AtHerCommand (13 page)

Turning down the corridor that led to the club’s non-public
areas, Dom passed the empty employee lunch area without entering. Smokey had
already checked it out. Continuing around the passageway, Domino spotted Benny
and Fred moving wooden risers out of the loading bay. Reminding Smokey to heel,
she approached the pair.

“Hey, guys. What’s up?” she asked.

“Hey, Dominique,” Benny called out, cheerful as always. The
club bouncer dropped his end of the wooden platform, oblivious to Fred’s grunt,
and greeted her with a big grin. Benny wasn’t the brightest bulb in the
chandelier but Dom liked the good-natured man.

“Hi, Benny. Hi, Fred.” She waved to the maintenance man who
was rubbing the small of his back.

“Whoa, is that a dog?” Benny pointed to Smokey. “Can I pet
him?”

“He’s my sister’s. I’m watching him while she’s on
vacation,” Domino explained, the lie rolling off her tongue with all the practice
it was getting. “His name is Smokey. He won’t bite but you have to be gentle.”

Dom watched the lumbering Benny get down on his knees and
hold his beefy hand out to her canine partner. Smokey, wiggling all over,
approached and sniffed fingers twice the size of his legs. Benny ran his palm
softly over the dog’s head and back.

“Does he do any tricks?” Benny asked.

“Oh he has a few up his sleeve,” Dom said then changed the
subject. “What are you moving?”

Fred answered as Benny continued to pet the dog. “A porn
movie set. The Oval Office one. The boss wants it in Theme Room Four for some
bigwig who just joined the club.”

Domino knew the Xecutive Branch occasionally shot skin
flicks on the premise but this was the first time she’d seen one of the sets.
“Is this bigwig someone who campaigned unsuccessfully for president?” She
smiled at the thought of a frustrated also-ran getting his jollies in an Oval
Office set.

Fred laughed. “Don’t know the guy’s name but I heard the
boss has a couple freelancers coming in tonight dressed as political interns.”

From the club grapevine, Dom knew the freelancers Fred
referred to were local hookers paid under the table for special jobs. Dom
wondered if they would be the teenage runaways the cops suspected the club
exploited. Unfortunately, she was here to find the drug traffickers and not a
couple of underage girls.

“C’mon Benny,” Fred said. “We have to move this set and put
it back together before five.”

Benny got back to his feet and picked up his end of the
solid wood set as though it weighed ounces. “Will you bring your dog again so I
can play with him?”

“Sure.” Dom moved around the two men so they could muscle
the riser into the hallway. “Bye.”

Fred nodded and Benny waved at her, holding his part of the
flat easily in one hand. Since several other men worked on the far side of the
loading dock, Dom rejected the idea of searching the area right then. She
patted her thigh and Smokey trotted along next to her as she took the long way
back to S&M Room Five. They made good time since none of the doors they
encountered on the way were open. She still had a good half hour to slip Smokey
into his tote by the room’s futon, change into her “work” clothes and prepare
for her next client.

Dom opened the employee door to S&M Room Five and halted
at the sight of Clyde Salvi. He stood in the middle of the room, his arms
crossed and his eyes cold. His brittle stare dropped to her dog and the chill
in the room turned arctic.

“Hello, Ms. Petracelli. Nice of you to drop by,” he said,
the formality sounding condescending from his cruel lips.

“Mr. Salvi.” She nodded toward him, refusing to be cowed.
She checked her watch. “I don’t believe I’m late.”

Ignoring her comment, he asked, “Care to explain why you’ve
brought an animal into the club?”

Domino picked up the shaking dog. Walking over to the futon,
she lowered Smokey into his tote. “My sister stuck me with the mutt for a
couple weeks,” she explained. “I was just getting his tote so I could put him
in the locker room.”

Salvi looked as though he were going to pursue the matter
but then glanced at his watch. “You have a client in less than thirty minutes
but I have a special job to discuss with you first.” He spoke briskly,
obviously expecting her to listen without interrupting. “Tomorrow evening an important
guest will arrive on the shuttle. He comes to town once a month and we roll out
the red carpet.”

Domino quickly thought of the daily shuttle flights into
D.C.—from Boston, New Jersey, New York… Could the VIP be tied to the drug
operation?

“This guest likes new experiences,” Salvi continued. “He’s
requested an evening that requires unusual props—some of which we don’t stock.
I’ve arranged overnight delivery of the things you’ll need and the clothes
you’ll wear.”

Domino’s palms grew damp wondering what perversion would
require props the club didn’t own. But she kept her cool expression firmly in
place. Salvi took a step forward, seemingly testing her composure. She held her
ground.

“The packages will arrive at my house in the morning,” he
said. “Since a meeting will keep me away from the club tomorrow evening, I’ll
bring the items by your place around noon along with instructions on the
scene.” Salvi didn’t ask if she would be there. He knew his orders overrode all
other considerations.

“Is there anything I can do to prepare for the scene before
tomorrow?” she asked, hoping for a hint about the client’s kink.

Salvi smiled and she noticed his long, sharp eyeteeth. Even
amused, the club manager looked vicious.

“Our visitor wants an equestrian scene,” Salvi said. “And he
asked for an appointment with our new counselor.” The club manager put his hand
in his coat pocket, pulling the jacket’s material tight and revealing the
outline of a shoulder holster. “Both Angi and Ellen have human pony experience
so you can talk with them. This guest has special requests however, which I’ll
discuss with you tomorrow.”

With that, Salvi walked to the room’s customer exit. He
opened the door and then turned back to her. “By the way, Ms. Petracelli. You
know the rules on bringing animals to the club?”

Domino nodded.

“If I find that
dog
,” he said the word as though
Smokey didn’t deserve the appellation, “wandering the halls, I’ll feed him to
my Doberman. Do you understand?”

Dom nodded again and heard Smokey whimper in his tote. Salvi
left the room, closing the door behind him. Taking a shuddering breath, she
tried to relax her tensed muscles. If there were such a thing as evil
incarnate, Salvi was it.

Domino picked up the tote and headed for the women’s locker
room to change. She tried not to think about the upcoming “special job” but
failed. God, she had to solve this case soon. And she hoped like hell to put
Clyde Salvi behind bars when she was done.

Chapter Thirteen

“Okay, Weinberg, see you at six.” Dalton ended the call to his
temporary partner and laid the cell phone on the car seat.

Howie Weinberg was a little too “by the book” for Dalton’s
taste but he was still a good cop. And considering the pawn store sting they
were working that evening, Dalton was glad he could trust the man to watch his
back.

He yawned. Doing these morning Xecutive Branch stakeouts
along with his assigned cases was killing him. Dalton couldn’t remember the
last time he’d slept more than a few hours straight.

Despite being on the late shift for days, he’d awakened
early to drive Jason’s Jeep to Clyde Salvi’s Northwest Washington neighborhood.
In deference to the weather, Dalton had added a parka, gloves and fleece-lined
boots to his winter uniform of jeans and a sweater. In addition, he’d stopped
at Krispy Kreme for doughnuts and a coffee fill up for his thermos.
To hell
with stereotypes.
There’s nothing better than doughnuts on a stakeout.

He glanced at his watch. It was almost noon and his stomach
was rumbling for lunch. Parked down the tree-lined street from the club
manager’s renovated end-unit row house, Dalton had been watching the
prestigious abode in his rearview mirror for hours. So far, the only activity
had been a Federal Express delivery. Salvi himself had signed for the packages
so Dalton knew his quarry was still at home. But he hoped the bastard would do
something noteworthy soon, before Dalton was tempted to phone for a pizza to be
delivered to his car.

As if on cue, the door of the attached garage slid up and
Salvi’s black Jaguar sedan backed out. Dalton started his engine, wondering
what municipal palms the club manager had greased to get permission to build
the garage on his property. Everyone else on the block was relegated to street
parking. Hell, half the city’s Planning and Zoning Commission were probably
regulars of the Xecutive Branch.

Dalton allowed the Jag to pass him and move several blocks
ahead before he pulled out into the steady midday traffic. Salvi’s luxury car
had windows tinted darker than the Jeep’s, but Dalton spied the silhouette of a
large dog in the passenger seat. He remembered Suzi’s warning about the
manager’s vicious Doberman. Did it have its own doggy seatbelt?

Keeping several cars between the Jeep and the Jag, Dalton
followed Salvi across the 14
^th
Street Bridge into Virginia. So the
man wasn’t going to work. The club manager took the Arlington exit and Dalton
got a real bad feeling. He hoped like hell he was wrong. But when Salvi turned
onto Domino’s street, he knew his cop instincts were right on the mark.
Damn.

Dalton swung into a spot behind a minivan a couple of houses
down from Dom’s. Parking in her driveway, the club manager exited his car and
took two boxes from the sedan’s back seat. Leaving the Doberman in the Jag, he
walked to Domino’s front door. Dalton focused his binoculars through the
minivan’s back window and windshield. Not the best vantage point for
surveillance but it’d have to do.

Salvi punched the doorbell with his index finger and Domino
answered the door five seconds later. Had she been expecting him? There was no
welcoming smile on her face as she motioned her boss into her house but Dalton
experienced a cold steel stab of jealousy. Was the asshole there for a nooner?
And what the hell was in the boxes? With his mouth set in a grim line and his
mind conjuring up gut-churning images of Salvi and Dom together, Dalton waited
for his target to reemerge.

* * * * *

Domino closed the door and led the way into her small living
room. Despite the club manager’s near silent footfalls, she felt the menacing
chill as he followed close behind. She was glad she’d locked Smokey in her
bedroom for his own safety. When she neared her sofa, Dom turned to face
Salvi’s appraising stare. An electric shiver skittered down her spine.

“Why don’t you put the boxes on the coffee table,” she said,
amazed her voice sounded so calm.

Salvi did as she asked then took a seat on the couch before
speaking. “I’ve got a meeting in less than an hour. Sit. I’ll go over this
quickly.”

Feeling like an obedient dog, Dom lowered herself to the
sofa, putting as much distance between them as she could without being obvious.
Salvi pulled a box cutter out of his pocket and slit open the cartons with a
skill that had the hair on her arms standing. Had he opened a few carotid
arteries with that blade?

He raised the carton’s top flaps and scooped out packing
material, which he dumped on her floor. Dom bit back a sarcastic remark about
his making himself at home. Clyde Salvi was like the proverbial
two-hundred-pound gorilla—he could do pretty much anything he wanted.

“Our special guest insists on anonymity,” Salvi explained as
he brushed Styrofoam peanuts off a black leather item. “Our staff addresses him
by his initials—CC.”

Domino nodded, hoping the second C stood for Cabazone. If
the VIP were part of the infamous crime family, it would be another tie between
the Cabazones and the Xecutive Branch.

Salvi handed Dom the first item from the box. “As you can
see, our guest insists on the very best equipment.”

Domino ran her hands over the smooth surface of the reins
and admired the decorative silver trim. Thanks to some late-night research on
the human pony fetish scene, Dom knew this leather bit and bridle were designed
for a human mouth and head. Still, she had trouble believing the things people
would do for sexual gratification. And where was the thrill in acting horsy?
But if this guest wanted to dress like a pony and be put through his paces,
she’d do it.

Salvi was busy opening the other cartons and removing more
top-of-the-line objects. There was a small, black leather saddle—English
style—minus the stirrups. Silver adorned the saddle, which probably cost half
of Dom’s yearly salary. This saddle was the type to go on the back of a person
who was on all fours. She’d seen a photo of a different saddle that allowed a
rider to piggyback on a “pony” who was standing upright. Domino shook her head.
Who came up with this stuff?

The next item to emerge from the boxes was a leather-fringed
chest harness. Before she could ask, Salvi explained its use. “This will
connect to a lightweight surrey we store in the club’s loading area. Just ask
Benny to bring the thing to your room before CC arrives.”

Again, Dom nodded, biting back a nervous laugh. This harness
would strap CC to the racing cart so he could stand up and pull it around.
She’d be sitting in the surrey, holding the reins. Damn, if she were about to
crack-up at the mental image that presented, how would she keep a straight face
that evening?

“And this is the tail.” Salvi handed her a smooth plug with
a long horse tail attached.

Oh my God.
Domino looked askance at the object as she
imagined how it would be “worn” by CC.

“Is there a problem, Ms. Petracelli?”

Salvi’s cold tone grabbed her attention. Dom adopted
Mistress Bella’s cruel smile and stroked the horse tail as she answered. “No, I
was just wondering if this was synthetic material or real horse hair.” She
looked into the club manager’s eyes and managed not to flinch.

“I think, given our guest’s expensive tastes, we can assume
it’s real horse hair.” His eyes gleamed as they dropped to her mouth.

The last thing Domino wanted was to stimulate Salvi’s libido
so she changed the subject. “What’s in that last box?”

“Your clothes for this evening’s equestrian event.” He held
up a surreal version of a foxhunting outfit.

The getup included black breech-style pants, a crimson
riding jacket and a white top that was more of a bustier than a blouse. A pair
of shiny, knee-high boots and a dressage-worthy top hat completed the ensemble,
or so Domino thought. Salvi extracted two whips— a fancy riding crop and a
buggy whip—and a felt pouch from the box. Dom took the proffered whips and
watched as Salvi slid something from the pouch.

“The finishing touch.” He extended two silver spurs toward
her.

Domino accepted the wicked-looking things and carefully
tested the sharp edges with her fingertip. She doubted the multi-point wheels
at the back of the Western-style spurs would break CC’s skin if she jabbed him
too hard but they would definitely give him a jolt.

Salvi reached into his jacket pocket and handed Dom an
envelope. “These are your instructions. The guest insists on scripting the
sessions so don’t do any improvising.”

Domino forced Mistress Bella’s smirk. “I guess I should
cancel the mock Kentucky Derby I scheduled with several of Angi’s pony
clients.”

Salvi didn’t smile but there was another flash of interest
in his eyes. Dom wondered if any of the club employees said more than “Yes, Mr.
Salvi” to the menacing manager. She was playing with fire. The man wouldn’t
allow much impertinence but she hated to kowtow to a criminal.

Glancing at his watch, he stood. “If after you’ve read the
script, you have questions, call Angi or Ellen. As I said last night, they have
a lot of experience with the pony kink.”

Dom nodded and followed him to the foyer. He opened the
front door before she could and stepped out onto her porch. She thought he
would leave without speaking but then he turned and stared unblinking into her
eyes. “I expect you to provide our guest with a
very
good time, Ms. Petracelli.”

The words hung in the frosty February air as he continued
down her sidewalk and climbed into his Jaguar. She shut the door but watched
through the peephole as Salvi backed the car onto her street and drove away.
Relief the cold bastard was gone warred with dread over the evening to come.

She looked at the envelope in her hand.
You can do this.
Too proactive to cower in the foyer, she headed to the kitchen for wine to
drink while reading the session script. What went with a pony fantasy? Red or white
wine? With a snort, she opened her refrigerator and took out a bottle of
Chardonnay.

* * * * *

Grimacing, Dalton started his Jeep and swung out into
traffic, three cars behind Salvi’s Jag. Though tempted, he resisted the impulse
to run the jerk off the road. Salvi’d been in Dom’s house barely long enough
for a quickie. Nothing had happened. Dalton still wanted to punch out his
lights.

As he followed the club manager through traffic for several
miles, he thought about the case. If Salvi was making deliveries to Domino’s
house, she was probably in this mess up to her wide, mahogany eyes. The thought
disappointed Dalton, which in turn pissed him off. Why did he care if the woman
was a criminal? But he did.

Dalton slowed as he watched Salvi swing his luxury car
through the high gates of the exclusive Potomac Cliffs Golf Club—probably
headed to a meeting with his boss. From Suzi’s notes, Dalton knew the Xecutive
Branch’s owner Victor Xavier belonged to this club and that nonmembers, such as
himself, wouldn’t get past the doorman. As the Jag drove up the winding lane to
the clubhouse, Dalton headed to Jason’s.

His thoughts kept drifting to Domino. How involved was she?
Did she know her bosses were killers? He should schedule another appointment at
the club so he could snoop around some more. The familiar feeling of
anticipation mixed with dread shot through him at the idea of seeing Mistress
Bella again.

Dalton tried to squash the feeling as he turned into Jason’s
driveway. Maybe if he could put visions of Domino consorting with the enemy out
of his mind, he could catch a nap before his meeting with Weinberg. But as he
pulled the Jeep into the garage, Dalton suspected any sleep he managed wouldn’t
be restful—it would be filled with hot dreams of a sexy and intriguing
dominatrix.

* * * * *

“Whaddaya think?” Domino held out her arms and turned in a
slow circle. She’d put up her hair and covered it with the dressage top hat,
which was pinned in place.

Angi tilted her head to the side and considered Dom. “The
riding outfit looks great on you, especially the red jacket. But you need more
attitude. Pretend your spine’s a steel rod. No slumping. And don’t forget to
glare.”

Domino glanced through her black mask at the petite redhead.
“You’ve worked with CC before. Is he that different from other clients?”

“No, but he wants his script followed to the letter.” Angi
leaned her hip on the surrey standing against the wall of S&M Room Five. “I
think he pretends we’re domineering robots. I guess mentally CC wants to deny
we’re flesh-and-blood girls who gossip about him afterward.”

Domino smiled. There was some justice to the thought that
she, a DEA agent, might have a shot at whipping and spurring a crime boss. What
a great story for the agency Christmas party.

“There’s one good thing about a visit from CC,” Angi said.
“The club clears your schedule for him. You’ll get paid for the whole night,
but after that appointment, you can go home.”

“CC must be a pretty important guy,” Dom fished.

Angi shrugged, her barbell-sporting pierced nipples barely
keeping her breasts from spilling out of the top of her merry widow. The satin
corset’s French-cut crotch revealed the redheaded dominatrix’s penchant for
bikini waxes. The skimpiness of the outfit made her “charms” readily available
if she chose to share them. Domino knew Angi allowed some of her submissives to
pleasure her orally if they performed to her satisfaction.

“Do you know anything about CC?” Dom persisted.

“Just that he’s a friend of the club’s,” Angi said. “Some
hotshot from New York who pays a lot for privacy. Guess he flies down here
hoping none of his buddies in the Big Apple learn about his kinks.”

“Do we get many clients from out of town?” Domino asked.

Again Angi shrugged. “Some of the D.C. clients bring
out-of-town guests to the club—usually to the mattress or hot tub parties.
Speaking of out of town, that noise you heard earlier was the staff’s
collective sigh of relief. The word is Salvi’s out of town for a day or so
doing some errand for Mr. Xavier.”