Taken by Surprise (18 page)

* * * *

Silver Springs, Mississippi

"What's this?"

Adrien heard the guarded caution in FBI Agent Jackson Graham's tone and grinned. Christa must have given him the collar. Sure enough, the DEA agent's slightly amused voice came next.

"A gift."

He'd seen the gift, as Christa called it. He even conjured up a mental image of Jackson with the narrow strip of leather sporting a row of five silver studded squares fastened around his thick, corded neck. Adrien didn't go for the whole me-Dom-you-sub game, but the picture proved sexy enough to make his dick hard. Not that he had a thing for the FBI agent.

At least not this particular FBI agent
.

"When your dominatrix bestows you with a present, you are expected to say thank you."

Sprik, who sat beside Adrien in the surveillance van, hooted at that. Both agents wore receivers that picked up everything said between the FBI and DEA agents in the car around the corner and down a block. Jackson and Christa knew they were listening, but with only tiny microphones on their person, they couldn't hear Adrien and Sprik.

"She's going to have Mr. MIB sweating bullets before the night is over," Sprik predicted, obviously enjoying himself. "The car they're in belongs to her, right?"

Adrien nodded. The sleek black Mazda with flashy red interior fit Christa Hutchens as snugly as the leather corsets and miniskirts she often favored.

Sprik hooted again. "I wonder if MIB has realized he belongs to her, too."

Adrien figured the agent got a good clue of that when she handed him the collar, but he didn't doubt for a second that Christa would enlighten Jackson of the fact, just in case.

"It's a collar." Christa's patient voice flowed through the receiver as she explained how the article of clothing would proclaim Jackson as a taken submissive. "The five silver studs are my marking for my sub. That would be you."

Faint sounds of leather sliding across leather followed her words. "Let me put it on for you. Love the hair, by the way. You look so dangerous. And the eyes, I really hated to disperse the storms, but the blue gives you this icy-hot look. Now, for the finishing touch." The receiver fell silent for a moment and then Christa said, "Mmm, you do look sexy, Agent Graham."

"Uh-oh, think our girl is going to forget this is all for pretend?" Sprik wondered.

"She's toying with him," Adrien said. "Trying to get under the collar she just fastened around his neck."

"I can't wait to see you standing, to get the full effect of the clothes."

"Sounds to me like she's trying to get under the clothes," Sprik countered.

"Shouldn't you be getting used to calling me boy toy or something, Master?"

Adrien lifted a brow at the husky thickness in Jackson's voice. Crikey, maybe the FBI agent was the one forgetting it was all a game. Surely not. Jackson Graham had the supreme hots for Mallory Stone. The couple's dodgeball tango had been the subject of more than one phone conversation that ran late into the night between Adrien and Cameron Stone.

Adrien missed those late-night phone conversations so badly it felt as if a part of him had been taken away. He closed his eyes on the loneness that twisted with the worry in his gut. Hearing Cameron's voice this afternoon only severed as a heightened awareness to the pestering need Adrien couldn't quash. What started as strategic planning between government agents to take down Phay after the near detrimental debacle at the docks, had turned into a friendship among men that didn't stop there.

The attraction wasn't one-sided. Adrien knew that. It had taken him by surprise at first, quite literally blown his mind to find out that the party boy agent with the surfer boy looks liked to play on both sides of the sexual fence. He never would've pursued the agent, wouldn't have dreamed of hitting on the man, not until Cameron started pursuing him.

Cameron didn't swear him to secrecy, but Adrien thought he caught the silent plea in the other man's tone more than once. Apparently, Cameron Stone kept his sexual preferences to himself. Adrien hated that fact even as he kept Cameron's secret safe. Adrien wished Cameron didn't feel the need to hide what he was, how he felt, what turned him on. He didn't understand Cameron any more than he could get a straight answer out of the man.

"I need some more time,"
Cameron had told him when he dared to go for point blank out in the open.
"Can you give me that?"

Of course Adrien had agreed. How could he not? Wasn't it the same thing he'd asked of Thaddeus?

Christa's laugh pulled Adrien from his thoughts. She sounded a little breathless and thoroughly amused. "Mistress," she corrected him. "And I'll stick with Jackson, unless you want me to call you my boy toy."

"You really think one time is all this is going to take?" Jackson ignored her comment, asking the question Adrien silently wondered himself. Though he and Hutchens had discussed tonight's plans before and after the FBI agent's arrival, he still couldn't quite bring himself to be as confident as she seemed to be.

"At the club? Yes." Christa gave Jackson the same answer she had given Adrien. "I've played a good game inside there, set everything up for the match point. You, my darling Jackson, are the server for this final round. When you get inside, go straight for the bar, order a drink, and wait. I've made it abundantly clear that I've been eagerly waiting for you to break away from your obligations in San Diego to join me here."

"What? You didn't order me to drop everything and pull me out of California by my collar?"

Adrien couldn't tell by Jackson's voice if he were teasing or serious. Christa's tone, however, sounded placating, with a hint of amusement.

"I'm a merciful mistress." The faint but sharp staccato smack of flesh to leather sounded. Adrien didn't want to know where she had just patted the agent.

"That didn't feel very merciful," Jackson commented.

Beside Adrien in the van, Sprik shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Tell me we aren't going to have to listen to her order him into the backseat."

Adrien reached for the button that would open the lines of communication between the surveillance van and the Mazda. Until now, he and Sprik had been on receive mode only, listening, not wanting to interrupt the byplay happening in the car. Once Jackson and Christa disappeared inside the club, the communication waves would stay open on both ends. It allowed the team, themselves as well as the other agents and officers staged strategically throughout the club and parking lot, to converse conspicuously but freely when needed.

"Let's not get too carried away, boys and girls," Adrien scolded playfully. "We're here to do a job, remember."

"The stage is set." The purr in Christa's tone told Adrien she was still speaking to Jackson. "Follow my orders, and we'll get the invitation we need to the party. Then we'll move on to phase two of our little plan." Her next words turned the purr into a sexually heated authority that sent sparks flying through the receivers. "Of course, if you want to get carried away after tonight, boy toy, I'm all too willing to teach you the rules."

Adrien groaned even as he stifled a chuckle. Sprik nearly fell out of his seat laughing so hard. He could only imagine Jackson's response to that. Whatever the agent's reaction, it wasn't an audible one.

"Jeez Louise, Christa," Adrien scolded her. "Lay off, or you're likely to scare the MIB back to his home planet."

Christa's laughter rolled through the airwaves. He heard Jackson clear his throat, but he never would've predicted the comeback that nearly stopped his heart.

"I promise not to leave before I throw a
stone
your way, Bingham."

To anyone else listening in, the comment wouldn't sound like anything more than a playful threat. To Adrien, the emphasis the agent put on the word "stone" sounded an alarm in his head of momentous proportions.

He knew. Dear sweet baby Jesus, Jackson knew. But how much exactly had Cameron told his best friend?

A bead of cold sweat trickled down Adrien's spine. Over the thunderous pounding of his pulse, he heard Christa tell Jackson to wait a half an hour before going into the club.

"Wait at the bar like I told you. I'll find you soon enough."

"I doubt it." The sound of the passenger door opening and closing followed Jackson's grumble.

* * * *

Jackson headed straight for the bar, ordered a whisky and Coke, and took to the shadows. He narrowed his eyes on the dance floor that took up a great deal of the space in the center of the club. That's when he spotted her. She'd pulled her ebony hair into a twist at her nape since leaving the car, presumably to keep cool. Had she intentionally allowed a few strands to hang free, flirting with her cheek and jawline? Whether she had or hadn't, he liked the effect.

DEA Agent Christa Hutchens moved with the grace and skill of a professional dancer, all loose limbs and swaying hips. In a word, she looked positively stunning out there. Jackson hadn't allowed himself to dissect her choice of tonight's attire in the car. He did so now, though, lifting his glass to his lips for a drink to wet his suddenly parched mouth.

"Don't get drunk in there, sweetie," Adrien's voice teased in his ear.

Jackson pretended to scratch his nose, speaking into the microphone secured in his wristwatch. "Watching the show on the dance floor, I just might,
sweetie
."

He scarcely heard Adrien's chuckle as his gaze roamed Christa. She wore her makeup thicker than it appeared in the conference room last night. He remembered Mallory telling him more makeup became necessary in the dimly lit clubs. He understood the point as he watched her execute a turn of metronome precision to the beat of the fast-paced grunge rock blaring through the speakers. She had chosen black leather again, from the knee-high fuck-me boots to the scarcely there miniskirt to the sequined corset.

Jackson took a larger sip from his glass, swallowed it slowly, and enjoyed the slight burn of the barely diluted whisky. The way the sequined cups of her leather corset caught the flickering neon lights on the dance floor nearly proved his undoing. Christ on a pogo stick, if Mallory ever got her hands on an outfit like that, it would send his senses into sensory explosion.

"So you're the one."

Showtime,
Jackson thought and slid a look of noninterest to the woman who sauntered up beside him. She stood as tall as him, with shoulders nearly the same breadth and arms that looked as if they could bench press twice his weight extending from the sleeves of a pink, shimmering dress. The color should've looked ridiculous on a woman her size. Instead, it complemented her Asian complexion and shoulder-length blonde hair. She didn't strike him as beautiful by any stretch of the term, but something about her made her pretty in an Amazon-meets-Cinderella sort of way.

Jackson lifted a questioning brow before returning his attention to the dance floor. Christa didn't seem to have noticed her half hour was up. A group of women and a few men who weren't wearing collars danced with her. A clique of her friends, perhaps? Men looking to become her submissive?

"She's told us a lot about you." Ama-rella leaned in, her nose brushing his earlobe as she spoke. "She's had subs lining up in droves hoping to be claimed by her, yet you're the one she picked. It's easy to see why."

Jackson blinked, the only outward response he allowed to show when she put a hand on his ass and squeezed. Shit. He didn't know what to do. Christa hadn't warned him that other women, other dominatrices, might attempt to feel him up. She had coached him on how to stand when in her presence with his hands folded in front of his crotch and head slightly bowed. She'd instructed him on how and where to touch her when she allowed physical contact with others watching. She'd given him a few key phrases, words to recognize if things got sticky. But she hadn't told him anything about this. If he made a wrong move, he could blow their cover to smithereens.

The receiver in his ear remained silent. Adrien couldn't know what Ama-rella was up to, but surely one of the agents stationed inside had seen what she did. It wouldn't take much for them to utter a morsel of advice on how to handle this situation.

This may not be as easy as I thought after all
. Except, when had anyone ever blessed him with morsels of advice in the field? Training and experience had taught him to think on his feet, to follow his gut instincts and react accordingly. Now should be no different than any other time.

"If you know my mistress so well, then I'm sure you're aware she isn't into sharing."
I hope
. Jackson didn't look at Ama-rella again, but took a half step to the side. Her hand fell from his ass.

Ama-rella threw back her head and gave a throaty laugh. "You apparently know your mistress very well. As you should, of course. Perhaps I will have to convince her to allow others the chance to play with her new toy. You would enjoy that, wouldn't you, darling?"

Jackson felt certain his cock didn't understand the ramifications of Ama-rella's words because whips of arousal made him hard as a rock. In his defense, what man wouldn’t get off on being the playground for more than one woman at a time?

Any man with a big enough brain would realize sweet sensuality and tender caresses weren't what this lady had in mind. The desires and authority he felt coming off her would prove nothing less than sexual suicide to any man privy to her control.

"If another dominatrix speaks to you, answer her politely, show respect
.
"

"No, ma'am, I wouldn't."

He locked his gaze on Christa's shapely form on the dance floor, silently willed her to bring her sexy ass where she belonged. Too bad for him the tables weren't reversed, him the Dom and she the sub. It would be completely within his cover to march out there and drag her back with him, by her satiny ebony hair if he wished.

Could he be so forceful with a woman?

Yes. Wasn't he proving now he could do whatever it took to complete his assigned case?

But what if it wasn't an assignment? What if that was Mallory on that dance floor? What if she craved the domination?

He knew when Christa spotted him with Ama-rella, saw in the change of her expression when she realized she had pushed her time to the limit. He shoved his questions aside, letting the thoughts of Mallory stay in his mind as Christa made her way through the crowd toward him.

Her expression changed again as she neared. The transformation came subtly, disappeared quickly, but he registered the surprise and excitement that swirled in her dark eyes. His own expression caused it. He understood that a moment too late. In keeping his thoughts of Mallory open, envisioning her walking toward him now rather than the DEA agent, he showed an interest far beyond coworkers on a case that he didn't truly feel.

Shit, he would need to fill Christa in on Mallory, explain how much she reminded him of the woman who held his heart, or Christa just might get the wrong impression.

"Amanda, are you making my Jackson uncomfortable?" Christa cupped the side of his neck, trailed her fingers over his throat and down his chest as she stepped to his side.

Jackson rolled his head with the tickling touch as much to stay in character as out of reflex. Her fingers felt too freaking good on his heated flesh that way. He folded his hands in front of his engorged cock barely restrained by the leather pants and bowed his head slightly. Because he caught her looking at him out of the corner of his eye, he responded, "A little, Mistress."

He wasn't a profiler, but he had always been a fair judge of character. He knew the shy admission coming from a man who equaled the height and apparent strength of a woman like Ama-rella would please her. Christa called her Amanda. Not far off, he thought.

It obviously did. She gave another of those throaty laughs and said, "Honesty and bashfulness, he's quite a catch, Christa. No wonder you were content to wait for him rather than finding another."

"Perfection is difficult to find twice."

"Blasted woman never said I'm perfect," Gosher muttered in Jackson's receiver, making his lips twitch and garnering him the first clue that the DEA agent might have a crush on Christa.

"I want radio silence, people." Adrien's admonishing tone shut Gosher up.

"Well, you've definitely found a perfect one, it seems," Amanda agreed. "Perhaps you will show our inner circle exactly how perfect Friday night. My place, nine o'clock, don't be late. If you need directions, ask Ricky behind the bar. He'll give them to you."

"I know where you live," Christa said simply.

Her fingers glided over Jackson pectoral muscles, making it difficult to stay focused on the conversation when bolts of erotic lightning were shooting straight to his cock. She had warned him she would be touching him a lot. His body was, after all, her toy. He didn't realize at the time how much of a challenge it would be to think clearly, to concentrate with her hands on him. He needed to figure out how to handle it better fast.

"Of course you do. Information like that is readily at your fingertips, isn't it?"

Jackson restrained himself from stiffening at that. Even Christa's hand didn't hesitate on his chest. Neither made any outward show that Amanda's implications in the question raised any alarms. It did, though, at least for Jackson.

For a couple of the other members of the task force listening in, too, he realized. The muttered curses came too quick and soft for him to distinguish the voices, but he distinctly separated at least three different timbres.

"It pays to be connected."

Jackson didn't see it, nor did he feel it, but he heard the shrug in Christa's statement.

"Which, along with being so well liked, is why you're still welcome here," Amanda said. She trailed a fingernail down Jackson's bicep. Testing the playground and its owner perhaps? "I'll see you both on Friday. Enjoy your evening."

"She's scary," Jackson commented, watching beneath his lashes as Amanda walked away.

"She liked you." Christa hooked a finger under his chin and pulled his face up until their gazes met. With their height difference, he was still looking down, but now he found himself staring into a bottomless pit of ebony promise and desire. "You did good, handled her well."

He sensed she wanted to say more, but held herself back. "You got what you wanted."

"I told you it would only take one night."

"Is she the one you suspect?"

Christa shook her head. She hadn't let go of his chin. Her thumb traced the line of his jaw as she spoke. "Her Dom is."

Jackson lifted a brow. "Her Dom? Isn't she a Dom?"

"Of men, yes. Her Dom is female." Christa's lips twitched. "She likes it both ways in both fields."

Do you?
He stopped the question in the nick, finding it both inappropriate to the case and his personal need to know. He glanced around, made sure no one but the task force could hear him. "They trust you not to report what you see."

"That's what we need them to do."

"Yeah, but you're going to blow that trust."

"At the same time, I'll be bringing down a bitch that's harming my city and people in my favorite club."

"And if they don't trust you after? If they turn their back on you?"

"Then I guess I'll be looking for another club to favor, won't I?"

Jackson realized then how much the agent truly put on the line for this case. They all made sacrifices in the line of duty, some larger than others, some more personal than others. DEA Agent Christa Hutchens put everything she knew and cherished, everyone she cared for and befriended on the line.

He couldn't respect the woman more than he did in that moment.