Collaring Colleen [Tales from the Lyon's Den 2] Page 2

  On that long-ago night, she’d opened the door to be told by the police that her parents had been killed instantly in a head-on collision. Now, she was desperately looking for her baby sister, Mercy. She refused to accept the possibility that her sister was dead.

  Mercy had been missing one week. Colleen had filled out a missing person’s report, but the damn cops didn’t seem to be doing anything to find her baby sister.

  Mercy might be a bit free-spirited and fun loving. She might like to flirt and party, and God knew she was the most bubbly, outgoing, and sometimes impetuous person she knew, but Mercy had never gone off the grid and had never gone more than a day without contacting Colleen.

  “Any word from the police, Colleen?”

  Colleen rubbed her face, opened her eyes, and turned in her swivel chair to face Ellie Johnson, their longtime housekeeper and friend. Colleen had hired Ellie in the wake of her parents’ deaths. Suddenly finding herself the sole guardian of her ten-year-old sister, and still in medical school herself, Colleen had known she needed help.

  She no longer thought of Ellie as an employee. Ellie Johnson was family—and family was everything.

  Colleen’s instinct was to be chipper, to let Ellie know she didn’t have to worry. But for the first time in her life, Colleen found herself unable to play that role—the role of the alpha of her little pack.

  “No, nothing. I don’t know what to do, Ellie. The police seem to believe that Mercy is off on a bender somewhere and will show up in due course.”

  “Our baby girl would never not contact us, Colleen. She would never not return our calls or our texts. If she could, she’d call us. Something is very, very wrong.”

  And that was what had Colleen so damn frightened. Ellie was right. If Mercy could call, she would.

  “You’re right.” Colleen straightened her spine. She’d booked off her surgical rotations for the next couple of weeks because she’d needed to be able to focus on finding her sister. She still had one major thread to tug, one place she could look. She’d do that tonight, and if that didn’t get her some results, she’d hire a private investigator.

  I should have done that after the third day. Yes, she should have. Colleen was ashamed to confess that, in the beginning, she, too, had thought Mercy had gone off on a wild hair, even though she never had. She’d think about what that meant about her level of respect for her sister, later. But a whole week passed with no contact?

  No, Ellie was right, and something was terribly wrong.

  Colleen had contacted Mercy’s new boss at No Slant News, she’d called all of her sister’s friends, she’d called everyone she could think of. No one had heard from Mercy. No one had been able to help. Mercy’s friends were worried enough they’d flooded social media with notices and pleas for assistance. So far, no one had heard a word.

  “What about that club she was all excited to go visit with that friend of hers? Maybe someone there knows something.”

  “That’s what I’m going to check out next.” Colleen hadn’t talked to Ellie about what sort of club Mercy was so excited to visit. She hadn’t wanted to worry the older woman, and, well, Mercy was twenty-three years old. Old enough to do whatever it was she wanted to do, go to any club she wanted to.

  Truth to tell, Colleen had been worried when Mercy had mentioned going to that place. She didn’t know anything about that whole BDSM scene except for the few things she’d read about in the newspapers, items usually connected to reports of sexual abuse. Nothing of what she knew about the so-called lifestyle was good. She had tried to talk Mercy out of going to the club but hadn’t been successful. So, Mercy had gone there, and Colleen had been on tenterhooks until the next day.

  Mercy had called her and told her the visit had been interesting. The very fact that she refused to elaborate had told Colleen that Mercy hadn’t wanted to have her big sister tell her “I told you so.”

  At least that was what Colleen had chosen to believe at the time. But what if it wasn’t that way at all? What if she’d been…afraid? Intimidated? Colleen exhaled.

  Don’t borrow trouble. Just go to the damn place and see what you see.

  One step at a time. Tonight, she’d descend on that club, the Lyon’s Den, with every bit of big-sister wrath she could muster. Tomorrow, she’d hire a private investigator. She didn’t care what it cost. She would put every cent she had into finding Mercy. She only prayed she wouldn’t be too late.

  * * * *

  It was good to be getting back to some semblance of normal. Daniel Welsh let his gaze roam the main clubroom, where members of the Lyon’s Den played or relaxed, depending on their mood. There were spanking benches and St. Andrew’s crosses, and the usual, familiar sounds of enjoyment—the swoosh of a flogger and the appreciative moans of submissives.

  That bitch, Mother Nature, had hurled one hell of a beast their way in August by the name of Harvey. During the emergency, he and most of the membership had pitched in to do what they could, where they could, to help however many people they could. Some of them had used their own boats to rescue as many stranded people as they could reach, going long hours without dry clothes or sleep. Some had volunteered at the many shelters set up to house the thousands of Houstonians suddenly and shockingly homeless.

  It broke his heart the way lives had been decimated, and it filled him with pride to see how many folks from all walks of life had stepped up and lent a hand. People gave back, either through service or by giving dollars or, sometimes, both. Some people who couldn’t afford much thought their five-buck donation didn’t amount to anything, but Daniel knew that so many people giving just a little very soon added up to one hell of a lot of cash.

  Recovery was underway, but it would take a very long time and a great deal of money and hard work to deal with everything.

  The building that housed The Lyon’s Den had been spared flooding, as had a good portion of the downtown, including the Convention Center and the NRG Center, the two largest shelter locations. Daniel heard that seventeen to twenty percent of the county had been underwater and that the accumulated rainfall had broken the record, not just for Texas but for the entire continental United States. They were calling it a one-thousand-year flood. That was serious shit.

  Daniel still volunteered a couple days a week, working with a group of his friends, many of them ex-military like himself, to help with the long, hard work of rebuilding. Some folks discovered the damage to their homes wasn’t covered by their insurance. Those were the people Daniel ached for the most. He and his buddies were busy rebuilding those houses, working alongside the owners. When the people couldn’t pay for all the materials needed, well, he had a long list of wealthy friends he called on to make some donations and take care of that little thing.

  His P.I. business was slow to pick back up again, but that wasn’t really a problem for him. Daniel had been blessed financially and technically didn’t have to work in order to live. But a life spent doing nothing and having no plan to keep busy was, in his mind, a life wasted. He’d served in the Army, with two deployments to Afghanistan. Men and women who went to war saw what no human being should ever see. He’d come back, as so many of his brothers and sisters had come back, scarred on the inside. What he endured there, what he had lost there, was a topic he never spoke about.

  Daniel scanned the various play areas in this part of the Lyon’s Den. Life was indeed coming back to normal—or however normal life was capable of being in this screwed-up day and age.

  “Good crowd tonight.” Rob Conrad came to stand beside him, clad similarly in a pair of leather pants and vest with a white “gentleman’s” Stetson perched on his head.

  He had to hand it to the club’s owner, Christopher Lyons. The man had a wicked sense of humor. Other clubs he’d been in, club monitors wore vibrant-colored vests or armbands that set them apart from the rest of the crowd. Chris had said that since this was Texas, and since the monitors were, in fact, the club’s policemen, they should wear white Stetsons, j
ust like the Texas Rangers. Of course, as far as Daniel was concerned, the hats certainly stood out in the crowd even better than the vests. He turned his attention back to Rob. After all these years they were more like brothers than simple friends. Rob took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. Instead of putting it back on, he simply held it because, while he was serving a stint as monitor, he’d been assigned to the dungeon and not this main room.

  “It is that,” Daniel said. “And everyone so far seems to be behaving themselves, too.”

  “That they are. Jonathan came into the dungeon early to begin his shift as monitor, so I thought I’d see if you needed either a hand or a break.”

  “No, I’m good, thanks. Besides, my replacement is due to show up in another half-hour or so.”

  “Then maybe I’ll go sit in the lounge, have a drink, and check my e-mail until you’re done. Have you found anyone you want to play with after, or were you thinking of just heading straight home?”

  There were a couple of uncollared subs Daniel had his eye on. He didn’t want his own personal sub—at least, he didn’t want one any more—but he did enjoy playing around within the confines of the Lyon’s Den.

  “I’ve got my eye on one particular sub. I haven’t spoken to her yet. I thought I’d wait for you. I’ll point her out and maybe you can buy her a drink and negotiate for us.”

  Rob grinned. “That sounds like a plan.”

  David Gilcrest, a fellow Dom, joined them, his own hat in hand. “Chris would like to see the two of you up in his private lounge.” David pointed up and over Daniel’s left shoulder. He didn’t bother to look because all he’d see was a staircase and then a wall of glass—one-way glass, and he was on the wrong side of it to see anything else.

  Something in Gilcrest’s manner alerted him. “Problem?”

  He shrugged. “Some woman tried to storm the ramparts, convinced we were holding her baby sister hostage. Fortunately, Christopher intercepted the problem at the door. Don’t know much more than that, except rumor has it she’s up there, with him, right now.” Then he set his hat on his head. “I’m here to relieve you.”

  Daniel turned to look at Rob. The two of them often mentored the new Doms, spending time with those new members who joined and believed they were dominants. Some were, but there were always a few poseurs. Rob hadn’t been a Dom for as long as he had, but Rob had one bit of wisdom to impart because he’d been disciplined a few months back. He’d been more into his first visit to Domspace than paying attention to his sub, and he hadn’t stopped as soon as he should have when she’d used her safe word. Once he understood what he’d done, Christopher hadn’t had to worry too much about punishing him. Rob was a lot harder on himself than anyone else would have been.

  It had been an extremely regrettable mistake, but sometimes, being able to share that sort of experience with those who were hoping to earn privileges here was a damn good thing.

  Rob met his gaze. “Unless it’s connected to that guy we turfed just before the damn hurricane, I can’t think of anyone who’d do anything like that.”

  Anything like kidnapping a woman. Daniel didn’t question why Rob didn’t say that out loud. The idea was too awful to think about.

  “Thanks, David.” Daniel clapped the man on his shoulder and then headed, with Rob, toward the stairs.

  They took a moment to swing past the monitors’ station to drop off their hats. The staircase, roped off but unguarded, rose above the main club floor. The music wasn’t overly loud, as the crowd size was good but not impressive. Twenty steps led up, and at the top was a square platform before a single door that boasted no sign, just plain, red paint and a bronze handle. Since they’d been invited, Daniel knocked twice and then opened the door. He stepped into the room and noticed two things simultaneously. The first was that Christopher had darkened his window so that the main clubroom was not in view from inside this lounge. The second was that the Master of the Lyon’s Den was indeed not alone. And although he couldn’t quite see the woman present, in a very odd way, he could feel her.

  “I’m warning you, Mr. Lyons, people—influential people—know I’m here. If anything happens to me, your ass is grass.”

  The voice wasn’t strident, though it was female. The tone, slightly husky and slightly tremulous, was a definite turn-on.

  “I assure you, Dr. Duncan, nothing is going to happen to you here. You’re perfectly safe. And as for influential people, I’ve asked a detective with the HPD to join us. He should arrive within the next few minutes. But for now, these gentlemen might be able to shed some light on your sister’s disappearance.”

  Christopher took that moment to step away from the woman and turn to face him and Rob, giving Daniel his first look at Dr. Duncan.

  A man who knew people, he instinctively inspected and catalogued the woman before him. Curves and mid-length auburn hair, with hazel eyes in a face that held a lot of beauty and way too much worry, Dr. Duncan stood not much more than five feet four, her spine rigid, her posture one of a woman struggling to be in control of herself and her environment.

  That appearance was a façade because Dr. Duncan was a submissive down to her bones, and right at that moment, he realized she was also frightened out of her mind.

  Chapter Two

  “Dr. Colleen Duncan, I’d like you to meet Daniel Welsh and Rob Conrad. Gentlemen, Dr. Duncan is a trauma surgeon at Houston General. She also has a very pressing problem. Her younger sister, Mercy, has been missing for a week.”

  It was all Colleen could do to keep her expression professional. Something about the two men who’d just come into the lounge affected her, and for a moment, she felt like she’d taken a ride on the scariest roller coaster ever. The darker-haired man, Daniel, appeared big and buff, and she wouldn’t be surprised to discover he ate nails for breakfast. His eyes were a deep chocolate brown and his face a mask of polite interest that gave nothing away. He’s wearing the same kind of public face I often do. She wondered if that mask, on his part, was motivated for the same reason as her own, but she doubted it. Any sign of emotion on the part of a woman who also happened to be a professional was often read as weakness. To be emotionally transparent, for a woman, was to risk male collogues not taking her seriously.

  She doubted anyone failed to take this man any way but dead serious all the time.

  Rob, on the other hand, with his blond hair and very light blue eyes, had the look of a charmer. The sight of their bare chests, encased in leather vests and with a very slight sheen of sweat, was a visceral reminder of where she was—along with threatening to derail her thoughts. The sensation of both men’s naked palms against hers as they shook hands shocked her right down to her toes. Since when did she ever feel that kind of electric attraction to any man, let alone two? Before she could martial any words, Mr. Lyons continued speaking.

  “Apparently the officers she’s been dealing with at the HPD think—based on no particular facts whatsoever—that Mercy Duncan is on some sort of a wild bender and will turn up eventually.”

  She heard real anger in Mr. Lyon’s words. She looked at him and realized the emotions she’d sensed hadn’t been any annoyance with her but his very real annoyance at the way she’d been treated by the HPD.

  For the first time since she’d arrived at this club, Colleen allowed herself a small measure of hope.

  “Has your sister ever done anything like that in the past?” Daniel Welsh watched her face as she registered his words. She didn’t mind the close scrutiny, even if it did make her uncomfortable.

  “No, never. We lost our parents when she was ten and I was twenty-five. She knows I’d worry. Since becoming an adult, Mercy has never gone more than a day between contacting either me or our housekeeper, Ellie.”

  “The HPD are idiots.” Daniel turned to the owner of the Lyon’s Den. “Chris, did you call Detective Carter?”

  Mr. Lyons nodded. “Yes. He’s who’s on his way. I was about to explain to Dr. Duncan that Chance Carter do
esn’t work missing persons, but he should be able to light a fire under the asses of those who do.”

  “Good.” Daniel turned his attention back to her. “Sit down, Colleen. You’re too stressed. You need to relax.”

  She’d felt only slightly compelled to sit down when she’d first accompanied Mr. Lyons into this room and he’d invited her to do so. But that mild sensation wasn’t anything compared to the urge washing through her now. She told herself that it was just that she simply couldn’t keep up the tough act she usually generated any longer. She really didn’t just give in to the need to obey Daniel Welsh. Her sitting was simply a matter of timing.

  Colleen gave a slight nod and turned toward the furniture set about. A comfortable-looking love seat beckoned, and she sat at one end of it. None of the three men in the room seemed surprised by her capitulation. She took a moment to surreptitiously look at them, as they remained standing. Those nuances must be in my head. Here I am in a BDSM club and my mind is playing tricks on me. Sometimes sitting down was just sitting down. She’d be better off to focus on reality.

  Daniel sat down beside her, not on the love seat but in the armchair to her left. “Can you tell me why it is you thought your sister was being kept here?”

  When he phrased it just that way, her reasons for coming here sounded odd. “I’m sorry, I suppose I was acting…desperate. I’m grasping at straws at the moment. But this was one of the last places I knew Mercy had gone, and it was someplace she’d never been before.”

  “So, her coming here was out of character for her?”

  Colleen shook her head. “No. My sister is the most curious person I know. It’s totally in keeping with her personality to satisfy that curiosity.”

  “I’ve checked our membership records,” Mr. Lyons said. He sat down across from her on an ottoman. Rob took the open seat beside her but sat facing her. She didn’t feel crowded. I don’t feel cocooned, either. That’s my imagination again.