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Wednesday, July 30th
Mase walked into Club 3, stalked straight through to the office, not stopping until he was in the middle of the room. His stride was stiff, reflecting the deep anger that drove him.
Trace looked up from his computer in surprise. Then he rose, his face intent. “Mase. What is it, man? What’s happened?”
Footsteps thudded on the floor outside, and Jake jogged into the room.
“Mase?” he asked. “Got your message. What’s up?”
Mase held up his phone in one hand, turning to face them each in turn. “Tell you what’s wrong,” he grated, forcing his voice out through his throat, which was so tight he could hardly speak. Each word hurt. “I was on my way down here, sittin’ in traffic when these came in on my phone. Pictures. Someone took pictures.”
“Pictures,” Jake repeated. He moved a step closer, hands up. “Okay, buddy. You wanna show us what you’re talkin’ about?”
Mase waved the phone like a sword, stopping when his anger overtook him again.
Trace eased the phone from his hand. “I got it. Can I look?”
Mase nodded. For a moment the room was silent as Jake moved in to look over Trace’s shoulder.
“Fucking hell,” Jake swore.
“Goddamn it.” Trace’s handsome face was livid. “These were taken here.”
“S’right,” Mase said. “Right here at the exclusive and private Club 3.”
“Fuck, no,” Jake said. “We have a spy?”
Trace looked up. “I wanna know who took these. I will crucify them.”
“You’ll have to get there before I do,” Jake said.
Mase stood, head down, hands on his hips, trying to contain his anger, his sense of betrayal.
“So what else?” Trace asked him. “Did you receive a threat of any kind with them?”
“And while we’re dealing with this, you want a drink?” Jake was already striding toward the sideboard.
Mase nodded. “Could use one.” He moved slowly to one of the comfortable leather chairs that faced the big desk, and lowered himself into it. Lifting his hands, he scrubbed his face, and then sat, watching blankly as Jake pulled out a bottle of whiskey and three shot glasses.
“I see there’s a message here,” Trace noted. “Mind if I read it?”
Mase gestured to go ahead.
Trace read aloud. “‘I’m watching you, hero.’”
Trace and Jake exchanged a grim look. “If they’re calling you that, they know who you are, what you do.”
Jake gave him a crooked grin along with his drink. “It’s a great picture, anyhow. Shows just how big your dick is.”
“And gotta say, I may have Sara wear red lipstick next time she sucks me off,” Trace added. “Whoever that sub was, she looks hot as hell. The blindfold covers her identity pretty well. I think it’s Suzy, but doubt anyone else would know her.”
Mase raised his glass in acknowledgement. “Nice shot of the crowd in the background, too, don’tcha think? Especially Twila’s bare ass in those chaps of hers.”
Trace grimaced. “She ever finds out about this, we’re gonna have to cuff her to keep her from doing murder one.”
Mase sighed. “We gotta tell her.”
“You’re right. Wait, though,” Trace said. “I want to know about the repercussions for you, man. Could this get you in trouble at work?”
Mase held out his glass for a refill. “You could say that,” he said dryly. “This slime ball sends this to River Ridge PD, I go from being the department poster boy to a red-hot liability.”
“Hey,” Jake protested as he poured. “There’s plenty of cops and military personnel who belong to fetish clubs.”
Mase nodded, grimacing as the whiskey burned a path down his gullet. “Yeah, but I doubt many of them work for small-town PDs. The Ridge is fuckin’ Mayberry, guys. At least so they like to think. And even if my union rep could help me keep my job, shit like this would never stay private. Nothing does in a police department. I’d be gettin’ funny looks from everyone in town, and half of the citizens wouldn’t want me showing up on calls.”
“That’s bad shit,” Trace agreed. “Public perception is fickle as hell.”
“Well, it’s not gonna come to that,” Jake promised. “We’re gonna find out who this is, and we’re gonna nail their dick to the wall—before they send these anywhere.”
Trace sipped his whiskey. “Just to say, whoever this is may not have a dick.”
Jake’s brows flew up. “Thought all the ladies love Mase.”
Trace shrugged. “They do, but we all know fetish clubs attract folks who are ... intense, with jealousies and crushes. Our interviews and background checks might keep out known felons and obvious weirdoes, but we can’t screen for a working conscience.”
“True,” Jake agreed. “You get an address from whoever sent it?”
Mase shook his head. “They were smart enough to use a cheap pay-per-call phone. You can make up a new email address on those, then dump it. Takes a good hacker to follow it back to the person. This isn’t department shit, so I don’t have those resources.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Trace promised. “We’ll watch our people, get Dack and Twila and a few others in on this, we’ll parse out who’s jumpy, who’s focused on Mase.” He set his glass down. “And then, we’ll get them.”
Mase nodded to show he appreciated this, but he just hoped they were right.
As much as he’d grown tired of facets of his job lately, and even thought about tossing in his badge ... he wanted to be the one to choose. Not some faceless tormentor.
“There’s one woman here who doesn’t love me,” he said. “Syntha. Don’t forget I had her put on probation.”
“We’ll check into her, don’t you worry,” Trace promised. “But until we know who this is, you might want to keep your scenes to a more private area. Off the main floor, you know? Somewhere we can keep all but a few out.”
“Not a problem,” Mase assured him. “As long as you keep Syntha away from the area. My money’s on her.”
“Oh, don’t worry, we’ll keep an extra close eye on the monitors,” Trace agreed. “Watch for phones, flashes of light, odd hand gestures ... anything.”
“One thing,” Jake said, his face serious as a judge. “When we find this person, Mase, you cannot go off on ‘em by yourself. We need to keep you safe, keep you on the right side of the law. And believe me, I understand the temptation. Watched guys in the military lose it and fight over infidelity, cheating at cards, even guys they thought left their asses hangin’ there on maneuvers. Most ended up in the brig, some stripped of their stars and bars. That’s not happening to you, not on our watch. Gonna have to hold Dack back too, when he hears about this.”
Mase drained his glass and saluted both of them. “I’ll do my best to refrain from bodily harm,” he promised. “Although, I’m makin’ no promises. Hate to end up a liar as well as a letch.”
“Well,” Trace said gravely. “You need a new career, there’s always porn films. Since you love an audience and all.”
“Thanks,” Mase said. “That makes it all better.”
But he managed a smile for his friends, who were here for him no matter what.