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FROM THE CASE FILES OF KITTY WYNTER |
 by Van ©2014 |
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| Chapter 6 |
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FROM THE CASE FILES OF KITTY WYNTER |
| by Van ©2014 |
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| Chapter 6 |
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OUR STORY CONTINUES | |
Bertie located her briefcase and the trash bag full of their clothes in the back of Helena's walk-in closet. Her suit was, indeed, a wrinkled mess, as was her blouse. Bertie took a quick shower, then she donned her underwear, returned to the closet, and contemplated its contents.
Their client owned a lot of power suits. One entire rack was nothing but power suits. She was a lawyer. Bertie and Helena were the same height but not the same build. That is, Helena had tits. Bertie sighed and gazed at the neat row of business clothing. Even on their hangers, she could tell everything was tailored. She finally selected a dove-gray suit and white blouse, and it wasn't as bad as she'd feared. The ensemble was a little loose across the chest, but it would do. I guess I have tits after all, she thought, admiring herself in the full-length mirror.
Kitty was preparing breakfast, which would consist of coffee and fried egg sandwiches. She still hadn't showered or dressed. Her Glock was on the counter, close at hand, where Bertie had placed it before showering. Bertie's handgun and holster were clipped to the back waistband of her borrowed skirt, under her borrowed jacket. "Break a leg," Kitty called over her shoulder. She was dispatching Bertie to act the part of seductress, so the cliché seemed appropriate. "The food will be ready by the time you get back."
Finding Helena was their highest priority, but they were both very hungry and needed to eat. Better to start their search with clear heads and renewed energy.
Bertie grinned as she left the apartment, made her way to the elevator, and punched the button for the lobby. During the ride down she gathered her thoughts and primped her hair. Her too-long pixie hadn't required much maintenance after her shower. Her pale, fine locks were still slightly damp, so they hadn't begun to spike at random angles, as was their usual habit when gel free. The doors opened and Bertie was on.
The security bloke looked up as she approached his desk. Bertie's dimpled smile and sparkling blue eyes worked their magic. The guy had a slightly stunned expression on his neatly shaved face. He was only human. "May I help you?"
Bertie's smile amped up a few megawatts, something the poor guy probably hadn't even thought was possible. "Oh, I certainly hope so," she gushed. "Ms. Garrett and I have a scheduled video conference call with corporate clients in Asia and Europe and I just received a text that they're moving up the time and Helena left the flat to chat up her new neighbor and didn't tell me where she was going and didn't take her phone so I can't tell her about the change and we'll miss the conference and the consequences will be terrible and... can you help me?"
The guy opened his mouth to speak, but Bertie continued.
"I don't know her name or apartment, the neighbor, I mean, or I'd be knocking on her door right now, but she said she was new to the building and is tall and blond and stunning. Do you know her?"
The guy opened his mouth, again. "Uh, I'd like to help, but I'm not allowed to—"
"Oh, please," Bertie begged. "I know you have to protect your tenants' privacy, but I need to find Helena, and please don't call them because Helena will be cross with me for making a fuss." She batted her eyes. That always worked. "Please?"
The guy sighed, rose from his chair, leaned forward and scribbled a number on a post-it pad slip, then surreptitiously handed it to Bertie. "I'm sorry, but I can't give out tenant's apartment numbers," he reiterated. "Building policy."
Bertie realized the guy had using his body to shield his actions from the security camera in the ceiling behind his back. She squeezed his hand as she palmed the note and whispered, "Thank you," then spun on her heel and headed back to the elevator. Like fish in a barrel, she thought. It's the accent. American blokes love the accent. She waved at the desk and the smiling bloke in question as the elevator doors opened, then stepped inside. Fish in a barrel.
| A Kiss Before Tying | |
Chapter 6 |
Coffee gulped, fried egg sandwiches wolfed down, and crumbs brushed away, Kitty and Bertie were ready for some serious sleuthing. Kitty's leather pants had been none the worse from being stuffed in the trash bag, and the same was true of her jacket. Fully dressed and handguns holstered but ready for action, the detectives went in search of their client.
The number Bertie had seduced from the security guy in the lobby was two doors down and on the opposite side of the hallway from Helena's apartment. There was zero traffic in the hall as they casually made their way to the closed portal. Also, to their trained eyes, there was no evidence of hidden security cameras. This was hardly surprising. Hotels might monitor their hallways, but luxury apartment towers usually limited surveillance to the lobby, elevators, stairwells, and common rooms in the basement. Hands on their weapons, Kitty tried turning the knob. It was locked, of course, but it never hurt to try. Kitty stood at the ready while Bertie selected a tiny, L-shaped tension wrench and a steel pick from a tiny pouch and set to work.
Seconds passed... then more seconds... and the door remained locked.
Kitty grew impatient. "Uh, you sure you got the cylinder aligned?" she whispered. "If it's not—"
"It's a high-end lock," Bertie whispered back. "I know how to..." There was a barely audible click, then Bertie smiled at her partner as she turned the cylinder and drew the bolt, then eased the door open a fraction of an inch. She quickly returned her tools to their pouch and drew her weapon.
They opened the door and lunged into the apartment—the totally empty, totally vacant apartment.
With due diligence they made their sweep, covering each other as they went. Every room was empty. The floor plan was the same as Helena's apartment, and they checked the main room, the kitchen area, including the cabinets under the sink and island, the half-bath off the main room, the master bath, the master bedroom, the guest room, and all the closets, including the walk-in closet in the master bedroom. There was nothing, not a single stick of furniture, not so much as a scrap of trash, not even dust. Nothing. There was no evidence whatsoever the apartment had been occupied in the recent past—almost.
"The sink in the master bath is wet," Kitty noted.
Bertie nodded. "Just barely, but somebody was here." She sighed and holstered her weapon. "I suppose we have no choice but to call Nikki."
"I don't want to call the cops," Kitty huffed, "not yet. We'll look around again. There has to be something."
The partners conducted a second search, looking for anything that was out of place, anything that had been left behind, anything that would give them a lead. Again, they came up empty.
"We don't have a choice," Bertie said quietly. "I don't like it either, but..."
Kitty glared at the little blond, then sighed. There was no point in taking out her frustration on Bertie, especially when she was right. They needed the resources of the police. Even if it would be a professional and personal defeat for Kitty to ask the Shyster's kid sister for help, they had no choice. They had to find Helena.
"I'll make the call," Kitty said, "but not here." She turned and started towards the apartment's entry door. "No need to mention how we decided to do a little breaking and entering before letting them know our client had been kidnapped." Kitty paused when she realized Bertie wasn't following. She turned back to find Bertie staring into space, a vacant expression on her pixie face—but Kitty knew that look. Bertie's mind was anything but vacant. She was onto something.
Bertie spun on her heel and hurried to the apartment's central hallway, then paced off its length, taking uniform steps. She paused to peer into the guest bedroom, then continued on to the master bedroom. She then entered the walk-in closet.
Kitty followed. The closet was lined with panels of aromatic cedar, with built in cabinets and rods for hanging clothes.
"It's too small," Bertie said.
"It looks pretty big to me," Kitty responded. "Of course, most of these rich bitches don't know when to stop shopping, but—"
"Not the closet," Bertie interrupted. "The guest room. It's too small."
Kitty frowned in confusion, then the light dawned.
"There's a safe room!" Kitty and Bertie said in unison.
| A Kiss Before Tying | |
Chapter 6 |
It's not terribly uncommon for luxury apartments or townhouses in the city to have "safe rooms," bastions for the tenants to retreat to in the event of an attempted home invasion. They have heavy doors that lock from the inside and are designed to defeat all attempts at forced entry until the police arrive. Therefore, independently powered secure communications to sound the alarm and summon said police are part of the package.
The sleuths had little difficulty identifying the safe room door. It was disguised as one of the cedar panels and opened by means of a raised bar. Kitty grabbed the bar, pulled, and the thick, heavy but well-balanced door swung open on a set of hefty hinges. The room beyond was small, only about ten by fifteen feet, and it was occupied.
They'd found Helena Garrett!
Safe rooms are generally spartan in their decor, and this one was no exception; however, what furnishings were present were decidedly unique.
Helena's leather costume was intact: body harness, finger and hand encasing mitts, wrist/forearm cuffs, upper arm cuffs, thigh cuffs, combination ankle, foot, and big toe cuffs, posture collar, and head harness with gag. All were present and every buckle was still padlocked. She was in a standing spread-eagle—correction—a floating spread-eagle. A web of steel chains restrained and supported her helpless body. At one end, each chain was padlocked to an eye-bolt driven into the concrete ceiling, walls, or floor, and at the other end to a D-ring in some part of her leather costume. All of the chains were taut, giving her very little wiggle room, barely enough to make the padlocks rattle. Even her head was tightly restrained.
A padded leather saddle mounted on a vertical steel post bolted to the floor provided additional support. Actually, the saddle was providing more than support. Kitty and Bertie recognized the apparatus as a "Sybian." Crudely put, it was a vibratory, and in this case, mechanical fucking machine. Pink rubber pads with stubby bristles cleaved and pressed against her mildly squashed labia. The detectives could hear the throbbing buzz of the pads vibrating, and a small engine clamped to the saddle post was sending a rubber dildo cycling up and down through an opening in the saddle and in and out of her pussy.
Helena's nipples were contained in small, clear glass cylinders with attached vinyl hoses and they throbbed in rhythm to the churning piston as air was pumped in and out of the cylinders, stretching the nipples with every cycle.
Finally, circular disks with attached wires were plastered to Helena's bare skin at strategic locations, a pair on either side of each nipple, a pair on both of her upper thighs, a pair on each bicep, a pair on each calf, and a pair on the sole of each foot, to either side of the instep strap of the ankle-toe-cuff. The many wires trailed to racks of electronic components lining the walls, and among the flashing LEDs and cable connections were several tiny video cameras on articulated mounts.
Facing Helena, a large, flat-screen video monitor was mounted on the wall. Its display was split into several windows, some presenting a different closeup or general view of a portion of her helpless anatomy, and some showing the other rooms of the apartment.
Helena tugged on her chains, as best she could, and moaned through her gag. Tears streamed from her blue eyes and her skin was slick with sweat. Obviously, she'd been through quite an ordeal and was very glad to see her rescuers.
Kitty and Bertie rushed into the room. Kitty made sure the door was propped open, then concentrated on pulling electrical cables, including the power cord of the fucking engine. Meanwhile, Bertie had deployed her lock picks and was attacking the padlocks holding Helena in place.
"There's no slack," Bertie noted as she unlocked padlock after padlock. "But there aren't any extra links in the chains."
"The result of careful planning," Kitty muttered. She was staring at a rack of components. "This thing has a removable hard-drive," she observed.
"Pull it before it erases itself," Bertie suggested. "I assume someone is watching. They may try and cover their tracks."
"Already done," Kitty announced, pocketing the cassette-sized flash module. She then produced her tool pouch and set about helping her partner with the still substantial task of freeing their client.
Helena continued weeping, but clearly they were tears of joy.
| A Kiss Before Tying | |
Chapter 6 |
They managed to get Helena back to her apartment without encountering any of the other tenants. Kitty carried the now nude and restraint-free lawyer in her arms with Bertie scouting ahead and opening doors as needed.
Helena was a sore, weak, exhausted, sweaty, and tousle-haired mess, but insisted she was unhurt and refused even the suggestion of medical assistance. While a prisoner in the safe room, the vibrators, dildo, and electric pads had turned themselves on and off at random and, thankfully, infrequent intervals. It had been torture, but Helena was unhurt. She also tried refusing to call the police, but Kitty insisted.
"I know someone on the force who will be discreet," Kitty explained.
Helena shook her head. "No." They were in Helena's master bedroom. Bertie had pulled back the comforter and top sheet and Kitty was easing their client onto the bed. "I... It's over."
"That's just it," Kitty sighed. "We don't know that it's over. What if the bitch and her Goth friend are only getting started? What if whoever hired them is only getting started?"
Bertie sat on the bed and took Helena's hand. "We need the police to start trying to find them. We'll continue protecting you—"
"Or start protecting you," Kitty huffed. She was still angry at herself for walking into Dr. B's ambush.
"I don't blame you for what happened," Helena said weakly. "And you found me. They said I'd never be found, that that thing would fuck me to death... while their client watched."
"Client?" Kitty demanded. "What else did they say?"
"Nothing useful," Helena sighed. "She referred to a 'client' one time, and that was it."
"Rest," Kitty said. Together with Bertie she pulled up the sheet and comforter and covered Helena's naked body up to her shoulders. "We'll cook you some food and you can take a shower when you're ready."
"Thank you," Helena said in a whisper. Her eyes were already closed. "I..." She opened her eyes, again, and gazed at the detectives. "Thank you."
Kitty nodded and left the bedroom. Bertie smiled, gave Helena's hand another squeeze, and followed her partner.
Kitty had her phone out and was scrolling through her contacts list as she walked towards the kitchen. "I'll make the call and meet her down in the lobby," she said to Bertie. "After I leave, make sure you lock the door."
Bertie smiled. "They're not coming back. You know that."
Kitty shrugged. "While the prospect of returning and finding you naked and tied up on the couch and Helena spirited away, once again, is most entertaining—" She tapped the phone and held it to her ear, waiting for the call to connect. "—explaining all of this to Nikki is gonna be painful enough."
Still smiling, Bertie continued on to the kitchen.
The precinct front desk answered. "Detective Braslow, please," Kitty said. "This is Kitty Wynter."
| A Kiss Before Tying | |
Chapter 6 |
Kitty and Bertie were cooling their heels in Helena's main room. Kitty was sprawled in an easy chair and Bertie was on the couch. Detective Nikki Braslow, NYPD, was in the master bedroom, conducting an interview with their client. They'd already given preliminary statements, so all Kitty and Bertie could do was wait... and Kitty was finding the delay mildly infuriating.
"There's not much we can be doing anyway," Bertie noted.
"Oh yeah?" Kitty objected. "I could..." She hated it when Bertie was right. "I can hit the streets and... do stuff."
Bertie smiled at her partner. "You're cute when you're frustrated," she remarked. "Did you know that?"
"Shut up," Kitty growled, then shifted her attention to the apartment's central hallway. Nikki had finally appeared.
The police detective was a younger version of her ADA big sister, only street-smart and without the stick up her butt (in Kitty's humble opinion). Kitty noted how Bertie perked up when the svelte blond appeared. I think the Muffin likes her, Kitty thought. Of course, Nikki Braslow was very easy on the eyes, with the body of a Victoria's Secret model and the Norse Goddess face to match, so... What's not to like? And it'll be fun giving the little Brit grief over something other than not being able to wiggle out of my ropes.
"She's sleeping," Nikki said as she approached the detectives. "I want you two to go to the precinct and meet with the sketch artist, meanwhile—"
"I'm not leaving my client," Kitty interrupted, then nodded at Bertie. "We're not leaving our client."
"There's a protective detail on the way," Nikki explained, "as well as forensics techs to go over both crime scenes."
"They wore gloves the whole time," Kitty said. "I told you that."
"And I wrote it down," Nikki continued. "If you don't mind, the NYPD will follow its procedures and try and catch..." She flipped open her notebook and read, "Doctor Bondage and her sidekick, Suki."
"Minion," Kitty corrected.
"Super-villains have minions," Bertie explained, beaming her best dimpled smile at Nikki. She nodded at her partner. "She's a stickler about such things."
Nikki smiled at Bertie, then her smile faded as she focused back on Kitty. "And speaking of procedure, explain again why you didn't call the police immediately after being freed by your partner."
Kitty performed a sitting, full-body stretch and yawn before answering. "If we'd called you before finding Helena, we'd still be here answering inane questions for the umpteenth time and she'd still be in that safe room having her tits stretched, body zapped, and brains fucked out."
Bertie tried changing the subject before Kitty's alpha-wolf attitude did any real damage. "I assume technical services will examine the hard drive Kitty gave you."
Nikki nodded as she pulled the clear plastic evidence bag containing the flash drive from the safe room from her jacket pocket. "They'll also go over every component in the room and trace the internet connection, although if Dr. Bondage is as thorough and efficient as it would appear, I'm not terribly hopeful they'll get very far." She nodded at the ruins of Kitty and Bertie's severed hemp and duct-tape and cable-tie bonds and the Spyderco folding knife Bertie had used to free Kitty. "A good thing your captors decided to give you a way out," Nikki noted.
"It's also a good thing they didn't rig the safe room to lock from the inside when they pushed the door closed," Kitty said. "Otherwise, right now we'd probably be arguing about whether or not you need a warrant to force your way in."
"And whether or not I should arrest you for B-and-E," Nikki added. She flipped her notebook closed. "I'll deny I ever said this if asked," she said to Kitty, "but you did the right thing."
Kitty opened her mouth for a snappy comeback, but quickly decided on a curt nod, instead. "Thanks. I could have just as easily been wrong."
Bertie smiled, happy to see Kitty and Nikki getting along. "We promised Helena some food."
"Better make it takeout," Nikki said. Her phone rang and she pulled it from her pocket. "This place is about to get busy." She listened to the phone for a second. "Send them up," she said. "I'll lead them to the second apartment, and make sure somebody secures the building's security camera servers." She pocketed the phone, then smiled at Bertie. "At some point, you'll have to more fully explain how you both were restrained and how you managed to escape."
Kitty smiled. "I know," she said. "Bert can stage a personal demonstration for you back at my place. She can show you exactly how Dr. B tied me up. She got to watch and I wasn't exactly in a position to follow all the details."
"That might work," Nikki said, her eyes back on her notebook. There was a knock at the apartment door and she went to answer.
Bertie favored her partner with an even stare.
Kitty was the very picture of innocence. "What?"
"What are you up to?" Bertie whispered, "that's what."
Kitty's lips curled in a coy smile. "Nothing, Muffin," she purred. "I'm not up to anything."
Meanwhile, uniformed cops, plain clothes detectives, and forensics techs were streaming into the apartment. Nikki's prediction was coming true. Helena's apartment was getting busy.
| The End of... | ||
| A Kiss Before Tying | |
Chapter 6 |