Carson Evolved Ch. 05

Author's Notes:

Welcome back readers! Thank you not only for coming back for more, but also the incredibly kind comments, and even feedback begging for more. It's rewarding and appreciated. If you send me a message with your address, I'll be happy to get back to you. It's kind of cool to have fans of some sort. But, if you don't sign in, I can't respond to you, "Anonymous."

This is the fifth installment of the story. If you haven't read the previous chapters, I recommend that you do so before continuing. Little effort is made to explain references to earlier events and characters. This is a longish chapter that picks up directly after chapter four. Like chapter four, there are some jumps in the timeline, so pay attention.

One thing I'd like to forewarn about: There is a simulated sexual assault depicted in this chapter. I tried to treat this delicately, because I do not want to minimize the horrific nature of such actual activity. That said, there are fetishists out there of male and female persuasion, and it fit with the "victim's" character. If this isn't your thing—it's not mine—I understand, and I hope you'll come back again for chapter six.

Standard disclaimer: Please, if you like the story, or if you don't like the story, take a moment to comment. If you want to insult me because you don't like a topic, go ahead and file that in your own trash can; mine's full. But if you have something constructive to add, please do. I'm still a new writer and it helps me quite a bit to see the story through others' eyes.

Finally, as always, all sexual activity takes place between adults.

-MB

*****

"He what?"

"....."

"What do you mean the attack failed? If the attack failed, that means you failed. I don't tolerate failure!" he yelled into the phone.

"....."

"I don't want excuses! I want results! Get it done. And Yelich? If you fail again, you will be the next one to receive a box from a secret admirer. Are we clear?" Without waiting for the man's response, he ended the call and tossed the phone on his desk.

Staring out into the night sky, he pondered the problem of Carson Jayne. Bad enough that the charismatic young man had arrived on the scene seemingly out of the blue, but whether consciously or otherwise, his actions with golden women had already made him a potential director candidate. That was the last thing Eisenfaust needed right now, but worse might be if he was viewed as a martyr. The attack had been premature, but all interested parties had agreed that if used properly, it would be very persuasive in convincing the more intractable members of the council to see things from a new perspective. The failed attack might send a very different kind of message.

As he stewed about the missed opportunity, he heard the chirp of his second communicator. There were only two people in the world who could contact him by this means; a call from either at this hour did not bode well.

A quick glance at the display only made him groan more. He was not in the mood for her games right now.

"Lachesis, what an unexpected surprise." The woman on the other end of the line had taken the name of the mythological Fate responsible for measuring the length of a person's life. Hers had been the final call to schedule the attempt on Carson's life.

From the acerbic way in which she said his name, Lachesis was not in the mood for niceties. "Atropos. I'll get right to the point. Why is Carson Jayne still alive?"

He had not gotten to where he was today by bowing down to anyone. Testily, he replied, "The situation is being handled."

"What the fuck does that mean? It was supposed to be handled at the social to make a statement that no one is untouchable. The cost of this setback is incalculable."

Atropos sighed. Even in his anger, he couldn't deny the truth of her statement. Wryly, he said, "We may call ourselves Fates, but we can't control everything. We expected him to attempt to remove the creature immediately. It was just a random...twist of fate...that put a medical person who knew what to do right next to him when it happened. A few minutes later and he's already dying by now."

There was silence on the line. It stretched an uncomfortably long time as the caller digested his answer. Quietly, she said, "Clothos is not going to be happy about this."

"I'm not happy about this," he replied angrily. "I told you. It's being handled."

Icily, Lachesis replied, "For your sake, I hope so, and quickly. We have too much at stake to lose control of the situation now."

Gritting his teeth to keep from letting loose with the torrent of words that he wanted to say right then, he instead said, "I'm well aware of the stakes. Good night, Lachesis." He cut off her response with a huff and returned to staring out into the night.

*****

When Carson's Pride had realized the danger he was in at the social, they'd rallied around him, distraught but ill-equipped to deal with the problem. Once the danger had passed and he'd assured them he was fine, their attention had turned surprisingly quickly to the potential new Lioness who'd saved Carson's life, Quinn Pruitt, before a longer, very serious discussion about what they were going to do to protect him from whoever wanted him dead.

For his part, Carson tried to be reassuring, but internally he was more than a little unnerved to find that anyone would want him out of the way. Maybe it had been a mistake? After wracking his brain, he had no idea who would benefit from his death. It had not been a restful night.

Of course, with five women pregnant with his babies in the house, he was not likely to have another restful night in his life. Mara and Mila had gotten pregnant within a week of each other, and they were the furthest along. They were also the ones experiencing pregnancy-induced arousal the most strongly, though Sam was not far behind. Sam had a high libido anyway, so it wasn't much of a change for her, as far as Carson was concerned. Regardless, last night had been the first night he'd shared a bed with more than one woman, as the twins requested to join him as he got ready for bed. It had begun as a way to calm their fears over almost losing Carson, with each woman taking a side and snuggling up against him. Before long, though, hands had begun to roam, lips began to travel and meet, and nature had taken its course. Multiple times.

This morning, Carson was paying the price for his lack of sleep the previous night. It didn't help that he was handling the acquisition of a European manufacturer of the key component of a valuable client's most important product. He'd just finished an early morning videoconference to go over the major details of the proposal ahead of his trip later this week.

With a yawn, he pressed the button to connect with his secretary. "Corinne?"

The video screen on his desk phone blinked on. "Yes, Mr. Jayne?"

"Would you please bring one of your special cups of coffee? I'm dragging this morning."

The gatekeeper to his inner sanctum at work was a study in duality. Only 22-years old, she had been a fill-in when his first secretary had unexpectedly resigned to move with her husband after he took a new job. Within a day, Corinne'd reorganized his calendar, saving him a few hours a week; within a week, he'd happily informed the secretarial pool that she would be staying indefinitely. Once they'd crossed that hurdle, she'd stopped holding back. If there were any other people around, she was the model of professionalism and decorum, though heaven help the unfortunate soul who crossed her. Completely fearless, she brought even experienced lawyers to their knees for coming unprepared.

When they were alone, however, she made it perfectly clear how much she enjoyed working under him, and how much she'd enjoy working harder under him...or over him...or any other way he wanted to work her. Yeah, she was a cheeky little minx. He thought she was joking...mostly.

"What's it worth to ya?" she asked innocently.

Carson groaned. "I'm too tired to negotiate effectively this morning. What's the price of one good cup of coffee?"

"One night of no holds barred passion, at a time of my choosing," she replied without hesitation.

He quirked an eye at her. "For a cup of coffee? Don't you think that's a little steep?"

She grinned and said, "Negotiations have to start somewhere, right? You taught me that. What's your counteroffer?"

"How about you bring me the cup of coffee and I don't bend you over my knee and spank you for being too saucy with your boss?"

"Awww, that's no fun," she protested. "How about I bring the coffee and you bend me over and spank me, for being just saucy enough with my boss?" she finished with a grin.

In mock exasperation, he sighed and said, "Fine. Bring me the coffee and assume the position."

A few minutes later, she set a cup of coffee on his desk. She had enjoyed their flirtation, if the grin on her face was any indication. Carson winked at her as he sipped, "Mmmm, that's good. Give me a minute to wake up and I'll give you your spanking."

She actually caught her lip between her teeth and groaned in disappointment. "Wish I could, boss. I mean, I really wish I could. But you have a visitor. And she kinda scares me, so you probably shouldn't keep her waiting."

Surprised, he said, "I didn't think there was anyone alive who scared you."

"Yeah, well, I didn't either," she said. "Then that Amazon showed up outside..."

"Valkyrie, actually," said a voice from the doorway. Carson could see at a glance why Corinne had described the woman as an Amazon. Despite the professional cut of her dark gray suit and white dress shirt, she was clearly a warrior. Big-boned, she had a powerful physique that was at once athletic, strong, and very, very womanly. She had probably the largest breasts that Carson had ever seen in person, and yet she clearly carried very little extra weight otherwise. She was just big. And he was extremely thankful that she wasn't an Amazon. Cutting off one of those breasts to be a better archer would be a crime against nature.

"What?" asked Corinne.

The woman made her way towards Carson's desk. "You described me as an Amazon. I'm more of a Valkyrie," she said. Extending her hand, she introduced herself. "Agent Tilda Grimaldi, SSH."

When Carson looked at her in silent expectation, she glanced at Corinne. "I'm afraid I need to speak with you about a matter of some sensitivity, Mr. Jayne."

Turning to his assistant, Carson said, "Thank you for the coffee, Corinne. Please close the door and hold my calls."

"Right away, sir," she replied, easily shifting back into her professional role.

When she was gone, Carson said, "SSH?"

Tilda took a seat across the desk from him. "It stands for Schattensicherheit, which roughly translates to 'Shadow Security.' 'SSH' rolls off the tongue a bit easier, so almost no one calls it by its actual name. We're a covert investigations unit for the project."

"Really? I wouldn't have thought they'd have much need."

She smiled and said, "You'd be surprised. The project works within the structure of society for the most part. But, there are obviously things that come up occasionally between Orriri interests that fall outside of regular jurisdiction. We fill in the gaps, help take care of things that we can't leave to civilian authorities."

He smiled and took a sip of coffee. God, she makes a good cup of coffee. "My apologies, Agent Grimaldi. Would you like a cup of coffee? My secretary is some sort of coffee witch; it's really very good."

"I'd love some, thanks." Almost before she'd finished speaking, there was a soft knock at the door. It cracked open and Corinne peeked her head in.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said. "I thought the agent might like some coffee." Then she set a cup next the woman and quietly closed the door.

Carson looked at Tilda and smiled. "She's very good at her job."

"I can see that," smiled Tilda. After sipping, she said, "Oh! You weren't kidding. That's really, really good. I'll have to get her secret on my way out."

"Good luck with that," Carson said. "She's worked for me almost three years now, and no matter how many raises or days off I give her, she refuses to tell me her secret."

Tilda smirked at him and said, "Maybe she'll share it between girls."

He shrugged and said with an exaggerated flourish, "Vive le matriarcat!"

"Matriarchy? Oh, no, Mr. Jayne. This is more a divine sisterhood thing."

"Either way, it counts me out. So, what can I do for Agent Tilda Grimaldi of the SSH?"

She carefully set her mug down at the edge of his desk and scooted forward in her seat. Clearing her voice, she said, "I understand that you were involved in an incident at the social last night? That you think someone may have made an attempt on your life?"

Carson nodded, but added, "I can't figure out why someone would want me dead, though. I was thinking that it might have been a case of mistaken identity. Do you think that's possible?"

"Highly unlikely. That form of assassination requires a great deal of planning to accomplish. Pseudo-vipers are on the restricted list for entering the country, and purchasing one in the country requires a license to own it and proof of control procedures. To prevent them from getting loose, you understand."

"Why in the world would someone want to own one of those things?" he asked.

"Honestly? I haven't a clue why a private collector might want one, other than the novelty of it. They are valuable in research, however. Their venom is useful for synthesizing treatment for pain for soldiers in battle, for example. We think the one used in the attack was stolen from a research lab a week ago."

Carson sat back, contemplating the situation. "That still doesn't explain why someone would go to so much trouble to kill me."

Tilda cleared her throat, before speaking. "What I'm about to tell you must be kept in the strongest of confidence. Can I trust you?"

He looked at her in speculation. She was clearly a serious person, dedicated to her job. The way she asked the question made him curious to understand what would make her feel the need to keep secrets. "I swear that nothing you say in this office today will leave the room," he promised.

She nodded in satisfaction and began to speak. "We've been working on a theory for the last few years. There has been a series of seemingly unrelated events—unexpected deaths, vandalism and property damage, even a couple of kidnappings—that we believe are not unrelated at all. If you take a step back from the actual events and kind of see the big picture, everything fits into a scheme that suggests specific families within the organization are being targeted."

"To what purpose?"

Tilda thought a moment before answering, seemingly considering just what she should say. Finally, she came to a decision. "There's some disagreement," she said, "But I believe that there's a cabal working at cross purposes to Orriri, with the goal of seizing control of the organization and consolidating power into the hands of a select group of people."

When Carson looked at her skeptically, she hastened to add, "And the attempt on your life fits into the scheme perfectly."

Confused, he asked, "How's that?"

"I think your death was supposed to send a message to the other members of the council that they'd better go along or else. By killing you, they'd essentially guarantee the extinction of your line, since the children you have on the way could easily be eliminated later on. Imagine that message getting through to a family head with many children of their own, plus grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and in some cases, great-great-grandchildren."

"Even so," he said, "I just took a seat on the council. No one has been pressuring me to do anything. Why would they kill me now?"

Tilda began to pace the room, sort of talking to herself out loud. Carson watched her, not really understanding the variables that she was discussing, not seeing the picture she was looking at in her mind. It took a few minutes before the answer became apparent. He knew when it happened though, because she spun around with a wide-eyed look on her face. "You were going to upset the balance!"

She made her way back to her seat. "Think about it. They don't need to control everyone on the council; majority rules. They just need to control enough votes to change the course of the project. Let's say they've been working on this scheme for a long time. There's eleven votes in play on any issue..."

"Wait a minute, there're twelve seats on the council," Carson said.

Tilda smiled. "True, but a proposal sponsor doesn't get to vote on their own proposal. It's assumed that if you're sponsoring it, you'd vote in favor. Now, I can't imagine anything less than three being involved; before you came along, that meant they needed six of ten votes to have a majority on any proposal. If they convinced or coerced someone into introducing a proposal on their behalf, they only needed to get three more votes, maybe less. That's still a lot, but doable. Not everything has to be done by coercion, after all.

"But now? If you don't go along, they need to get four votes. And if you oppose them—a younger, well-educated man, a lawyer no less, they could definitely envision you standing against them, especially with your history of opposing bullying—you represent a very real threat to their ability to convince people to go along with their plans." She sat back with her eyes wide in wonder at how neatly the entire thing fit together. By jumping the gun in their attack on Carson, the group that had to this point remained only a shadow of a theory had suddenly become very, very plausible.

Carson remained skeptical. "I don't know. Do you have any evidence of the existence of this cabal? Do they even have a name?"

"We found one reference to something called, Eisenfaust. We're not sure if it's the same group, or not. But we're operating under the theory that it's the same."

Carson paused in thought. Eisenfaust...Iron Fist. Definitely sounds like something an evil cabal trying to take over the world would name themselves.

"Assuming that your theory is accurate, what do you want me to do?" he asked. "I'm guessing, based on our conversation so far, that you didn't come here this morning solely for the purpose of telling me conspiracy theories."

Tilda was an experienced agent. She was the same age as Carson, but unlike him, she'd gone into the army out of high school. She'd grown bored with the tedium of peacetime missions and mustered out at the end of her two-year hitch. Quickly approached by the SSH, she'd spent the last nine years training in a range of useful areas. One skill that she'd shown special aptitude for was reading people. It made her a very good investigator. That was one of the reasons she'd insisted on being the one to approach Carson this morning. She wanted to get a read on him.

Despite his obvious discomfort at the idea that someone wanted him dead, he'd shown no signs of disorganized thinking, panic, or denial. Instead, he'd been surprisingly upbeat in greeting her, had given her thoughts due consideration, asked pertinent questions, and generally impressed her. And, he was drop-dead gorgeous. She wasn't easily distracted by eye candy, but he definitely made an impression on the veteran agent. Which made her next suggestion that much more delicious.

"I'd like to offer my services as head of security for you and your family. That part will cost you nothing; the project will cover my salary, and the salary of anyone on my team. But any physical security measures that we take will have to come out of your pocket."