50

Talia Devine's POV

Twin Cities, Minnesota

Saturday, October 9, 2021

I pulled into the mostly empty park-and-ride lot in Bloomington just after six, looking for the white panel van. I found it near the back with its engine running, and pulled my Ford Edge into the adjacent spot on the driver's side. Colleen Newberry was trying to talk, so I ran the passenger window down. "Turn it off and get out," she said. "Bring the papers, leave your phone and key, then go to the back of my van."

"How will I get back in?"

"Your car has a combo code, right?" It did. I raised the window, turned the car off, dropped my phone and key in the center console, and got out. The sun was low in the sky, maybe a half hour from sunset. I was a little uncomfortable wearing this revealing black cocktail dress with these heels. They were a seldom-used pair of 'come fuck me' pumps in black with four-inch heels I hadn't worn since college.

Tonight's attire was far from my work dress as a homicide detective. Since my instructions said no underwear, I felt even more vulnerable with the short skirt. I pulled it down over my ass as I stood up. The dress had thin straps over the shoulders, a plunging neckline exposing my minimal cleavage, and dipped to just above my ass in the back. It was impossible to wear a bra, and I couldn't bend over without exposing my pussy to the world.

I looked like a hooker and felt like a slut. Still, I was horny and hot with anticipation of tonight's events. I could feel moisture dripping down my thighs as I walked behind my car. My body was hypersensitive, and I shuddered as the cool evening breeze licked at my exposed body. I handed Colleen the papers she'd demanded; a recent STD test, proof I was on birth control, and the filled-out non-disclosure agreement and agreement to Society rules. As directed, these only lacked the signatures that she would witness. I stood by the back doors of the delivery van as Colleen patted me down, then ran a device over my body. "It's not that we don't trust you, but you ARE a cop," she said.

"I'm looking for a killer," I said. "The rest of your operation is legal, provided it remains consensual."

She nodded. "Are you ready to sign the forms so we can get out of here?"

"I have a few questions," I said. I'd looked it over after our last meeting. Draconian wasn't the word. A limited power of attorney would allow them to take over my finances if the Society board determined I'd violated the terms of secrecy. They could drain accounts, sell property, and attach future earnings until I'd paid the two-hundred-thousand-dollar penalty. "How is the amount determined?"

"We set it based on your net worth. For some members, that amount is nothing. We need to make it so large that it will ruin you if you break the agreement."

If it got David cleared, maybe it would be worth it? Two hundred thousand wasn't as big a deal for him. "What if I don't know whether I can release information?"

"Put it in writing to the board, and you'll get an answer. We don't want killers or abusers in our midst either, Talia. Safe, sane, and consensual."

She handed me a pen and set the agreement on the back of the van. My mind wanted to experience a Society party and see if Michael Klinesmith was a member. My gut had a bad feeling about signing my life away. "What happens after I sign?"

"I blindfold you and put you in the van with the food I picked up from the caterer. You'll help the other subs set up for the party, which starts at eight. We like to put the new girls at the entrance. That way, everyone gets a chance to meet them. You'll be working the welcome station by the door."

"Greeting people and taking their coats?"

She laughed. "No, you'll be the complimentary cock cleaner and cunt prepper. You'll kneel naked on a pillow to offer oral sex to all the Dominants who arrive. You're like a handwashing station for cocks and pussies before they enter the sexual buffet in the other rooms. It's a great icebreaker and a chance to showcase your body and talents. Most will give you a taste, and many will allow a new party favor to give them their first orgasm of the night."

My insides clenched at the thought. "How many guests are we talking about?"

"Fifty to a hundred dominants arriving during the evening, plus any subs they let use you as time allows," she replied. "You're going to look like a glazed donut by the time the auction starts. The first ones to make them cum get the biggest loads of the night. I felt like the dirtiest little slut ever by the end of my first night. It was magical."

My pussy clenched hard as I imagined it, and I nearly came at the thought of being used like that in front of strangers. Oh, god! Could I do this? Did I want this? I trusted David, but could I trust them? Was I willing to be a bukkake queen for the chance of finding a killer?

There had to be a better way.

Then I thought of David and the relationship I thought I had with him. What would he think of me doing this? Would he appreciate my drive to find the killer, or would he think I was a skank and a whore? What about my job? My reputation? If this ever got out, I'd never be a cop again.

My hand was shaking as I held the pen over the paper, unable to commit. I heard my cell phone ringing inside my car and set the pen down. The ringtone told me work was calling. "Just a minute," I said. I walked back to my car and answered the call from my partner just before it went to message. "Devine," I said.

"We got him, kid," James Maloney said in his Irish brogue.

"The serial killer?"

"Yeah. It was Michael Klinesmith all along."

My head was spinning; I'd hoped to find Michael at the party. Good thing I didn't sign! "How did we catch him?"

"He committed suicide. He jumped from his tenth-floor balcony at three-thirty this afternoon. When we entered his condo, we found a suicide note confessing to the Allison Decker killing. On top of the note were three pieces of jewelry. The ring from Doctor Ibanez was engraved, so it's a direct link. The other two are off for DNA analyses, but we're confident they are from the first two murders."

Holy shit. "Klinesmith killed four people."

"I know. I couldn't imagine it from that guy, but you can never tell what is deep inside them," he said.

"Were we closing in on him? Why would he kill himself now?"

"His note didn't say. We did find the divorce papers his wife served him yesterday, and Minneapolis leaked that the Decker killing might be linked. They were confident they'd find something on the traffic cameras, and it was his first murder. It wasn't well planned like the ones he based on the book, and he probably made mistakes. He may have figured we'd be coming and took the coward's way out."

"Damn," I said. "This case went nowhere I expected."

"You were right about a lot of things, Talia. You made the tie to the Decker case and broke things open." I heard some other people in the background. "A bunch of us are heading to Alary's to celebrate. You should stop by." Alary's was a cop and sports bar on Seventh Street near downtown.

"I'm still suspended, James!"

"You can't flash a badge, but you're still one of us, Talia. This shit will blow over. The Captain verified that David was only there fifteen minutes and that you didn't invite him. IAD won't find anything about you compromising the case because David Hardin is the only witness, and he'll tell them to fuck off. He was a cop, you know."

"David's still mad at me about the trackers," I said.

"Not your fault. The Captain and I kept that from you. How can we bust your chops for talking about the case when we sent you to Duluth with him to get information? Keep your mouth shut, and there won't be enough evidence for a disciplinary board. You'll be back in the office in a couple of weeks with your back pay and a clean record."

"I hope you're right. I like my job."

"And you're a damn good detective, partner. I'll save you a spot at the table."

"Thanks, James. You saved me from making a big mistake tonight." And how. I hung up, setting the phone on the dashboard. "I have to go, Colleen," I said as I grabbed my papers back. "This was a mistake."

"Michael Klinesmith was the serial killer?" She looked shaken.

"Looks that way, but I can't talk about the case. Please thank Mistress Tatiana for her help."

She nodded and got into the vehicle, driving away without me. I started the car and sat there, shaking. I'd come so close to losing everything for NOTHING! If I'd signed that form and gotten into the van, I wouldn't know until morning the case was already over. Nobody at these events had phones, and nobody would know.

I reached back for the spare clothes in a bag behind the passenger seat. I pulled out jeans, underwear, a T-shirt, and a Minnesota Wild Kaprisov jersey. I moved the driver's seat back to make it easier to change, smirking as I thought about how cheap Lars Anderson jerseys would be now.

I put on cross-trainers and socks, then put the daring dress and shoes into the bag where they belonged. Driving back across the river to St. Paul, I thought about my life and what I wanted. Once Tracy Hardin's murder file was closed, nothing prevented me from being with David again. If that relationship progressed, I could transfer up there on a lateral. The pay would be a little less, but the benefits could be outstanding.

I walked into the bar and heard my name called out. It felt good to solve a case. I'd enjoy that feeling with my fellow detectives and a few beers tonight.

And buffalo wings.

Chapter 47

Thomas Brickline's POV

Undisclosed Location

Saturday, October 9, 2021

I was in the room directly above the front door with the laptop and camera controls when Colleen Newberry walked in alone. She looked up at the camera installed in the entryway and made a slicing motion with her hand across her throat.

Shit.

I shut down my laptop and packed it in a leather carry bag. I hurried to the grand staircase and down to the mahogany-paneled foyer. Colleen had already stripped nude and was wearing Mistress Tatiana's collar. She knelt in front of me as I approached, keeping her eyes down and legs together since I didn't hold her collar. "Where is Detective Devine?"

"She backed out at the last second, Master," Colleen said. "It's why she backed out that is more important."

"What?"

"She said Michael Klinesmith killed FOUR people before committing suicide, sir. It sounded like she was talking to another detective."

"Jesus." I looked around the room. "Has the story hit the press yet?"

"Yes, sir. I heard the news of his suicide on the drive here. He was referred to as 'a suspect in the murder of Tracy Hardin,' currently estranged from his wife."

"No shit. Laura served Michael with divorce papers yesterday." I wouldn't accomplish anything here, and my daughter would need me. I'd planned to be there for her when she found out her husband was dead, but I needed to tie up the Devine angle too. I could blame my late return on having to turn around on my drive to Chicago, but I didn't need to stick around anymore. " Grab the cameras."

"Yes, Master Brickline." We'd hidden four; one above the entry door, one in a plant, and one on each wall. If that nosy bitch had shown up, I'd have multiple views of her taking cock after cock as blackmail. Now? I had friends in the Saint Paul Police, and she was under investigation. It wouldn't take much to force her out if she kept causing problems. "Do you think Talia Devine will go back to your Mistress?"

"She's a hot little slut," Colleen said. "It may take a while, but she'll end up in the dungeon again."

I left her to the preparations, stopping to see our hostess and apologizing for not staying around. "Family emergency," I told her. I walked to my truck and drove away.

I'd have to speak with Tatiana about Talia. I'd love to get a chance to play with her while hiding my true identity. There's nothing like the power of turning a respected woman like Tracy Hardin into your cock slut. They had power and authority in public life, but I held all the power in the dungeon.

And nothing is like the look in their eyes when they realize they aren't going to survive this. They struggle and beg for mercy, but their desperation makes me enjoy the moment more.

In the end, Tracy Hardin's moral compass got her killed. She couldn't let go of Allison Decker's death and accused me of ignoring her safe words. She wanted to file charges with the Board, and I couldn't allow that.

Michael quietly arranged to meet her for a session at her place while Lars was on his road trip. Although engaged to Lars, she continued her bondage nights with her boss, former lover, and whip Master. After securing her in place and placing the ball gag in her mouth, Michael tried to reason with her. He warned about the damage her pursuit of a complaint would do to him, his family, and the Society. Michael even offered her hush money and advancement. Nothing he said convinced her to drop it, so Michael walked.

He met me in the parking garage. "No luck," he said. He handed me his key to Tracy's apartment, and I finished the job to protect us both. Why follow the book? It amused me. I could give Michael reasonable doubt while throwing suspicion on her ex-husband.

It didn't hurt that the character in

Bloody Knife

was a sick, twisted fuck. I took my time with Tracy, enjoying the experience of her fear, pain, acceptance, and then death. It was far more satisfying than the short moments with Allison. Nothing in my business or personal life was as satisfying as holding the power of life and death over another. It made the dominant/submissive relationship seem like child's play in terms of the power dynamic.

It also ruined Michael's life and pushed Laura to dump the cheating bum. If he'd limited his activities to Society events like we'd agreed when he pursued her, everything would have been fine. Those functions stay tightly controlled, and Laura would never know. His affairs outside our group got back to her, and NOBODY hurts my daughters and gets away with it.

He didn't suspect a thing. When the tumbler came out, I told him it had to be there to match the book. Laura moved out, and the press and politics ruined his future.

The murders in

Construction Sight

and

Headless Horseman

were even better. A continued focus on Tracy Hardin's murder would eventually lead back to Michael, and he would flip on me to save himself. Making David Hardin's second and third books come true? Genius. It changed the potential motive for Tracy's death, and it amused me to watch the police stumble about impotently.

Unfortunately, planting the evidence on Michael's note meant I had to stop after Book Three. Monday's sale meant cashing in on my life's work, and I wouldn't spend my retirement behind bars.

I pulled off the road a few miles away, getting out to remove the magnetic signs on the truck that covered the Brickline Construction logos on the door. If any cameras caught me going to or from the event sight, they'd be looking for a plumbing company that didn't exist. White-colored work pickups are like minivans; no one notices them.

When I arrived back in Excelsior, there was a police car blocking my driveway and two news vans parked along the street. The police officer waved at me to move on, but I stopped and got out instead. "This is my home," I told him. "What the hell is going on?"

"Can you prove you live here, sir?"

"Absolutely."

He checked my driver's license with a flashlight, then handed it back. "Sorry, Mr. Brickline. We got a call about a criminal trespass in progress and had to chase these idiots off."

The cameras were rolling, and I glared at them before looking back at the cop. "Nobody in the press has permission to enter my property," I stated. "I'll get a security company here to keep them away. I'm sure you have better things to do." I got back in my car, making a quick call to the company that provided security for our construction sites. They promised to have a patrol car here within the hour. By the time I hung up, the officer had moved his car, and I drove into my garage.

Lana and Margarite met me in the mud room as I came inside. "Dad!" Lana ran into my arms, pressing her face against her broad chest. "Michael's dead!"

"I heard," I said as I embraced her. "How is Laura doing?"

"She's in shock," my daughter replied. "The girls are with her now. We're keeping her away from her phone and the television."

"Go, I'll be right there," I told her. She walked in as I turned to Margarite. "How bad is it?"

"I chase those pendejos off the lawn! And their putas!" She shook her head. "The police came and moved them."

"You did well to protect them," I told her. "It's only going to get worse."

And it did. By morning, the news that Michael had 'personal effects from the three David Hardin-inspired murders' had leaked, and two news vans became twenty. My security guy had expanded to six, and I had two lawyers in the living room. Laura was barely holding it together after a rough night, and now she had to deal with this shit. The cops wanted answers, and the 'she's in shock' line didn't work the next day.

I looked at the two attorneys in the room; Hardy Smacken was a famous criminal defense lawyer, while Misty Butz specialized in defending against civil actions. My corporate lawyer highly recommended the office of Baer, Butz, and Smacken Law Firm, even though their retainer had me bent over. "We can't get out of this?"

Hardy adjusted his silk tie and shook his head. He was our criminal defense guy. "We've got four jurisdictions plus the FBI that want to speak to my client, Thomas. They don't call her a suspect, but they WILL consider the possibility Laura was an accomplice. I can get them to agree to a single interview at the FBI offices in Brooklyn Park. They want a statement, and we should give them one soon."

I looked out through the sheer curtains towards the road. "You know this will be a media circus! And it will be even worse at the FBI building!"

"There's nothing we can do, Mr. Brickline. She goes there voluntarily, or they stuff Laura in the back of an FBI sedan while the cameras roll."

I looked over at Laura, and she nodded. "Set it up. I need to talk to my girls."

I left them to their business as I led my three daughters into my office. "I can't move the closing for the sale of Brickline Construction. I've got to be in Chicago on Monday. As soon as I close, I'll have more time for you."

"We'll take care of her, Dad," Lisa said.

I looked at my younger daughters. "Lana and Lisa, I'm sorry about this media crap. It won't go away, and we can't do anything about it. Warn your friends that leeches in the media will be looking for dirt, and get them to close ranks. They can't come onto our property, so stay put if you can. Take time off from school or work, and let Margarite take care of you."

"I can do remote learning most of the time," Lisa said. "All my classes are online with Covid anyway. I only have to show up for labs, and I can work with my professors on making those up."

"I can't get out of my rotation, but nobody can mess with me at the hospital," Lana said. "I've already talked to my Chief Resident, and he's warned hospital security."

"Good. Don't hesitate to call the cops if the press starts doing stupid shit." I walked up behind Laura in her chair, putting my hands on her shoulders and giving her a quick squeeze. "Can you do this?"

"I have to, Dad. It's what happens after the interview that scares me. Everyone will know I'm there, and they'll be waiting for me. Then they'll be hounding me here."

I knew what to do. "Want to get away for a while?"