Carte Blanche [Special Enforcers Series ] Read online

  Walking back to where Hugo and Howell were waiting for her, Grace slid the card in her short jacket's pocket. If she knew Hugo at all, he would send her home to her daughter and go hunt for information on his own that night. If she showed him the card and sent him to Carte Blanche, it would be a waste of his time along with a waste of an opportunity. The patrons there would never talk to someone who wasn't part of the scene.

  "The first time is always the hardest one,” Hugo said with a comforting pat to her shoulder when she reached him. “Ready to go?"

  "I'm fine,” she assured him, and she wasn't talking only about the death scene. “I'm ready."

  She slid her hand in her pocket and ran her thumb over the card. It had been years since she had walked the scene, and Carte Blanche was reputed to be one of the most select BDSM clubs on the east coast. She would have to be on her best game if she expected to get any sort of information. It would be a challenge, but she hadn't lied to Hugo. She truly felt ready.

  Chapter 2

  The shrill phone tone rang eleven times in Ray's ear before Keller picked up and practically growled in guise of greeting. The sound went straight to his groin even if his words were hardly what Ray would have hoped.

  "Childe. It's been eight years. Do you think someday you'll learn not to wake me before sunset?"

  Switching the phone to his right hand, Ray let the left one to drift down his chest until it was loosely curled around his hardening cock.

  "Maybe,” he said in a husky whisper, “you need to teach me better."

  He closed his eyes, summoning images of what that teaching might feel like, and tightened his fingers on his cock almost to the brink of pain, the way Keller liked to do when—

  "Stop."

  He froze, his body obeying before he even knew it.

  "Stop what?” he tried, but knew it was useless. Keller could always tell.

  "You know what, Childe, and playing this game does nothing to help your case right now."

  With a stifled groan, Ray opened his eyes and sat up. The king-size bed always felt too large when he was alone in it. He stood up and padded over to the desk where he had abandoned his cigarettes and matches earlier in the day. He found them easily despite the darkness of the room; being a vampire did have its advantages.

  "I couldn't know the sun hasn't set yet where you are,” he said, now sullen. “Where are you, anyway?"

  He had the time to strike a match, light a cigarette, and take a first deep, burning drag before the answer came, terse and warning him against pressing the issue.

  "Elsewhere."

  He hid a sigh in an exhalation of smoke. His hard on had flagged down while he waited for a reply, and that simple word—along with everything it left unsaid—wasn't going to change that.

  "Yes, Sire."

  Phone in one hand and cigarette in the other, he walked over to the light switch and flipped it on. The harsh halogen lights burst to life and blinded him for a second or two.

  "And you know I hate the smell of these damn cigarettes,” Keller added.

  Ray didn't wonder how he knew and looked around for an ashtray, locating one on the nightstand. However, the order he expected was never uttered. Instead, Keller asked, “Why did you call this time?"

  Crossing the room again to get to the dresser, he opened the last drawer and pulled out a pair of leather pants. He threw them onto the bed behind him and opened the drawer above that to look for a shirt, but gave up on his search to focus on the conversation.

  "You said I had to ask before going to Carte Blanche."

  He could practically hear the smirk in Keller's reply.

  "I said so, yes."

  He rolled his eyes, though in truth he had known his Sire wouldn't make things easy.

  "So?” he said, impatient. “Can I go?"

  "If you think that's an acceptable way to ask, then no, you can't."

  The words snapped with the same swift harshness as a whip. Barely aware of what he was doing, Ray took two steps toward the nightstand and crushed the barely smoked cigarette into the overfilled ashtray, and even though Keller couldn't see him, he stood straighter. If he hadn't needed to hold up the phone, he would have crossed his wrists at his back. The fact that he was alone didn't change that.

  "I'm sorry, Sire. What I meant was, may I have permission to go to Carte Blanche tonight?"

  "Is that all you want permission for?"

  Ray thought fast. The sweetness in that question hinted at a trap waiting for him just out of sight. Keller was always quite creative when torture was concerned, and he didn't need to be physically present to be at his best.

  "And ... and permission to enjoy myself?"

  "Define enjoy, Childe. And be thorough, because anything you don't mention is off the table for tonight."

  The slightest catch in his voice left no doubt in Ray's mind that Keller's hand was doing exactly what he himself had been forbidden earlier. It was grossly unfair, but it wasn't up to him to make the rules. Keeping his hand safely to one side, he lay back down on the bed and started his list. He didn't know what would happen at Carte Blanche, but he tried his best to imagine all possibilities. There were few things he didn't enjoy doing or having someone do to him, and it would have been a pity not to be able to play in some way just because he had forgotten to mention it.

  He was hard and aching again long before he was done. Keller eventually granted him permission for all of it, save for one thing. Ray couldn't touch himself until the next sunset. If he wanted relief, he would need to find someone to help him. Seeing what his plans were for the night, that might not be too difficult.

  Nevertheless, his frustration when he hung up the phone was no match for his annoyance at not knowing where Keller was. He had been gone for two nights now. Ray's skin seemed to crawl at times from missing his touch. Fingers, fangs, claws, flogger, whip: anything would have been better than this unexplained absence. He hoped he'd find what he needed at Carte Blanche.

  * * * *

  For the third time, Grace lost her grip on the braid when she reached the halfway point, and she watched her reflection in the mirror, annoyed, as strands fell away and came to frame her face.

  "Damn it."

  Nothing said she had to braid her hair to go out, but she wanted—she needed—to look her best. If she was to get any information, she needed to look the part.

  "Language, Gracie,” her mother, Caroline, chided her, entering the bathroom behind her. “Give me that brush."

  Knowing better than to argue, Grace handed her the hairbrush and stood still. In the mirror, she caught glimpses of fast moving hands and a wooden hairbrush, and the sight and feel of firm but gentle hands that never tugged too hard threatened to bring her back to her childhood. She didn't have time for a trip down memory lane, however, not when she was about to walk into the wolves’ den.

  "Is Laura in bed?” she asked, trying to distract herself.

  "Elastic."

  She handed Caroline the hair band, black so it would be inconspicuous against her hair, and took the brush back in exchange.

  "She's in bed. I wanted to read her a story, but she said you had to do it.” She patted the braid, then gave a nod to the mirror. “There. All pretty."

  She leaned forward to rest her temple against Grace's, her hands weighing gently on Grace's shoulders. Their reflections had rarely been more dissimilar. Grace's hair was dyed black, her lips shiny with bright red gloss to complement her carefully made up face, while Caroline's blonde strands were colored to hide gray, and fine wrinkles stood out more clearly at the corners of her eyes and mouth when she smiled. The shape of their faces and the deep green of their eyes, however, left no doubt that they were mother and daughter.

  "I'm glad you're finally getting on with your life,” Caroline said, very serious as she kept her eyes on Grace's reflection. “You deserve a good man, who'll make you happy."

  Grace rolled her eyes. Once again, she was finding herself losing years in the famil
iar situation, until she felt like a teenager embarrassed by an awkward talk on her prom night. She was hardly going to a prom, though, and she couldn't afford to slide into a teenager's mindset now. “Mom, I told you, this is work. And I don't need a man to be happy."

  Caroline let out a small sound that might have been a snort—if she hadn't thought that such sounds were unladylike.

  "But of course, darling. You made up your hair, your eyes, your lips—that color is too bright, by the way—and you put on a lovely, if a bit too short, dress and shoes I'd break my ankles wearing: all of that to go hunt vampires."

  Unconsciously smoothing her hands down her hips, Grace tried not to sigh. She had hoped she wouldn't need to explain what she was doing exactly. She didn't want to worry her mother, but she also didn't want to let her believe she was dating when it was the furthest thing from her mind.

  "I'm ... doing something like ... undercover work,” she said slowly, and immediately added when her mother's eyes took a worried look: “I'll be fine, really. It's not dangerous in the slightest."

  If I can pull it off, she finished mentally, it won't be.

  "Will your boss be there?” Caroline asked after giving a small nod.

  They walked out of the bathroom, Grace chuckling slightly. “No, he definitely won't be. He'd get a heart attack if he went there.” At her mother's raised eyebrow, she explained, quieter now and very much aware that Laura's door, just down the hallway, was open, “I'm going to a BDSM club."

  Caroline's eyebrows only climbed higher on her forehead. Her grin was positively devious, which wasn't an expression Grace was used to seeing on her mother's face.

  "Are you certain,” Caroline insisted, “that this is work?"

  Grace smiled. “It is work. But it's also a pretty nice coincidence. You're sure you're OK—"

  "Gracie, I told you that if you went back to being a S.E., I'd help in any way I can. That includes babysitting my beautiful granddaughter. Now, go read her a nice story, and be on your way."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  She pressed a kiss to Caroline's cheek and walked to Laura's room. The ten-year-old was sitting in bed, a book propped on her stomach. Her eyes widened a little when she looked at Grace.

  "Mom! You're so pretty!"

  Beaming, Grace sat down on the edge of the bed. She pushed away dark blond strands to kiss her daughter's forehead “Thank you, honey. So where did we stop last night?"

  "When Lyra fell asleep on Ma Costa's boat. Remember?"

  "I do. You start."

  Laura's voice rose, soft and sometimes hesitant. Grace stroked her hair lightly and let her decipher the story for a few minutes, only helping on the hardest words. Then it was her turn. Laura lay down, her eyes already half closed, and listened intently. Grace's foot swung in the air as she read, but she kept the impatience out of her voice. She couldn't wait to go to the club and see what she could find out there, but this was her special time with Laura, and the rest of the world would have to wait a little longer.

  * * * *

  The owners of Carte Blanche could have accepted more applications for membership and doubled the number of players present in the club every night. They could have easily doubled their profits, by Ray's estimations. He had had the opportunity to talk to one of them outside the scene, however, and she had made it clear that she and her partner weren't in it for the money. They wanted to run a high-quality, exclusive BDSM club where they could enjoy themselves as much as their customers did—and they did just that. Or at least, they usually did. Right now, they seemed tied up at the entrance, talking in urgent tones to a woman and blocking her path.

  "...not your card. This is a private club."

  Music was playing, drifting into the bar area from the dancing one where it played louder. The club was divided into clearly separate zones, but the open plan let the music travel as easily as the players between them. The slow rhythm of the drums beat like a heart throughout the club, the wordless harmonies on top of it sensuous and penetrating.

  "Membership cannot be passed on like this."

  "No, but members can transfer their card to guests for a night, can't they? It's in your statutes. I want to sample the experience before I apply for membership."

  Ray's thumb was tapping on his glass along with the drums, but he wasn't really aware of the music or anything happening in the seating area around him. He was focused on what was going on by the entrance, intrigued by the unusual occurrence. He had thought he knew all the players in town at least by sight, but he had clearly been mistaken. He wouldn't have forgotten this gorgeous woman if he had seen her before. Then again, from what he was catching of her discussion with the owners, it would be her first visit once they let her in. And they would, he was sure of it. It was a red card she was presenting, and she had the attitude to match it. As much as the club tried to maintain a balance amongst the players, dominant women were too rare to send away.

  "You have no idea what this establishment—"

  "Please, do not insult me. Just because you have not seen me on the scene in this town doesn't mean I'm a beginner."

  Oh, no, she definitely wasn't a beginner, Ray thought, grinning to himself. No beginner had a presence such as this woman's. Even from where he stood, maybe thirty yards from her, Ray could feel it. He couldn't have defined it, couldn't have explained it to someone who wasn't part of the scene, but there was something about her that told anyone who cared to listen that she expected to be obeyed without questions. Something that made him want to obey—and that seemed to make up the owner's mind about her

  "You know about the cards?"

  "I do, but why don't you refresh my memory."

  "Dominants wear red cards. Submissives wear blue. Switches have both colors on their cards, the one at the top is what you need to look at. You know how to reveal the list ... yes? Good. By law, I have to tell you there may be vampires on the premises, and they are not required to identify themselves as such to you. There is no biting allowed in the common areas, and mild play only. For anything more, you are welcome to use the private rooms."

  The woman nodded and was finally allowed to enter. Ray watched her descend the short staircase that led from the entrance to the ground floor. She took slow steps, a hand resting on the railing, surveying the club. As most women did, she had clipped the club card to the hem of her short black dress so that it bounced a little above her knee with each step. She was holding a small, black clutch purse in her right hand, its closures golden like the loose bracelets at her wrists and her dangling earrings. She walked over to the bar and sat up on a stool, her long, perfect legs crossed and showing off her gleaming high-heeled shoes. Ray's cock stirred, making his decision for him.

  "If you ladies will excuse me..."

  The two women perched on each side of him on identical leather poofs looked at him askance when he stood. Using his free hand, he unhooked the card hanging from his belt red side up, and flipped it over. The woman on his right, Lea, if he wasn't mistaken, sighed dramatically.

  "But Ray, you promised we'd play! Didn't you say your Master was out of town?"

  Moments earlier, she would have called him ‘sir’ and never dared to question him like this—not unless she was seeking punishment. He was now showing blue, however, same as she was, and the tenuous link between them had been broken.

  "He is,” he replied with a placating smile. “And we'll play another time. Good night."

  He finished what was left of his drink on his way to the bar, Lea and her friend already slipping out of his mind. He leaned against the counter a few feet from the woman he had been observing and ordered a refill before turning his eyes toward her. From up close, her tanned skin seemed golden. The tight braid that held her hair back accentuated the clean lines of her face. Ray's fingers were practically itching for a pencil and a piece of paper to transcribe what he was seeing: light, darkness, beauty—and a fire that made her eyes burn right through him.

  "I don't think I like the
way you're looking at me,” she said, her voice and slight frown making it clear that she was displeased.

  "Well, how should I be looking at you, Mistress?” he asked, tilting his head and letting his gaze run from the pointed tip of her shoe, up her leg, over the plunging v-line of her dress, and finally back up to her eyes, which were now glaring at him.

  "I don't think I like the way you're talking to me, either. You call me Mistress, but you're not showing in any way that you know what this word means."

  She was responding exactly in the way Ray had expected she would—exactly like Keller would have, confronted to such blatant insolence—and he had some trouble hiding his grin. So far, she seemed to be what he hadn't dared hope to find when coming to the club this night. He picked up his scotch refill and emptied it in one long gulp, only now noticing that she had been sipping on fruit juice. He liked that; good players didn't need alcohol to get into the scene.

  The thought amused him, right when he had just swallowed another drink, but he still didn't let himself smile. Instead, he slid to his knees in front of the Mistress he had chosen for himself, making the movement as graceful as he could manage. Hands crossed at the small of his back, he bowed his head and controlled his voice carefully so that it reflected nothing more than pure obedience.

  "I spoke out of turn, Mistress. I am ready for the punishment I deserve."

  She could refuse, of course, but he didn't think she would. On her first visit to Carte Blanche, it was more likely that she would want to establish herself as a strong Dominant. In the frame of mind Ray was currently in, he would be more than happy to help her in that regard.

  Chapter 3

  All Grace had wanted, when coming to Carte Blanche, had been to investigate Dorothy's MacAlair's death, get a feel for the kind of person she had been to invite vampires in her home, and see if she could identify which vampires they had been.

  She had not wanted, or even expected, that a submissive—a switch according to the card hanging from his belt, but the blue side was up and submissive was what he wanted her to see in him—would push her into playing a scene with him. She could say no, of course. No rule demanded that she punish him for being insolent in his words and actions. No rule, and yet...