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    He'd covered her head with a hood at the time of the abduction, then added the collar after he shoved her into the back of the rented Chevy. She'd been in the playroom with Sir Guy for nearly an hour and was like formless putty when the master left her on the cross to fetch her a drink of water. All he had to do was release the clips, gather her into his arms, and carry her out the back door.

    No one saw them leave, and by the time she noticed something was wrong, she was in the car, bound, gagged and weaving through traffic.

    She must have still been numb when he carried her from the car into the barn and up to the second floor loft into the room that would become her home. The tethers that roped her ankles and wrists remained when he set her on the floor beneath the spotlight. He'd chosen thick, scratchy hemp because he liked the look, just as he liked the look of a kneeling woman. If he entertained any notion that Kat Bloom was a ready, willing submissive, then he'd be a fool. That would take time. A challenge? Yes. Doable? About this, he had no doubt. He'd accomplished the feat before.

    "Let you go…not until I'm finished with you."

    "You can't be doing this…it's about my father, isn't it? You want his money…a ransom… that's it—"

    He cut her off. "That would be easy for you, wouldn't it? Sadly, my dear, it's not about money. I have all that I could ever want and need and possibly spend. This is all about you…you and me."

    He crouched down on one knee and gently cupped her face in his hand, feeling the moisture from her tears leaking out from under the blindfold. He tenderly wiped it away with his thumb, and for just a moment could feel her being relent, as if her body wanted to surrender to his scheme.

She'd been drunk – almost literally – downing three stiff ones before she even entered the X-Club that night. This wasn't normal. She normally didn't drink before she partied on pain. Not that the two were exclusive of one another, but she usually figured that even sober, she could get enough endorphins flowing to give her a lasting high without the complications of alcohol.

Now her stomach had soured, probably as much from fear as the gin.

And her captor's hand on her cheek only confused her fuzzy mind even more.

    He didn't want money, he wanted her…was that really true? Talking as if she'd been set up for months…who was he?

    The queasy feeling in her stomach grew. He'd stalked her, chosen her from dozens of other likely subs, for what?

    "You will let me go."

    "No, Kat," he said. She could mentally see him shaking his head, "You belong to me now."

    She turned her face away from the gently fondling hand and prayed.

S
CENE
T
HREE

Alain Danvers moved brusquely into the X-Club, letting his eyes survey the dimly lit S&M lounge, while feeling a familiar titter of excitement and revulsion surface. He couldn't remember when he'd last been in a place like this and he wasn't too happy about being there now. Too many past associations. An air of darkness seemed appropriate for the nasty activities of a club like this; the ambiance of chains, the smell of leather and burning incense, and heavy metal music with a good strong beat. His flogging arm reflexively began to twitch, but his quick perusal of the club was dampened by the lack of anonymity his official looking presence produced. He'd managed to climb back into yesterday's suit and had tossed on his tan raincoat to fend off the cold drizzle and late night winds. He stood inside the X-Club posing a stark contrast to the present clientele.

    The place was crawling with curious subs and Doms and switches, most dressed in some rendition of fetish attire. He could well imagine that the mood of the night had been broken by the girl's disappearance. Everyone seemed to be milling about now with little to do, waiting – perhaps waiting for his arrival as the next chapter of this drama unfolded before their eyes.

    Seeing neither Meredith nor Ana he turned toward the nearest observing female – obviously a Domme, who took a moment to scrutinize him as if she were inspecting her next victim.

    "I'm looking for Ana Argentine—" he stated calmly with an official ring to his voice.

    "Right here, Alain!" Ana's deliciously rasping voice suddenly called to him from the far side of the room.

    He nodded to the female, who hadn't bothered to respond, and strode to Ana's side, fending off the woman's customary and affectionate hug. Every eye in the place sought them out, while for a moment the tableau of kinky characters froze with their eyes glued to the scene between the police captain and the Grand Dame of their private dungeon.

    To avoid their further scrutiny, Ana waved off her minions, and the two moved directly into Ana's office, which was tucked behind a Japanese screen – a half office, half boudoir, furnished with the gaudy elegance required by Ana Argentine's over-the-top persona. Lots of gold, black, splashes of red and vibrant scarves, definitely Oriental in style, except for her collection of vintage and modern whips displayed on the entire length of one wall.

    "Sorry about that," she purred, "everything is a mess here. We're all in a fit about poor Kat. She'd been a regular here for months, and suddenly poof! She's gone." Even the normally serene Ana looked rattled.

    "How do you mean gone? Isn't it possible that she just went home?"

    Ana sighed, moving to her chaise while grabbing a sifter of brandy from the nearby table. "You care to join me?" she said, lifting the glass.

    "No, thanks. I'd really like to get the facts together so that we can all go home."

    "I don't think anyone's racing to the door just yet," she laughed.

    "But your customers will stay here. I'll need to speak with them all before they are free to go."

    "Of course. They'll do whatever they can. Kat was very well-liked. This is all like a bad nightmare, isn't it?"

    "And you're sure that she just didn't decide to leave for the night?"

    "She was on the cross, Alain," Ana said, after taking a generous sip of her drink, "taking a hard scene from Sir Guy. After he finished, he let her drift for awhile, and went for something to drink. The room was closed, and other than Kat, was empty. When Guy returned, not more than two minutes later, she was gone. The back door – which is normally locked – was wide open. It would have been easy for a kidnapper to escape into the hall and run out the rear door with no one seeing. At the time, there was a suspension demonstration going on in the main room."

    "Could she have left on her own?" Alain wondered.

    "Not when she was still bound, you should know that much."

    "Right." He pursed his lips, thinking. "And you say this Kat Bloom is…who?"

    "Sally Proctor," she practically whispered the name as if even the sound of it was verboten, "daughter of Loren and Liddy Proctor."

    "Oh, my…" He remembered the uproar in the gossip sheets for weeks when the girl disappeared, only to find that she'd taken off on her own after a private war with daddy. She was nearly front page news until another breaking scandal took the public's attention. For all anyone knew, Sally Proctor faded back into the obscurity of her rebellion. Alain would only have known about the incident because events in the life of Liddy Emmett Proctor occasionally drew his attention. He'd dated her in college – but she was far too manipulative for his taste even though she was a remarkable lover.

    "So, your little
clique
here knows her background?"

    "You don't need to sound so derisive, Alain."

    "Sorry. Didn't mean to be."

    "Kat's parents were certainly no secret to anyone. But I don't think she talked about her family much. She was happy to be free of them. When she finally cut those rubber apron strings and declared she was never going back, she was serious. She wanted nothing more to do with them or their money, and legally changed her name." She sighed again, after another gulp of brandy, heavy thoughts weighing her down. "You know her disappearance is going to hit the papers…everyone's going to know about my dungeon…and I'm…"

    "More than a little worried?"

    She was. But as usual, Ana put on a good face. "I'm not looking for another round of attacks on my moral character, but I've lived through it before. And I can handle a little press if I have to. I run a tight ship here. You know that. I have all the disclaimers, disclosures and signed waivers on file. I keep records, I pay my taxes, and there's nothing illicit going on, no drugs, no prostitution. You ought to know that, I've been raided enough times."

    "And thanks to me that stopped."

    She nodded, but she was hardly pleased; it was an old wound that still festered given the right provocation.

    "So, we can look at a possible ransom," Alain surmised.

    "Very likely. Or…" Ana's face darkened, her worry lines thickening. She was still beautiful but stress aged her fast.

    "Or what?"

    "I don't know…I have this strange vibe…I haven't felt it in years. It's almost like I'm back eight years ago…when Natalie was taken from me."

    "You're thinking Perry Livingston?"

    She smiled. "You always did know my mind."

    "More than I wanted to, Ana." He smiled, but his brief amusement faded. "We all thought Perry had disappeared for good."

    "Yes, I thought he was gone for good, too…" she evasively retorted. "Funny, how easily men can screw up a good thing. Just can't seem to keep their dicks under control."

    "Ana, don't dismiss my questions with your mistress crap. A girl is missing; you think it might be Perry Livingston's handiwork. Why would that be?"

    "Because, I heard from Natalie six months ago," she blurted out through thinly disguised anger.

    "Did you now?"

    "He freed her."

    His eyebrows furrowed in disbelief.

    "I saw her, Alain. Sure, she'd aged some, but it was definitely Natalie, as beautiful as ever, and so calm, so self-assured."

    "She never lacked for that. Did she know where Perry was?"

    Ana's longing for her former sub seemed as fresh now as the day Natalie disappeared. Now it was just an unrequited dream.

    "No. And I pressed her hard on that. The man did me a great deal of harm. But she absolutely refused to give him up. She wouldn't even talk about her captivity. I wanted the explanations I'd waited eight years to finally hear, but I got nothing. Nothing," she bitterly repeated. "For all I know she'd been to Club Med for perverts the last eight years, and was now born again vanilla. She has a great job at a Baltimore advertising firm, an apartment, friends and no interest in turning back the pages, resuming our former relationship. She didn't say one word about Perry Livingston or where she was being held. It was almost as if she were deliberately keeping the man secrets, just in case he came back and abducted her again."

    "So why do you suppose she contacted you?"

    "Hum," she mused, "I imagine she still has some affection toward me, and letting me know she was all right was the right thing to do. But that is
all
that she intended to communicate. I'm not sure how she managed to slip through Perry's fingers, but I'm glad she did, not that he is necessarily suffering because of it. And now…Kat suddenly gone? The circumstances are very different, but the feeling is strangely the same." Her eyes moistened.

    It wasn't that Alain was not a feeling sort of man, he was. But tenderness and compassion were not easy for him to convey, especially when he was on a case and the case came first.

    "I'll need to see the room, Ana," he finally prompted her.

    She seemed relieved to be quitting her emotions. "Yes, certainly. I'll show you the way." She moved off the chaise and the two turned toward the door, seeing – much to their surprise – Meredith Shaw standing right where they needed to go.

    "Ms. Shaw!" Alain exclaimed, while taking a moment to appraise the lovely young woman who seemed so out of place in this setting. "You've been listening in?"

    "No, sir, not really, I mean, I was only here so that I might help…" again she stumbled over her words, a regular habit for the timid young woman. She now looked quite contrite, in a vulnerable female sort of way, being obviously embarrassed to find herself in this situation, facing her boss, while dressed in the clothes of a lifestyle submissive – leather skirt, lacy black stockings, spike heels, and the complimentary black leather collar and cuffs. Her chest was fully covered by a black leather bomber jacket, an attempt at modesty, Alain had to assume, given the compromising circumstances that brought the two together in this unlikely place. While Alain would have loved to have seen the treasure beneath that jacket, his professionalism required he ignore his physical response to the brunette beauty. The Meredith Shaw that worked in Detective Danvers unit normally gathered her unruly sable brown hair into a ponytail, and wore just a bit of blush on her cheeks, pale lipstick, and nothing to enhance the intensely smoky quality of her dark eyes. That particular Meredith Shaw exhibited none of the sophisticated trappings that she so evocatively displayed now. Although, neither version of this intriguing female was able to hide her withering, innately submissive, highly self-conscious personality; the one that stumbled over simple sentences, blushed at the very least provocation and looked as though she was about to cry if reprimanded.