Page 12 of Savage in the Streets
My assistant came over at 6 a.m., bringing me case files from my office. I thanked her for getting up so early and sent her on her way with a list of things to do in my absence.
One good thing about this fiasco is that being out of the office will allow me to solely focus on my caseload.
The buzzer rings, and I let Mabel in.
“Thanks for coming. I’m not sure how long she’ll sleep, but when she gets up, try to keep her occupied. I don’t want her getting any ideas and trying to escape.”
“Wow, you’re treating her like some kind of criminal,” Mabel returns.
I cast her a glare.
She chuckles. “Oh, yeah, forgot.”
“I’m going to try to get back before noon. Whatever you do, don’t leave her alone. If you have to miss the first appointment, so be it.”
“Okay, but what if she wants to go somewhere?”
“That’s out of the question. She must remain here.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like I can kidnap her.”
“The maid came in early, and I had her remove Bailey’s clothes. If she wants to go out, it will be in just an undershirt,” I say. “If she asks about her phone, tell her I’ll give it to her when I return.”
“This is starting to feel like a Disney movie…with you playing the villain.”
“Did you miss the part where she’s out on bail?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll start making breakfast.”
“Oh, and don’t tell her any details about my private life. Especially not Liz.”
Mabel’s eyes downcast at the mention of my sister, but she gives a quick nod of her head. Perhaps that was best left unsaid.
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Call me if you need me.”
“Roger that!”
The last thing I want is to be driving downtown to Bailey’s apartment, leaving her with Mabel, but I figure it’s best to go there while she’s asleep, giving her fewer waking hours with me away for her to get into trouble.
Parking my car in her neighborhood is a bit of a risk, but an Uber would have only extended the trip.
The key I took from the nightstand slides into the lock perfectly, and I’m thankful I don’t have to try picking it.
My first impression of her place is that it’s a disaster—a cyclone of chaos in every corner. But the more I take it in, the more I realize it’s purposeful chaos. Punk, one might call it.
Loud posters, knick-knacks, edgy decor. There are no drugs lying around like I had half expected, and the surfaces are free of dust.
Get her some clothes, find Princess Petunia, look for evidence of guilt.
I begin by rifling through things, looking for any evidence of nefarious activity while trying not to be pervy.
Pictures of Bailey with friends and at concerts line the wall. She might be rough around every edge, but her appeal is undeniable. She’s brazen, while keeping an air of mystery. Sexy in an almost over-the-top kind of way. Daring, taking shit from no one. Not even her well-intending lawyer.
She’s certainly been a distraction for me throughout the night, when I was trying to plan how the hell I was going to make my life work while being tied to my apartment.
I throw her laptop and any suspect electronics into a bag to bring to her, then I go to her dresser to grab a few outfits.
Her underwear drawer is full of frill and black lace, making my cock jolt in my pants as visions of her donning them flood my brain space. She’s lean, shapely, tiny while distinctly womanly. A demon in a pretty little package I long to open.
