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The Carriage House boasted a fully equipped dungeon, a bar with an executive chef in charge of food, private play spaces as well as outdoor places to wander, play, scene and have all kinds of sex. There was a long deck with a gazebo at the end and a formal garden with a maze. The ‘garden parties’ had become incredibly popular with the patrons of the club.
Entering his office, Damon sighed, poured himself a large double 100-year-old single malt and turned on John Coltrane before settling in behind his desk to go over the things for Knox Industries that required his personal attention. He probably should have gone into the steel and glass skyscraper in downtown Charleston earlier in the day, but he’d decided to indulge himself and remain in his comfortable office here at the club.
Three in the morning. It could be such an ungodly hour for most people, and yet for Damon it was the time he found most productive. While the majority of the people he knew were fast asleep, Damon was hard at work. Some nights he was working on things that he needed to attend to for the high-tech company he had inherited from his parents. Other nights, most nights, he preferred to get through all the paperwork associated with his true vocation: the club.
He had an executive assistant, Georgina, and a bevy of loyal and hard-working staff members at Knox Industries. The Carriage House was another matter altogether. He had everything he needed to make the club wildly successful, and for the most part he wasn’t needed, except for the paperwork—and Damon hated paperwork with a passion. He really needed to put in the time to hire someone like Georgina for the club. The last one had proven to be a disaster, and it had taken him far too long to clean up the mess.
Damon was, by nature, a loner. An only child with somewhat self-absorbed and absent parents, Damon had long ago learned to rely on himself. His experiences in battle and in intelligence had done nothing to help with that. He found it ironic that the place he was the happiest was in a club that promoted intimacy when he himself seemed to push it away. He preferred his sexual encounters, if not to be anonymous, then to be covered by a contract that spelled out its non-exclusivity and non-attachment. Yet he couldn’t seem to forget the one woman that had demanded the same.
The gorgeous redhead with the luscious curves and steely nature had called to him and moved him in a way that no one else before her had. He could have stayed lost in her for days, weeks, and perhaps even forever, but she had put a kibosh on that plan by disappearing with no trace. And no one at Baker Street or at Cerberus had been inclined to help.
Perhaps she had revealed too much of the woman who hid behind the mask and had wanted to avoid any entanglements, but that was hard to believe. The connection had been incredibly strong, intimate, and erotic. Surely, she longed for the same things he did. Damon rapped his fingers on his desk. Perhaps he should set about trying to find her himself. He still had friends in various intelligence agencies, including MI6.
He was trying to distract himself with paperwork instead of letting his imagination run wild with all the fantasies he’d had about the redhead. Damon shook his head to force himself to focus on the paperwork when he was distracted by what sounded like breaking glass. He walked to the French doors that led out on the balcony that ran the entire length of the second floor where his office was located. He moved with the stealth he had developed behind enemy lines where the ability to slip away silently could be the difference between an op’s success or failure.
Damon scanned the balcony and the surrounding grounds below for signs of an intruder. Down below, on the aged-brick courtyard, he could see a glint of broken glass in the faint glow of the lights that were wound through the trees and bushes. There’s no way Bram would have missed a busted window and no way for it to have happened accidentally. Someone unknown had broken one of the glass panes of one of the French doors that led from the bar onto the courtyard.
Moving like the wraith he’d often been accused of being, Damon retreated to his office only long enough to remove his SIG from the desk drawer, check that the ‘magazine was fully loaded, and attach the tac light. He wouldn’t turn it on just yet but flashing it on at the right moment would not only illuminate his target, but might temporarily blind and disorient whoever it was, giving Damon the upper hand.
This wasn’t the first time since he returned from London that the hairs on the back of his neck had stood up, alerting him to possible danger. The other two times, he’d investigated and found nothing, but broken glass wasn’t nothing. He called 9-1-1, giving them his location and requesting they roll a unit to The Carriage House. Then he sent a text to Fitz in London:
May be in need of your assistance. Intruder at Carriage House. Request a meeting in the next day or two. Damon
He hadn’t a clue as to who the intruder might be or what they might want but added to the other laundry list of odd occurrences that had happened since he returned, Damon was done playing, and it was time to get to the bottom of whatever was going on.
Silently, Damon moved across his office and opened the door only enough to ensure there was no one waiting for him in the hallway. Stepping out, he moved toward the staircase and froze as he heard someone scuffling around downstairs. He hunted in the dark, tracking the intruder’s movements by sound alone. Damon had the advantage as he knew every inch of his club. It sounded as if whoever it was had moved from their entry point in the lounge toward the dungeon space.
In the distance, the sound of police sirens broke the still of the night, provoking the intruder to move back toward the main foyer and reception area. No longer were the footsteps light or was any attempt being made to hide the sound. Still, Damon proceeded slowly down the stairs.
The fleeting movement of a shadow caught his attention, and Damon whirled toward the sound, turning on the tac light and startling the intruder. Recognition dawned as he saw his former fiancée, Francesca "Frannie" Acosta. Surprise on her part gave way to a kind of crazed, predatory smile as the first vestiges of smoke reached his nostrils and something heavy from behind crashed into his skull, making an inner darkness descend as he crumpled to the floor.
“Damon.” Frannie’s voice was the last thing he heard before he blacked out completely.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed from when he’d seen Frannie, but as he clawed his way back to consciousness, he realized someone had set a fire in the dungeon.Nice try, Frannie. The Carriage House was equipped with a highly sensitive fire alarm, and the smoke had triggered an analysis of what kind of fire had been set and how best to put it out. The overhead sprinklers kicking in aided him in coming awake.
Someone was using a key to come through the front door. “Damon? My god, somebody get a paramedic.” He recognized Bram’s voice.What was Bram doing back here?Bram grabbed Damon under his arms and dragged him out into the sultry, starry Charleston night.
“Do we need the fire department?” asked a uniformed cop.
“Probably not an engine, but we could use some assistance going through the building and making sure the fire is out completely. We have an excellent containment system, but better safe than sorry,” said Bram.
“The fire department is on its way. We’ve been ordered away from the building. They’ll check to make sure everything is safe and secure, and the paramedics should arrive with them.”
Just as the cop finished speaking, the sirens of the fire department and its paramedic unit could be heard as they pulled off the main road. Bram helped Damon to his feet. The blow to his head had been enough to leave him feeling dizzy and nauseous. When the paramedics arrived, they took over, directing him to their vehicle where they took his vitals, looked at the contusion on the back of his head and wanted to transport him to the hospital.
Damon started to argue, but Bram and the paramedics were insistent that he needed to go. Opting to drive his own vehicle over the strenuous objections of all involved, Damon drove to the hospital followed by Bram and the paramedics. The doctors wanted to keep him overnight for “observation,” but Damon declined their invitation and while Bram argued with the medical staff, Damon quietly slipped out the back entrance, got in his Range Rover, and drove to his home in The Battery, Charleston’s famous neighborhood overlooking the harbor.
Stepping into his home, Damon ignored the phone calls from Bram as well as the Chief of Police and the Fire Department. He knew they would have questions. He also knew they weren’t prepared to deal with Frannie Acosta, the mafia princess. He wasn’t afraid of Frannie for himself, but she was dangerous; unhinged. Law enforcement would be forced to abide by their rules. If Frannie had decided to pursue a vendetta, those around him could be in danger. If he was to keep them safe, the police would be out of their league. To deal with the Acostas, Damon would need his old friend, Robert Fitzwallace of Cerberus.
CHAPTER2
MILEY
Xerxes Internment Camp
Gubeikou, China
Nineteen Months Ago
