Some of them bought off pictures, this guy didn’t. It was a good price, though.
I texted back the okay to the real estate agent and set off again. The road was quiet this early on the island – steep inclines in places as it rose into the hills, but I liked pushing my muscles to the max.
I could imagine the Chinese buyer turning my pit of despair into a big goldfish pond. After all, there was drainage and a water supply already installed.
Or I could imagine her in there. I wheeled to a halt again, took the water bottle from the carrier and drank.
I stared ahead, focused on nothing.
She’d be crying, looking up at me, tears running down her face. Only not from that happy mixture of pleasure and pain my subs normally had. I was a good Dom to them.
Wren was simply crying.
Fuck.
I jammed the bottle back into the holder.
She and this Glass had arrived in town yesterday. My best option might be to let the surveillance be run by my men so I could forget about them entirely.
No. That was a step too far. Since my operatives didn’t know who I was, it was impossible for them to accurately assess the information they gained. I’d have to keep looking at it, audio transcripts and all. Put a transponder on their vehicle too, if it seemed safe. They wouldn’t be expecting their target to be tracking them by satellite. The wonders of science.
I pushed away, wobbling at first until I built up some speed, my legs burning as I plowed my frustration into working the pedals.
Obsession. I knew all about obsessive men. It never ended well.
Don’t mess in your own backyard.
I had to keep it clean though and there was a difference.
*****
Wren
I paused on the front doorstep and watched Glass hike across the deserted road to the path that led between houses to the beach. The fishing rods led the way. We’d bought them yesterday along with bait, other fishing gear, knives to cut up the fish we meant to catch, as well as various holiday stuff such as sunscreen and a bikini. This had segued into a beach holiday as much as a detective affair. Surreal, at first, but it had simply happened. We stepped off the ferry and tumbled into this languid tropical paradise.
Six AM and no one sane was up yet. The crazies included a few joggers and people into fishing, and possibly, from their accent, a couple of German tourists who’d forgotten to get blind drunk the night before and wanted a beach walk.
I didn’t know how Glass managed to get Australian cash and the two cars we used to dogleg our way here and I didn’t care. Hugh would’ve cared but it didn’t seem worth getting curious about. The house he’d magicked up was in a street one back from the beach at Horseshoe Bay on Magnetic Island – a very average house, even by my student experiences.
No credit cards were allowed to be used. Nothing that required anything that might be tracked. Someone else was doing the renting. Always a friend. If we drove and were stopped for a minor traffic offense, did he have a fake license to show police? Glass hadn’t said, but neither of us was supposed to be in Australia.
So here I was with a man who by his own admission was bad, having illegally entered my own country. Maybe because he wanted me here on his terms? I think mostly he wanted me for a few days without Hugh, my security nanny. If anything went wrong, I might end up with a police record.
It had made me stop and think, last night, while we sat out in deckchairs on the upstairs balcony, feeling the sigh of the wind and watching the palm trees sway and the white tops of the waves as they rolled in.
Bizarre, feeling so relaxed. I should’ve been excited about being closer to finding the man who’d orchestrated the slave house where my father was murdered. Instead, I was in a prolonged state of contentment.
My search for Dad’s killer had been more about assuaging guilt and finding closure than revenge or a true need to know. It had taken this, a revelation about my sex
I texted back the okay to the real estate agent and set off again. The road was quiet this early on the island – steep inclines in places as it rose into the hills, but I liked pushing my muscles to the max.
I could imagine the Chinese buyer turning my pit of despair into a big goldfish pond. After all, there was drainage and a water supply already installed.
Or I could imagine her in there. I wheeled to a halt again, took the water bottle from the carrier and drank.
I stared ahead, focused on nothing.
She’d be crying, looking up at me, tears running down her face. Only not from that happy mixture of pleasure and pain my subs normally had. I was a good Dom to them.
Wren was simply crying.
Fuck.
I jammed the bottle back into the holder.
She and this Glass had arrived in town yesterday. My best option might be to let the surveillance be run by my men so I could forget about them entirely.
No. That was a step too far. Since my operatives didn’t know who I was, it was impossible for them to accurately assess the information they gained. I’d have to keep looking at it, audio transcripts and all. Put a transponder on their vehicle too, if it seemed safe. They wouldn’t be expecting their target to be tracking them by satellite. The wonders of science.
I pushed away, wobbling at first until I built up some speed, my legs burning as I plowed my frustration into working the pedals.
Obsession. I knew all about obsessive men. It never ended well.
Don’t mess in your own backyard.
I had to keep it clean though and there was a difference.
*****
Wren
I paused on the front doorstep and watched Glass hike across the deserted road to the path that led between houses to the beach. The fishing rods led the way. We’d bought them yesterday along with bait, other fishing gear, knives to cut up the fish we meant to catch, as well as various holiday stuff such as sunscreen and a bikini. This had segued into a beach holiday as much as a detective affair. Surreal, at first, but it had simply happened. We stepped off the ferry and tumbled into this languid tropical paradise.
Six AM and no one sane was up yet. The crazies included a few joggers and people into fishing, and possibly, from their accent, a couple of German tourists who’d forgotten to get blind drunk the night before and wanted a beach walk.
I didn’t know how Glass managed to get Australian cash and the two cars we used to dogleg our way here and I didn’t care. Hugh would’ve cared but it didn’t seem worth getting curious about. The house he’d magicked up was in a street one back from the beach at Horseshoe Bay on Magnetic Island – a very average house, even by my student experiences.
No credit cards were allowed to be used. Nothing that required anything that might be tracked. Someone else was doing the renting. Always a friend. If we drove and were stopped for a minor traffic offense, did he have a fake license to show police? Glass hadn’t said, but neither of us was supposed to be in Australia.
So here I was with a man who by his own admission was bad, having illegally entered my own country. Maybe because he wanted me here on his terms? I think mostly he wanted me for a few days without Hugh, my security nanny. If anything went wrong, I might end up with a police record.
It had made me stop and think, last night, while we sat out in deckchairs on the upstairs balcony, feeling the sigh of the wind and watching the palm trees sway and the white tops of the waves as they rolled in.
Bizarre, feeling so relaxed. I should’ve been excited about being closer to finding the man who’d orchestrated the slave house where my father was murdered. Instead, I was in a prolonged state of contentment.
My search for Dad’s killer had been more about assuaging guilt and finding closure than revenge or a true need to know. It had taken this, a revelation about my sex
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