by Van ©2016 |
|
FROM THE CASE FILES OF KITTY WYNTER | ||
| by Van ©2016 |
||||
| Chapter 7 |
 |
OUR
STORY CONTINUES |
|
Supremely confident that Jessie-the-slut and Kitty-the-detective couldn't possibly escape from their ropes during her absence, Angelique climbed the stairs to the first floor. It was time to move Philberta-the-other-detective, her third plaything, down to the basement to join playthings one and two. She'd also take the occasion to reinforce the blonde's bondage, but hadn't yet made her mind up as to exactly how. She decided to get her downstairs, tape up her fingers and hands, like she'd done with her partner, then wait for inspiration.
"Philberta," Angelique muttered to herself as she neared the closet incarcerating the plaything in question. From the few words she'd exchanged with the little blonde before her capture it was obvious she was British, and during the course of disarming, stripping, and binding the pixie-haired cutie, she'd discovered her business card, which was how she knew her full name: "Philberta Finch." If Mumsy and Dada had named me 'Philberta,' Angelique thought as a delicate shudder shook her petite form, it probably would have driven me quite insane.
Angelique knew she should call Miriam to tell her of her good fortune, that she now had three damsels upon whom to visit distress, but decided to wait until she had Philberta further restrained and suffering for her partner's and Dr. Maitland's edification and her own entertainment, then make the call. Angelique frowned. When she called Miriam, there was a good chance Big Sister would send over a goon to, shall we say, "deal" with the detectives, and then Angelique wouldn't have had much time to play. She'd still have Jessie-the-slut, of course, but the detectives would be... gone. No, Angelique decided, best to wait before informing Miriam, perhaps even wait until she decides it's safe to come over and do her gloating in person. Miriam will complain, of course, but by then it will be a done deal. I'll already have had scads of fun.
Smiling in anticipation, Angelique pulled out her keys and unlocked the closet containing the naked, bound, and gagged Philberta, but paused to give the door a knock. "Hello? Philberta? Are you ready to come out and play?" She opened the door and—
A nude but very much not bound and gagged Bertie Finch erupted from the dark closet! She delivered a punch with her right fist to Angelique's jaw and the startled brunette staggered back. The blow was followed by a swing-kick to Angelique's stomach.
Angelique fumbled for her taser and pulled it from her pocket—but it went flying thanks to another swing-kick from the attacking blonde. "How?" Angelique gasped, barely able to muster the breath to speak. "How were you able to—Ah!"
Bertie had delivered a third swing kick, this time to the side of her opponent's head. With a dazed expression, Angelique stood in place for a few heartbeats... then crumpled to the floor.
Still in fighting stance, Bertie scowled down at the unconscious brunette. "How? I'm Kitty's squirmy little English Muffin!" she shouted in triumph. "That's how!" Bertie returned to the closet for the ropes her captor had used to bind her. "Time for you to learn how to tie someone properly," she huffed, then doubled the longest coil and found its center.
| The Damsel Vanishes | |
Chapter 7 |
Kitty was feeling increasingly wretched, especially her shoulders, calves, feet, and tied toes, and she knew Jessie was probably even more unhappy. And the "fun" Angelique had promised hadn't even begun. Worst yet, with Kitty's fingers and hands mummified in silver duct-tape, escape from her rope bonds was impossible. All of Kitty's hard earned escapology skills were useless, thanks to her tightly encased fingers.
Kitty refused to surrender to despair. This might be the end of her career—the long, slow, agonizing end of her career—but Kitty didn't surrender to despair. Bertie! The worst part was her partner. Angelique Crazy-Nurse Porter had gone upstairs to fetch Bertie, and it looked like it would be the end of both their careers.
Still, there was always hope. Maybe Nikki would rescue them. That was an exceedingly remote possibility, of course, for as far as Kitty knew, Bertie's NYPD "girlfriend" and the Shyster's kid sister was totally unaware of Jessie Maitland's capture, much less Kitty and Bertie's efforts to effect a rescue, much less their subsequent capture and the concomitant need for a rescue of their own.
There was always Athena Zavros, of course, the "security consultant" Miriam Holden had hired to kidnap Jessie in the first place. Athena had changed sides—in a passive sort of way—and provided the clue that put Kitty and Finch Investigative Services hot on Jessie's trail (and bumbling into the crazy-bitch arms of Angelique Porter). Maybe Athena would turn totally from the Dark to the Light and come to their rescue. Yeah, right. It was a slim hope, to say the least, but at the moment it was the best that Kitty had.
Just then, Kitty heard the patter of rapidly approaching feet—rapidly approaching bare feet, as opposed to pounding sneakers. Someone without shoes was approaching at a run and was already quite close. And then, the someone in question emerged from the shadows, entered Kitty's field of view, and she was—"Mrrrfhn!"—Muffin!
"Oh, darling," Bertie sighed as the naked but unbound Brit rushed to Kitty, took her head in her hands, and planted a kiss on her tape-gagged lips. She then continued on where Angelique had secured the rope enforcing Kitty's strappado position and quickly untied the terminal knot.
"Mrrr," Kitty sighed through her tape-sealed lips as the rope went slack and she was able to come down off her toes and stand erect. Heels, soles, and tied toes solidly on the floor, she watched as Bertie scampered over to the steel table, rolled it under Jessie's suspended body, then padded to the hoisting rope securing the suspension and began untying its terminal knot. "Mrrr!" Kitty hummed through her gag.
"Hold your horses, darling," Bertie purred as she took hold of the suspending rope, released the final hitch of the knot, and slowly, carefully, lowered Jessie to the table. "Customer service comes first," the little Brit chuckled.
This was intentionally infuriating, of course. Muffin knew damn well that Kitty agreed that Jessie was their first priority, but Kitty had questions and she needed answers. It was... frustrating.
Meanwhile, Bertie made a quick trip to the cart with Angelique's array of toys, snatched up the paring knife beside the dish with the ginger root, then returned to the table and attacked Jessie's ropes and cords. "Besides," Bertie sighed as she severed the cords binding Jessie's braided hair and toes to her hogtie-bonds, "I'm sure poor Jessie has been a bound prisoner far longer than yourself." She winked at her glowering partner. "Don't be selfish."
Kitty sighed through her gag, again. Hilarious. Keep it up.
Kitty had issues:
I'll deal with you later, Kitty promised silently, continuing to glare at her naked, smiling, irritating (adorable) partner. Kitty was very much not bent over in a punishing strappado, but she was still naked and tied up. A wave of relief and pure love for her girlishly beautiful, tow-haired lover washed through Kitty's bound and gagged body. God she's so CUTE! Of course, Kitty still intended to take her righteous and entirely justified revenge on the naked pixie for having the unmitigated gall to rescue Kitty Wynter instead of waiting to be rescued like a good damsel. The very nerve!
- Relief! Bertie was not only okay, but she was in charge! Bertie didn't need rescuing. In fact, Bertie was doing the rescuing!
- To reiterate... Bertie. Was. Doing. The. Rescuing. That's MY job! Kitty fumed.
- Where was Angelique? Kitty assumed Bertie had things under control. But, where was Angelique?
- And of course Jessie took precedence, dammit! Bertie was enjoying Kitty's frustration entirely too much.
Meanwhile, Bertie was making rapid and dramatic progress in her task of freeing Jessie from her bonds. Soon, the naked nerd rolled off the steel table, peeled the tape from her lips, then spat a red rubber ball from her mouth. "Quick!" she croaked, "pencil and paper!"
Bertie watched the ball bounce away, then turned to Jessie. "Excuse me?"
Jessie executed an awkward stretch. "Arrgh! I need to write down some equations."
"Uh, I suppose there might be some paper upstairs," Bertie answered, gesturing into the darkness, "but... Oh!"
Jessie had given Bertie a quick, fierce hug, then padded away in the direction indicated.
Bertie watched Jessie disappear into the darkness. "Don't mess with the computer!" she called after her, then shrugged and turned to her partner. "That was unexpected," she chuckled.
"Mrrrf!" Kitty was not amused. She was also bound and gagged. Still. And who cares about the damn computer? Kitty blinked in confusion. Wait. What computer?
Bertie padded to her partner and pulled her into a fierce embrace. "Oh, Kitty," she sighed. "Thank goodness you're okay."
Kitty was not okay. She was bound and gagged, and naked... but a shudder of pure affection shook her helpless body and she rested her tape-gagged head on her diminutive partner's shoulder.
Bertie held the hug for several seconds, then sighed, released Kitty and stepped behind her, untied and removed her wrist-bonds, untied the knot securing her elbow-bonds, used the paring knife to carefully, deftly slice through most of Kitty's finger-wrappings, then scampered away. "I'll be upstairs taking care of Jessie!" she called back over her shoulder.
Just you wait! Kitty squirmed and wiggled and was rewarded by increasing slack in her elbow-bonds. Soon, the slack coils of rope slid from her arms and dropped to the floor.
Kitty struggled to extract her fingers and hands from the remaining tape, but it was an awkward, clumsy task as her fingers were still half-buried in the semi-intact and sticky mass. Bertie! You did this on purpose! After nearly a minute of determined tugging and wiggling, Kitty was finally able to free her hands and toss the silver wad into the darkness.
Next, Kitty bent forward at the waist, ignoring her complaining back, and began untying her knee-bonds. After that, only her ankles and toes remained. Just you wait! she reiterated, silently, as her gag also still needed removing. Kitty's lips were still sealed.
And before her departure, Bertie hadn't explained the significance of the computer upstairs. Kitty assumed the digital device in question was somehow connected to the case. She'd know soon enough.
| The Damsel Vanishes | |
Chapter 7 |
Kitty discovered the hamper-on-wheels containing her clothes and quickly dressed herself. There was no sign of her Glock, backup piece, spare magazines, lock-pick set, iPhone, or her other pocket contents. Bertie had tossed the paring knife back on the cart as she left, so Kitty picked it up. It was a pitiful weapon, but better than nothing. As ready as she was going to get, Kitty turned and strode in the direction the naked Jessie and Muffin had taken, what Kitty assumed was the direction of the stairs.
Her assumption was correct. Kitty found Bertie and Jessie in a large room on the first floor. It was either a home office, a lounge, or more probably, both.
Jessie was kneeling on the floor in the center of the room with a pen, clipboard, and open package of printer paper, and was feverishly writing. Several of the white sheets were already covered with what Kitty took to be either mathematical equations, circuit diagrams, or Klingon poetry... possibly all of the above. The hot nerd was still naked and was apparently totally oblivious to her surroundings. As Kitty watched, she finished filling a page, removed it from the clipboard and carefully positioned it among the pages already fanned out into various groupings that more-or-less surrounded her naked, kneeling form, clipped a fresh sheet to the clipboard, and resumed writing... or drawing... or both.
Bertie, also still naked, was seated in an office chair at a large desk and was busily tapping the keys of a high-end Apple desktop computer. As Kitty watched, her partner tapped a final key and a box popped up on the monitor screen. A download of some sort had commenced. Bertie sat back in the chair, swiveled to face Kitty, and smiled in triumph.
There was a third occupant of the room, not counting Kitty herself. Angelique Porter was lying on the floor off to one side and was naked, hogtied, and very tightly cleave-gagged with a winter scarf. Kitty assessed her bondage as relatively simple, inescapable, and somewhat dangerous. The hogtying rope ran from Angelique's crossed and bound wrists, through her crossed and bound ankles, then doubled back to encircle her neck in a noose! If Angelique struggled, or if the muscles she was using to keep her legs folded succumbed to exhaustion, the noose would tighten and she'd strangle herself! Her pale blue eyes were wide with fear.
Kitty frowned at the still smiling little blonde in the chair. "Bertie!" Kitty wasn't above a little hideous revenge at Angelique's expense (actually, she wasn't above a lot of hideous revenge at Angelique's expense), but there was a time and place for such things.
Bertie's smile became decidedly coy. "What? I have my reasons."
Kitty continued frowning.
Bertie ticked off her reasons with the fingers of her right hand. "One, I had to search her for weapons. Hence, the stripping. Two, I had to make sure she didn't escape while I was conducting my search."
"Of course," Kitty conceded.
"And three..." Bertie turned to gaze at the naked, helpless, and carefully not struggling Angelique. "She made me angry."
Kitty heaved a sigh. "Well, I know how you get when you're angry." She turned her gaze from Angelique to the download indicator slowly creeping across the monitor screen. "What are you doing?"
Bertie's smile broadened. "Guess which pair of psychotic, kidnapping sisters decided to make video recordings of everything having anything to do with their crime?"
"You're kidding," Kitty huffed. "Nobody's that stupid."
"No, I'm not kidding," Bertie purred, "and apparently, they are that stupid. I haven't had time to review everything, of course. We can do that at our leisure, after the download of copies to our office server is complete."
"You took time off to hack this bitch's computer while I was downstairs being tortured?" Kitty demanded.
"Don't be hurtful, Kitty-Kat," Bertie giggled. "I was frantically searching for Jessie and yourself, entered this room—" She indicated the monitor with a graceful flip of the wrist. "And there the pair of you were on the screen. A 'record' indicator was flashing in one corner, and the opposite corner had a flickering date and time stamp. Also, the word 'basement.' That told me where to look next... not that I wouldn't have found you eventually."
Kitty nodded. "Complete records?"
Bertie shrugged. "Based on the file labels, yes. Even the planning stage."
Kitty nodded, deep in thought. This was mildly irritating. Now Kitty didn't have an excuse to take justice into her own hands. She gazed at Angelique, and the naked, hogtied, quite obviously terrified captive gazed back. "I guess that means we have to let the law deal with them," she said finally. "We don't get to kidnap the other sister and dump them both in the East River."
Bertie giggled. "Disappointing, but watching their lawyers try and squirm out from under all of this evidence should be entertaining."
Bertie continued smiling and Kitty smiled back. Jessie continued scribbling equations. Angelique, her pale blue eyes still wide with fear above the wool scarf cleaving her mouth, continued not struggling.
"I suppose we should call Nikki and Shyster," Kitty suggested.
"Right," Bertie agreed, then pointed to a coffee table in front of a sofa and pair of easy chairs. "Our stuff is over there."
Kitty rushed to the low table and picked up her weapon. "Glockie!" she exclaimed with glee as she quickly, deftly removed the magazine, checked the action, then slammed the magazine back into the butt of the handle.
"Glockie?" Bertie giggled.
"Shut up," Kitty ordered as she holstered the Glock and clipped it in its proper place at the small of her back, restored her backup piece to her right boot top, and pocketed her other stuff, leaving her iPhone for last. "And go find your clothes. We're about to have official company."
Bertie giggled, left the chair, and padded in the direction of her former closet prison. Logically, her clothes might be somewhere nearby.
"Wait!" Kitty shouted, and Bertie turned and padded in her partner.
"What?" the adorable, brave little Brit asked.
Kitty pulled Bertie into a tight embrace and kissed her startled lips. "I love you, Muffin," she sighed when she came up for air.
"I love you too, Kitty-Kat," Bertie responded, and the kiss resumed.
Finally, Kitty released Bertie and sent her on her way with a slap on the butt. "Go," she ordered, "and find something for the nerd to wear." Her eyes were on her partner's naked, disappearing back, dimpled butt, and flashing legs.
"Will do!" Bertie shouted back over her right shoulder.
Kitty activated her phone, selected one of her contacts, and placed her call. "Detective Braslow," she purred when Nikki answered, "have I got a story for you."
"Kitty," Nikki's voice sighed, "I'm busy."
"This is work related," Nikki chuckled. "Now listen up and take notes. I'm about to make you famous."
| The Damsel Vanishes | |
Chapter 7 |
TWO DAYS LATER
THE MANHATTAN TOWNHOUSE OF HARCOURT AND MIRIAM HOLDEN
Miriam was enjoying a cup of tea in the sitting room. She couldn't help but smile, thinking about the tortures Harcourt's Whore was suffering at this very moment. She realized it was prudent to wait until it was absolutely clear that nothing was going to lead the authorities to Miriam or her sister before downloading and viewing the video records of Angelique's "entertainment" of Jessie Maitland. She herself had insisted that there be no contact until she decided it was safe, and while delayed gratification could be sweet... Miriam very much wanted to see the brainy bitch writhing in pain! She wanted to savor the terror and despair in her big brown eyes.
Suddenly, Miriam heard a commotion coming from the direction of the front hallway. Seconds passed, then, much to her alarm, several men with pistols aimed in her direction barged into the room. They were dressed either in NYPD uniforms or business suits, and all wore dark blue bullet-proof vests emblazoned with the word "POLICE." Miriam's cup and saucer clattered to the floor as she leaped to her feet. Close on the heels of the first intruders came an attractive blond woman in a pantsuit, also wearing a bullet-proof vest labeled "POLICE" and brandishing a handgun.
"Miriam Holden," the blonde said as she holstered her weapon and produced a pair of handcuffs, "you are under arrest for kidnapping and criminal conspiracy."
"What?" Miriam demanded. "How dare you!" The blonde had spun her around, seized her wrists, and was cuffing her hands behind her back!
The cuffs in place, the blonde pulled a small card from a pocket in her vest and began to read. "You have a right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law."
"Stop!" Miriam shouted as she was led from the room.
"You have the right to an attorney," the blonde continued without missing a beat. "If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as I've read them to you?"
"This is an outrage!" Miriam cried, tugging on the cuffs. "I demand you leave my home immediately!"
The blonde returned the card to her vest, then produced a folded piece of paper. "Not until we've executed our search warrant," she purred. "Come, we can chat after you've been processed."
"I demand my lawyers!" Miriam exclaimed.
"A small army of your husband's lawyers will no doubt meet us down at the precinct," the blonde explained. "Although," she continued with a smile, "sorting out which ones will be representing you and which will be joining you in the conspiracy charge may complicate things for a while. I'm Detective Braslow, by the way."
Miriam was half-led, half-dragged towards her front entryway. More police were milling about, some in uniforms, and some in suits. There were also a handful of her servants present, most of whom were being interviewed by the police. They watched her pass with a mix of shock and poorly concealed delight.
Miriam and her escort exited the townhouse and—"No!"—were met by the flashing strobes of still photographers, the bright lights of television cameras, and a crowd of reporters shouting questions. Dazed and confused, her heart hammering, her normally flawless hair slightly mussed, helpless in the firm grip of Detective Braslow and her handcuffs, Miriam found herself the center of unwanted attention in a classic example of what has come to be referred to as a "perp walk."
Nikki struggled to suppress her smile and maintain a professional demeanor. Her big sister Kirsten's off-the-record warning calls to her press contacts was putting just the right spin on the story. By the time Miriam Holden's lawyers got around to holding a press conference, additional details would have leaked and it would be difficult, if not impossible, for them to paint the kidnapping bitch as a victim of police harassment.
| The Damsel Vanishes | |
Chapter 7 |
Multiple airtight alibis not withstanding, Athena Zavros had decided that at least a temporary vacation from the Big Apple might be a good idea.
The BREAKING NEWS! of Crazy-Miriam's arrest was blaring from the television. The anchor desk reporter didn't seem to know anything that could be called informative, nor did the gorgeous blonde with the microphone in her hand doing the remote report from the stoop of the Holden townhouse. The news cycle was a classic example of the "beast that cannot be fed." Harcourt Holden's wife has been arrested! We don't know why! It would be wrong to speculate! Let's speculate!
Athena intended to travel light. In fact, it might be said she lived light. There was nothing she was leaving behind in her apartment she couldn't do without. If the cops did come knocking with a search warrant, Athena would lose a few changes of clothes and not much else. Her traveling clothes, important papers, laptop, and the cleaning kit and a couple of boxes of spare ammo for her two handguns were in a single small, wheeled suitcase. Athena closed the lid, extended the telescoping handle, rolled the suitcase near the front door, then made a quick, final sweep of the apartment.
The soon-to-be-vacationer (fugitive) was dressed in high heel pumps, a heather gray pencil skirt with matching jacket over a white blouse, and a dark-tan trench coat. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail and her head covered by a patterned silk scarf, mostly in subdued shades of purple, folded into a triangle and loosely tied under her chin. Finally, a large pair of designer sunglasses shielded her eyes. It was hardly a disguise, but the colors and style elements were carefully chosen to blend into a crowd. When she wanted, Athena could dress to the nines and be the center of attention, but knowing how to not be noticed was a professional skill she'd mastered a long time ago.
Athena returned to the front door, placed her right hand on the suitcase handle, then turned for a final look around. It was a fully furnished apartment with a reasonable rent, something as rare as hens teeth in New York City. Granted, it was small, but she liked it. She decided she was going to miss the place... then dismissed the matter from her mind, turned, opened the front door—and found herself staring at Kitty Wynter, Bertie Finch, and down the barrels of a pair of Glocks. The partners were dressed in heels, gray business suits, white blouses, and light coats, much like Athena, but without the scarf and sunglasses.
"Hey, Athena," Kitty said with a smile. "Heard the news?"
Athena released the extended handle of the suitcase and kept her hands carefully at her sides, away from her body. Her Sig Sauer P226 was holstered at the small of her back, but unfortunately that was under both her jacket and trench coat. Her smaller, P229 backup piece was in a holster strapped to the inside of her right thigh and equally inaccessible. Both weapons might as well be packed in her suitcase. That left Athena's unarmed combat skills, but handguns aside, she knew both Kitty and her partner were just as well trained and it would be two against one. There was no getting around it. They had the drop on her.
Athena smiled. "You mean the news that Miriam Holden might be spending the night in the gray bar hotel? I give it fifty-fifty. Her husband's lawyers will spring her in an hour."
Kitty was also smiling. Bertie, not so much. Kitty waved her Glock, "suggesting" that Athena back into the apartment. "I'd take that bet, but it wouldn't be fair. I know something you don't."
Athena took several slow, careful backwards steps before answering. "Yes?"
Kitty and Bertie entered the apartment, their weapons never wavering. Continuing her angry (and adorable) scowl, Bertie closed the door and turned the deadbolt.
"New York's Finest have evidence that several of Holden's lawyers knew about the kidnapping scheme," Kitty explained, "and her husband will be briefed on the entire affair. There's a good chance he'll turn on Miriam, cut his losses, and file for divorce. Gossip has it the Holden marriage is already, shall we say, strained. Miriam Holden may soon find her legal team reduced to an overworked public defender."
Athena nodded. "Evidence?"
"Miriam and Angelique made video records of their plans to abduct and torture of Jessie Maitland, as well as the torture itself."
"Narcissistic, entitled idiots," Athena sighed, shaking her head.
"The good news is they never mention you by name," Kitty continued. "The bad news is they do discuss hiring muscle to do the actual kidnapping. I'm sure the cops will be very interested in learning the full details."
"If she names me, she incriminates herself," Athena noted.
Bertie spoke for the first time. "And how long do you think it will take that crazy bitch to throw you under the bus for a reduction in sentence? Or an extra bologna sandwich at lunch, for that matter."
"Good point," Athena conceded.
"Assume the position," Kitty ordered.
Athena heaved a sigh, turned and faced the nearest wall, placed her hands on the wall and spread her feet, then leaned forward.
Bertie stepped forward, careful not to mask her partner's field of fire, holstered her weapon, and frisked the still smiling brunette. The frowning blonde was thorough and professional, but not especially gentle. She found and removed both of Athena's weapons, as well as her spare magazines, iPhone, and a small folding knife. She then removed Athena's scarf and sunglasses, reached up under her coat and skirt, and pulled down her panties.
Ever the helpful prisoner, Athena stepped free of the panties. She watched as Bertie crumpled the panties into a silky wad, then continued being helpful by opening her mouth so the glowering pixie could stuff them inside. She continued cooperating as Bertie pulled a wide strip of clear tape with a matte finish from her pocket, peeled off its paper backing, then plastered the strip to Athena's lips.
Bertie pocketed the paper, then pulled Athena's coat down and off her shoulders, produced a pair of plastic flexi-cuffs, closed them around her upper arms, and zipped them tight, pulling Athena's elbows together. Kitty reached into her pocket, produced a pair of hinged handcuffs, and tossed them to her partner. Finally, Bertie pulled the trench coat free from Athena's lower arms, tossed it aside, and closed the cuffs around Athena's wrists.
"I suppose we could put her on the bed," Kitty suggested.
Bertie shook her glowering head, took her prisoner by the arm, and dragged her to the apartment's small bathroom. "Good news," she muttered. "There's a bathtub."
In short order Athena was in the tub, lying on her right side, her ankles bound by a second pair of flexi-cuffs, and gazing up at her detective captors.
"What goes around, comes around," Bertie huffed, smiling for the first time since Athena had opened her front door. She then turned and stomped back into the apartment.
Kitty smiled down at the bound and gagged "security consultant." Bertie had removed Athena's shoes and they were neatly arranged, side by side, on the tiled floor. Athena's skirt had hiked up and her jacket and white blouse were decidedly rumpled. Bertie had opened Athena's jacket and released several blouse buttons to expedite her search for weapons, so the captive's bra-covered breasts were more or less on open display.
"I agree that it's a good idea for you to disappear for a while," Kitty purred, "but it turns out there's no rush. I have inside information that the police won't get around to knocking on your door for at least three days. I know just the place for you to hide, and it's only a few blocks from here. Once the sun goes down, we'll take a stroll in that direction. Between your trench coat, scarf, and sunglasses, and with Bertie and myself on either side, I'm sure any pedestrians we pass won't notice a thing, especially after we add a little makeup and lipstick to hide the gag. After all, this is New York."
Athena heaved a tape-gagged sigh and gazed up at her captor, more ticked off than afraid. Everybody knew Kitty Wynter and Bertie Finch were straight arrows. Kitty was street-smart and tough, but Athena knew she wouldn't do her any real harm. The same went for Bertie, although Athena wouldn't put a little revenge past the blond Brit. And she couldn't really object to Bertie being a little vindictive... not that Athena was in a position to do anything about it if she did object. And it's true, she thought, what goes around does come around.
"See you after sundown," Kitty said. "Please don't make any noise, or I'll be forced to send in Bertie to make you more secure, and I seriously doubt that you'd enjoy it. Do we have an understanding?"
Athena heaved another sigh through the panties stuffed in her mouth and the more-or-less invisible tape sealing her lips, then nodded.
"Good girl," Kitty chuckled. She left the bathroom, leaving the door open behind her.
Having no other real choice, Athena settled in to wait.
| The End of... | ||
| The Damsel Vanishes | |
Chapter 7 |