The moment broken, she tore her gaze away and grimaced. “Passing. That’s a nice way of phrasing it. Let’s not pretend his death was anything natural.”
She’d never forget the phone call from the prison informing her of her father’s suicide. He’d paid another inmate to buy him peanuts from the commissary, and while alone in his cell, he had eaten the entire bag, knowing a severe allergic reaction to the nuts would kill him. And it had.
“No, I don’t suppose it was,” Cole said.
“Since you were his partner, you probably received all the documents and business property that the FBI had confiscated in their investigation, right? I’d love to go through it, you know, to make some sense of why my father stole from his clients.”
He shook his head. “I wish I had for your sake, but since they were of no use to me, I had the government dispose of everything.”
She didn’t believe him. He must have kept something she could use. “But maybe—”
“Danielle,” he said sharply, “you’re going to have a long day tomorrow. I think it’s time you return to your room and get some sleep.”
“Of course.” His dismissal gave no room for argument. This conversation was over. She might not have gotten the answers she wanted, but at least he hadn’t suspected her real reason for coming to his office in the middle of the night. She rose from her chair. “Good night.”
He stood and accompanied her to the door, his warm hand on the small of her back. “Don’t forget you’re going to pose for me tomorrow.”
How could she possibly forget?
Chapter Ten
FOR THE HUNDREDTH time, Danielle glanced at the digital clock up on the wall and wondered when Cole would come get her for their modeling session. She and the other trainees sat on folding chairs in a circle along with Master Michael and Mistress Casey, who were coteaching the classes this morning.
Danielle had always regretted not going back to school and getting her degree, but she had to admit, classes had never been this much fun. No boring lectures for slave trainees. They got demonstrations and hands-on experience. So far this morning, she’d gotten to hold several floggers, feeling the difference between leather, nylon, and kangaroo. While she found it fascinating, she quickly determined she never wanted to be on the receiving side of a flogger.
At the beginning of class, Master Michael had taken her aside from the rest of the trainees and went over what he called BDSM 101. He’d not only given her the lowdown on basic protocols and rules, he’d also explained Benediction’s logistics.
Prior to membership approval, applicants required an endorsement from a current member and were thoroughly investigated, which involved submitting to medical tests and criminal background checks, as well as providing financial records. If they passed that stage, they paid a fifty-thousand-dollar fee, which went into a trust for the maintenance of the club for things such as condoms, computers, wrist bands, copying fees, and even food for the trainees. He went on to say Benediction was not formally a business, and Cole did not earn any money from running it.
Discretion was key, and everyone signed a confidentiality agreement. Not only were most of the members wealthy, many of them maintained high-profile careers in politics, sports, and entertainment.
She could understand the need for confidentiality. If anyone back in Arizona found out she’d spent time in a sex club, she’d . . . well, no one would believe it. But if they did, her reputation would be ruined.
After he’d finished her quick introduction to BDSM, he joined Mistress Casey, who was leading the trainees in a debate on what constituted consent, both in terms of the BDSM community and the law. Danielle was surprised to learn that although both parties may give consent, the state could still prosecute a person for assault.
Next, they moved on to more pertinent issues.
“Can anyone tell me why lubricant is so important in anal sex?” Mistress Casey asked the trainees. Twelve hands shot up in the air. Danielle’s remained in her lap.
A firm knocking caused everyone’s heads to swerve toward the door. Her breath stalled in her lungs at the sight of Cole in tight jeans and a black Henley shirt. A quick study of the other trainees’ faces told her she wasn’t the only one. Waiting for him to speak, she chewed on a fingernail.
Unlike the nervous wreck that she was, he leaned on the doorjamb, one leg crossed over the other, his posture casual and comfortable. Master Michael rose from his chair and crossed to Cole. They spoke in hushed tones, and Master Michael nodded.
Cole’s cool gaze landed on her. “I’m going to borrow Danielle for a couple hours to help me out on a project.”