Breaking My Own Rules Ch. 10


"Yeah, that's true," I agreed, feeling a little better, at least until the entirety of what he said sank in. "Wait, you talked to Randy? He won't answer when I call. He just sends a text telling me not to worry."

"He called last night, after you fell asleep," he confessed.

I twisted around and grabbed the lapels of his jacket. "What did he say? And if you tell me 'don't worry' we're going to be right back at berserkoid."

"I'm very sure I don't ever want to find out what that word means," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "He said the police had been to the club and dusted for prints. Now they are trying to rule out others who would have used the room he was in or the equipment. Randall has had to use his immense charm to get other members to cooperate. You know how it is. Police and BDSM players haven't always been on the friendliest terms."

"Equipment?" I asked. Then immediately followed that with, "Please don't tell me. I don't even want to know."

He smiled at me, then looked down at my hands clenched around the lapels of his jacket. "I think you are ready to talk to the police, now."

"Oh, um," I mumbled, trying to smooth the fabric out. He took my hands and pulled them away, kissing the knuckles of one then the other.

"Come. There is a pleasant restaurant just the other side of the park. Let's have an early dinner than head back to meet the detectives. A glass of wine or two will help you, I suspect," he said with a wink. "In France, wine helps everything."


We had a very nice little supper, with wine, as promised and had strolled back through the park to get to his apartment. His arm was around me most of the time and I was growing quite fond of that connection with him. I'm not sure why, because I normally chaffed at Public Displays of Affection. With him, it just felt right, though. At the apartment, he released me to unlock the door and I sauntered into the coziness as he was pulling the key free. I don't think I had taken three steps before he was throwing me back out into the hall and harshly whispering, "Go down to the lobby, right now," as he pulled the door mostly closed behind him. When I just stared in confusion, he pushed me toward the elevator and glared at me until I managed to get my feet moving under my own volition. Then he was ducking back into the apartment.

I wanted so bad to follow him and find out what was going on, but a stronger, more insistent part of me wanted to please him - with my obedience. Now was not the time to explore, or fight, that compulsion, though, so I opted for obedience. For once, as Dr. Tom would have said.

I hurried to the elevator and once down in the small lobby of the apartment building, commenced my pacing again. I pulled my phone out and thought about texting Randy, but had no idea what to tell him and was pretty sure I'd get back yet another, 'Don't worry,' no matter what I sent. I could still read Jessica's number, where I'd written it on my palm, but I'd promised Randy I wouldn't call her from my new phone and she hadn't returned any of the voicemails I'd left from Francois' phone, anyway.

When Francois finally reappeared, he didn't say anything, but pulled me into a hard hug and didn't let go for several minutes. As much as I loved snuggling into the warmth of him, my nose only came chest high on him and breathing became an issue. I had to push away. "What happened?" I asked. "What's going on?"

He took a deep breath. "Someone had been in the apartment. A favorite statue of mine, an abstract, had been turned. When I looked, I found other things out of place. Your suitcase had been moved. I called Randy and got a number for the detectives that had been assigned to Crystal's case. The ones that were going to meet with you this evening. They are going to come and pick us up and send a team to go through the apartment for evidence."

"Oh, god, Francois. I'm so sorry for all this."

"I do not want to hear any more of that," he said in his Dom voice. Leaning against him was far more comforting than pacing, and he absent-mindedly stroked my hair as he watched through the entry doors for the detectives. I felt him tense as a man came through the vestibule into the lobby and he pushed me slightly behind him until the man introduced himself as one of the detectives. Francois visibly relaxed and pulled me close again as we headed back out to the unmarked sedan. A woman was in the driver's seat and had the engine running. I was afraid to look around for Dr. Tom, but then realized that Francois was doing exactly that. My knight in shining armor. Hurray for fairy tales. I think I was holding my breath until we were in the car and headed back toward mid-town.

The detectives introduced themselves as Madge Brown and David Cowen. On the way to the precinct, they quizzed Francois about what he'd seen in the apartment and what he might have touched. It seemed, being a crime reporter, he'd gained a sense of preserving evidence, though he'd searched enough to make sure no one was still there, which seemed pretty foolish to me. A guy thing, no doubt. They also were very curious about how my Dr. Tom might have found the apartment, if indeed, he had been the one responsible. I even offered to show them the call log on my phone to prove that I hadn't called anyone but Randy. Repeatedly. Which was why he wouldn't answer my calls anymore. Francois told them that his phone had been used to call my girl friends, Crystal and Jessica, but I also pointed out that either one of them probably gets over a hundred calls and texts a day. Without Francois' name or relationship to me, that shouldn't have given anything away. Besides, it was pretty obvious that the detectives didn't want to consider that some guy was running around with access to cell phone triangulation - or worse, GPS - while they needed court orders to get that kind of access.

I breathed another sigh of relief when we parked in a cop-only underground garage, before taking an elevator up to their floor. In fact, I was doing remarkably well, until they wanted to put me in an interrogation room. Alone. I was debating if berserkoid would work on cops when Francois silenced me with a look. All this time, I thought it was the voice. He said something calmly and quietly to the detectives and they reluctantly consented and let him stay with me. Francois explained that they wanted to give the evidence team some additional instructions, then they would be in to talk to us. I thought it was sweet of him to include himself, but I was under no delusions. The inquisition was for me and I was only barely holding it together. Pretty much the only thing keeping me from bolting was the knowledge that Dr. Tom was out there somewhere lurking in wait.

By the time that the detectives returned, I think I was pretty close to hyperventilating. I hadn't covered that subject in drama queen school, but I did wonder if I should be breathing into a bag or something. It only got worse when they told Francois he would have to leave the room, but then the male detective left with him. 'Okay,' I told myself. 'You can do this.' And the woman, though she looked like what a novel might call hard-boiled, came across as sympathetic when she began talking to me and easing me into describing my relationship with Dr. Tom. By the end of the two hours, I felt more like a victim then the catalyst of this unfolding horror. I even commented that I was pleasantly surprised with the attention that they were devoting to the case, given the usual level of crime in the big city. That's when she told me that they were treating it as an attempted murder case. I hadn't thought it possible, but things just got even more real.

I begged her for information about Crystal, and she finally relented and told me that my friend had awakened earlier in the evening, but unfortunately didn't remember anything. She said that wasn't surprising, given it appeared she had been hit from behind. I thanked her profusely, explaining I hadn't heard anything back from my other friend, Jessica, all day. She allowed as how that was probably because someone had stolen Jessica's phone when she had left it plugged into a charger in a waiting room.

Everything went bright white, then black. Jessica, my sweet, blonde friend, who could never remember anything. In that blinding flash, I saw her listing my name as the contact for Francois' cell phone. I had told her I was calling from a friend's phone. I hadn't given her Francois' name, because, well, I'm selfish. I wanted to keep him all to myself. So, of course she would put my name or some sort of reference to me so she could find the number again. And she was also hopeless about locking her phone when she finished a call or a text, because she always expected an immediate response and didn't want to have to enter a passcode again. Okay, my new truth-is-the-shining-path strategy-for-living requires I admit that I do the same thing. I immediately told my new friend Madge my suspicions. She was annoyed again, but not at me. At the fact that Dr. Tom might have access to GPS to track Francois' phone to his apartment.

She had me wait in the room, but a moment later, Francois entered and sat with me. I told him what I suspected and tried to apologize effusively, which he, of course, would not allow, and even got pretty stern with me when I persisted. I actually felt my ass warm as if he had specifically threatened it with another spanking. When I told him about how the interview went, however, he was all praise and pride, making the rest of me feel warm and fuzzy.

He sat in one of the chairs, inviting me to his lap, just as I was starting to pace again so maybe I was getting on his nerves. But I knew a good offer when I saw one. I plopped down and snuggled against him. He kissed my hair. "I made a reservation at a hotel for the night," he told me, "And I let Randy know what was going on."

"Thank you," I murmured against his chest, savoring the smell of him.

"Ca ne fait rien, Cherie," he murmured back.

I was off his lap, across the small room, and with my back to the door in what had to be Olympic record time. "What did you say?" I squeaked.

"Ca ne fait rien," he repeated, with a puzzled and hurt look. "It means 'It's nothing.'"

"No, after that!" I cried. "What you called me."

"Cherie?" he asked, now totally confused.

I howled, pulling at the door, thinking it was locked but not even trying to turn the knob.

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