AtHerCommand (14 page)

“Salvi’s a pretty scary guy,” Dom observed, considering what
this news meant to her investigation. If Salvi were away from the club
tomorrow, she could bring in Smokey and do a sweep of the loading bay.

“Scary is an understatement.” Angi glanced at the pendant
watch clipped to her corset and sighed. “Guess I better get lost. CC’s due any
minute and he’s never late.”

“I appreciate your help,” Dom said with sincerity as Angi
left through the employee door. Thanks to Angi’s suggestions, Dom had set out
the pony equipment and arranged the room in the most efficient manner. She’d
also attached the script for this session to a pillow she’d put next to her
throne chair. She might need the cheat sheet if things veered off course.

Trying to get in character, she strutted over to the chair.
Her black riding boots were butter soft and her shiny spurs jingled, a sound
that made her giggle. She had to ignore the ridiculous side of this appointment
and disappear into her Mistress Bella persona. If she messed up with this
bigwig, she’d probably get fired.

Facing the room’s client entrance, Domino noticed the door
handle turn. She grabbed the riding crop resting on her chair, snapped her
spine straight and tried to ooze arrogance. A man, dressed in black from his
Italian loafers to the mask covering his upper face, stepped into the room.
Let
the games begin.

“I’m Mistress Bella. Present yourself, slave,” she barked.

The man walked slowly toward her, his eyes flicking over her
and then away. He was an inch or so taller than Dom but he hunched in a submissive
slump.

She continued, sticking to the script. “You appear to be a
prime piece of horseflesh. But I’ll need to examine you closer. Strip.”

CC’s breathing hitched at her command and he began to remove
his clothes. As he undressed, Domino scanned through the faces of Cabazones
she’d memorized the night before, hoping this man was one of the crime family
relatives. Unfortunately, Papa Cabazone had sired six sons along with three
daughters by his proper Catholic wife and several more sons by his mistresses.
And they all resembled this olive-skinned, black-haired man.

“CC” could be the initials of Carlo “Cubby” Cabazone. This
special guest appeared the same age as that youngest Cabazone son, but how
would she prove it? Domino couldn’t exactly walk up to the guy and say, “Excuse
me, sir. Before you put this bit in your mouth, could you tell me your first
name?”

When CC stood before her in all his fleshy glory, Dom
continued with the script. She walked closer and made a great show of
considering his suitability as her pony. Running the tip of her riding crop
across his lips, Domino smirked and tried not to laugh as she spoke her next
lines.

“You have the look of a thoroughbred,” she said. “But I
don’t buy a pony, no matter the breeding, until I see his teeth and put him
through his paces. Open up.”

CC opened his mouth wide so she could see his teeth. Dom
tried to ignore the garlic fumes from the man’s last meal. She nodded as though
satisfied and pointed the crop to the floor.

“Kneel. Prepare to be saddled,” she ordered.

CC’s eyes peeked up at hers before he followed her
instructions. He shivered as the cold concrete floor touched his hands and
knees. They’d warm up quickly after she rode him around the room. Domino picked
up the lightweight saddle and placed it on his back. As she started to buckle
the cinch, she spied a tattoo on his right shoulder blade—three bears tumbling
together…three bear
cubs
.

Damn.
It
was
Cubby Cabazone. Rumor had it, the
youngest Cabazone had a bear tattoo for every man he’d killed. Dom wondered
about the three hits. Had they been shot in the back of the head and dumped in
a landfill? Did they have wives? Kids? And Cubby didn’t stop at murder. He’d
beaten two rape charges simply because the victims had disappeared.

And what about all the people whose lives were ruined or
lost through the Cabazone drug and prostitution businesses? Well, she had the
opportunity here and now to dish out a little retribution for Cubby’s crimes.
With grim pleasure, she tightened the saddle cinch until the crook gasped.
Retrieving the bridle, Dom held it in front of his face.

“I understand you’re new to the bit,” Domino stated, feeling
a cruel delight in what was to come. She might not be able to arrest this man
tonight but she could make the session as painful as possible. “Don’t worry.
I’ll break in that tender mouth in no time.”

With a gulp, Cubby opened his mouth and allowed Dom to slide
the rubber bit far back between his molars. She buckled the harness snugly
around his head, making it impossible to spit out the bit or talk.

As the youngest Cabazone stayed on all fours, Dom walked to
the cabinet and picked up the tail plug. Instead of coating it with a
lubricating gel, she used the Ben Gay deep heat creme she’d bought to rub on
her Achilles tendons after a night in stiletto heels. Okay, so she was
deviating from the script a little. She’d always wondered what those mechanical
bulls in country-western bars were like. Once Cubby inserted his tail, she’d
hop on the saddle and enjoy the bucking ride. This was one bronco who deserved
to be busted.

* * * * *

Dom arrived home after Cubby’s session and Smokey hopped off
her couch to greet her. With a happy yip and a furious wagging of his feathery
tail, he clamored to be picked up and she obliged. Smiling, she carried the
wiggling pooch into her living room and looked at the television. Smokey had
abandoned a documentary on arctic wolves to run to her side. She could get used
to being the center of someone’s life.

Sighing, Domino sat on the couch and cuddled the spindly
animal.
What a night.
Her rash actions with the Ben Gay could have cost
her the job. But ironically, Cubby had considered it a wonderful addition to
the session’s pain and humiliation. After several hours of riding and surrey
pulling, Cubby had happily slipped his clothes over his bruised, spurred and
whipped body. He’d thanked her, swore he’d request her the next time he was in
town and said he’d inform Salvi he was very pleased with her talents.

Dom snorted. If she ever lost her DEA job, she could always
fall back on her previously unsuspected skills as a dominatrix. She could
travel the country, infiltrating crime families and gangs through their
submissive weakest links. Agent Domino Petracelli, Super Dominatrix.

She leaned her head against the back of the sofa while she
petted Smokey. Tomorrow she’d inform Meyers that Salvi and Cubby Cabazone were
in bed together, figuratively speaking. And the DEA would target the
pony-impersonating mobster for some serious surveillance. It was another step
toward closing down the Xecutive Branch’s drug operation.

She knew she ought to get up, make herself and Smokey a
late-night snack and turn in. But the sofa cradled her tired body and the dog
felt like a comforting if fluttering heating pad on her lap. Domino closed her
eyes and let her mind drift. When was the last time she’d taken a vacation?
Maybe when this was done, she’d go to Vail for some spring skiing.

Half dreaming, she imagined skiing down a packed trail,
wearing a T-shirt, jeans and polarized shades against the intense April
sunshine. At the end of the run, she’d slip off her skis and lean them with her
poles against the lodge wall before entering the chalet. A blazing fire would
be burning in a gigantic stone fireplace, welcoming and homey.

Relaxing, Dom entered the dream more fully. Walking
awkwardly in her ski boots, she approached the man seated in an overstuffed
chair by the hearth. He stood and her eyes explored his tall, broad-shouldered
form. The flickering fire caught the highlights in his reddish-brown hair and
his blue eyes sparkled. He handed her a steaming mug of hot chocolate, the
whipped cream on top almost as tempting as his smiling lips.

“I missed you,” he said, the low rumble of his voice
caressing her senses.

Instead of answering, she looped her free hand around his
neck and pulled his face down to hers. He smelled of pine smoke, chocolate and
virile male. With a teasing swipe, she ran her tongue along his bottom lip. He
groaned and she pressed her mouth to his, sampling and tantalizing. Commandeering
the kiss, he plunged his tongue in a sexual rhythm that had her body clamoring
and her mind calling his name.
Dalton.

Domino’s head snapped upright in alarm, scattering her
sleep. There was no fire, no ski lodge and certainly no Dalton here. She was in
her house with a disgruntled dog in her lap. The whole thing had a been a
dream, thank God. But suddenly she had a desire for hot chocolate and hotter
kisses.
Damn.
She picked up Smokey and headed to the kitchen. At least
she had hot chocolate handy. As she put on water to boil, Dom wished satisfying
one out of the two strong cravings would be enough.

Chapter Fourteen

“Give tai chi a try, Mr. G.” Suzi held open the massage room
door for her septuagenarian client. “You’ll be amazed how it’ll reduce that
arthritis pain.”

“Thank you, dear.” The elderly gentleman shuffled into the
hall. “If it helps half as much as your deep heat massages, it’ll be worth
looking like an old fool.”

Suzi smiled. “Ignore the martial arts side of tai chi and
think of it as a slow waltz, something an old ballroom dancer like you could do
in his sleep.”

The old man beamed at her. “I’ll call about lessons
tomorrow. Don’t work too hard.”

She watched him walk slowly down the hall, his movements
more fluid and his back straighter than when he’d arrived for his massage.
Warmth spread through her chest and she felt proud she’d assuaged some of her
client’s pain. Mr. G. was a sweet man who loved to brag about his grandkids,
complain about his arthritis and get a straight massage. He never tried to grab
her butt, something she couldn’t say about all her clients.

Suzi turned back to the massage room as the one client she
wished
would
grab her butt came around the corner.
Calvin.
A rush
of pleasure flooded her and she flashed him a happy grin.

“Hi!” Suzi greeted him as he strode closer. “I didn’t see
you on my appointment list for tonight.” Calvin stopped several feet away and
he wasn’t smiling. In fact, he looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“Uh, I’m not on your list.” He met her eyes and then looked
down.

The door across the hall opened and Ilona, one of the
unfriendly Russian masseuses, stepped into the hallway. The red of her hair, a
color not found in nature, was clown-like under the fluorescent lights. She
sized up the situation and gloated.

“Calvin made an appointment with me this evening,” the
hollow-cheeked woman said with a smirk, her stare cruel and her thick accent
grating.

Confused, Suzi turned to Calvin, expecting an explanation, a
denial, something. And the something she saw in his eyes was embarrassment. The
warmth she’d felt after Mr. G.’s appointment dissipated in a wash of hurt and
damaged pride.

“Oh I see. I won’t keep you.” Suzi pasted a false smile on
her lips as she backed into her room.

Calvin took a step toward her, only to be brought up short
by Ilona’s strong hands on his arm. “This way, darling,” the masseuse purred as
she steered him toward her room. “The sooner we get started, the sooner you’ll
reach your happy ending.”

Shocked, Suzi’s eyes flew to Calvin’s. He started to speak
but she stepped into her room and closed the door.
Damn.
Ilona had been
checking out Calvin like a vulture drools over roadkill. They hadn’t even made
it into her massage room before the woman had started rubbing her hands over
Suzi’s client.
Her
client? That was a joke. Suzi knew now she wasn’t
anyone special to Calvin, not even his preferred masseuse.

Suzi leaned against the door and let her anger build. The
mounting fury felt a hell of a lot better than hurt.
Happy ending.
Calvin was allowing that cold bitch to touch him intimately. The thought made
her sick.
Action.
She needed work to take her mind off the hands-on
session across the hall.

Pushing away from the door, Suzi readied her room for her
next client, an environmental lawyer who liked to convene with Mother Earth
during his massages. She slipped in a nature sounds CD and re-shelved the
classical music Mr. G. preferred. The noise of a babbling brook filled the
room. Blowing out the cinnamon candles she’d used for her last massage, Suzi
lit evergreen incense that filled the air with a woodsy aroma. With brisk
precision, she restocked her hot towel holder and opened a new pair of
disposable gloves. But all the time she was working, she argued mentally with
herself.

What? You thought you had a claim on the guy? Just
because you enjoyed his company, doesn’t mean he’s interested in you.

But I made Calvin laugh.

You’ve seen him a grand total of a couple of hours. And
don’t forget the way he stormed out of his last massage.

But Calvin almost kissed me.

That was your imagination. You’re just another pair of
hands to him—interchangeable, replaceable.

With angry movements, she changed the massage table linens,
spraying the new sheets with a pine scent. She was a dope, a hopeless romantic
caught up in a rescue fantasy. The man was still in love with his dead wife and
Suzi wasn’t going to tempt him back to the land of the living.

She mixed sandalwood massage oil, spilling drops on the
counter. Besides, Calvin wasn’t exactly Prince Charming. She deserved a man who
loved her with all his heart, not just the sliver he hadn’t given to a ghost.
Love?
Suzi stopped mixing. Who said anything about love? Boy, she
really
was a
dope.

There was a knock at her door. “It’s open,” she called.

Brian R., the lawyer, stepped in and closed the door. “Hi.
I’m a little early,” he said with a smile, friendly as always.

Brian’s dimples, along with the lock of blond hair falling
over his forehead, gave him a boyish look. But his rock-climbing and hiking
hobbies had turned his body into a lean, sexy dream. Too bad she wasn’t
interested in this client instead of the angst-ridden Calvin.

“No problem,” Suzi answered. “I’ll be ready soon.”

Brian ducked into the dressing area and she finished setting
up. This client enjoyed Shiatsu-style massages with some deep-muscle work
thrown in. And he preferred listening to the woodland sounds over carrying on a
conversation. That was good since she didn’t feel like chatting.

Brian, wearing only a towel wrap, walked to the massage
table. He lay on the warm sheets with his head in the pillowing extension.
Using her thumbs, palms and elbows, Suzi pressed into the tension knots along
his shoulders. She tried to empty her mind but against her will, her thoughts
drifted to Calvin.

Maybe he was attracted to me and was uncomfortable about
it. Maybe that’s why he made an appointment with Ilona.

And maybe you’re just grasping at straws because you
haven’t had a boyfriend in this century.

“Suzi!”

Startled, she realized Brian had rolled onto his side and was
staring up at her. “Yes?”

“If I’d wanted to be beaten up, I would’ve booked an S and M
counselor.” Brian was grinning as he said it but Suzi felt her face grow hot.
She’d been pummeling the poor man, taking out her frustrations on the wrong
client.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’ll tone it down a little.”

“My deltoids thank you,” Brian joked, lying facedown.

She smoothed her hands over his shoulders, using a gentle
acupressure to relax the muscles. Suzi struggled to let the tranquil music calm
her jumbled feelings. But she couldn’t stop wondering what Ilona was doing with
Calvin.

* * * * *

Wrapping the towel tightly around his waist, Calvin took a
deep breath and walked out of the dressing area. Ilona, predatory and smug,
stood waiting by her massage table. She was hard, from her dyed hair to the
black liner rimming her eyes, and her welcoming smile was a parody of Suzi’s
genuine grin.

Suzi.
He hadn’t meant to hurt her and was amazed that
he could. But the confusion and pain in her eyes had been clear. This was crazy.
She made him feel like a cheating husband, but the only person he was cheating
on was his late wife. Even though Pam was gone, it felt wrong to have some of
the ideas he was having about Suzi. He should’ve turned down this assignment.

Booking Ilona for a massage was just part of his FBI job but
he couldn’t explain that to Suzi. The sooner he planted misinformation with
this club masseuse and traced the classified data leak, the sooner he could
wrap up this case. Maybe, when it was over, he would tell Suzi who he really
was.

“C’mon. Don’t be shy,” Ilona coaxed, thrusting out her chest
and quirking her finger in an effort to appear sexy. The attempt fell way short
of the mark.

Calvin moved forward and lay on the massage table with his
face in the doughnut extension. She began to stroke his shoulders, leaning over
his back so her chest brushed his skin. Calvin felt nothing but disgust. Her
fake fingernails, so long they curved slightly under, added to the
unpleasantness. He thought about Suzi’s massages, relaxing and wonderful, and
about their easy camaraderie.

“You are new to the club?” Ilona asked.

“This is my third visit,” he said. “I’ve gotten massages.”

“I think poor Suzi has a crush on you,” she said, the
malicious delight plain in her voice.

Calvin felt a burst of anger and started to defend Suzi.
Then he reconsidered. He was supposed to be gaining this woman’s trust,
encouraging her to ask him questions. The only thing important here was his
assignment.

“Boy, that feels good,” Calvin replied, ignoring Ilona’s
comment. “You wouldn’t believe how stressful my job is.”

She massaged her way down to his lower back before asking,
“Your club application says you work at the State Department?”

“Yes. We’re putting together a sensitive alliance between
two feuding countries. It’ll tip the world power scales in our direction,” he
bragged, hoping she’d take the bait. “All hush-hush, need-to-know stuff.”

“Oh you must be very important to the government.” Ilona
stroked his ego while she teased the tips of her scratchy nails under the waist
of his towel wrap. “Power makes me hot.”

Calvin shuddered, wondering how quickly he could spill the
details of this classified lie and still be credible. Ilona was minutes away
from suggesting he turn over for a happy ending. No way were those witchy hands
touching his cock. He might be FBI but there were some things he wouldn’t do
for his country.

* * * * *

Dom, on a break mid-shift and carrying Smokey in the tote
bag over her shoulder, rolled the lightweight surrey into the loading bay. She
spotted Benny immediately, the gentle giant a good half-foot taller than the
other men unloading a large shipment. As he turned from the truck docked by the
open bay, Benny saw her. Smiling, Domino waved and pointed to the surrey. He
hurried over to greet her.

“How’re you doin’?” Benny asked, his grin infectious.

“Just fine. I’m bringing back the surrey.”

“You didn’t have to.” He pushed the surrey next to a porn
movie set along the wall. “I woulda gotten it for you.”

“Well, this gave me and Smokey an excuse to visit.” She
slipped the tiny dog out of her tote.

“Smokey!” Benny’s delight at seeing the Chinese Crested was
touching. Dom resolved to keep Benny out of the arrests when the DEA raided the
club.

While Benny stroked his thick fingers with gentle care over
Smokey’s skin, Dom checked out the loading bay. At least five men were
unloading crates from the eighteen-wheeler backed up to the bay and others were
stacking the cargo with a forklift. It was close to midnight and the job looked
nowhere near done.

“That’s a big order,” Domino commented.

“Sex toys are big business,” Benny joked. “Most of the
crates are from China.” He gestured to the cartons, some stacked five high. Dom
took advantage of his distraction to set Smokey on the floor and give him the
sign to search. Keeping one eye on the little dog, she continued to chat up
Benny.

“Looks like it’s going to be a long night for you guys,” she
observed.

“Yeah, we’ll be here ’til dawn,” Benny said. “But night is
better for the trucks. You know, driving around D.C. and avoiding traffic
jams.”

She nodded, watching as Smokey slowly examined crate after
crate. Dom hoped like hell the tiny mutt wouldn’t end up under the wheels of a
forklift.

“Does the club really use this many sex toys?” Dom asked.
“The batteries alone must cost as much as our national debt.”

“Nah.” Benny laughed. “In a couple days, we’ll load a bunch
of these on another truck. That’s how it goes. We get a big shipment then send
some out.”

Smokey walked around a crate set to the left of the bay. The
wooden container looked similar to the others except for a long tear in the
shipping label on its side.

“So we share our toys with other clubs?” Dom fished.

“Don’t know. We send boxes to New York and sometimes L.A.,”
he said. “I’m just a mushroom.”

“A mushroom?” Dom could tell Benny was dying for her to ask
for an explanation.

“Yeah, they keep me in the dark and feed me shit.”

Benny exploded in laughter and Dom joined in. The
slow-witted man was so proud of his joke, his mirth was contagious. As she
wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, she glanced at Smokey. He raised his
paw in the signal she’d been awaiting.
Drugs.
The crate with the torn
paperwork contained an illegal substance bound, possibly, for the Cabazones.

“That’s a good one, Benny,” she said, as the man’s laughter
subsided into chuckles.

Domino committed to memory the location of the crate and the
condition of its shipping label. There was no way she could plant the tracking
device that evening with all the activity in the loading dock. So she resolved
to return the following night when the place wasn’t crawling with workmen.

“Well, I better get going.” She pointed to her watch. “My
break’s almost over. Here, Smokey.”

Dom gave the hand command for the dog to heel and the pooch
came running. Benny patted Smokey one last time and said goodnight. Carrying
the Chinese Crested in her tote again, Dom headed for the women’s locker room
to safely tuck away the tote before her next client arrived. When she got home,
she’d page Meyers and arrange a meeting. With a little luck and the force of
the DEA behind her, she was going to put Salvi and his cronies in jail for a
very long time.