TripleThreat1 (2 page)

Startled by his apparent dismissal, Margaret looked up and placed
her small hand on his arm. “Oh. Yes, but don’t you want to know what—”

“Yes, yes,” he said with a careless wave of his hand, shaking
her off. “Allow me…”

I fought to hide my smile at the way her mouth snapped
closed when Archer cut her off mid-sentence.

“After an intense investigation, you collected fifteen
million in insurance money. You deposited the funds into several bank accounts,
as agreed. Franklin transferred the money several more times, including your
half of the spoils. You discovered the money was gone and have been quietly
looking for a solution to your predicament. A solution that will not land you
in prison for fraud. Give the rest of the information to Zachary. Good day.”
Archer walked to the windows that opened onto the balcony and stepped through.
I would find him there, soon enough.

*

I returned from escorting Margaret to the front door after I
extracted all the pertinent information. Archer was once again seated in the
wing-backed chair, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. I immediately headed
toward my laptop to enter her contact information into our database, when Archer
stopped me with a command.

“Come here, Zachary,” he said. His voice was a low growl,
nothing like the cultured tones he’d used with our guest. My dick responded,
despite the vigorous workout from earlier this morning.

I moved to stand between his spread knees, prepared to kneel
if that’s what he wanted, but he seemed content to wrap his arms around my
waist and rest his cheek against my stomach. A very uncharacteristic and almost
needy gesture that tweaked at my consciousness and reminded me that something
about Archer had been slightly off lately. Then he rubbed his fingers over my
heated ass, his firm stroke drawing my attention back to the present.

“Do you still feel me, here?” Archer’s words shivered
through me.

“I think I might still be feeling you through next Tuesday,
but I could take more.”

Archer threw his head back and laughed. “Such an eager boy.
Are you sure you’re a switch?” His tone was teasing, but his hard hand squeezed
my ass, and I moaned in pleasure. He laughed again and the sound eased my
slight concern at his earlier shift in attitude.

“We have a lot to do in a short amount of time.”

“You have a plan?”

“I do.” Archer reached for his e-tablet and I opened a new
document on the laptop. Archer was a genius, and there was no telling how fast
his ideas would pour out once he got going.

“Check the calendar,“ Archer said, his own fingers turning
electronic pages.

“What am I looking for?”

“Hold on…” He shook his head. “Opera…no…damn, there’s a
premiere…what about…” he looked up, his eyes shining. “Check next Thursday, a
week from tomorrow night.”

I checked. “There’s nothing on your schedule, shall I save
it?”

“Yes. We’re throwing a party. Scour our old client list. I
particularly want Peter and Cartier to attend. Ah, and don’t forget to add Wick.
What do you think, Zachary? Will we draw Franklin in?”

I laughed—it was a beautiful plan—but damn there was a lot
to do in a short amount of time. “Master Archer is coming out of retirement for
one evening to host a private reprise of Wilde Sides in his beautiful home, and
bringing in three other Masters he personally trained? How could a pain slut
like Franklin resist?”

I stood on the balcony outside the solarium and watched as
the head gardener directed a larger than normal crew. With only a week until
party time, they worked on trimming branches, replenishing the beds, and
stringing white fairy lights from the trees in our park-like ten acres.

The twenty-four hours since our meeting with the client had passed
in a whirlwind of meetings with caterers, florists, and a local security
company to arrange valet parking with a little extra kick. Archer’s excitement
was palpable, which intrigued me. It had been a long time since he’d been so
involved in the BDSM club scene and even longer since he’d thrown a party. He
was sparing no expense and if I didn’t know better, he could almost be setting
up opening night at a new club.

I smiled at the memory. It was hard to believe it had been
nearly fifteen years since—

“Penny for your thoughts,” Archer said. His arms wrapped
around me from behind, and he rested his chin on my head. I wasn’t a small man,
but when Archer wrapped me up and surrounded me with his tall, lithe body, I
felt…home.

“I was remembering how excited you were when you opened your
first club.”

“I think my excitement stemmed from the swarthy, sexy Dom I
hired to be the club manager.”

I laughed. “Yeah, some Dom I turned out to be. One look from
you and I was ready to roll over and beg for it.”

Archer turned me around to face him. Cupping my face in his
hands, his long, slender fingers stroked my jaw, the blue-green eyes turned stormy
under heavy lids. “It took me three years to convince you and it’s only for me,
Zachary. Only for me.”

My knees nearly gave way at the possessive hunger on his
face. “Yes, Sir.”
God, how this man turned me inside out
.

His mouth claimed mine in a quick hard kiss, before he
released me and stepped back. “You need to go, love.”

Damn.
“Yes, I’m off to see Carmine. Someone had to
make Hartfield a new identity, and C’s the best paper man in Atlanta. After
that, I’m going to see a man about a dog.”

“Zachary?”

“Sorry…I’m pretty sure I have a line on the plastic surgeon
who worked on old Frankie—both before and after the accident. It seems he’s a
favorite among those who can afford the best but don’t want anyone to know.
Unfortunately the dragon lady who works his front desk was not susceptible to
my charms and refused to give me a peek at the patient records.”

“Imagine that,” Archer said dryly.

“Yes, well…
she
might be immune, but the very cute and
very subby anesthetist Andrew likes me well enough to want to take me home.
He’s got the inside scoop on their
specials
, as he calls them. I don’t
know if he’ll actually be able to get me the records, but he does have a very
strong urge to please.”

Archer smiled. “Then I am sure you will give him an ample
reward for his efforts.” The smile was easy, but there was a hint of shadow
behind the casual words. Not normally a moody man, Archer just didn’t seem his
usual self lately…and it was just enough to make me wonder if there was
something going on in his genius brain. Sometimes the man tended to overanalyze
things.

“Whatever you’re thinking…stop. We’ll talk when I get back. Gotta
run.” I planted a quick kiss on those perfect lips, then forced myself back
from his embrace and headed for the door.

*

“Spill.” I didn’t bother wasting any time on niceties.
Carmine was family and a total asshole. We were meeting at the Chances Are, and
I wanted my attention on the burger in front of me. One half pound of prime
beef, cooked to just past bloody, grilled onions, mushrooms, and Worcestershire,
all piled on a giant sourdough roll that my friend Chance special ordered for
his bar.
Heaven
.

“Hey, first you wanna meet after you don’t even show for my
wedding to Lida, then you insist on meeting at this fuckin’ bar that’s got so
many cops it’s practically the same as a precinct. Least you could do is ask
about my Momma.”

“Lida’s your fourth wife, Carmine—I can’t afford to go to
all your weddings. I’ll catch the next one. Aunt Sophie and I spoke yesterday—she’s
fine, but wanted to know why she hasn’t heard from you in two weeks. I’m paying
for your burger, and you’ll tell me what I need to know because I send business
your way. Now eat up and give me what I need. I got places to go.” I took a
bite and the juice dribbled down my wrists and I forgot all about the questions.
Closing my eyes, I moaned as I chewed. I definitely didn’t get down here
enough.

When I finally swallowed the first bite I looked over at the
bar. “Hey, Gerry, bring me another Coke.” I looked at Carmine, who was lost in
his own bite of burger. “Bring two.”

“You got it.” The normally chatty bar tender seemed to be in
a pissy mood, and didn’t bother to meet my gaze when he sloshed the refills on
the table.
Huh.
I didn’t spend much time wondering, just took a long sip
and let the bubbles bite and sting their way down my throat before I took
another bite.
God, it was good
. It was a damned shame I’d never get
Archer to leave the house to come down here.

We ate in companionable silence through the first half of
the burgers before either of us slowed down enough to actually converse. Using
my fry like a pointer, I waved it in the general direction of the old photo I
had of Franklin. “You do paper for this guy?”

After wiping his hands on a paper towel from the spindle on
the table, Carmine picked up the photo and took a long look. “Yeah, I got him.
He’s had some work, though.” He tapped the chin. “The dimple is gone, comes to
more of a point now. The eyes are tilted at the corners, and he wore brown
contacts—but I made a set of papers with green eyes, too. Looks like he’s lost
some weight. But he can fix that easy enough with pads, height’s easy to change
with lifts.”

“Yeah, I know how it’s done, dumb shit. What I want to know is
what kind of paper you made him. What did it say? Name, description, the
works.”

Carmine shoved the last bite of his burger into his mouth, tossed
his balled up paper towel onto his plate, and pushed the whole pile to the
center of the table. After adjusting the waistband of his customary black
slacks, he leaned back in the booth and sighed. “Goddamn that was good. Chance DuMont
might have a lousy location and his clientele sucks, but he still has the best
fuckin’ burgers in Atlanta. Okay, so I got this guy for you, what are you going
to do for me?”

“You haven’t given me shit, other than a chin. How do I know
you even have the right man?” Cousin or not, this was still business. You couldn’t
give Carmine an inch, because he’d take a mile, then charge you to build the
road.

With a smile that would make any wolf proud, Carmine reached
into his pocket to pull out a stack of papers. He didn’t hand them over right
away, just held the folded pages above the table so I could see a photocopy of
a driver’s license.

“Oh, I have the right man. Because it doesn’t matter how
tall the lifts, or the color of his hair, or even if a dude has plastic surgery
to change his chin, nose, and cheeks. There isn’t anything the prick can do to
hide his missing left pinkie, now, is there?”

I smiled. Yeah, Carmine came through big time.

*

“Hi, Andrew, thanks for meeting me.”

A slow flush crawled up the anesthetist’s neck, and he glanced
around the small coffee shop instead of meeting my gaze. The kind of recovery
work Archer and I did wasn’t the sort done in an office. Finding the perfect
location had become somewhat of a hobby all on it’s own. Carmine needed the
reminder of the cop shop nearby. Not that he would rip me off too badly, but he
might try something just to prove he could. Andrew on the other hand was a
delicate balance between rabbit and vixen. One minute he looked nervously over
his shoulder, in case the doctor he worked for showed up, then he was licking
his full lips while brushing long blond bangs from his forehead.

“Oh, uhm, you’re welcome, Mister…uhm…Sir…” He flashed his
unnaturally bright green eyes before lowering his gaze once more. I barely
resisted the sigh and eye roll that would have signaled my impatience with the
act.
God, I’m getting old
. In the old days, I would have just hustled
the needy boy off to the first cheap motel, paid for an hour, taken his ass and
the information.

I put the requisite growl in my voice and began. “Tell me
about Franklin Hartfield.”

With another quick look over his shoulder, Andrew cleared
his throat. “Okay, but, do you promise not to get me in trouble for revealing
medical information?”

“Andrew…”

“Okay, sorry. I trust you. Sir. Really. It’s just, you know
with all the restrictions about doctor-patient confidentiality and HIPAA privacy
rules…” Opening his kohl-lined eyes even further, Andrew glanced to his left
then back before moistening his lips once more.

“Jesus, enough with the drama queen act. You wanna help me
out? I need to know if this man was ever a patient.” I slapped the first
picture of Franklin on the table, from before he’d had any work done. “You
can’t help, just say so.”

Taking the photo with long, slender fingers that would have
done a pianist—or maybe his surgeon boss—proud, he pursed his lips and finally
paid attention. I counted to ten while I let Andrew play the scene.

“Yes, Sir, that’s Antoine Cranston. We’ve done a few things
for Mr. Cranston, but he hasn’t been in the office in…” he pursed his full lips
and scrunched his eyes. Apparently this was his thinking hard face. I hoped he
didn’t hurt himself.

“I think it was this summer sometime. The other
name…Franklin Hartfield wasn’t in the records, but this man was definitely a
patient. This must be related to an insurance inquiry. I know for a fact he
paid cash for his work, because Cecile complained. She’s not our regular office
manager, she only takes care of the specials, they pay cash—”

I interrupted with a raised hand when he took a breath. Apparently,
once Andrew got started, he was hard to stop. “What type of alterations did he
have?”

“Well, we made a few subtle adjustments at first, lifted the
eyes, a small chin implant…then the last time, it was a big job. Some people
are like that. Like Michael Jackson, God rest his soul, you know? First one
surgery, then another, pretty soon you lose so much of the original structure
you completely change the—”