Cat Scratch Fever (19 page)

‘Mm hm,’ Felicia agreed. ‘I call him Mr Twitchy.’

Over the phone lines, she heard a strange noise. Gabe was either choking or laughing. It was probably the latter. Well, she didn’t care: Mr Twitchy had been making her happy a lot longer than Gabe had.

She wanted Gabe to make her happy, though. She wanted him to tell her she could come soon. She wasn’t used to holding back when she masturbated, and the slow maddening movement of her own fingers, one on either side of her wet clit, was driving her crazy.

She told him. ‘I need to come soon,’ she added.

‘OK,’ he said, much to her surprise. ‘But not quite yet.’

Dammit!

‘Put Mr Twitchy’s head –’ and she could tell he made a great effort not to laugh when he said that ‘– just inside you.’

She was so wet that the tip slid in easily. Her thighs trembled from the strain as she resisted the urge to plunge the vibrator deep inside her. He continued to instruct her to feed it in, inch by excruciating inch, until it was buried up to the hilt.

‘God, I wish that was me inside of you,’ he said.

She couldn’t fashion a coherent response. She wished it was him, too, but a fake cock was the next best thing, filling her up.

His next words almost sent her over the brink. ‘Turn on the vibrator.’

With the dildo portion all the way in, the bunny ears nestled against her aching clit. A flick of the switch, and they hummed and buzzed against her.

She was so close, so charged, that it was only a moment before the orgasm peaked, tumbling her over the edge as it spiralled out through her belly and down her legs. She pulsed around the vibrator, pressing the fake cock deeper inside to trigger a second intense orgasm. Dimly, over her own cries of passion, she heard Gabe shout his own release.

Exhausted, she fell back against the pillows.

Even thousands of miles away, he still had the power to rock her world.

*   *   *

Lindsay Chamaine sounded hauntingly familiar but, after searching the donor database, Felicia still couldn’t find her.

Not for the first time, Felicia yearned for the more sophisticated database they’d had at the AIDS organisation. This one was pretty bare-bones, programmed in Access by a high-school student doing a community service project, and they had to keep a lot of information in paper files.

She’d just have to check paper files. And, like it or not, she’d have to start with Richard Enoch.

Her palms were sweating as she pulled the file. Funny, some detached part of her brain thought, she’d heard that expression a million times but it was the first time she’d ever noticed it happening to her. Sweaty palms and a sick sensation in her stomach.

The file was thick. Richard had been involved with them almost from the beginning. She started from the current stuff and worked down. Buried deep in the stack, she found a note in Katherine’s handwriting: ‘Divorced from Lindsay Chamaine June 2001. Need to update database.’

That was why the name was familiar. Lindsay and Richard had been long divorced by the time she’d started at SCCS, but she must have seen it in the file or in some old event materials. Did that make Richard guilty or innocent? Part of a convoluted plot involving his ex or a victim of it?

Rummaging further in the files told her nothing useful. Apparently, Lindsay had never been deeply involved in SCCS.

Someone must know more.

Valerie Turner.

She knew everyone. If there was dirt on Lindsay or on the divorce, she’d know.

Felicia was glad Mrs Turner was on her speed dial, because her hands were shaking.

‘Felicia, darling, I was just about to call and see how my tables were coming together. I’m sorry it’s all so last minute, but some of my friends can be very naughty if I don’t keep on them.’ Her voice was husky and amused, and definitely not the voice of someone just waking up. (Unless she’d been waking up slowly and in good company, but that didn’t seem likely.)

‘You’re up to twenty-three guests so far. I’ll fill you in on that later, but I’m hoping you can help with a delicate question.’

‘I’m all ears. Always glad to help out.’

How to phrase this? She trusted Mrs Turner, but she had little idea how deep loyalties and friendships ran in her circle. ‘A name’s come up a few times lately as a board candidate, but it could get touchy and I wanted your opinion. It’s Lindsay Chamaine.’

‘Lindsay? How curious she hasn’t said anything to me about moving back to the area. She moved to San Francisco after she and Richard split up.’

‘I heard she’d started a business in Los Angeles. Real estate development, I think.’

Valerie snorted. ‘Hardly! She’s a photographer, a fine one, but no business sense whatsoever; Richard still has one of his people taking care of the financial end of the photography for her or she’d be lost. The closest she’s come to being a businesswoman is being the paper owner of some of Richard’s firms for tax purposes. The dry-cleaning chain, maybe a few others.’

‘Still? They’ve been divorced for years.’

‘Longer than they were married. She just wasn’t cut out to be a society wife. But they’re better friends now than they ever were. Funny how it works that way sometimes.’

Felicia took a deep calming breath. For a few minutes, she’d had hopes of a vengeful ex scenario, something that would make a man she’d come to respect a victim, not a villain. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case.

If Richard had walked into her office, she’d have clubbed him with her laptop.

She forced herself to sound casual. ‘Can’t imagine what scrambled story I heard. A new husband who’s in real estate, maybe?’

A laugh from the other end of the phone. ‘When I said Lindsay wasn’t cut out to be a society wife, what I meant was she left Richard for a massage therapist named Inge. But you didn’t hear this from me, of course.’

‘Of course,’ Felicia muttered, too distracted to enjoy what would normally have been a delicious piece of gossip. ‘Is Richard involved in real estate development?’

‘Richard knows how I feel about preserving the desert, so he’d probably not tell me just to spare himself the lectures. It’s possible. He dabbles in everything, as long as there’s money in it.’

A more thoughtful tone had crept into her voice as she talked. Then she paused, such a pregnant pause that Felicia held her breath. Felicia’s heart raced, feeling as if it wanted to break free of her rib cage.

‘This isn’t about getting Lindsay on to the board, is it? This has to do with all the problems SCCS has been having. You’ve figured something out.’

For about half a second, Felicia considered lying. Valerie was impulsive and eccentric. But she was far from stupid and would probably sense the lie.

She was also, at this point, the board member Felicia knew was most loyal to the organisation. ‘Lindsay’s the paper owner of the firm who tried to buy our land, along with Joseph Estabrook the restaurateur.’

‘Whose sister recently married a Barbery Foundation trustee. I was at the wedding – and so was Richard.’

Felicia used several words she would have normally avoided in front of a board member. Then she apologised.

‘Quite all right. I was thinking far worse things; these are people I fancied were my friends.’

‘The problem is, the connections are all there, but how do we prove wrongdoing?’ She sagged in her chair. She had answers now, but she still didn’t know what to do with them.

‘Leave the next step to me, Felicia,’ Valerie said, her voice laced with polite venom. ‘I know Richard well. I have a plan.’

Normally, Felicia would shudder at those words out of Valerie’s lips, but she certainly didn’t have a plan herself. And, in a strange situation like this, maybe Valerie’s weird ideas were just what they’d need.

One good thing about throwing an outdoor benefit in the southern California desert in summer: you could count on clear weather.

Felicia believed in counting her blessings, so she was clinging to that thought. It was the only completely positive thing she could think of at eight on Saturday morning while all hell was breaking loose around her.

‘I know the tents aren’t ready yet,’ she said to the irate man from the rental company. ‘The truck from the tent company broke down on the highway last night. They got here as early as they could this morning.’ Which meant she’d had to be on site at dawn so they could try to get as much of the chaos as possible settled before the day’s tourists began to arrive, but she doubted that would earn her much sympathy from the chair rental guy, who’d probably been at work that long too.

‘Lady, I’m sure they did. But I’m on a schedule. If that tent isn’t up fast we’re throwing everything in the courtyard and it’s your problem from there.’

‘Give me ten minutes.’ She got on her cell. ‘John, as soon as the restrooms are clean, get the cleaning crew over to help with the tents. And grab anyone else who looks big enough to be useful. I’ll meet you there.’

‘How about me? Am I big enough to be useful?’

Felicia wheeled around at the sound of the unexpected voice. It couldn’t be.

It was.

Gabe was rumpled from the top of his sandy hair down to his socks, which were sagging into his sneakers. His eyes were shadowed, he was unshaven and he was clutching a Starbucks travel mug like a holy relic.

He looked gorgeous.

‘I am too old,’ he said, ‘for two red-eyes in a week. But I hope I’ll be some help.’

And then he didn’t say anything else because Felicia (figuring Chair Rental Guy didn’t matter and everyone else was too busy to care) gave him something better to do with his mouth.

There was no awkwardness or hesitation. He folded her into his arms, pulled her close against a body that suddenly wasn’t sagging with fatigue – in fact, parts of it were jumping to attention – and everything was more than all right. Heat radiated out from her belly, setting her nipples alight, setting her juices flowing. Her whole body pulsed and throbbed with want, but at the same time she felt peaceful, as if Gabe’s body were her home and she’d arrived after a long absence.

There was no one in the office building. Even Katherine was outside dealing with setup. They could sneak in and fool around. The schedule for the day was too tight to allow time for anything very involved, but she could see herself sinking to her knees and taking Gabe’s cock deep into her mouth. She’d got off herself the night before with Mr Twitchy and thoughts of what she’d like Gabe to do to her. It seemed more urgent now to taste him, feel his come flooding her mouth.

Someone tapped her on the back. She jumped about a mile and turned to see Irate Chair Rental Guy, looking more irate than before. ‘Love is grand and everything, but I need somewhere to unload my truck.’

They pulled apart. ‘Come on,’ she said, tugging on Gabe’s hand. ‘Let’s go set up a huge tent.’

As they headed towards the tent, a woman in a Feehan’s Flowers shirt blocked her path. ‘I know you weren’t expecting us until later,’ she said, ‘but there’s this wedding in Braeburn that’s messing up our schedule.’

Felicia just laughed. It was easier to laugh now that Gabe was here.

While Felicia was still dealing with that, one of the volunteers ran up. ‘Some of the food’s being delivered. Where does it go?’

And her cell phone began to ring. Valerie Turner. She answered it while trotting towards the tent and grabbing a random animal care staff member to show the food service where the walk-in was.

‘Darling,’ Valerie exclaimed, ‘I was at a party in LA last night and sold another twelve tickets!’ The woman had too much energy. What was she even doing awake at this hour, let alone so perky, if she’d been at a party the night before?

‘Wonderful!’ Felicia forced a smile, hoping the muscle memory would make her voice sound cheerful. ‘We can certainly use the money.’ Even if it would mean she’d have to redo the seating chart for the fourth damn time. ‘May I call you later for the names? We’re in the middle of deliveries and I can’t grab a pen.’

Fortunately, Valerie seemed to understand, because she said, ‘You know I detest email, but I’ll give in to the twenty-first century for once and send them to you. Try to stay calm, dear!’

‘Hi!’ Sounding ever breathless, Debbie bounced up to her. Her very blonde hair was piled haphazardly on her head, and yet somehow it looked artful and casual. ‘Sorry to bother you – I know you’re absolutely insane right now – but the café’s locked; do you have the key?’

Felicia did, but it was on a keyring with about fifty thousand other keys to various parts of the Sanctuary, and she wouldn’t have handed them all over to her own mother at this point.

She glanced across the green. Gabe had apparently convinced Irate Chair Rental Guy that things would go faster if he helped set up the tent. Amazing.

‘I’ll unlock the door for you,’ Felicia said.

As soon as Felicia got the door open and the lights on, Debbie walked into the fridge. Felicia assumed she was checking on space, or the ostrich and steaks she’d left there a few days before. But then she heard Debbie swear.

‘What’s wrong?’ Felicia asked, peering in.

Debbie didn’t answer at first. Then she shook herself and said, ‘It’s so cold.’

‘It’s supposed to be!’ Felicia said with a laugh. But she couldn’t help but be reminded of Wednesday and Mel finding the circuit breaker thrown and the fridge door being blocked open. Could Debbie have been responsible?

No, that was absurd. Debbie was a caterer, for God’s sake! And a good one. Felicia obviously had suspect-on-the-brain syndrome.

‘You probably need to get set up,’ she said. ‘I’ll send someone over to help you carry stuff in from your van. Can I get you anything else?’

Debbie shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Let me know if you need anything.’

Her cell phone rang again, and she dashed out.

*   *   *

Everyone was running around like their hair was on fire. Lance knew the benefit was a big deal, but he didn’t understand getting
that
stressed about it.

His way of dealing with the mayhem was to stay calm, stay out of people’s way unless they needed something from him, and to get his work done swiftly and efficiently. So far, so good. José had praised him for the work he’d done cleaning out some of the cat enclosures, and José didn’t even trust him much.

Now Felicia had sent him to haul stuff for the bigtitted caterer – now, that was a welcome change from shovelling highly toxic cat poop! He pushed open the door of the café, and frowned. Where was she?

Then he saw that the door from the kitchen to the private walkway behind the building was ajar. He glanced through the opening and found Debbie.

She was smoking, the smell making him crave a cigarette himself. Already, there were several butts at her feet. He thought it might be a fire hazard – wouldn’t a fire be just the last straw today? – but then she dropped the cigarette she was holding and ground it firmly into the dirt next to the other ones.

He was sorry that she wasn’t wearing spike heels today. But he knew from working in a restaurant himself that there were rules about what kind of shoes you had to wear and, sadly, open-toed stilettos didn’t conform to those rules.

As he watched, unsure what to do (thanks in part to the woody that was already growing in his pants, because spike heels or no she was still hot hot hot), she pulled out her cell phone and stabbed at it.

‘It’s Debbie,’ she said when the other person answered. ‘Yes, of course I’m here. We have a problem. They found out the fridge was turned off.’

Whoa. Lance eased back slightly so there was less chance he’d be seen. This wasn’t good. It didn’t make a lot of sense, but he knew that he should pay attention. Felicia would want to hear about this.

‘The stuff I left here didn’t go bad.’ Debbie tapped another cigarette out of the pack and juggled it, the phone and a lighter. ‘Yes, I
know
we have to do something else to fuck up the meal. Think of something? Yeah, well, I was hoping
you
might have a suggestion.’ She took a long drag on the cigarette, tapped out the ashes nervously. ‘Oh thanks, thanks a lot. It can’t be anything obvious. You know, I still have a reputation to uphold. What the fuck do you mean, you’ll ruin my reputation?’

Her voice had risen above its usual breathiness by the end, taking on a harsh, grating note, and Lance briefly wondered if she was going to punch the rough adobe wall.

‘Well, fuck you, too.’ She jabbed the phone off. ‘Bastard,’ she muttered. She dragged a hand through her hair, took one last suck of the cigarette and disposed of the butt.

Lance quickly tiptoed his way back to the front door of the café and eased it open a little. Letting it fall shut, he called out, ‘Hey, Ms Landstrom, you here?’

Debbie popped in the back door, all smiles and jiggles. He noticed she’d repaired her lipstick – brilliant pink to match her T-shirt. Which, he also noticed, was plain and basic, something you wouldn’t mind hiding under chef’s whites, but which still managed to show a boatload of cleavage.

‘Well, hey there, cutie,’ she said. ‘I was just grabbing a cigarette. Can’t smoke once I’ve started with the cooking.’

‘I’m s’posed to help you haul sh– er, stuff,’ he said.

‘Great!’

As they walked out the door, he added, ‘Um, I’ve been working over at Bella Lugosi – it’s the Italian place out on State. If you need any help today…’ If he could stick around, he could keep an eye on her, catch her in the act of whatever she was going to do to fuck up the food.

She regarded him with a mixture of surprise and shrewd assessment. ‘Really?’

He nodded.

‘Well, then, cutie, you are
so
hired. I’m short-staffed today and I could totally use another pair of hands.’

Lance trotted after her, admiring her butt encased in jeans so tight he could tell there was no panty line. No matter what else happened, at least he’d have a nice view for a while. Debbie might be evil, but she certainly knew how to look good doing it.

And, if everything worked out, he’d have another chance to make a good impression on Mel. Playing hero had helped him get lucky before. Saving a couple of hundred rich old farts from being poisoned ought to be good for some more hot sex.

*   *   *

Normally, Valerie wouldn’t have set up a scene in the early afternoon on the day of a big benefit. A good scene took time and concentration, and there was simply too much to do. But, instead of being at SCCS helping where she could, or even spending some quality time with her massage therapist and hairdresser, she was in her dungeon.

Priorities. Whatever help she could offer with setup was nothing compared to what she might be able to accomplish in this space of burgundy leather.

If
she could pull it off.

Richard was in the clown costume again, this time in full Bozo face paint. He’d begged for it this time, naked and with his cheek pressed against Valerie’s booted foot.

If she hadn’t been so suspicious of him, she’d have been thrilled to see how malleable he’d become after only one scene. He obviously didn’t have a thing for clowns himself, but he was letting himself be guided by her desires. Exactly as it should be, in theory, but in practice it usually took more time to build trust.

So sad that the trust was one-sided – and probably misplaced. Today, she planned to blow 25 years of self-control and respect for other people’s boundaries right out the window.

If Richard weren’t really plotting against SCCS, he’d be entirely open to her after she finished with him, broken apart and vulnerable. After breaking him open, she’d owe it to him to take him on as a sub for a while. (It could be worse. The clown costume really suited him.)

And if he
was
up to something…well, he’d still be broken and vulnerable, but she wouldn’t much care.

So far, everything had gone well. Heavy verbal humiliation. Face-slapping. ‘Forced’ oral sex – she’d guessed he’d be especially enthusiastic if she tied him to the table and then sat on his face. (She’d been right. She hadn’t actually expected to come during this session, all things considered, but Richard’s clever tongue had sent rockets through her body even while her brain was considering the best way to deal with a traitor.) Moving him to the spanking bench, securing him again, and then spanking his ass to the limits of his tolerance. Red now, it clashed charmingly with the orange and purple stripes of the clown outfit.

And, now, it was time for the finishing touch.

‘Still with me?’ she asked.

Richard nodded, his eyes vacant, his expression fixed in a blissed-out grin. He was with her, but barely. Large parts of his brain had left the building.

Excellent.

She took the clown nose and wig off him and pulled a leather hood over his head. He made a startled noise, or maybe a questioning one, but didn’t actually say anything.

‘I believe in discretion,’ she said, an explanation that deliberately raised more questions than it answered.

She walked around him, letting her nails rake lightly over his sensitised skin. When she got behind him, she removed the butt plug and lubed him up some more. She began working her fingers in and out of him.

‘Danny’s been such a good boy lately, working very hard and putting up with a certain amount of neglect since I’ve been busy helping with the benefit. Don’t you think a good slave like that deserves some reward?’

Under the hood, Richard made a small noise that might have been a yes.

Here she thrust a little harder. ‘I want to hear you.’

‘You’re right, Mistress,’ he said in a small voice.

‘So glad you agree.’ She pressed the intercom button on the nearby wall. ‘Danny, please come downstairs.’

‘With pleasure, Mistress!’

The noise that came from under the hood was apprehensive, but it wasn’t a safeword or even a protest.