Page 6 of Captive

Ten pulls up a seat and rests the foot of the bruised leg on the armrest of Grimly's chair. His cheek gets all twitchy, and it's obvious he's irritated but Ten ignores the twitch. It's one of the million and a half things I love about her. She reaches across Clark's desk and spins one of the picturesaround.

"Help yourself, Tennyson," Clark says wryly, but he knows Ten is one of his best detectives, so he leans back and lets her look at the picture. I stand over hershoulder.

A pasty faced man is curled in a fetal position in the middle of what looks like a posh bathroom, complete with marble floors and high gloss fixtures. The pool of blood beneath his head is a good indication that the guy is no longer enjoying his elegantlavatory.

"Is that a dead rat or a bad toupee?" I ask. Ten's shoulders shake in a laugh, but Clark is lessamused.

"It's a toupee. Although I'm sure it wasn't a bad one when it was on his head. Howard Rainier is worth billions," Grimly says and sits back with a confident smile as if he is the only person on the planet with knowledge of the man's wealth. Grimly's nice blue sweater brushes against the dirt crusted sole of Ten's shoe. He makes a show of brushing off the dirt, his earlier confidence replaced by irritation. "Do you mind, Tennyson? This is a dry clean onlysweater."

A laugh shoots from my mouth, and I make no attempt to stifleit.

Grimly shakes his head in disgust. "I'll go check out those names," Grimly says curtly before standing abruptly and walkingout.

I look back as the door snaps shut. "Jeez, was it something we said?" I sit in the chair Grimly vacated, but I don't mind having Ten's shoe on the arm. One of those crazy ass images that you know shouldn't happen but your subconscious insists on laying on you passes through my mind, and for a brief second, Ten is sitting on my lap wearing nothing but a blue pair ofpanties.

It's not easy but I shake the image loose and sit forward. "So what about this Rainier guy? Why did somebody offhim?"

Clark shifts his gaze from me to Ten and back again. "It's not something I'm broadcasting yet, but in the past two months, two billionaires have been killed. Same method. A blow to thehead."

"So they're related." Ten pulls around the second stack ofpictures.

"We don't have enough evidence yet," Clarksays.

Tennyson hands me two of the pictures. They are two young girls who look like they've been living on the streets for a longtime.

"What do these girls have to do with it?" Iask.

"Do you have to ask? Billionaires and their kinks." Ten pulls her foot down and winces as it hits the floor harder than sheexpects.

"I don't know if we can generalize about billionaires," Clarksays.

"You're right," Ten agrees. "Old creepy men and their kinks.Better?"

Clark doesn't answer. Ten's sharp tongue has earned her plenty of marks on her record, but her fearlessness has earned her accoladestoo.

Clark tosses another picture in front of us. It's a slick looking guy with piercing blue eyes and a square jaw. Ten's gaze lingers just a second too long on the photo. I suddenly have the urge to punch the guy with the piercing blue eyes and squarejaw.

Ten sits back and pushes the picture back to Clark. "Is he deadtoo?"

A dry laugh vibrates Clark's moustache. "That'd make life a whole lot easier. This is Kane Freestone, a very rich man but still alive and kicking. At least as far as we know. They call him the mad genius. He was a biochemist. Went to MIT and a couple other big name schools before getting scooped up by Mayer Pharmaceuticals. He left there about five years ago because they wouldn't give him funds to finish hisresearch."

"Research on what?" I push the other pictures back tohim.

"Not quite sure but his coworkers thought it was something dangerous enough to rat him out. He went underground, started some secret society called LaceUnderground."

"So . . . they are hiding out making petticoats?" Ten quips. Her nose scrunches up. Her leg is bothering her, and she gets grumpy when she'shurt.

I tap her arm. "Go put some ice on that. It'll numb thepain."

She nods but doesn't get up. "If this is a secret society, how come you know about it and what does it have to do with the odd collection of pictures on your desk?" I can see the flecks of gold in Ten's brown eyes sparkle with interest. She loves things that are twisted and secret and hard to untangle. And from the baffled look on Clark's lumpy face, this seems to be one of thosecases.

"Unfortunately, about all we know is the name. Like I said, Freestone is a genius. He keeps things pretty well sealed up. These girls are just a few of a dozen or so who have disappeared in the last two years. They're street kids, drug addicts, low level thieves and prostitutes. We think the two murder victims might have had something on Freestone, maybe two club members gonerogue."

Ten sits up in her chair, and I know exactly what she's going to say. Sometimes I think I know her better than she knowsherself.

"So street kids go missing and it's whatever." She shrugs for a visual. "But two old cranky, fake hair wearing men turn up dead and it's bring out the torches andpitchforks?"

"Did I say that Tennyson?" Clark looks at me for back up but doesn't get it. "We've been looking for the girls." He smacks his hand down on a folder on his desk. "I've got a whole fucking file of missing girl cases. We're working out the details for an undercover sting right now, and it doesn't include you two clowns." He sits back hard and his chair rolls a few inches back. "Go put some ice on that leg." Clark lifts his chin my direction. "Youtoo."

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