. He formulated the perfect sexual stimulant for women, but the pharmaceutical companies decided not to release it. They claimed it was not tested enough and it was too addictive. Mr. Freestone says it was because of male dominance."

"I don't understand. Don't men want women walking around hot and horny? After all, they've got pills for men that can make a mummy have a four hour erection."

Blake laughs. "You're asking the wrong man. The boss says it's because men want to keep control of everything. Who knows, maybe they'll feel like they lose that when women start initiating sex all the time." He reaches for a lipstick and then thinks better of it. "Those lips of yours are attention grabbers without all the paint."

The last thing I need is to feel off balance and heady like I did with the champagne. I need to be fully aware of everything going on. "I can't drink any more of that champagne. We'll just pretend that I'm high," I suggest confidently. Blake doesn't seem to be buying it.

He quickly changes the subject. "I had to guess on the size. I picked small, deciding you had just a little too much curve for petite. Drop the terry cloth, darlin'." He holds up the lingerie. It's just a slight step above being naked.

"I'm perfectly capable of dressing myself. In fact, you go on and enjoy the pool party or whatever else you do when you're not pampering me. I'll get ready for Mr. Freestone's visit on my own."

He laughs again but it's not a humorous sound. "Sorry, sweets, but I have specific instructions."

I tighten the towel around me. A flicker of anger crosses his face. "Look, darlin', if we don't do this exactly the way he's instructed, then you will be back on the street and I'll be right behind you. And I spent the last five years living in shady motel rooms and blowing stranger's dicks for money. I will drown myself in that big bathtub before I ever have to live like that again. So drop the towel." It is the first time he orders me to do something.

I drop the towel not because of his command but because of the short summary of his past life. I don't want to be responsible for him losing his job.

I lift my arms and he drops the garment over my head. The fabric is luxuriously soft and silky. It's nearly as transparent as glass. The thin ribbon shoulder straps look as if they could break with a harsh sneeze. The front two panels open up to the top of the bodice. Blake hands me a matching string bikini bottom that is merely a white silk triangle connected by a series of lacey elastic. A strand of ribbon cuts my bottom into two cheeks and holds the flimsy triangle in place over my pussy.

Blake walks to the vanity. "Now don't freak out. This is all part of the fun." He turns around with the leather cuffs and anklets.

My heart starts racing. I tighten my fists to fight the natural urge to put up all my defenses. Each breath I take grows deeper and comes quicker as Blake approaches me. "You won't be hurt. I promise. If you just let yourself relax and go along with it, you'll soon find that you made the right decision coming here." As he speaks, he deftly ties the cuffs around my wrists, lacing them up just tight enough that my hand can't slip out and loose enough so as not to cut off circulation. They look entirely out of place with the shimmery lingerie.

I lift one arm and look at the cuff. "I feel a little like Wonder Woman but without the cool outfit and invisible plane." Humor is the only thing helping me hold it together. If I let the gravity of the situation get into my head, I'll lose it.

Blake drops to his knees and ties on the anklets.

"How long do I have to wear these?" I ask.

"Until Mr. Freestone tells me to take them off of you."

I laugh and then realize he's serious when he looks up at me from below. His face has taken on some of the stonier appearance from earlier.

Blake pushes to his feet. "I need you to follow me, and again, don't freak out. It's just a precaution."

"A precaution? You know, if there's one word in the English language that always precedes the phrase freak out, it's precaution."

Blake is not amused by my comment. He heads over to the recess in the wall that has a silver ring at each corner of the opening. While I've been slightly naive about the situation I'm in, it doesn't take long for me to figure out what's going on. I rub one of the cuffs on my wrist to make sure I'm not just imagining the whole damn thing. I'm not.

I grow stiff with tension. "Blake, you can't be serious."

"Step right here." He points to a spot on the carpet. "I won't be leaving you here, I promise. Mr. Freestone has asked that you be in bed when he arrives. I just need—" he pauses. "It's a precaution."

"You said that. But what if I promise to be a good girl and just lay nicely on the bed."

He continues to point at the spot on the carpet without lifting his purple eyes to me. "Please, this will only take a second."

If I don't comply, I will most likely be drugged and dumped back off on some sidewalk in the middle of nowhere. Something tells me they won't even have the decency to dress me before they toss me out. I chose this. I pleaded with Clark.

I move to the magic spot on the carpet and turn to face Blake. He still avoids eye contact, which is just as well. I don't want him to see that I'm holding my breath in anticipation of what might happen next. I feel slightly nauseous. A small tremor of nerves starts in my legs and works its way up my body.

Blake fastens each wrist cuff to the rings on the wall. I'm standing with my arms outstretched and slightly above my head. Instinctively, I tug at my constraints to see just how fast they are holding me. The only movement is in the minuscule stretch of the supple leather around my wrists. My feet are frozen to the spot, but Blake patiently pries each one loose. Seconds later, my feet are wide and secured to the rings near the floor. I'm standing like a near naked human X in the opening of the wall. The feeling of helplessness floods over me, and a short sob bursts from my lips.

"Don't cry, darlin'. You're fine." Blake walks to the bathroom and seconds later returns with his hands suspiciously hidden behind his back. His movement toward me is deliberate now. No more hesitation.

"I'm sorry, but boss's orders." The glint of a needle catches my eye. I squirm in my constraints but it's useless. I gave up all chance at defending myself when I allowed myself to be shackled to the wall.

"I don't need any nectar," I sob. "I'll do whatever he wants." I wince as he ties off my upper arm and pushes the needle into my skin. A warm stinging sensation spikes up and down my arm. "Shit, fuck you. You know that, Blake? Fuck you." I try to cut short the sobs, but they shoot out like bullets.

Blake pulls the needle free and stops in front of me. "I'm truly sorry. Trust me, you'll be glad. It's the old song in reverse. Instead of sugar to make the medicine go down. It's medicine to make the sugar go down."

"What the fuck does that even mean, you twit?" I've lost my grip on my naive street girl character, and the real deal, Detective Tennyson, is emerging. I don't know how to stop it.

"You'll learn to love the nectar like the other girls. Soon you'll be begging me for it," he says darkly.

Blake leaves my field of vision. I hear him moving around in the bathroom. My heart rate slows some and the warmth that tingled through the vein in my arm starts to spread through my entire body. I'm not dizzy but a heady buzz makes me feel like I could just float off on a cloud. A feeling of security and a lazy serenity replace the terrible fear and anxiety I'd experienced just seconds before. Suddenly, I'm extra aware of how the silky fabric of the teddy feels on my nipples. They grow tighter with each slight movement. My pussy feels naked and exposed in the tiny string panties. All I can think about is having those strings ripped free.

My eyes close naturally as the drug pulls me into a super relaxed state. My pussy tingles and clenches with hot moisture. I'm instantly drawn into a fantasy that seems far too real. I'm stretched wide on a bed. Maddox walks into the room naked and erect. He kneels down between my legs. I clench my fingers into fists above the leather cuffs as I imagine my hands tangling in Maddox's thick hair. My head drops back. The restraints keep me from falling. Maddox's tongue flicks across my clit and his tongue dives deep inside of me.

"Oh shit," I cry. "Yes." I suck in a deep breath and open my eyes. Everything but the orgasm was a daydream, best damn daydream I've ever had.

My body is still recovering when Blake returns. He has a slim smile. Even though I'm pissed as hell at him, I prefer his smile to his dark mood face.

"That was fast," Blake quips. "Most girls don't spontaneously come until two or three doses. You must have had an erotic fantasy all lined up and ready to go." His reminder makes me think of Maddox and how much I wish he were here with me right now. My eyes tear up. I'm a fucking emotional and physical snowflake.

Blake grabs a tissue from the vanity and blots my eyes. "The emotional roller coaster is one of the less desirable side effects, but you'll learn to control it. Especially once the outside world and all your friends and connections start to fade in the distance."

I shake my head weakly. "Not everyone will fade away."

My mind is splintering in so many directions I wonder how I will keep from revealing myself. How will I stay undercover with Freestone's powerful drug coursing through my body?

# 23

### Angie

I wake up from a lusciously deep sleep but the room is dark. I move to stretch and find that the leather cuff on my right arm is tethered to the post of the bed. I can still feel the pin prick from the syringe. My body is still warm with an aroused flush. I'm hyper aware of my naked skin beneath the flimsy lingerie and the soft down quilt someone, Blake it seems, has thrown over me. The rest of my limbs are free, and as I stretch out my leg, I come in contact with something solid. Someone is sitting on the edge of the bed. I should be startled, but the drug mutes my reaction.

The mattress beneath me shifts as the broad shouldered figure leans over to the nightstand. A warm glow fills the room. Kane's striking features come into focus. He's still dressed but his white shirt hangs open. I catch a glimpse of a muscular chest and rippled abdomen. It's not surprising. The man seems to strive for perfection, and his physique matches that quest.

My eyes linger on the round smooth pectoral muscle as he reaches for something else in the nightstand. I'm surprised to find myself imagining my tongue trailing across his chest. The thought makes my pussy pulse with an urge to be satisfied.

The black scrolling lines of ink on his forearm draw my gaze away from his bare chest. "Reality is merely an illusion," I read in a near whisper. It is all the voice I can muster in my over relaxed state.

"Einstein," he says. I'd nearly forgotten how intriguing and smooth his voice is.

I'm too focused on every physical detail of the man to pay attention to what he's doing. The nectar, as Blake calls it, makes it hard to focus on more than one thing. And that one thing becomes a momentary obsession. The strange striations on his right arm, the deep scars that look planned and purposeful, stay in perfect formation as his forearm muscles move. I fixate on the lines, eight of them, each the same length, as he continues with his task.

"I once knew a girl who cut herself on purpose. Turns out her stepfather was abusing her." My voice sounds unfamiliar, softer and less strident than usual.

Kane doesn't answer but turns to me. His eyes remind me of the dark blue crystal ornaments my mom used to hang on the Christmas tree. His mouth is full and set firmly. I imagine, briefly, what it might be like to kiss him.

His eyes lock with mine. It seems he's gauging my reaction as his fingers take hold of the quilt. It glides down to my feet. I'm covered only by the see-through lingerie and the teensy pair of panties. But instead of curling up to hide my body, I arch my back to lift my breasts. My thighs fall open, exposing my pussy to the cool air of the room.

"Are you going to undress?" I hear the question coming from my own lips but have no idea where it came from. It's as if the nectar has let loose a hidden personality, a side of me where inhibitions are a nuisance and only get in the way.

"Tonight is exploration night," he says.

A sigh ushers from my lips. "Exploration sounds fun."

"Glad you are game. This always goes better with an open mind. How does the nectar make you feel?"

The question and the answer in my head send more heat through my core. I arch my back again to show him. Every one of my responses is unexpected. I can't stop myself.

Kane's long fingers brush apart the panels of the sheer fabric. My exposed breasts pucker in response and ache to be teased and pinched. His hand lifts over me. In the golden glow, I see a silver clip, a shiny clamp. A chain hangs from the clip and attaches to a matching clip.

One arm is still tethered to the bed, holding me captive to his whims. Kane watches me, waiting for my reaction as he squeezes open the clip and lowers it to my erect nipple. I suck in a breath and am internally debating what my reaction should be. I'm tense with fear at the pain it will bring and yet strangely excited for the same reason. The metal of the clip is cold. I flinch before holding perfectly still in anticipation. I curl my fists at the intense pinch as the clip tightens around my nipple. It's the ultimate tease, the perfectly exquisite feeling that sits right at the line between erotic pleasure and pain.

I cry out faintly as Kane tugs on the chain, increasing the sweet torture a little more. It seems his magic nectar has electrified every nerve ending in my body. Every touch spreads instantly through me and swirls directly to the new center of my universe, my pussy.

Kane strokes his fingertips over the skin of my stomach with one hand as he attaches the second clip to the nipple that has been waiting patiently for the same attention. He gives the chain a little tug. I arch my back to move with it, afraid to let the pain increase. All the while, enjoying the sensations each tug produces.

Kane's shirt has fallen open more exposing the deep hollow at the base of his throat, his muscular chest and the line of dark hair that leads down below his pants.

His hands smooth along the curves of my breasts while the clips bite at my nipples. "Well, Sweet Sin, how does that feel?"

The nickname he's derived from my cinnamon coloring makes me feel desirable and wanton. Even though it would have raised Detective Tennyson's hackles, I don't hate it.

"I don't understand." My voice has a slightly grainy quality. "Why am I enjoying it so much?"

His slight smile borders on proud. "The nectar unleashes your inner desires and allows you to enjoy things your inhibitions would have told you to hate."

"It scares me as much as it thrills me." All my deepest thoughts seem to be rolling off my lips.

He tugs the chain a little harder, causing more exquisite pain. But the true ache is between my legs. I instinctively spread my legs, encouraging attention below.

Kane takes the invite and lets his hand drift to the triangle of fabric. It's a small insignificant barrier between his touch and my pussy, but I silently curse it for being there. My legs spread farther, causing a low, deep groan to roll up from Kane's chest. He seems surprised by his reaction. For the first time, I see him lightly flustered.

He gets up quickly from the bed. I have to keep myself from begging him to return. How fucking insane is that, I think with mild terror. I want this stranger, the man who could very likely have killed three people, to come back to the bed, climb between my legs and fuck me until the bed cracks against the thick plaster walls.

I turn to watch him. He moves with incredible grace across the floor and picks up a softly upholstered wedge from the recess in the wall. He carries it to the bed and places it in the middle of the mattress. His jaw seems tense as if he's angry about something. His blue eyes remind me of ice.

"Have I done something wrong?" There's a slight waver in my voice.

Some of the chill in his expression melts. "Sweet Sin, I can only fault you for being too damn enticing." He walks around to the bed and unhooks my cuff from the post. I rub my tingling hand before placing it in the hand Kane is offering me.

His palm is cool and smooth. His grasp is more than firm as he takes hold of my hand and leads me on my knees to the tall side of the wedge. He reaches under my arm and tugs the nipple chain forward. I gasp at the sharp sensations and follow his hand. My upper body is resting along the downside of the wedge, effectively pushing my ass high in the air. I'm vaguely aware that my wrists are being fastened to the front of the wedge, securing me in an ultra vulnerable position. The nipple clips press into the tender flesh as my breasts push against the wedge. A blindfold is tied around my eyes, blinding me from his movements. Everything about it should frighten me. Instead, my body pulses with anticipation of what will come next.

The music turns on. Led Zeppelin is strumming through my brain taking me on an almost hallucinogenic trip that is so erotically charged I nearly come without being touched at all. A shuddering gasp leaves my lips as I feel the bed move under his weight. The fabric of his pants rubs my naked thigh. I quickly suppress the disappointment at discovering he is still clothed.

His hand runs sensually along my bare back, stopping at the tiny strap holding together the panties. One tug and they fall away. The only way I can sense his position is by the movement on the mattress. He's behind me now. Even through the drumbeat of the Zeppelin song, I can hear his shallow, fast breaths. Suddenly, without me realizing he's doing it, a rod has been placed between my feet keeping them far apart. Cool air laps at the hot moisture pooling between my legs. My clit is raw with wanting to be stroked, to feel the teasing pleasure that my nipples are experiencing. My head swims from the position I'm in and from being taken to the pinnacle of arousal. I bite my lip to keep from pleading for him to satisfy me. Something tells me he'd take too much pleasure from my pleas and delay it just to prolong my agony.

Longing to be satisfied, I squirm to feel the upholstered wedge against my pussy. His hand comes down on my ass with a sharp slap to stop me. "Patience, Sweet Sin. Remember, this is exploration night."

His large hands spread my ass wide. I suck in a sharp gasp as he pushes in a warm lubricated butt plug. I'm no prude by any stretch, but it's the first time I've experienced it. I clench against it at first and it slips out. Another sharp slap makes me cry out. Not with pain but with the need to be spanked again. He pushes the plug in firmly. I push my ass higher wanting more.

"Please." I hear the word and can hardly believe it's my own voice.

Somewhere behind me, I hear the pulsating sound of a vibrator. Tears pool in my eyes at the thought of being taken to orgasm. I'm so far along, it will only take a mere touch. The soft malleable tip of the sex toy presses against my clit, cradling it with a vibrating arm as the long, thick stem of it slides into my pussy. The ecstasy is instant and intense. I scream out in pleasure. I clutch the corners of the wedge for something to hold onto as the waves roll through my body.

The orgasm has barely slowed when Kane pushes the toy in again. As if he has an internal map of my body he presses it firmly over my g-spot. The explosion starts again. I'm so breathless my screams have turned to whimpers. My pussy convulses around the toy as my ass grabs hold of the plug. After the third orgasm, I'm crying and exhausted and want nothing more than to curl up in a strong pair of arms. Maddox's arms. The thought penetrates the fog in my head, clear as day.

Kane mercifully removes the vibrator. It takes minutes for my pulse and breathing to slow and my body to stop trembling.

I collapse over the wedge and half expect him to just leave me there, a crumpled, shivering shell of a woman. He releases my wrists and takes away the rod so my feet are free. The blindfold comes off next. It's done with a gentleness that is in full contrast to moments ago when he threw my body into a long marathon of mindblowing orgasms.

The music quiets to something more mellow. I feel myself growing heavy with a deeply satisfied exhaustion.

Absently, I reach back to pull the plug from my ass, but his firm grasps circles my arm, stopping my progress.

"Leave it," he commands with no explanation.

I try and lift my weak body from the wedge. I'm pleased when he lifts me and rolls me into his arms. My limbs and neck are limp like a rag doll's as I curl against him. My shoulder brushes against the smooth skin on his chest. It occurs to me it's the first time I've actually touched him.

Kane carries me to the vanity and takes a seat, cradling me in his arms and settling my naked ass on his lap. The plug moves in a little deeper and starts some of the erotic urges again, though I doubt I have the energy for more.

I'm instantly aware of the huge erection straining against the fabric of his pants. It makes me rethink my previous conclusion. He's a stranger and I'm there to ruin him. I'm there to bring his sordid operation down and nail him for murder, yet I'm so comforted by his arms, I'm close to weeping. The drug in my veins has made me so obedient, I feel he could ask me anything and I'd comply.

I rest my head against his hard shoulder, no longer able to hold it upright without great effort. I stare down as his large hands remove the clips from my nipples. I let go of a breath I don't realize I've been holding as the metal clasps release my tender flesh. There are an array of lotions and cosmetics on the vanity, put there for my use. Kane opens the lid on a jar of cream and dips his finger into it. He brings the cool, soothing dollop to my nipple. I moan in relief as he spreads the cream gently around it.

"Do you enjoy that, Sweet Sin? I formulated it myself."

"Hmm, it's like heaven in a jar. Do the spare set of fingers come with it? I think most of the enjoyment comes from the application."

His laugh is so quiet, I only feel it when his body vibrates beneath me. "I notice you have the number ten tattooed on your bottom. Is it significant?"

"Just a dare from a friend." My mind wafts back to that night. Maddox and I and some others were out celebrating a big drug bust. We got so drunk, somehow the discussion morphed to a game of truth or dare. Maddox asked me who I thought about more than anyone in the world. It was such a strange, unexpected question. Since there was no way to answer him, I took the dare. Get a tattoo. He said since my nickname was Ten and my ass was a ten, I should have the number tattooed on my ass. He didn't think I would do it, but he nearly fell over when I rolled the top of my jeans down to show him.

Kane spreads more cream on my skin.

I close my eyes for a second to enjoy the feel of it. "All your formulas, they're for women it seems."

"Good observation."

"Do you use these things to earn women's affection and love?" I have no idea why I ask it, but suddenly it seems important to understand Kane Freestone. He seems more complex than anyone I've ever met.

"No, there's nothing to love here." His deep voice rumbles through his chest as I press my face against him. "I do it because I enjoy giving women pleasure."

I lift my heavy head. His face is so close I can feel his breath on my chin, smell the fragrance of his soap, see the pure and utter loneliness in his eyes. "How can that be? What if you fall in love with someone? Wouldn't you move hell and earth to get them to love you?" My own latent feelings are coming to the surface. I tamp them down quickly to avoid letting too much slip.

"I do not love and there is nothing loveable about me. It works out well for everyone. Did you enjoy the exploration session?" he asks. Although I'm sure there is little doubt left about my answer.

I think about the question. I enjoyed it far more than I would have ever expected. It's as if some latent sexual desires were exposed. Still, there are other fantasies left untouched I realize as my mind drifts back to Maddox. I don't know if it's the drugs or being away from him for so long or just the fissure he left in my heart, but he is constantly in my thoughts.

"It was very nice," I say. I can feel his body tense some at my weak praise. I continue unabated. "But it wasn't the pure, raw sex, the feeling of two bodies pressed hard against each other, the vigorous, primal movement where two people are so turned on they are frantically holding, thrusting, kissing and slamming against each other. Where the friction between their bodies is even hotter than the actual penetration. It wasn't that. It was just really satisfying. But for you?" I ask. "I guess it was just another day at the office for you? Do you treat all your new women to this exploration?"

Kane doesn't answer at first, and it seems he doesn't plan to. Beneath my bottom, I can still feel his hard cock pushing against me. "Not everyone," is his full answer.

He reaches over to the jar of cream and spreads a luxurious trail of it down my stomach. I mewl lightly at the feel of his cream slick fingers on my skin. It relaxes me while at the same time causing my pussy to awaken. It's still tender and aching as he moves his fingers toward it. My thighs relax and fall apart, giving him full access. Almost involuntarily, I turn my face toward him and lick my lips in anticipation of a kiss. He doesn't meet my invitation. He seems, in fact, determined not to kiss me. I ignore the disappointment and instead focus on why I want the kiss in the first place. Is it the drug? Or is it just the shallow side of me, the new sexually awakened side that can dismiss his obvious faults and crave his kiss for the sole reason that he is an exceptionally beautiful man.

The awkward kiss moment passes. Kane drags the cooling lotion along the newly bare skin of my pussy. His large fingers slip between the folds and over my clit.

I grab the edge of his shirt, clutching it tightly as he penetrates me with first one, then two fingers. I'm stunned to find that even after multiple orgasms, my body is wound tight with erotic energy and ready for explosive release again. Kane is a master. He puts just enough pressure on my clit as his fingers fuck me. I close my thighs around his arm. My ass holds tightly to the plug, pulling it in with each contraction of my muscles and reaching some unknown g-spot I never realized I had.

An involuntary moan rolls off my lips. The sound of it seems to produce the most reaction I've seen yet from the cool, calm man holding me. His cock thumps against the side of my hip and a low growl ushers from his throat.

"Yes," I say on a whisper as I grind with new urgency against the pressure of his hand. "Yes, please. Fuck, yes." My body splinters apart. My pussy explodes into a million hot splashes of pleasure. The pulsating waves slow but I'm still clutching his shirt, worried that if I let go I'll slip to the floor like a limp, lifeless doll. I finally relax some and collapse against him. His body tenses beneath me again. I can hear his heart slamming against his chest.

"And no, Sweet Sin," he says quietly. "This is absolutely not another day at the office for me."

Moments later, after his hard to untangle response, I doze off sitting securely in his lap.

# 24

### Maddox

I pull the hood of my sweatshirt up and relax back on the park bench, stretching my legs out in front of me. I've caught more than one person's attention, a tiny, slim girl, who looks still a few years shy of adulthood and another girl with a mass of brown curls. From what I can see under the sporadic park lights she has a vine of roses tattooed along her arm. There are less people than I expect to see living in the park, a safe spot designated by the city. Cops can check up on the people but not harass them or tell them to move on. A few flat brown spots in the dry grassy areas between the cement paths, rusty slide and broken swings seem to indicate that some people have recently packed up their tents and moved on. Olson mentioned that Rowan, the guy who seems to be the connective thread in all this, had packed up his tent and left the park the day before Ten disappeared.

The two girls are sitting near a tent watching and obviously talking about me. I roll down the paper bag around the bottle of tequila and make a show of taking a drink.

Olson was about as helpful as a steaming pile of dog shit, so I decided the park was my best shot. I formulated a story, bought a bottle of tequila and headed across town to the park. Tiffany was angry enough not to call me, making my sharp detour that much easier.

I smile half-heartedly at the two girls and lift the brown bag in invitation. That's all it takes. Seconds later, they are sitting next to me on the bench, one on each side.

The petite girl with a wholesome smile reaches for the bottle without asking. She tosses the liquor back like a booze-hardened saloon girl.

"Whoa there, little angel, that stuff will go straight to your head." I take the bottle back from her.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and sighs with satisfaction. "That's good stuff. I'm Yoli by the way." She turns slightly on the bench. "And you're even hotter up close than I expected. Isn't he, Becky?"

I turn to the rose tattoo girl, Becky, apparently, and offer her the tequila.

"He is something. Makes me wonder what he's doing in this place." It seems I've found the cynical, suspicious member of the tent crowd. She takes a long sip and hands it back. "Are you setting up camp?" she asks. "I don't see any gear."

"I'm just moving through. I'm looking for someone actually. Thought I might find her here but I guess not."

Yoli presses her hand against her chest and makes a groaning sound. "Oh, you've only been here five minutes, and you've already broken my heart. It figures you're here for another girl. Maybe if you describe this lucky woman to us, we can let you know if she's been through. We get a lot of one or two day stopovers. A lot of people passing through use fake names, but let's start there."

Yoli seems to be the friendlier, more forthcoming person so I focus back on her. She helps herself to another jolt of tequila and hands it back to me.

"Don't know her name actually." I shrug casually. "We just sort of bunked up together for a couple of days, you know what I mean? She's about your height," I say to Yoli, "and she has brown eyes and red hair."

"What the fuck is it about her?" Becky says sharply. "She not even pretty." She stomps off without a good-bye or nice to meet you.

I turn back to Yoli. "Was it something I said?"

She laughs. "That's just typical Becky. She's jealous cuz there was a girl who passed through here last week who matches that description. Her name is Tawny. Real smart and funny too." Yoli stares off into the park with its mostly dead trees and shabby tents twittering in the night breeze. "She's gone now. I don't expect to see her again." She faces me. "Why are you looking for her?" She knuckles my shoulder with her small fist. "Don't tell me a hunk like you has had his heart broken."

Her comment sits with me for a second, then I smile weakly and hand her the tequila. As guilty as I feel handing liquor to a minor, I need her lips to be just a little looser, otherwise this park visit is a bust. I already knew Ten came through here. What I need to know now is where she went.

"Nah, to tell you the truth, she walked off with my wallet while I was sleeping. Not that I had much inside of it, but I was carrying a picture of my mom." The bullshit keeps flowing. The sympathetic expression I'm hoping for is blinking back at me. "She died when I was ten and that was the only picture I had of her. So I need to get it back. If you can help me find her, I'd owe ya, Yoli."

She pushes her fingers against her lips as if to stifle a sob. "That is so sweet. Hunky and sentimental. Now you really _have_ broken my heart." She grabs the tequila for fortification. "I can't really say where she is. It's sort of a secret." Her words are slowing a bit. The tequila is taking hold. She's had enough to make someone my size good and drunk. She's doing a good job holding her liquor considering she can't weight more than a hundred pounds.

I place the bottle on the opposite side of me, deciding to hide the temptation. I rest my arm back on the bench and give her the smile that used to work real fast in high school. "Anything you can tell me would help. I won't tell anyone. I don't even know anyone on this side of town. I sure hate to lose that picture."

Her eyes round and she sits up, but with a slight sway. "Wait a minute. You don't need to find her. I've got her stuff still sitting in my tent. I invited her to bunk with me until she got her own tent. Turns out she wasn't around long enough to need one. She's probably living like a princess now in the Lace—" Her hand claps over her mouth. "I can't tell you." She jumps up a little too fast from the bench. I grab hold of her hand to keep her from falling over.

She smiles down at my fingers wrapped around her hand. A sly smiles turns up her lips. "You want to come into my tent and look through her stuff for the wallet?"

She's steadier on her feet, so I release my hold. "Why don't you look through it and let me know what you find."

Her smile twists down in disappointment. "Figures. Some girls have all the luck. Guess Tawny really has a lot of it. She even got chosen. No one ever gets chosen." She says as she heads to her tent. She returns with an uneven walk, the kind that would never pass the drunk driving test. She's carrying an old tattered army green backpack that I immediately recognize as one Ten has used on stakeouts. She would fill it with trail mix or potato chips, depending on whether she was in the mood to eat healthy or, as she liked to say, eat whatever the hell she felt like. I hadn't seen it in a long time. The sight of it thumps against my chest. She is fine, I remind myself. If anyone can handle herself in a bad situation, it's Ten. She thinks so fast on her feet, sometimes it's impossible to predict what her next move will be. She's fine. She has to be.

"I feel a little guilty going through her stuff," Yoli says. Her words are as slow and uneven as her footsteps. She pulls out some underwear and laughs. "Guess she doesn't need these where she's at."

The comment makes my muscles go rigid. "No? How's that?" I'm hoping the tequila has loosened her tongue some more.

Yoli pulls her lips in and shakes her head as if telling herself, don't do it, Yoli. Don't tell him. She pulls out a pack of birth control pills. "Oh boy. She's going to regret not taking these with her the night of the party."

"Party? Sounds good. Where's it at?" I say, without pause, hoping she'll keep spilling.

She bites her bottom lip in an attempt to stop herself but it's not enough. She drops the backpack on the bench next to me.

I try and decide if I'm just losing my fucking mind with missing Ten or if I'm actually catching the scent of her shampoo coming off the ratty old backpack. I stop myself from picking the bag up and pressing it to my face.

It seems I have sweet tipsy Yoli ready to tell me everything she knows. She scoots closer and glances around but no one else in the park is interested in our conversation. Even Becky has disappeared inside her own shelter for the night.

"I'm not supposed to say anything." Her thin fingers wrap around my forearm. "Please, you can't tell anyone or I'll never be invited back." She sits back and gets temporarily distracted by the blanket of stars in the hazy night sky above. "And I can't lose that. Sometimes I think it's the only thing that keeps me from sinking into despair. The food." She turns her head, and it seems some of those night stars have landed in her big, innocent eyes. There is no way this girl should be out here alone, but I know for many of the younger ones, the streets are a step above life at home or foster care. It's tragic and makes me want to spit fucking nails, but I learned early on in my time on the force that most things are out of my control.

"They serve good food at this party?" I ask. "Nice. What else? What do you have to do to get on the invite list?"

She laughs. "Well, as pretty as you are, you have to be female. And it's mostly those of us who are under thirty. I'm not sure how the list gets made, but once you're on it, you do everything to stay on it. This week they gave us new soap. It smells like roses." She lifts her pale hand to my nose. "See."

I take a whiff. "Hmm, you do smell as sweet as you look. So, the red-haired girl, Tawny, she got on the list?"

"Right away but I knew she would. She's got that thing, you know?"

It's hard not to smile as Yoli speaks. She seems undaunted by her dire situation. I have friends who have everything, good jobs, nice places to live, money for dining and vacations and they are never as happy as the girl sitting next to me on the graffiti covered park bench.

"I don't know. What do you mean?"

She knuckles my shoulder. "Yes you do know. It's the reason Becky gets so grouchy whenever anyone talks about Tawny. It's the reason you chased her down to this crummy park." She winks. "But the picture story was a nice touch."

It seems Yoli is not nearly as naive as I first thought.

I nod. "You caught me. I was hoping to find her because, well, like you said, because she's got that thing."

"Yep and that's why she got chosen. I should have seen it coming. I wasn't at all surprised when we climbed back into the van and Tawny was gone. Becky was so mad I thought she'd chew all her nails down to stubs. She gnaws on them when she's upset."

"So getting chosen is a good thing?" I ask, more than slightly confused by the whole damn conversation. Yoli likes to talk but she also leaves big gaps between details.

"Of course." She bites her lip again in thought. "At least that's what I've heard. No one really knows for sure because once a girl is chosen, she's never seen or heard from again. It's like everyone saying there's some beautiful place called heaven waiting for you after you die, but no one knows for sure because no one comes back to confirm." Her naturally sunny expression darkens. "Except this one girl . . ." She waves her hand to stop herself. "Shit, I shouldn't have drank that tequila. It's like a truth serum," she giggles. "Anyhow," she sighs and gives me a pretty look of pity. "I'm afraid you're probably wasting your time. I don't think we'll ever see Tawny around here again. She's gone."

She's just a teenage street kid, but her words make my throat tighten into a ball. There's no fucking way Ten is gone for good because I'm going after her. And if something has happened to her, I plan to tear the whole fucking precinct apart with my bare hands, starting with Clark.

Yoli sidles closer to me. "But if you're looking for a new girl—" Her small hand lands on my thigh. I pick it up gently and kiss the back of it. Then I take a twenty out of my pocket and hand it to her. The money seems to instantly erase any of the sting of me turning down her offer.

"Oh wow. I'm going to start planning how to spend this just as soon as the tequila leaves my head." She laughs. "Who am I kidding? It'll be food."

"Hey, so where are these parties?" I ask. "I know I'm not invited. I was just wondering who is putting them on? Is there a fee? Do you have to give something in return?" The last question has been stuck in my craw because I don't really want to hear the answer.

"I wouldn't be able to tell you where it takes place because we go in a van and you can't see out. They just drive us to this big empty warehouse. It seems like we're inside the van for about an hour each way. There's no fee and we don't have to do anything but have a good time. And _that_ we do. Then they pile us back in the windowless van and drop us back on the street corner. Unless you're chosen, like Tawny."

"So you don't know where you're taken once you're chosen?"

She carefully folds the twenty like it's made of fine silk. "No. The only thing I've ever heard is that it's underground. The Lace Underground, that's what some of the girls call it. Sorry I can't tell you how to get there, and I don't think GPS can find underground locations," she says with a laugh.

"True." It seems I've drained her of everything crucial. "Thanks for hanging out with me."

"Aww, are you leaving already?" she asks.

"'Fraid so." I stop and look back at her. She's still smiling at the money. "Hey, Yoli, have you tried to call home? Maybe you can go back some day?"

"Sure," she says confidently. "Just as soon as my creepy stepfather drops dead."

I nod. "Take care, beautiful." I hike back the three blocks to my motorcycle. My head is spinning with information. An icy knot forms in my gut. How the hell am I going to find Ten when she's literally underground?

# 25

### Kane

I pace the room like a caged animal, back and forth but finding no way out. There is no room big enough to release the pent up energy. There is no shower icy enough to cool the heat from my veins. I yank my shirt off and drop it onto the bed. It was a mistake. She was a mistake. There was only one way to fix it.

A tentative knock at the door jars me from my obsessed thoughts. "Yes?" I bark.

The door opens slowly. Blake sticks his face into the room but doesn't dare step inside. He senses the tension pulsing from every muscle in my body.

"Sir, you wanted to see me?" he asks quietly.

"Yes, the new girl. Get her dressed and take her back to the streets."

Blake finds the courage to step into the room. "Sir, was it something I did wrong? I could—"

"No," I say sharply. "It's nothing you did. Just get her out. Give her some money if she needs it. But get her out."

"Right. I'll get her dressed to leave." He backs out and closes the door.

My pacing starts again. I've taken care of the problem just like that. Pack her up and send the girl on her way. Distractions lead to mistakes and mistakes lead to the end of everything. I don't need a dangerous distraction. Ever. No matter how much I want her. She will only lead to my downfall.

I pace to the other side of the room and stare down at the bottle of whiskey on my dresser. I pour myself a glass and drop it back like its water. I pour another glass. A good night of inebriated sleep and she will be gone from my head and the underground complex for good. That thought pierces me like a shard of glass. Gone for good.

I spin around and fly out of the room. Everything in my head tells me to turn back. This is a mistake. I march back to my bedroom door and stand there, looking at it as if I can melt it with my angry stare. I turn on my heels and head back to the women's corridor.

I hesitate in front of her door but only for a second. My mind games are over. The dark, self-destructive side of me has won. I pull the entry card from my pocket and flash it in front of the key pad. I push the door open. There's no more hesitation or second thought.

She is standing naked in the center of the room, dazed and confused and visibly shaken as Blake hands her a pair of jeans. Blake looks at me as if the devil himself has entered the room. And the girl . . . the girl is fucking perfection. Nothing can stop me. Nothing.

Blake opens his mouth to speak but I shake my head.

"Get out now," I demand.

The woman, my Sweet Sin, blinks at me, stunned and speechless. There is as much fear as there is desire in her big brown eyes. The mixed expression only makes me want her more. I hear the door close. I march toward her, unable to think about anything but having her.

I take hold of her arms. She is naked and trembling as I pull her to me. Her lips, those lips. Fucking hell, those lips. My mouth covers hers. I'm close to devouring her as I lift her off the ground. Her arms circle my neck as I carry her to the wall and press her up against it. She mewls and moans softly against my mouth as I continue to kiss her. I shove my pants down, freeing the cock that has been hard since I first saw her standing in the shower room at the warehouse. She tightens her long, sleek thighs around me and whimpers softly as I thrust into her already tender cunt. There is no space between us. Our flesh has sealed together as one hot mass. I pump into her again and again, wanting nothing more than to stay right there buried inside of her for eternity. She is mine.

It seems I am a monster like _him_ after all.

# 26

### Angie

The thin line between illusion and reality has officially been erased. I can hardly remember the woman who walked into the room just days before. I have not been outside the walls of the bedroom, but it's a prison I relish. My only human contact has been Blake and Kane. Attaching the human label to Kane seems lacking, understated.

As Blake gently brushes my hair, I stare at my refection in the mirror trying to find any piece of Angie Tennyson. But she is gone. I should be sad about it, but I'm not. The undercover assignment, my life before, are just smoky memories. I have one sole purpose now.

The nectar warms me from the inside as it flows through me, plunging me into the blissful state of mind where none of the ugly stuff in the world exists and living is about pleasure. Happiness centers around being taken to the height of ecstasy again and again. Something that Kane has mastered. He has mastered me.

It seems I've been here for years, but it has only been days. Living underground takes away any sense of time. I wake, sleep and breathe around the moments when he is with me. I can't remember a time when his strong hands hadn't touched me, when I wasn't firmly in his grasp being taken in every way. Always ending with me trembling from physical and emotional exhaustion.

Blake finishes with my hair. The red strands look like copper under the overhead lights. It's not a natural life. I should crave the sunlight and the fresh air, but there is only one thing I crave. Only one thing I need to survive.

"Darlin', I sure wish you'd eat more. You're losing too much weight. Mr. Freestone has asked me about it."

It's the first conversation about food that has caught my attention. I turn around on the chair. "Has he said something? Am I too skinny?" My frantic questions have only one purpose, and Blake knows that purpose.

He walks over with a buttered toast and hands it to me. "Don't you worry, darlin'. You haven't lost his interest." His mouth drops in a frown. "I know you don't want to hear this, but I wish he would. I wish he would grow tired of you." The concern in his voice should send a wave of fear through me, but all I can think about is the despair of having Kane grow tired of me.

I pull the long sleeves of the baby soft cotton t-shirt down past the leather cuffs to cover my hands. When he's not with me, my body shivers with cold, a chill that only he can relieve. The shirt is long enough to cover the tops of my thighs and the lacy thong panties, a new pair everyday because every other pair has been torn from my body.

I take a nibble of the toast. It nearly lodges in my throat. I'm lightheaded from lack of food, but it's a struggle to eat. It's a side effect of the nectar. Blake says everyone reacts differently. The nectar has become my life's blood just like Kane has become my oxygen. I wake thinking about both. I fall into the strange hallucinatory sleep thinking about both. Losing either is impossible to consider.

I walk across the room. The nectar makes the lush carpet beneath my bare feet feel like a sensual caress. I sit on the end of the bed between the two posts and pull my knees up against me to wait. "Was he nearly finished with his paperwork?" I ask, sounding like an impatient kid.

Blake cleans up the vanity and picks up the plate of food. "I don't know. Are you sure you don't want any more of this food?"

I shake my head and hug my knees tighter. I stare at the door as if that might help conjure him.

"It could be awhile. Why don't you take a nap?"

"No. I'll just wait."

Blake stands and stares at me with the mostly full plate in his hand.

"I'm fine. I don't need a nap. I need—" My throat tightens. The tears never seem to stop flowing. At the same time, I don't feel sad. I wipe at them with the back of my hand and then circle my arms around my knees again. "Please just go, Blake."

"Yes," he says quietly. "I'm going. Should I put on some music?"

My gaze is riveted to the door again. I vaguely hear the question. "Huh, yes sure. Something he likes. Pearl Jam or Guns 'N' Roses. Something he likes," I repeat.

"It could be a few hours," Blake says. They aren't words I want to hear. I ignore him.

The panel clicks open and music coasts into the room. I'm still staring at the door as Blake opens it and walks out.

Minutes or hours pass. I have no way of knowing. My pulse seems to beat out days like the hands on a clock. I'm hollow inside and grow more and more desperate with each thump of my heart. When the door opens, I'm not sure if it's real or an illusion. His tall, muscular physique casts a menacing shadow on the wall, but I'm still not convinced he's real. My arms are numb from holding my legs against me. It seems I've been waiting for an eternity.

Then his deep voice penetrates the music in the room.

"My Sweet Sin, I have ached to have you in my arms all day."

I drop my feet to the carpet and can barely feel my legs beneath me as I walk toward him. The tears are flowing as I collapse into his arms.

He's a virtual stranger. Everything I know about him tells me he is not a person to crave. Yet I can't get enough of him. It's partly the nectar but it's just as much him. Together, they are a thoroughly addictive combination.

"My Cinnamon Girl," he growls as he picks me up. Like a limp doll, I crumple against his chest. I feel as if gravity no longer affects me as he carries me across the room.

Kane lowers my feet to the carpet at the corner of the bed. He yanks my arms up and sweeps the shirt off of my body. The constant shiver from the cold is gone with him in the room. I'm shivering for a different reason now. His blue eyes rarely show emotion, but a hint of raw lust sparks through as he takes hold of my face and pushes his hungry mouth over mine.

As his kiss deepens, he reaches and loops his finger through first one and then the second loop on the wrist cuffs. He pulls his mouth away long enough to lift both of my arms above me with one quick motion. I hear the now familiar click of the rings connecting together. I'm bound to the bedpost with my wrists above my head. I'm in a daze as I think about him touching me, penetrating me, taking me.

I'm vaguely aware of clothes being tossed aside. Then his hard, naked body is pressed against me. His hands smooth along my belly, stopping to pinch and tease my nipples before making a long hot trail to the pulsating ache between my legs. It's a constant craving that can only be satisfied by him. His teeth bite lightly at the skin on my back as he pushes my feet wide. He drops to his knees behind me.

I bite my tongue to keep from crying out in excitement. I clench my fists in anticipation of his touch. It starts with his mouth as he places wet kisses on my ass. His tongue runs along the crack and continues down to my pussy. His licks are deep and wild. I quickly, sharply come against his mouth, but it's only the beginning.

The cuffs hold me up, keeping me from buckling at the knees as his finger impales me to reignite the ecstasy. The body shuddering waves start again and continue. The rest of the room falls away and it's just me, the massive bed and the man who brings me to orgasm again and again.

The music thrums from speakers overhead. The drums seem to line up with my heartbeat. Kane's naked chest presses against my back. His large hand combs through my hair. His fingers tangle in my hair. He pulls the strands, gently at first and then with a possessive grip that sends an excited tremor through me. Warm lubricant fills my ass before he pushes in a plug, this one bigger than the last.

"No, I want you," I say so quietly I can feel the words on my lips more than I can hear them.

He pulls my hair harder, dropping my head back farther. His mouth kisses my throat and then moves to my ear. "You're not ready, Sweet Sin."

"Please." I'm close to tears with wanting it. "Please. I'm ready. I want you."

A low growl tickles my neck as he bites my ear lobe. "It's too soon."

"Please," I whisper into the room. "Please. If it's what you want, then it's what I want."

Kane releases my hair and my hands follow. I whimper in disappointment, worried I've done something wrong. My legs are boneless, but before I puddle to the ground he has me in his arms again. He carries me around the bedpost, drops me in the center of the mattress and climbs on next to me. His jaw is tight and his ice blue gaze rakes over my naked body. The way he looks at me, as if I'm the most erotic thing he's ever seen, brings me close to orgasm again. I instinctively reach between my legs to keep the sensations going. He's pleased with my gesture. I take advantage of my moment of control and drop my thighs far apart.

Kane watches me tease my clit. His chest rises and falls with each breath, and his lash heavy lids drop low over his eyes.

"Please," I say again.

With lightning speed he yanks a pillow from the head of the bed. His strong hands grab me roughly, urgently as he flips me onto my stomach with the pillow beneath me like a wedge.

I'm as terrified as I am thrilled. I can't keep down my emotions and cry out before he has even positioned himself behind me. I clutch the comforter in my fingers as he takes hold of my hips, digging his fingers into my flesh as he pushes my knees wider on the bed. He yanks my ass high. His thumb digs into me, spreading the lube around the opening and deep inside.

His grasp on my hips tightens. I press my face into the comforter to stifle a cry as his cock teases the opening. He withdraws and my plea fills the room.

"Fuck, what have you done to me? What have you done?" His cock eases into me with slow precision. God, he's big. I release the breath I'm holding. The bed shakes and I'm sure I'll break apart into a million pieces once he withdraws. The deep, feral grunts coming from behind me bring me back to the edge.

His hand tangles in my hair again. He pulls my head back as he thrusts into me from behind. "Fuck," he growls. The sensation of him coming inside of me brings me quickly to orgasm.

He stays there, buried in me for a long time before dropping to his side on the mattress. I'm still clutching the comforter as he pulls me to him, my back against his chest. I've never felt as secure as I do in his arms.

We lay there for what seems like a normal moment, two people in a passionate relationship listening to each other's heartbeats, feeling each other's pulse.

"I know nothing about you." His deep voice flows over me like a soothing liquid. "Do you have family?"

It's the first personal question anyone has asked me since Yoli at the park. I briefly wonder how she is and what she is up to, then shift back to the question. I'd created a back story for Tawny, my undercover persona, but I can't remember much of it. My own story is dull enough that it wouldn't raise any red flags. "I have three brothers. They all teased me mercilessly. But they were also protective. My two older brothers were super athletes and excellent students. I always felt like I was scooting behind them, hidden in their vast glowing shadows, trying to get noticed. Do you have any siblings?" It's such a basic question, but it seems striking to think that a man like Kane has brothers and sisters, let alone any kind of family ties. In my mind, he's a loner, someone who has gotten through life virtually alone. I have no idea why I feel that about him but it's how I picture his life.

"No siblings," he says, filling in half the picture I already have of him.

His mouth presses against the back of my shoulder. "And your parents?"

He seems unusually curious about my past life. I dismiss it as just getting to know each other. Again, I somehow manage to convince myself that this is all normal, a perfectly average situation where I just happened to find a man who is so masterful in bed he can push me past any of the limits I had subconsciously set for myself.

"Only my mom is alive," I answer. "My dad died when I was fourteen." It's my standard response when someone asks me the question. I rarely allow details to come out because I like to keep them hidden. But between the drugging effects of the nectar and Kane's ability to make me feel and say things I normally don't, some of those painful details surface. My throat is tight as I speak. "We'd had a terrible argument that day. I'd only won two out of three of my track events. He was so busy telling me what I'd done wrong in the race I lost that he never found the time to congratulate me on the wins. It was like that with him. My brothers never lost. They were his champions. I was the little rusty haired girl who was born between his boys. He was leaving for the night shift at work. I took the time to stomp out to the front porch and let him know just how much I hated him before storming victoriously back inside. It rained that night and a semi truck lost control and cut his car in half. He died instantly carrying with him my last words. 'I hate you, Dad'."

I have no idea why but I expect Kane to tighten his hold on me after my story, but there is no attempt at empathy. If anything, he loosens his embrace.

"How did you end up on the streets?"

It is the next logical question but it's jarring. I didn't stay in character and now I had to find a pathway back to Tawny. "I think that day changed me." That statement is not a lie. It helps me transition easily to the fantastical tale of my teenage downfall. "I started hanging out with the wrong crowds, took drugs, got arrested. My mom just couldn't control me. I hooked up with this older guy and—"

"Enough," he says sharply, startling me into silence. It seems he's grown bored of my story. Which is a good thing since it's all fabricated. But it's an opening for me to find out more about him. "What about your parents? Are they still alive?"

The bed moves as he rolls onto his back and swings his legs over the side. I've asked the wrong question.

"Stay tonight," I say. "I want you to stay." But I know I'll wake up alone. I close my eyes and concentrate on falling into a deep sleep so I won't feel him stand up from the bed. If I'm deep asleep, I won't hear the door when he leaves me alone.

# 27

### Maddox

Silvana drops a paper on my desk. "The list of all the vacant warehouses within a two hundred mile radius. It's a long list. Apparently people don't look around for available warehouses before they build their own."

I pick up the stapled papers. "Shit. Needle meet haystack." I drop the list and lean back on my chair. Silvana pulls a chair up in front of my desk. It turns out he's a decent guy. He's honest and he works hard. Probably not the best guy to have your back in a stressful situation but who knows. I might be wrong about that too.

Silvana looks around to see who is in earshot. It's no one who would give a damn about our conversation. The precaution is simply because I am not supposed to be working on anything that has to do with Ten's undercover assignment. But then being told what I can and can't do has never stopped me before.

"So I talked to my brother's friend, the structural engineer." Silvana leans forward more. "He says there was one big project about five years ago that was farmed out to a foreign engineering firm because stateside there were just too many regulations to deal with."

My chair squeaks as I sit forward with interest.

"The guy didn't know many details except some rich guy bought a dried up mine. Silver, I think. It's out near the desert somewhere. It was all pretty hush hush. The rich guy had plans to build an entire living compound below ground. As far as the engineer knows, the project went off without a hitch. He's going to text me the general coordinates of the site when he gets them."

"Silvana, if we weren't sitting in the middle of the office, I'd kiss ya. Good work."

Silvana's cheeks puff out like pink balloons. Our bro moment is cut short when Clark bellows my name from his office doorway.

"Maddox, get in here. Now."

I look at Silvana. "Do you think he's going to ask me to lunch?"

Silvana laughs then stops. "Hey, speaking of lunch—weren't you supposed to—'

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." I pull out my phone. There was one text from Tiffany. A string of question marks followed by an exclamation. "Yes. I was supposed to meet her for lunch . . . with her parents."

"Oh boy, then you might as well go into Clark's office first. I think that'll be the nice portion of your day."

I text Tiffany back. "Still at work. Captain Clark just summoned me into his office. Apologize to your parents for me." There is no return text, which speaks volumes.

I walk into Clark's office. He has his round elbow on the arm of his chair and he's gnawing on his thumbnail as he stares out the office window.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah, sit down. I'm not going to lie, Maddox. I'm losing fucking sleep over Tennyson. I've never sent anyone undercover into such a deeply secretive situation." He pushes a homicide case file folder toward me. It sends a jolt of fear through me.

Clark senses his mistake. "No, it's not anything to do with Tennyson. Not technically. It's the file for the girl we found in the dumpster with her throat slashed. I thought her murder might lead us to this secret club. Turns out, it was a jealous boyfriend. The really fucked thing is I think if we could have gotten to her first, we could probably have gotten her to spill everything she knew about this Lace Underground."

I arch a brow at him. "Seriously? That's the really fucked up part?"

He waves his hand and sends several papers shuffling across his desk. "Other than her tragic, violent murder. You know what I mean. Don't try me today, Maddox. I'm not in the mood."

I raise my hands in surrender. "Not trying to _try_ you. I just want my partner back." I just want Ten back, I repeat to myself. "So what about this girl?"

"It seems she disappeared for several months, then resurfaced. But her boyfriend slit her throat before we could get to her."

"Where is he? I want to talk to him. See what he knows."

"Leave it to the guys in homicide. They're questioning him now. You've got enough to deal with." He tossed me another file. "A private mail order delivery company seems to have discovered that illegal drug delivery pays better. Gonna need you to start tailing the trucks. Get evidence for a search warrant for the shipping warehouse."

I jam the folder under my arm. "Let me talk to the boyfriend."

"No. Leave it alone."

"Well fuck, Clark. Thanks for this lovely reassuring talk."

His face turns red with rage but I just blow past that fact. "You start by letting me know that you can't sleep because you're worried that you made a bad fucking decision and sent Ten into a dangerous situation by herself." I stand up and rest my fists on his desk as I stare down at him. "And she's alone. She's alone. By the way, if you think I'm getting one fucking wink of sleep, I've got news for you, I'm not. Maybe I should ring you up in the middle of the night and we can chat."

I expect to have him thunder his angry retort at me as I leave but he's quiet. I reach the door.

"I fucked up, Maddox." It's the first time since I've worked under his command that he's admitted he made a mistake. He once set the staff microwave on fire with his foil wrapped burrito and he blamed the 'goddamned microwave inventors' for the mishap.

An idea pops into my head as I reach for the door. I spin around. "Send me undercover on this."

Clark laughs dryly as he pulls a stick of gum from his desk. "As pretty as you are, I don't think you can pass as a young girl."

"Getting a little tired of being called pretty," I mutter.

"Huh?" He sticks the gum into his mouth.

"Nothing. I could be a club member. I know there's a budget for high end sting operations. Make me a billionaire."

He shakes his head. "Go stake out that shipping warehouse and catch some bad guys."

I walk out.

Silvana comes out of the lounge with a banana and can of cola. "Was it a pleasant meeting?" He points to the folder under my arm. "Our next assignment?"

I nod and hand it to him. "But first I'm going to head down to homicide."

# 28

### Angie

"Big news, my darlin'." Blake bursts into the bathroom where I've stewed myself in the hot tub until my skin has turned dark pink.

It's been hours since my last shot of nectar. In between doses, my head clears just enough for me to reflect on what the hell I'm doing. During the last few minutes I've been trying to make a mental catalogue of anything pertinent I've discovered since my arrival. But there's nothing. Only the stark, embarrassing reality that I've been swept easily into the sordid, secret Lace Underground as if I was always meant to be a part of it. Shabby-ass detective work—that's what Clark would call it.

Blake sits on the edge of the tub and rings out my hair. "Do you want to hear the news, or are you just going to sulk in these bubbles?"

"What's the big news?" I ask, pretending interest. In between doses is like that, a sort of blank spot where emotions and desires have slowed to a listless crawl. I lean my head back and look up at him. He has switched the purple contacts for electric blue. They take some getting used to.

"You are going to the club party tonight."

I sit up so fast water splashes over the edge of the tub. "Is he through with me?" Seconds ago my emotions were flat. Now they have erupted like a volcano. "I'm to be tossed out just like that?"

Blake sighs. "No, darlin', that's not it at all." He can't hide the disappointment in his tone. "You'll be Mr. Freestone's guest. Some of the other girls have been asking to meet you." He rolls his eyes. "You're the center of gossip right now. The girl who has kept his attention a full week." Blake stands and opens a plush white towel for me.

"A full week?" I ask in disbelief as I stand up from the bubbles. "Have I been here that long?" My mind is just clear enough to go straight to Maddox. What is he doing? Missing me? I laugh remembering he's too busy planning his wedding to give me a second thought.

Blake wraps the towel around me. "What's that laugh for?"

I shake my head. "Nothing. Just thinking about—"

He leans back to look at me. "Thinking about what?"

"About life before this place." I have to work to keep the homesickness out of my tone.

Blake pats me dry. "Well, you'll have to save the reminiscing for another time. I need to get you dressed." He walks to the panel where the nectar is kept.

I lean over and dry my legs. Bath time is the only time I'm without the leather cuffs and anklets. It feels strange to not be wearing them. The anklets leave a permanent thin line around my ankles. I touch the line and it immediately makes my pussy grow hot as I think about Kane, just hours earlier, fastening my feet to the hooks on the wall, leaving me helpless and exposed and trembling with anticipation.

Blake walks over with the syringe, filled, prepped and ready.

"Maybe I should skip it," I suggest bravely considering my body is saying don't you fucking dare. "It's just that I want to be clearheaded when I meet the other girls."

Occasionally, Blake's laugh is ill-timed and slightly cruel. "Darlin', trust me, the other girls won't be skipping their doses. The club members will be there too. Cocktails are served and then the members peel off with their selected entertainment for the night."

I've been a virtual prisoner in this room. This will be my first opportunity to find out what I was sent here to discover. Who belongs to this secret society and why are members turning up with their skulls smashed in?

"Please, Blake. If we skip this dose, I promise to eat my whole breakfast tomorrow."

Blake stares at the syringe, then moves closer to lower his voice. I'd never considered the possibility that everything I did in my room was being observed or listened to. "Just this time," he says quietly and moves me toward the tub. He shields me with his body and shoots the amber colored liquid into the bath water. It sinks into the frothy bubbles and disappears with the water. My stomach tightens as I watch it get sucked away.

"You have to go along with the game and pretend you're dosed up or we'll both be in trouble." Blake's whisper is so quiet it's nearly drowned out by the crinkling sound of the dying bath bubbles.

"Thank you." I touch his arm lightly to show my appreciation.

"Now, we've got to get you all dolled up for the big reveal. Makes me feel like I'm getting someone ready for their debut into society." His voice is freshly enthusiastic, but I can hear worry threaded through the lyrical tone.

I follow Blake to the bedroom. He throws open the closet. It's filled mostly with lacey lingerie, but there are a few dresses. It occurs to me I've either been naked or scantily clad the entire week. It's rather freeing. Thinking about pulling on actual clothes makes me cringe. I inadvertently rub my naked arms thinking about the fabric touching me.

Blake notices me rubbing my arms. He pulls a little black dress out of the closet and holds it up in front of me, pretending to see how it'll look. He brings his mouth to my ear to whisper. "Don't. Skin crawling is a side effect of withdrawal. This is a mistake," he mutters as he pulls his mouth away. He looks at the dress. "And so is this. You're too washed out. The golden skin you came in here with has been replaced with floury white. You're not eating enough, and we need to get you to the tanning room sometime. You need some UV light on that pale skin."

I force my hands away from my skin and try not to think about the sensation creeping up my arms. Suddenly I'm rethinking my decision to forgo the nectar. Only it will be impossible to find out information or even remember people and faces if I'm in the heated fog left behind by the drug.

Blake pulls a pale green dress from the closet. It has a tight bodice and a flouncy, short skirt. It's a dress I might have worn to a summer party when I was sixteen. Blake can sense my distaste for the flirty little dress but dismisses it.

"The green is the only thing that works with your ghostly pallor. Arms up." I hold up my arms and he drops the dress over me." He steps back and his eyes grow wide. "Shit, you're swimming in it." He points at me. "Every bite of breakfast tomorrow."

I nod but now, more than ever, the idea of food in my mouth makes my stomach tighten. A wave of nausea washes through me. I smile through it, not wanting to give Blake any more to fret about.

Blake motions me over to the vanity to finish off my _party look_. He picks up the leather cuffs. His deft fingers lace them onto my wrists. "Will the other girls be wearing them?" Wearing them in the privacy of the bedroom is one thing but out in front of others, complete strangers, is embarrassing.

"Of course they will. Especially if they want to be chosen for the evening."

"Being chosen is a good thing then? They want to entertain the club members?"

"Yes, if they aren't desirable, then they have no place here. Besides, you know how the nectar makes you feel. They want it almost as much as the club members. Otherwise, the sexual frustration can make you go mad."

Blake brushes my hair back into a ponytail. It's the perfect hair style to go with the teenager dress. The underage look is complete, I think wryly. Then another dark thought hits me. "Are you sure he's not sending me out there to hand me to one of the club members?"

Blake mulls the question over. "I was surprised when he asked me to get you ready for the night's activities, but I don't think so." He leans down and stares at my reflection. "Darlin', you need to prepare yourself for when that day comes. And it will come. He won't keep you tucked in here for his personal use for long. You're an asset to the company, if you catch my meaning. There's no return on investment when you're sitting in this room."

"Lovely, so I'm a commodity," I quip. Angie Tennyson's sarcastic tone is back. One skipped dose and I'm finding my way back to reality. Only I fear reality is going to feel like a hard slap in the face.

"We all are, darlin'. But there are worse ways to live. Like the streets."

Blake and I had quickly bonded, but selfishly, I'd never asked how he came to be part of Freestone's underground world. "How did you end up here?"

Blake reaches for some mascara and spins the chair to face him. He stoops down in front of me. "For obvious reasons, my extremely religious, conservative father kicked me out of the house. Said I was a sexual deviant. I had to do what I could to survive. My low point came when I nearly died after some creep I'd offered to blow kidnapped me. He had his way with me and then dumped me out in the desert. Turned out to be a lucky thing. Mr. Freestone's limo was heading back to the underground complex. The driver spotted me. They picked me up, nursed me back to health and here I am in all my glory. Fat and happy and I have a place to belong."

A place to belong. That is where the inconsistencies muddy the waters. I'm here to uncover the hideous world Freestone has created, only it seems part of that world includes taking care of young people society has otherwise discarded. The fear Blake exhibits when he worries about breaking the rules seems to stem more from his worry that he'll lose his newfound home and not from some insidious danger he faces if caught breaking protocol.

My eyes shut as Blake finishes my makeup. I use the moment of quiet to get into a better state of mind. I'll need to be the submissive sex object while trying to uncover mysteries and salacious details about Lace Underground. The hardest part of it all will be ignoring the irritating side effects of skipping my dose of nectar. There are seconds when it feels as if tiny ants are dragging feathers along my skin. The thudding pain in my head and stomach have only just begun. I have no doubt they will intensify as the night goes on. I've seen more than enough junkies in the throes of withdrawal to know that things are going to get rough. I have to stay strong, keep my wits about me and still pretend to be floating on a blissful erotic cloud.

As I wait for Blake to finish, I think about the last few days sitting in the room going nearly out of my mind waiting to see Kane walk through the door. The feelings I have for him when I'm drugged border on mad obsession. When the amber liquid is coursing through my veins, all I can think about is his mouth on me, his fingers and cock inside of me. I'm more than subconsciously aware of the manic cravings I have for the man. There is nothing I can do to stop them when I'm high on nectar. The question is—how will I react to Kane when I'm not drugged? How will I react when I'm more Detective Tennyson than I am Tawny Smith, his Sweet Sin?

# 29

### Maddox

The interrogation room in homicide is empty. "Damnit." I walk into the desk area and find Detective Young, a twenty year homicide veteran who is always cranky. Guess two decades of murders can do that to a guy.

I head to his desk. It's even more cluttered than mine. "Hey, Young, I need some info."

"What do I look like, Maddox? A fucking telephone book?"

"Telephone book? Is that one of those big paper weight things you old timers use to look up names and addresses?" I grab an empty chair from the next desk. It scrapes the gritty floor as I position it in front of his desk and sit down.

"Why are you sitting in front of my desk when I haven't invited you to sit there?"

"Told you, I need some information. Who is on the murder case for the dumpster body?"

Young finally looks up from his work. He has permanent angry creases across his forehead, and his nose is sharp like a bird's beak. "I am. There's your information. Now run along, kid. I'm busy."

"So the boyfriend confessed?" I ask. Persistence is both my strong suit and the habit most likely to get me in trouble.

Young makes a show of tossing his pen into a somersault. It rolls across his paper pile. He leans back. "You are a fucking pest, you know that? No wonder your partner left town. Where's Ten at, anyhow?"

I shrug. "Not too sure."

His brow has some long gray hairs in it that wiggle as the brow rounds over his eye. "Is she undercover?"

"Not too sure," I say again.

He reaches for his pen.

"Look, I assume you got a solid motive for the murder. Did the jerk say anything about why he slit the girl's throat?"

Young squints at me, trying to figure out why I'm interested. "This has something to do with Ten?" It's a question.

"Just need to know if there was any mention of where the girl had been. I know she had disappeared from the streets before she ended up dead."

Young sighs in resignation. "He says she told him it was top secret and that she'd been sworn to secrecy. But he managed to smack it out of her with his fist. He's a real nice guy all around. Can't wait to put him in front of a jury. Anyhow, she said that she was part of a secret club, a sort of high end prostitution ring from the sound of it. But she didn't work out so they dropped her back onto the streets."

"She didn't work out?" I ask. "How so?"

"How the fuck should I know, Maddox? Maybe she wasn't putting out for the clients. Anyhow, it was enough to make this kid jealous with rage. So he slit her throat and tossed her like garbage. Now go away." Young returned to his work.

I stand up and push the chair back into place. A high end prostitution ring. Fuck. The only light of hope was that they dropped the last girl back on the streets when she didn't work out. If that was the case, I was sure Ten would know exactly what to do to get herself out. I just needed to teach myself patience and wait it out. Right.

My laugh echoes through the hallway as I head back to my desk.

# 30

### Angie

I feel almost like a tiny kitten who has just opened her eyes for the first time as I walk several hesitant steps behind Blake to what I can only assume is the main entertainment room. As we near two large mahogany doors, I can hear music and voices mingling behind them. A pair of aspirin has done little to squelch the pain in my head, and I have to consciously avoid rubbing my skin. As I learned just after Blake finished dressing me, the more I rub the more the invisible critters crawl. The idea that a person could rub their skin raw during withdrawals now seemed perfectly plausible.

Blake stops and looks back at me. I hate the constant look of worry I've seen on his face since I decided to skip an injection. "Are you ready?" he asks but seems unsure himself.

"Yes, let's rip the bandage off." I add a smile to reassure him I can pull this off. It's the first time I have had any shred of confidence since I walked into the place. Maybe it's just because people from the outside world are waiting on the other side of the door to remind me that it all still exists. Or maybe it's because effects of the nectar are fading fast, leaving me a clear thinking human for a change.

Blake opens the door. A handful of the people look up to see who has entered. There are at least a dozen young women, some wearing skimpy lingerie, some in satiny bras and underwear and some completely naked. My extremely short, sleeveless dress looks like a priest's garment compared to the others.

About ten men are sitting in various places around the room with their highball glasses and important looking suits and ties. Their formal business attire is nearly comical considering the room is dotted with scantily clad and naked women. Some women sit on laps. Others are draped provocatively over arms of leather chairs or backs of upholstered settees. The only stark contrast to the sensual festivities are the two guards, one at each side of the room. Each one is well over six feet tall and with shoulders to match. They are dressed head to toe in black and standing still as statues with arms crossed as they watch the party in front of them. Blake had mentioned that the members were kept in line so that none of the women got hurt.

A table is overflowing with sumptuous dishes of lobster and prime rib. My stomach curls up to remind me how empty it is, but at the same time, my appetite hasn't returned.

A pretty woman with pale blonde hair piled up on her head and a butterfly tattoo on her right breast sashays across the room to us wearing only the leather cuffs and anklets. She stops and licks her lip as she looks me up and down. "My gosh, Blake, she looks ready to go to confession."

"I was following orders," he says quickly, apparently hoping I'll miss the comment. _Orders_ can only come from one source. That I learned on day one.

"Really? Guess he doesn't want anyone else looking." The woman continues the topic, making Blake fidget. He reaches back and grabs my hand. "Excuse us, Eve. I'm going to get Tawny a drink."

Blake hustles me away.

"Am I not supposed to talk to anyone?"

"Not Eve. She's toxic." That's his only comment about Eve. He hands me a whiskey sour. I crinkle my nose at the drink. He leans closer. "Darlin', you're still in pretty solid shape, but you're going to start missing that last dose more and more. And I don't want to get in trouble."

I stare angrily at him and gulp the horrid tasting drink like a kid finally giving in and finishing the glass of milk that came with dinner. I wince as I pull the glass away. "God, that's strong."

"Good, drink some more. I've got to go. Mr. Freestone doesn't like me hanging around the club events."

"So you're leaving me out here alone with the wolves?" As I finish my statement, I catch a rude tongue lick being cast my direction from a small squat man sitting on the couch. There's a brunette on his knee dressed only in satin panties. He's clutching her waist as if he owns her. At the same time, he's making lascivious gestures across the room at me. The brunette doesn't seem to mind. She laughs when she catches him with his tongue out. She smiles my direction and then leans and whispers something into his ear. Whatever she says seems to excite him.

I look away from the couple and catch Blake just as he's about to turn away. "Where is Mr. Freestone? I thought I'd see him tonight." I hope I'm only imagining the slight desperation in my tone. I've been trying hard not to think of the man. Not having the nectar has helped some, but suddenly I wish he was standing in the room.

"He'll be here soon, which is why I have to go."

As he speaks, a man, who looks fortyish and like the kind of guy who wakes on Sunday morning to make pancakes for the kids, strolls past us. He has playfully bound his necktie around one of the women's eyes. She is giggling as he leads her out of the room.

"Avoid the squat guy with the brunette over there. They are hatching a plan for a threesome. You're part of that number." The mention of the threesome should be the stunning part of his comment but something else has gripped me.

I grab Blake's arm before he turns away. "So that's it then? He's grown tired of me after all. Is that why I'm here? You can tell me, Blake. I can take it." I know the last sentence is a lie, but I try to make it convincing.

"If only that were the case," Blake says quietly before pulling free from my frantic grasp.

My only friend vacates the room, leaving me alone in the middle of what seems to be nothing more than a high end brothel, but with one magnificent perk—the women are buzzing on a powerful aphrodisiac. Paying customers are hanging out, getting drunk and deciding which woman to whisk off for the night. I wonder just how much the fee is to be part of Kane's private club. My mind is still muddled but I know two men were bludgeoned to death in their expensive houses. Were they ex-members who threatened to reveal the entire scheme? It seemed that they'd keep quiet just to keep their own reputations intact. What exactly did they do to get their heads bashed in and who did the bashing? Was it Kane or one of the muscular body guards at each side of the room?

"You must be the new little treasure Freestone's been keeping to himself," a voice says from behind. I turn to face the man. He's middle aged with a paunch to match. His dark moustache looks almost fake as if it's been stuck there with a piece of tape. He looks me up and down in a way that brings a bitter taste to my mouth. I'm clearly not drunk enough. It's easy to see why the nectar is a necessity. The man has apparently been eating something with garlic. His breath is so strong it makes my eyes water.

"I'm glad he's finally decided to share you with the rest of the club. I saw you and decided to swoop in before anyone else moved first."

"I think I'm here strictly as Mr. Freestone's guest."

A laugh comes from the other side of me. It's toxic Eve. "What makes you so special, honey?" she sneers. "If you're at the party, then you're here for the club members. Besides, I'm surprised you kept his interest this long. You're far too skinny and just not that pretty."

Blake's one word adjective seems to fit just right. I raise my glass and wink at her with a silent toast. "Must be other qualities then," I say before gulping back the rest of the drink. Seems I'm going to need it.

"I'll say. Plenty of qualities." The man leans closer and put his hand against my back. I'm in a cloud of garlic, and his breath isn't his most repulsive feature. Eve walks away feeling apparently victorious with her insult.

I reach back for another drink and hand him one too. With any luck, I can get him so drunk he'll spill club secrets. If Kane has dumped me into his parlor games, then I plan to make quick work of things. After all, I'm here to find actionable evidence and get out. If he's grown tired of me, then I've grown tired of him. Just as the silly, weightless thought coasts through my head, the large mahogany doors open and Kane steps into the room.

Everyone goes on with their conversations and flirtatious skits, but his presence changes the atmosphere in the room. Shit, he's one of those guys, one of those people who can enter a crowded, active room and pull all the heat and energy toward him. Like a magnetic core in the earth, Kane is at one end of the room, but he is instantly the center of the party. Or is that just in my mind?

Kane's blue eyes seem to land directly on me. No sweep of the room or nod hello to anyone else. His intense gaze is directly on me. My nipples harden instantly as if he can see right through the dress. His jaw is set hard. It's obvious he's angry but that doesn't stop garlic breath from calling across the room to him.

"Hey, Freestone, finally let this little ruby out of the treasure box. Think I'll be the first to break her in."

I'm frozen to the spot, too drawn in by his gaze to look away, but I sense the room has fallen noticeably silent. My garlic scented friend drops his hand from my back. The aroma lightens as he shuffles away.

Two women approach Kane and engage him in a conversation. He speaks to the them, but his gaze is still riveted to me. I feel heat rising up my body along my throat and neck, filling my cheeks with a blush. My head is nearly clear of the nectar, but it seems the physical sensations are more permanent.

I turn back to the bar and pick up a drink. Kane's arrival seems to have made me a sudden wallflower. No one approaches me. In fact, it seems a wide berth is being made just to avoid getting near me. My undercover mission for the night has flopped. I peek back over my shoulder to see if he's still engaged in his conversation, and I silently chastise myself for caring. One of the women sidles closer to him and is going out of her way to press her naked breasts against him. There is no damn way I should be jealous, yet all I can think is that he'll take her to bed tonight instead of me. And I'll be left to die in a cloud of garlic as the man pants and grunts over me on the mattress.

Suddenly, the dress and ponytail work. I'm sixteen again and vying for the attention of the cutest boy at the dance. I walk to one of the men who still seems to be without a match for the night. He's tall, with ramrod straight posture and gray at the temples. He reminds me of Mr. Drucker, the high school chemistry teacher. I had a crush on the man with his pocket-sized periodic table and white lab coat. And his laugh. It was a great booming laugh.

I add a little extra sway to my hips to make the skirt of the dress flip flirtatiously around my thighs. I don't need to look back to know my movement has caught Kane's eye. My pussy tingles at the thought of him watching me move toward another man. Only for a split second do I remind myself that I'm in an investigation and not a pawn in a wild sex game. The reality falls easily away and is replaced by the latter. I want to be a pawn in his game. My head is clear but Kane still has control over me. All my thoughts center around him. All my actions are to garner a reaction from him.

"Good evening. I'm Tawny," I say politely and then follow the greeting up with a none too discrete lick of my bottom lip. It seems the gesture has done its trick. His gaze drops directly to my mouth.

"Hello, I'm Chad." His hand is large and warm as it wraps around mine. "So you're the new girl?" His voice falls off on the last word and his attention is drawn to someone behind me.

"Yes, she is." Kane's voice sends an instant shiver through me. It is dry and sharp, letting me know he's not happy with me. "If you'll excuse us," he tells Chad. "Miss Smith was just about to leave." I've never heard him use my alias surname before. It reminds me of my dad using my middle name when telling me that I'd done something wrong. Kane doesn't take hold of my arm to lead me away. Instead, he loops his finger through the ring on my wrist cuff.

My feet hit the floor fast and hard as Kane drags me along toward one of the guards. My heart is beating in my throat. His anger is palpable. "Please escort Miss Smith back to her room."

"I thought I was invited to the party." I face him but his cold glare makes me turn away. When I get the courage to look back at him, I find that he's walking away. Beneath the white shirt, his shoulders are tight with tension. His arms are straight at their sides with hands balled in fists.

Like a palace guard, my escort doesn't look down at me. I follow behind him through the party. Eve looks pleased to see me being led out of the festivities. I have no doubt that she has been watching the entire scene play out, including Kane leading me around by one of my leather shackles like I was his prisoner. I am his prisoner. And some dark part of me, a place that has been awakened by the nectar and by the man himself, is thrilled to be his captive. But it seems I may have just flirt teased my way out of the Lace Underground and out of his clutches. That might just be a good thing. The longer I stay here, under his control, the more I lose my grip on reality. The more he pulls me into his seductive world.

The guard is frighteningly big as I walk behind him down the narrow hallway to my bedroom. He says nothing as he pulls out his key card and unlocks my door. The door slams shut behind me.

I kick off my shoes and walk barefoot to the bed. I sit on the end of it and hug myself against the chills that have started to wrack my body. The earlier aspirin has worn off and my head and body ache from withdrawals. It has only been a week but the nectar is so strong it has my body in the grips of addiction.

I look back at the locked door and wonder who will walk through it next. I decide not to allow myself to come up with possible grim scenarios and solidify in my head that the worst and truly best thing that can happen is that he tells one of his oversized lackeys to drop me back on the streets.

Only the next person to come through the door is not Blake or one of the guards. It's Kane.

# 31

### Kane

My plan to get rid of her, to send her off for good lasted all of one minute. The rage that filled me just seeing her do nothing more than talk to another man assured me that I am my father's son. I have spent years trying to distance myself from the possibility but when she walked into my life, I knew my efforts had been in vain.

The door pushes open. She is sitting on the foot of the bed holding herself. She is in the throes of withdrawal. This time the fear in her face is not accompanied by the insatiable lust. It is just fear. Cold fear and I'm the object of her terror. That does not stop me from marching into the room.

I walk straight to the bathroom and to the supply of nectar. I return with the syringe. She doesn't fight me or turn away. Her body won't allow her mind to say no. Earlier I avoided touching her, using her leather cuff to lead her away from the leering stares of the club members. Now I take hold of her hand. Her body is trembling and her arm shakes, but she doesn't pull it from my grasp.

"Why did you skip a dose?" I say as I stab the needle into her smooth skin.

"I wanted to be able to talk with the people at the party. I wanted to be clear headed when I met your friends." Her voice wavers back and forth like feathery strands of grass in the wind. "I refused it so don't be angry with Blake. It's my fault."

"Those aren't my friends. They are clients." I still haven't decided how I feel about Blake's decision not to give her the dose. At the moment, it's not important. She's the only thing that matters right now.

A deep shiver runs through her body as the nectar seeps into her bloodstream. A sigh of relief pushes from her lips as the drug warms her, eases her pains. I dedicated my professional life to creating the substance. Now it has repaid me with her. She is mine.

Her head lulls back and her eyes drift shut as her tensions melt away. "Is that why you're so mad at me?" Her words stretch out slow. "I thought it was because I talked to other men at the party." She opens her eyes and blinks up at me. "I thought you were through with me. I thought you were giving me to the club mem—"

She gasps as I take hold of both her arms and yank her to her feet.

"That will never happen." I grab the fabric on her dress and I rip it open. It slips to her feet leaving her in just a pair of panties. She instinctively crosses her arms in defense.

I take hold of her hands and lift them out and away from her body. "Don't ever deny me a look at you." My gaze rakes over her naked body. A million ideas of what I want to do to her shoot through my twisted mind. And there are no longer any doubts that I am twisted. She has done it. She's unleashed the obsessive madman that has been hiding out, waiting for the right person to come along and release him.

I lift her over my shoulder and carry her to the wall. Her eyes don't leave my face as I secure her leather cuffs to the hook above her head. Some of the earlier fear has been replaced by desire. I know I can't give myself credit. It's the nectar. The drug lets her see me through an erotic filter. She sees the man who can help her quench what seems to be an insatiable appetite for sex. But I allow myself the fantasy of thinking it's me and me alone that she craves. Just like I crave her. Only I need no elixir, no aphrodisiac. She is my special drug.

She responds to her hands being secured by arching her back and pushing her breasts higher. A soft, appreciative mewl follows when I reach down and pinch her nipples between my thumb and forefinger. She is writhing between my unforgiving body and the hard wall. Her lips part waiting for the first kiss.

I lean forward and take hold of her face before lowering my mouth over hers for a deep, penetrating kiss. With one hand, I drop my pants. I hold her chin to look at me as I drive my cock into her. Her warm breath caresses my face as she moans in pleasure. I kiss her again, hard and punishing.

She tightens her fists and arms, braces her back against the wall and lifts her legs around my waist to take in more of me. One hand circles her ass to hold her in place as I penetrate the tight hole with my thumb. Her body shudders. I've been inside of her enough to know she is close to coming.

I take hold of her chin, pinching it tightly as I force her to look at me. "You are mine, Sweet Sin. Do you understand that?"

Her weak head shake is not enough. I pump harder into her. "Don't you dare come. Not until I hear it from you. Say it, Tawny. Say it." I thrust into her and sense that she is using all of her control not to explode into an orgasm.

Tears make her brown eyes glassy. The words tumble off her incredible lips. "I'm yours, Kane. I belong to you." Her body stiffens and her head drops back against the wall as she cries out with pleasure.

I thrust into her, shaking the wall and the whole fucking room until I come. I wrap my arms around her and hold her tightly. "God help any man who tries to come near you," I mutter quietly to myself.

# 32

### Maddox

As far as I am concerned, I've been as patient as a fucking saint for two goddamned weeks. I push open Clark's door. He nearly chokes on a bite of hamburger as I ignore his finger pointing telling me to get out.

I pull my badge out and slam it down on his desk. "I've got the coordinates. I know where she's at. Either I go in with your support or I go in on my own."

Clark wipes his hand on a napkin and stares down at the badge. He looks up at me. I can read his thoughts. He's worried too. Maybe worried enough to go along with my crazy plan.

"Come on, Cap'n, make me a fucking billionaire so I can bring her home."
No wait!

Continue this addictive trilogy with book 2, OBSESSED—out now!

_" I could not put this book down." ~Judy_

_" Seriously people... I have no words. I am so in love with this series! " ~Jessica_

# About the Author

If you enjoyed **CAPTIVE** please consider leaving a quick review on your way to downloading **OBSESSED**. Each and every review, no matter how long is incredibly helpful and greatly appreciated.

Tess Oliver lives in Southern California, the land of perpetual sunshine and traffic, with her husband, kids and a small herd of pets. Her titles have hit both _New York Times_ and _USA Today_ bestseller lists. As an exclusive bonus, you can get a copy of her sexy, angsty romance **_Dirty Shame_** when you sign up for her newsletter [Sign up here!]

With more than 50 amazing romances, Tess has the perfect read for you! Visit TessOliver.com to read more about each book.

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### Contents

  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright
  3. Table of Contents
  4. Chapter 1
  5. Chapter 2
  6. Chapter 3
  7. Chapter 4
  8. Chapter 5
  9. Chapter 6
  10. Chapter 7
  11. Chapter 8
  12. Chapter 9
  13. Chapter 10
  14. Chapter 11
  15. Chapter 12
  16. Chapter 13
  17. Chapter 14
  18. Chapter 15
  19. Chapter 16
  20. Chapter 17
  21. Chapter 18
  22. Chapter 19
  23. Chapter 20
  24. Chapter 21
  25. Chapter 22
  26. Chapter 23
  27. Chapter 24
  28. Chapter 25
  29. Chapter 26
  30. Chapter 27
  31. Chapter 28
  32. Chapter 29
  33. Chapter 30
  34. Chapter 31
  35. Chapter 32
  36. OBSESSED
  37. About the Author

  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Table of Contents
  5. Beginning

