Chapter 15

(Thanks to Gordon for his editing suggestions!)

The ride home after the party was much more relaxed, Zoe chatting happily about how much she enjoyed the whole event. she had them laughing the whole way home, telling them tales of her discussion with the other slaves over dinner.

"It was so nice to be able to walk around in my sexy new collar. I could be me, and with other people! And the other slaves? What a bunch of sweethearts! Did you know that the brothers were both nationally ranked body builders? Now they are lawyers. Lawyers!! Can you imagine their briefs in court?

"Marcel actually admitted to me that he makes messes, forgets to do chores, even speaks out of turn ... on purpose! He says that Amanda has this paddle with holes in it that make his insides turn to jelly. You should have seen him talking about it, those shorts don't hide much!"

All in all, James got home feeling much better about Zoe, about her submission and about his future as her Master. He hadn't realized what a strain it had been until it was gone.

Once they had gotten comfortable, showered and were sitting at the kitchen table and sipping hot cocoa, Zoe scooted her chair as close as possible to Stacy and lay her head on her sister-wife's shoulder. She beamed at James, her arm around Stacy, and just sighed with a smile on her face.

James grinned and, with a feigned look of nonchalance, tested a theory. He had been monitoring the link to the tattoos, off and on over the week, examining the stream that seemed to connect them to him. He had some ideas and this seemed like a harmless experiment.

He felt for the link, wrapped himself around it, and gave it the tiniest boost.

Both girls gasped, their eyes flying wide open. Stacy placed a hand over her heart, over the tattoo on her chest and Zoe grabbed her wrist, stroking the still healing skin.

"What was that?" Stacy gasped, rubbing softly. Her eyes turned towards James and her brow lowered, staring at him suspiciously.

"James? What did you do?"

He cracked up, laughing and grinning.

"I wondered if it would work ... I mean, I thought it would, but I hadn't tried it. I gave the links a little bump. I was half-convinced that it would just make them warmer."

"It pulsed. Like ... like a heartbeat." Stacy said, wonder in her voice. "It was like ... like I could feel your heartbeat when you press your chest to mine, but only in the tattoo. Do it again!"

He pulsed the link again, watching the smiles on their faces.

"Now, no matter where we are, no matter how busy or far apart, I can let you know I am thinking about you."

Stacy turned to look at Zoe, their eyes locked, and James could feel the energy along the link between them. They did that a lot, those private talks, but it never bothered him. He know, somehow, that all he had to do was ask and they would tell him, but he didn't need to know. They were sisters, and sister-wives, and they needed each other as much as he needed them.

The two turned back to James, smiles on their faces, and they stood, again as one.

"We think that you have been exceptionally sweet tonight" Stacy purred.

"And we think you deserve a reward." Zoe continued as the two advanced on James.

'Oh no, Br'er Bear, don't throw me into that briar patch!'

Sunday was as normal a day as the trio had experienced in months. The families got together and planned a picnic at the local park and Zoe invited Sally, who was still dealing with her angry, drunken mother, to join them

They ate fried chicken and potato salad, played games and generally relaxed, the moms trading stories of child rearing and commiserating about kids growing too fast, while the dads exchanged war stories, or college stories anyway.

It turned out that Sunday was a blessing in disguise, a chance to rest and recharge their batteries. That was especially good because Monday was a whole other story.

Sunday evening, they had moved back to James's house, still trading weeks to keep the parents happy, and they had piled into James's bed to sleep.

At nine the following morning, the three of them were eating breakfast when there was a knock at the front door. David was off to work already, and Ada was somewhere at the rear of the house, so Zoe bounced up and volunteered to see who it was.

'James, can you come?' he heard her silent call, and the tension, though slight, in her voice made him hurry.

Standing at the door was a man in a suit, his hands in his pocket. The lower drape of his suit jacket was brushed back and on his belt was the badge of a police officer.

"James Anderson, right? Look, can I talk to you?" he asked, sounding hesitant.

"Is there something wrong, Detective?" James answered, ignoring his question. He sent a probe in, spearing into the center and was reading his surface thoughts as he replied.

"Huh? Oh! No, no, this is not police business. ('Damn, I don't want to freak him out!') I just have a couple of questions, personal questions, that I want to ask. ('This is a stupid thing to do. He's a kid! He would have told everything to the D's on the case. But it's Becky, I have to. He may remember something, or know something. I have to.')

James kept his face calm, not showing the fright that had gripped him at first, nor the compassion that was flowing through him right at that moment. This guy wasn't just a cop, he was the father of the one of girls who had been kidnapped and murdered.

"Come in, please. We were just eating breakfast. Can I get you some coffee? Some toast or something?"

"No, no, thank you. Listen..." he glanced at Zoe, "Is this one of the girls that was with you when you caught that son of a ... um ... the kidnapper? ('I would have broken every god damned bone in his fucking body.') Can I ask you two some questions about that day?"

"Please have a seat." James opened his link wide, feeding everything he was seeing to the girls. "This is Stacy and this is Zoe. We were all there."

The man sat for a moment, his face a mask as he stared at his hands. James could feel the pain radiating from him. (My little girl. These kids caught that fucker though. They did what I couldn't. I couldn't protect her.')

"My name is Donovan Manning, and my daughter was Becky, Rebecca Manning. She is one of Leo Evers's victims. He snatched her three years ago next month, and we never saw her again. My wife ... she took it hard. She started drinking, wrapped her car around a bridge abutment two years later..."

James was forced to back off on his link, the waves of pain and self loathing were making it hard for him to think. This man was tormented, blaming himself for his daughter, for his wife...

"I like to think I am a pretty good cop. I did all the right things, and even some damned wrong things, (flashes of brutal interrogations, of rousting known criminals, of planting evidence on scumbags flashed through his mind )but we never found a trace of her. Then this piece of filth is dragged into the station, spilling his guts. We found her body, what was left of her bones, and I buried her just last week." Tears were running, unheeded down his cheeks.

"I read the reports, cops are cops, even if I am from another city. I saw your name. I had to come, I had to find out. Did he say anything? Did he mention any names? Anything?" His eyes met James's and the naked pain in those eyes made James feel light headed.

"I wish I could give you what you wanted, Mr. Manning. He didn't though, he never mentioned anyone by name."

Manning scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and, when his eyes met James's, they were as steady and almost frighteningly intent.

"He's telling stories in jail, you know. About an avenging angel who struck him down, who stripped his mind bare, who crippled him and made him confess. He swears he was struck blind and can't describe the angel though, just a booming, god like voice in his head." Manning was talking, his voice low, but his eyes never left James's face.

"It is probably the ravings of a madman, but if there was some truth to it, if there was someone or something out there that could do these things ... there are a lot of bad people in the world who need to be stopped. ('Now he probably thinks I am a madman too, delirious, driven mad or something. But if there is a chance, a chance that some other father doesn't have to go through this, that some other little girl can grow up... ')

'James?' Stacy's question, the one they were each asking themselves, hung out there in the mental silence.

'Master? Is this what your Grandfather would have done?' Zoe asked quietly, rising to stand behind him with her hands on his shoulders.

'You realize the risk we face, all of us? Even if I could keep you out of it, the tattoos are not the answer, they can't protect you if I am in jail or in some hole in the ground government lab. I want to help, but what right do I have to risk you, you who mean more to me than my own life?'

'James, life is risk. We can help. Think of the girls in that monster's mind. I remember them, I have nightmares about them. You do to, I have seen them.' Stacy's voice was stronger. 'Do we have a choice? I mean, really?'

James opened his link wider, doing his best to block the emotions coming from the tortured man at the table, and sending his probe deep, making connections.

He was a good man who had done terrible things, but for the right reasons. He had been driven past his limit and had stepped over the line in defense of his family. Metaphorically beaten and bloodied, literally tormented, he still hadn't given up.

James let his eyes connect once more with Stacy and with Zoe, then nodded.

"Mr. Manning? Let me tell you a story..."

Hours later, seated in the living room, Ada having joined them and listened silently, they came to a meeting of the minds, if you will. Manning had been skeptical, even as he hoped he was wrong, until James had demonstrated his abilities, then he got excited.

He was a Detective Captain, head of the homicide squad in San Diego and had friends in departments up and down the coast.

"I have stacks of paperwork, files on serial killers, on rapists and kidnappers from all around the country!" he said, a feral smile on his face.

"No."

The comment had been soft, but the tone unmistakable. There was iron in that one word, an absolute certainty that could not be denied.

James had never heard that tone from his mother before.

"He is a boy. Sure, he is growing, and he is smart, he is even strong, but he is not going to be going after killers and rapists. I have stood by and watched him grow stronger, stronger than my grandfather or my brother ever were. But he is not ready for that and I will not let you use him up, get him killed like the government managed to do with my father. I will not allow it." She paused, her eyes boring into the detective's.

"If he could save one little girl like Becky..." the detective pleaded, his hands out towards Ada.

"There are missing children cases, send him those. Let him use the abilities god has granted him to ferret out the truth when you catch someone, but he will not be the one battling them on the streets. I will not have you putting him in danger."

James, Zoe and Stacy watched the battle of wills, none of them at all uncertain that Ada had drawn a line in the sand.

"Consultants..." Manning muttered to himself, his eyes on the floor. "Consultants!" his voice rose, louder and stronger, his mood altering in an instant.

"They can be consultants. Set up a company, get a license, register with the departments. Consultants can't be involved directly in cases, but are called in to review files, to offer professional assistance in data gathering and analysis, hell, we even use psychics if they can prove helpful!" He turned back to Ada, his eyes bright with excitement.

She looked skeptical, but the iron that was stiffening her spine was softening. She looked at James and he knew what she wanted. He opened his link to her.

'Is this what you want, James?'

'How can I say no, Mum? I saw what that man did to those girls, it was in his memories. I can't un-see it. I can't just forget it.'

She was silent, her eyes unfocused as she considered. When she lifted her eyes again, locking with the detective, the iron was back.

"You come to me with a concrete plan. You lay it all out for his father and I, convince us that it can be done with minimal risk to my son." she said, leaving unsaid the result of failure.

"Give me some time, Mrs. Anderson. We need him." his reply was confident.

She simply nodded and Manning knew that this discussion was done.

Late that night, all thoughts of the visit were blown away in a wail of agony.