Master Dan picked up a pile of clothing from the desk, and Andrea recognized the contents of her locker. They had tried and convicted her before she even walked into the office.
He jerked his chin toward the door. “I'll walk you out.”
She made it back to her apartment complex. Barely. The scene in the office had played in her head over and over on the horrible drive. “Does breaking into a liquor store sound familiar?” She'd gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her fingers now cramped as she unlocked her apartment door. Don't think. Breathe. Take keys out of lock. Enter apartment. Lock door.
Her purse dropped, followed by her keys. She'd left everything else in the van. “In case you didn't get the point, Andrea. You're not welcome here.” Master Dan had thrown her clothing into the car like it was trash to dispose of…like her.
The table lamp that she always left on lit her wavering path to the bedroom. Her home, her comfort. All hers. Rented with her own money. Money she'd earned, not stolen. “Don't ever come back,” Master Dan had said.
She crawled onto her bed, feeling ninety years old, creaking like Abuelita. She curled into a ball, pulling her fluffy quilt over her, breathing in the clean scent. Even when camping in the snowy Rockies, she'd never felt this cold; she didn't think she'd ever get warm again.
The first sob. More of a whimper. Only wimps cry. The second worked up through her tight throat. Last night, she'd laid her head on her Señor's shoulder, kissed him, made love with him. The need to be held right now shook her. She pulled her pillow over and wrapped her arms around it. The hollow feeling didn't leave.
Not my Señor. Not any longer. The next sob ripped through her so hard she couldn't breathe.
Had they already called him?
She could call him herself. And say what? Vanessa lied? Yes, the money was in my locker, and yes, I have a record, but Vanessa lied. Really. Sure, he'd believe that. He was a cop, just like Master Dan. Maybe, maybe, he could have overlooked her background but not an accusation of stealing.
Why? Why did this happen to me? Why now when she'd just started to think it might work?
And then she cried.
Chapter Fifteen
Thursday afternoon, Cullen looked up at a tap on his office door to see Z and Dan. He leaned back in his chair, taking in the serious expressions. “What's up?”
“When I got back into Tampa last night, Daniel called me about a problem that came up on Saturday.” Uninvited, Z sat in the chair in front of the desk. “I hear you've been out of town.”
“I got yanked over to Miami on a related case. Just flew back in an hour ago.” Cullen's eyes narrowed as an ugly sensation crawled into his gut. He nodded at the other chair by the desk, but Dan shook his head and remained standing. “You want to tell me what's going on?”
“It's about Andrea,” Z said.
Cullen had given her a call when he returned to town, but no one had answered. “Go on.”
His legs braced in a defensive stance, Dan said, “Vanessa hadn't shut her padlock in the dressing room. Andrea stole the money out of her wallet.”
Cullen rose, a growl erupting from his throat. “No way. She wouldn't.”
“There's more, Cullen. She has a record—sealed. Attempted robbery.” Dan tossed a paper on Cullen's desk.
She had an actual record? Is that what she'd been so worried about? He leaned forward, hands flat on his desk, and glared at Dan. “I'm still not buying it.”
“Dammit, Cullen, get your head out of… I found the money in Andrea's locker. Open- and-shut case.”
Cullen forced his anger down and tried to think logically. Didn't work. His gut said this was all wrong. “Did she say she'd taken it? You're a fucking Dom—did she act guilty?”
“Of course she's…” Dan broke off, and his brows drew together. “And yet, she said, 'I don't steal,' with no hedging or hesitation. The look on her face…” He scowled. “Hell, I was so damned furious at her taking you for a ride that I never tried to read her.”
“And now?”
“Cullen…I don't know.”
“I do. She told me she had some sort of nasty background. And the little Amazon has problems, no doubt about that, but I've never questioned her integrity. I can't see her stealing, no matter how much money you found.” Cullen's jaw tightened. “Vanessa, however… She's a sneaky piece of work. One who shouldn't be in the program.”
Z nodded. “I agree in both cases. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help determine what happened. But finding the money in Andrea's locker…”
Dan crossed the floor and stood at the window, his shoulders tight. The cop liked to think things to death, Cullen knew, but at least his brain had switched on. After a minute, he turned back to the room. “Her reactions were… I didn't see any guilt in her body language. Shock—definitely shock—especially when I showed her the rap sheet, and then she acted as if she expected everything that followed. But when she said, 'I didn't take her money,' I saw no lie in her face.”
Dan's face darkened. “Did I get taken for a sucker? Why the hell didn't she stand up for herself? Argue. Cry?”
“She wouldn't have argued,” Cullen muttered. All the stubborn pride and independence that made her submission so intoxicating also made her downright difficult to deal with. Fuck, what must she be feeling right now? “Too much pride.”
Z steepled his fingers, regarding Cullen with a frown. “I want to pursue this further.”
Cullen stared up at the ceiling, trying to think, seeing instead a spider web swaying in the air from the vent. A good cleaning service wouldn't overlook cobwebs. Andrea probably wouldn't.
He picked up the information Dan had tossed on his desk and skimmed it. “She'd just turned eighteen and was arrested. Once. She hasn't even had a parking ticket since.”
“Shit. Fuck.” Dan paced across the office. “If she's not guilty… Hell, I feel like I ran over a puppy.”
Cullen growled. “I think it's time to talk with Vanessa.”
And then with a little sub. The pain running through him was partly at the hell she'd experienced.
The rest was the knowledge that she hadn't called him.
Z volunteered his office. That night, Cullen leaned against the oversize desk, his anger buried under a layer of icy control. Dan stood nearby, wearing the same expression. A chance existed that they'd come to the wrong conclusion, but he didn't think so.
Vanessa walked into the office, glanced at Dan, and gave Cullen a sweet smile. “You wanted to see me about last Saturday?”
He didn't speak.
Her smile faltered, and she clasped her hands together. “What's wrong? Oh, God, you blame me for Andrea being thrown out, don't you? Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. But…”
Ah-huh. Wanting him to reassure her that she'd done the right thing and so convince himself. Not happening, sweetheart. “Strip.”
Her head snapped up, eyes widening.
He raised his chin slightly.
She glanced at Dan. With her lips tight, she peeled off the tailored blue dress and her undergarments, piling everything on a nearby chair. She might have a nice, shapely body, but he found her lack of character a total turn-off. After she finished, she stood in the center of the room, hands at her sides, breathing slightly harder, cheeks flushed. Uncertain.
Good. He didn't order her to kneel; he could read her body language better with her standing.
Dan moved closer. Vanessa took a tiny step back.
“Now, sub, let's talk about when Andrea was accused of stealing,” Cullen said, pulling her attention to him. The lights they'd arranged spotlighted her as nicely as in any interview room. Interrogation 101. “What were you wearing that night?”
As she tried to remember, her eyes focused up and to the left. “Oh, well, I had on my blue bustier, and a blue vinyl skirt.
So eyes up and left might indicate the act of accessing a memory. Cullen noted it and picked another question she would answer truthfully. “And who was working the theme rooms?”
She blinked. Then her gaze went up and to the left again. “Dara was in the…” She listed each position.
“Now tell me about your missing money. How much and where was it when the evening started?”
Up and to the left. “Over a hundred dollars and in my purse. In my locker.”
A definite memory. He glanced at Dan, got a slight nod. On to the real interview. “Now tell me everything about that night.”
“Where…where do you want me to start?”
Stalling for time. “When you first got to the Shadowlands.”
She rambled through the beginning of the night, nice factual statements of “I did this” and “I did that.” Then she came to her visit to the dressing room. Her weight shifted, and one hand came up to cover her mouth in a you-can't-see-me-lie move. Her eyes went up and to the right this time—making up a story. “Well, I think that I remembered the lock wasn't snapped, so I went in. My locker door was ajar.”
Nice shift of language also. “I think.” Passive statements. Lie, lie, and lie. Cullen's satisfaction that the interview vindicated his belief in Andrea was overshadowed by the anger at what the little tiger had been forced to endure.
“And the money was gone,” she finished.