30DaystoSyn (3 page)

“Acquisitions, Miss Wynth,” she said into
the mouthpiece.

“Miss Wynth, this is Dodd’s Supermarket,”
the caller said. “I’m calling about a check you gave us last week.”

Lina winced and closed her eyes, knowing
what was coming.

“Miss Wynth, are you aware the check
bounced?”

Opening her eyes, her attention went to the
ad.

“I’m sorry,” she heard herself say. “Friday
is payday. I’ll come by on Saturday to pick it up.”

“There is a twenty dollar charge,” the
woman said almost with triumph.

Lina nodded. “I’ll include that.”

“Cash, Miss Wynth,” the hateful woman said.
“We cannot accept a check nor will we be accepting any checks from you here
forward.”

“I understand,” Lina said. Tears were
creeping down her cheek and one dropped to the ad—right above the email
address.

“If you do not redeem the bad check this
Saturday, we will be forced to turn it over to the—”

“I will pay you on Saturday without fail,” Lina
said then slowly hung up the phone even though the woman was saying something
else.

Her hand still on the receiver, Lina took a
deep breath, released it, then calmly refolded the ad and placed it back in her
purse. She got up from her desk and walked over to where Steve Ingram was
standing. He looked around at her as she drew near and his killer smile
engaged.

“Hey, Lina,” he said, his gray eyes
drifting down her.

“May I speak with you a moment, Steve?” she
asked.

“Anytime, anywhere,” he said with a wink.
“What can I do you for?”

She took a steadying breath. “Would it be
possible to get a ride home with you today?” she asked. “At least as far as the
Newton Library?”

He grinned. “Sure. I heard about your car.
Arm and leg to fix?”

“It can’t
be
fixed,” she said,
lifting her chin. “I’m carless now.”

“Tough luck, sweetie. Need a ride in the
morning?” he asked, moving closer.

“No, my friend can take me in the mornings.
I just need a ride home for a while.”

“I’ll take you wherever you want to go
whenever you want to go. You can ride home with me for as long as you need to.”
His gray gaze drifted down her once more. “I aim to please.”

“I’d appreciate it,” she said and wondered
why she had the impression of a wolf nipping at her heels.

“Not a problem,” he said.

She thanked him and went back to her desk.
As she sat down at her keyboard, she realized a heavy weight had settled on her
chest. She splayed her hand between her breasts, tried to breathe away the
pressure but couldn’t. Absentmindedly she wondered if she was on the verge of a
heart attack and frankly didn’t care at that point. She didn’t think her life
could get much worse.

She thought of the ad.

“Think what you could do with a cool
mil.”

Taking a long, deep breath, she decided it
was the only lifeline being offered. She would be a fool not to at least take a
grab at it. Maybe there could be a bright dawn to chase away the darkness in
her life.

“Please have a seat, Miss Wynth,” he said
in a voice that bore an unmistakable Boston accent. “My name is Jonas Tarnes
and I will be conducting your preliminary interview.”

He was a handsome young man with dark,
sparkling eyes and an engaging white-toothed smile. Slim of build and
clean-shaven, he looked fresh out of high school, though Lina imagined he was
older than he looked. The short black hair that was gelled into place atop his
well-shaped head made her think of Alfalfa from the old Our Gang serials. The
polka dot bow tie he wore only added to the impression. His fingernails were
manicured and polished and his suit probably cost more than she made in five
months.

“I must say your application caught my eye
straightaway,” Tarnes told her. “Your high school GPA was very impressive and
you did exceedingly well in college.” He looked down at a paper in his hand,
frowned slightly, and then looked up at her. “Frankly, I am at a loss to
understand why you were not offered a higher-paying job given your
qualifications.”

“Jobs are scarce, Mr. Tarnes,” she said
softly. “There are at least a dozen applicants for every one available.”

Tarnes sighed. “Sadly, this is true.” He
placed the paper on his desk, precisely aligning it, adjusting it to suit him
before folding his hands atop the page. “I see you are a regular blood plasma
donor.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Very admirable,” he observed. He smiled.
“Although I don’t imagine you donate entirely for altruistic purposes.”

“No sir,” she said, fidgeting. “I need the
money.”

His dark eyes took on a sympathetic look.
“Yes,” he said then leaned back in his chair with his folded hands resting on
his flat stomach. “To pay for your brother’s care.”

She lowered her head. “Yes sir.”

“You also collect soda cans for recycling.”

She looked up. His knowing that surprised
her and a slight shiver of unease rippled down her spine.

“Again,” he said, “not entirely for
altruistic purposes.” He cocked his head to one side. “I can’t imagine you
receive much money for that endeavor.”

“How do you know that?” she asked.

His smile was encouraging. “Please
understand, Miss Wynth. Every applicant has been fully vetted before she ever
enters my office door. She will get no further unless I approve her. I am my
employer’s eyes and ears and it is up to me to decide who among the candidates
meets his qualifications. I am my master’s voice, if you will. He listens to my
input. Of course he has final say in the matter. That said, there is nothing I
don’t know about each and every one of you prior to you being asked to meet
with me. Our investigators have spoken to your families.” He paused. “Well, in
your case there weren’t any family members who could speak with us, but we have
spoken to your friends, teachers, professors, neighbors, coworkers, your boss,
your creditors.” His smile returned. “Your pastor and even your hair stylist.”
He laughed. “You’d be amazed at the wealth of knowledge a hair stylist can give
us concerning her clients!”

No, she thought, she wouldn’t. Marge
Saltman was the biggest gossip in town and she was careful what she said around
the woman. Unfortunately, Marge had a way of weaseling information from her
clients and she wondered what the nosy woman might have said.

“I have made an appointment with our
company physician for your full physical,” Tarnes said. “I hope three o’clock
on Wednesday is good for you.”

She shook her head. “I can’t afford to miss
work, Mr. Tarnes,” she said. “It’ll have to be next Friday when I have a half a
day coming.”

Tarnes frowned. “I’m afraid that would not
be acceptable. We are on a rather tight schedule.”

“Oh,” she said, trying to smile. “I
understand.” She got to her feet.

He started to speak but his phone rang. He
glanced down and the frown deepened as he picked up the receiver. “Yes sir?”

Lina watched him listening and when his
eyes flicked to her, she knew whoever was on the other end was giving him
instructions regarding her.

“Of course, sir,” Tarnes said and hung up
the receiver. He smiled. “Next Friday is good.”

Lina breathed a sigh of relief until Tarnes
asked about the psychological testing, which apparently would take an entire
day. Her shoulders slumped and she felt tears prickling behind her eyes. She
was loath to tell the man she was wasting his time.

“Mr. Tarnes, I won’t get another half day
until next month,” she apologized.

“What about on Labor Day, September third?”
he asked. “Are you off then?”

“Yes, but…”

“Then I’ll make the appointment for you for
that day. Oh, by the way, you are to fast on Thursday night. Nothing by mouth
after midnight. There will be blood work on Friday.”

Lina tucked her bottom lip between her
teeth. There was a question she needed to ask and didn’t quite know how to
approach it with Tarnes.

“You have something on your mind, Miss
Wynth?” Tarnes asked.

“The…” She swallowed. “The job is only at
night, correct?”

“That’s right,” he replied.

“Nothing during the day on weekdays?”

“Only at night,” he told her then smiled.
“Your job with us—should you be chosen—will not interfere with your day job.”

“Then it isn’t all evening?” she pressed.
“I won’t be expected to spend the night?”

“As I understand the parameters of the
position, the time you spend with my employer will vary. Would there be a
problem spending the night with him?”

She winced at the thought of sleeping
beside a strange man then shook her head. “It’s a matter of getting here and
getting home,” she said. “I don’t have a car and the buses stop running out to
my section of town around nine.”

“Oh, I see,” Tarnes said, his face falling.
“That might present a problem.”

The phone rang—the same button as before
flashing—and Tarnes drew in a deep breath before exhaling and picking up the
receiver. “Yes sir?” He listened, nodded, the hung up. He gave her a look she
couldn’t read then leaned back in his chair. “If you’re chosen, we’ll send a
car for you each evening and the driver will take you home at the end of the
session. Would that work?”

“Yes,” she whispered then cleared her
throat, spoke louder. “Yes, that would work.”

“Excellent!” Tarnes said. “I believe that’s
all for now.” He stood and extended his hand.

“That’s it?” she queried, taking his hand.
“That’s all you wanted to ask me?”

“On my end, yes,” he said. “If you advance
to the next level after the physical and mental evaluations, you’ll be meeting
with my employer. He will have questions of his own to ask.” He released her
hand and skirted the desk, holding his hand out for her to precede him to the
door.

Surprised by the ease with which she’d met
the first hurdle, Lina was numb as she walked to the door.

“Please be on time for the doctor appointments,”
Tarnes said as he opened the portal for her. “And good luck.”

“Thank you?” she said.

“I believe that is the customary response,”
he said with a grin.

On the way out of the nondescript building
where no sign marked its ownership or purpose, she wondered about the man on
the other end of the phone line. Obviously he was willing to make concessions
to the women being interviewed for the ad, making it easier for them to be
scrutinized. She paused on the sidewalk and looked up at the banks of windows
blackened out with solar film. The building was four stories high and instinct
told her the man on the phone was looking down at her from the top story. Her
gaze zeroed in on the middle window and held. She had a feeling that was the
right one and that he was standing there observing her.

Heart suddenly pounding, she tore her eyes
from the window, ducked her head and struck out for the bus stop.

His back was to her as she entered the
office. The bright light from the long bank of windows put a halo around his
body but she could tell his hair was dark brown or black and worn cropped close
to his scalp. He was dressed casually in black slacks and a white shirt with
the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He stood with his hands thrust into the
pockets of his slacks and his legs braced apart. The image of a sea captain on
the bridge of his ship flitted across her mind. He spoke without turning
around.

“Sit down, Melina.”

He said it in such a way she thought
perhaps he preferred her sitting down when he delivered the bad news that she
wasn’t what he wanted but his next words negated that thought.

“You are the one I have chosen. You were
selected before you ever walked through my door. That is why you are here.”

Her eyebrows quirked. She had a good ear
for accents and his said either South Africa or New Zealand. Her bet was on New
Zealand by the rising intonation on the last words of each sentence as well as
the way he pronounced the word here as heere. His voice had a nasal quality to
it that screamed masculinity.

“I don’t know your name Mr…”

“My name is unimportant. You may call me
Sir.” He paused for a beat then snapped, “I told you to sit down.”

She blushed as she quickly took a seat in
front of the huge desk behind which he stood. A long moment passed without him
speaking and when he did, there was no inflection in the words.

“What did you think when you read the ad?”

She folded her hands in her lap. “That a
very wealthy man wanted a woman with whom to have sex. I assumed—”

“You assumed what?” he asked, turning his
profile to her.

The sight of his face—even a side view of
it—made her heart inexplicably speed up. He was young, darkly tanned and his
profile told her he would be handsome. She had to shake herself to answer.

“That he would be an older man.”

He turned and when he did she drew in a
quick breath. The strong profile with the totally masculine nose and strong
chin had been only the tip of the iceberg. The man was freaking gorgeous with
the bluest, most piercing eyes she’d ever encountered and his deep tan accented
them to perfection. His bold eyebrows and long lashes made the moisture in her
mouth evaporate but another part of her body flood with dampness. The two-day
stubble lining his cheeks and chin made him look dangerous—arrogantly so.

“You thought he would be an ugly, old,
toothless rich man.”

Her gaze dipped to the bright silver buckle
on his belt then lifted upward again and she thought his eyes had darkened a
shade with faint anger.

“Not toothless but with wobbly dentures,” she
said with a blush.

“Even an ugly old rich man would get dental
implants, Miss Wynth,” he said with a twitch of his lips, his hands still in
his pockets.

“I guess so,” she admitted. Her gaze locked
on his mouth and she realized his lips were relatively thin and that the top
one crooked slightly upward on the right side, the bottom slightly downward
beneath it. It was the only flaw she could see in the devastatingly handsome
face.

“And you would have given this ugly old
rich man your virginity without a second thought?”

She shook her head. “No Sir. I thought long
and hard before answering the ad.”

His probing blue eyes grabbed and held her
own so she could not look away. She felt sweat gathering in her palms beneath
that rigid stare. Fleetingly she thought sweaty palms were the bane of her
existence, a tell she wished she didn’t have.

“You thought the matter over carefully and
came to the conclusion that you might be expected to endure the fumbling,
smelly, slimy touch of a decrepit old fart.”

She blushed. “Yes Sir.”

“Yet you were willing to sell yourself to
such a man. Why is that?”

“Because I have need of the money that was
offered. If you wish for me to tell you my reason—”

“I know precisely why you need the money,
Miss Wynth. Your desire to take care of your brother was one of the reasons I
chose you.” He narrowed his eyes. “What other conclusions did you make from
reading the ad?”

She squirmed. “That the man who placed the
ad—”

“It could have been a woman.”

“I considered that but it didn’t seem
likely and when I met with Mr. Tarnes he referred to you as sir.”

He withdrew his hands from his pockets and
her eyes lowered automatically to them. They looked strong, capable, with
neatly manicured nails. On the ring finger of his right hand was a large silver
or white gold signet ring. She swallowed hard when he parked one hip on the
edge of his desk, folded his arms over his chest and tilted his head, looking
at her through the picket fences of his long, dark lashes.

“In other words, only a desperate, ugly
denture-wearing old rich man would place an ad like that.”

There was no humor in his question—only an
intense stare that made her acutely uneasy. She wanted to look away from him
but she couldn’t. It was as though he were holding her head between his hands,
anchoring it, denying her freedom.

“I never considered him to be desperate.”

“Then how did you consider him?”

In the periphery of her vision she saw the
muscles in his left thigh bunch as he perched on the edge of his desk. The
movement broke the hold he had over her and she looked down, impressed with the
thickness of that thigh and the way the black fabric of his slacks clung to it
like a second skin.

“Melina?” he pressed, the word a command
for attention.

Her gaze jumped back to his and she felt
heat blossoming in her cheeks at his knowing look. That look said he’d caught
her ogling him. “Selective,” she said then cleared her throat. “I considered
him to be selective.”

Once more his lips twitched then the tip of
his tongue curled over his bottom lip for just a second. That slight,
unconsidered motion made her womb clench and a hot wave of moisture flooded her
cunt. She tore her gaze from his mouth, saw his nostrils—then his eyes—flare
before he arched a thick eyebrow.

“Oh, I
am
selective, Miss Wynth.”

He said nothing for a moment. His intense,
piercing blue eyes bored into hers and when he spoke, she had to suppress a
shiver of longing for his voice became husky, seductive and the accent more
pronounced.

“Tell me, did it ever occur to you that the
man who placed the ad might be—at the very least—a degenerate who enjoys
hurting women? That he might be a rapist, a Satanist, even a serial killer?
That once you were in his hold he could do unspeakably evil things to you? That
he could sell you to a sheik who would spirit you out of the country never to
be seen again? Or that after he tortured and maimed you he would throw you in a
pit somewhere to rot?”

This time she could not hold back the
shudder and it visibly undulated through her. She clenched her hands tightly in
her lap.

“I thought about all those things but I had
to believe he was none of them.”

“And you leapt to this ridiculous
conclusion because?”

“He placed an ad in the paper. I’m sure he
knew the police would be made aware of the ad and that they would surely
investigate. That they—”

“What if he is a policeman?”

She shook her head. “Where would a
policeman get that kind of money?”

He smiled slowly. “He could be on the take
or he could be a mob boss for all you know.”

His smile was devastating and made her
entire body clench. She was amazed she could speak after being hit with that
smile. She cleared her throat.

“Or he could be a very successful
businessman who likes to dominate women outside his social circle,” she
countered.

“Touché.” He flexed his arms against his
chest. “Go on. What else?”

“He would want to be discreet so he would
not want his acquaintances to know of the woman’s existence or her identity.
Paying for sex would not be something he would want known.”

“I don’t think you understand men or how
they operate, Melina. Men pay for sex all the time and don’t give a damn who
knows about it.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she muttered.

“My point exactly. You haven’t been around
that many men in your lifetime, have you?”

“I have dated, Sir,” she said, lifting her
chin.

“Dated and fucked are two different
things,” he said brutally and seemed to find amusement in the way she shifted
uncomfortably in her chair.

“I am aware of that, Sir,” she said through
clenched teeth.

“Frankly I’m surprised you’ve kept your
virginity this long,” he said. “Most women your age lost theirs by their
sophomore year in high school.”

She lifted her chin. “I’m not that kind of
woman, Sir.”

“Obviously or you wouldn’t be sitting
here,” he said. “There’s no man out there writing your name on a bathroom
stall.”

“Will
you
write mine on a bathroom
wall?” she asked.

“For your information, Melina, I am not a
man to boast of my sexual conquests,” he said, eyes glittering. “What I do is
no one’s business other than my own and I don’t besmirch the names of the women
I fuck—no matter how skanky they might be.”

She winced at his language. “Are you
telling me you won’t discuss our arrangement?” she pressed.

“I don’t have to tell you anything,
Melina,” he said snidely. When she started to speak, he waved her to silence.
“I will not be discussing you with my friends, family, or acquaintances. On
that you have my word.”

She searched his eyes and knew he meant
what he said. With him, his word would be as good as gold. She started to relax
until he raised the next question.

“What of the domination fantasies? What did
you think that meant?”

Heat singed her cheeks. “That the gentleman
would require certain sexual conditions be met.”

“Such as?”

She could barely find her voice to answer.
“That we might not be alone and that we might engage in acts that could be
painful or—”

He held up his hand. “Let me stop you right
there. There will be no bondage, no sado-masochism, only domination. No kinky
or dangerous rituals. That is not the kind of man I am. I don’t enjoy hurting
people and I am a very private man. There will be only the two of us at a
secure location. There will be nothing in writing—ever—save for the check I
will give you at the end of our time together. I will not hurt you. I will not
restrain you. There will be times when you will be embarrassed by what is
happening but I will never degrade or humiliate you. I will never stop you from
leaving. If at any time you wish to go all you need do is walk out the door. I
will not attempt to prevent you nor will I come after you once you are gone.
Should you leave before the thirty days are up, we’ll be finished. You are to
tell no one of our arrangement—not even your friend Rachel. Do you understand?”

“Yes Sir,” she said with a hard swallow.

“I hope you do because I won’t repeat what
I just said,” he told her. “Have you questions you would like to ask me? If so
ask them now. You will not get the opportunity later.”

She steeled herself for his answers. “Are
you a liar?”

“No, I am not.”

“Then everything you’ve said here this
evening is the truth?”

“It is.”

“Are you married?”

“No and I never have been.”

“Engaged?”

“No and I never have been,” he repeated.

“Children?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“You would know,” she said, suspecting
nothing got past him.

“Yes, I would.”

“Are you a rapist?”

He chuckled, shook his head. “No.”

“Are you a Satanist?”

His eyebrows drew together. “Now that’s an
odd question, but no. I’m a Catholic.”

“Are you a serial killer?”

“Not yet,” he said.

The answer threw her for a second then she
half smiled. “I don’t believe you ever will be.”

He raised a brow. “And your reasoning
behind such an assumption is…?”

“You are too calm, too self-possessed and
arrogant to be a serial killer. From what I learned of them in college, serial
killers are sociopaths and you do not appear to fit that description.”

“Appearance can be deceiving,” he stated.
“Serial killers need to be calm and self-possessed in order not to be caught.
They are arrogant to the extreme because they believe they never will. For all
you know I could have a basement full of walled-up women I’ve tortured and
murdered.”

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“Because?”

“I believe you are what you appear to be
and not the sinister figure you’d like me to worry that you are.”

“And what do I appear to be?”

“Are you a successful business man?”

“Very successful.”

“A mob boss?”

He arched a brow but did not answer that
question.

“Fair enough,” she said. “Will you ever
hurt me during our sessions?”

“Not intentionally.”

A blush warmed her face. “Not even when you
take me the first time?”

“Now, that I cannot guarantee. I will be as
gentle as I can be but that is something over which I have no control.”

“If I meet all the requirements—”

“You met the requirements before you ever
stepped foot inside the room.”

“All right, if I meet all the conditions
you set forth, will you pay me the million?”

“Miss Wynth, if you learn nothing else
about me, you will learn that I say what I mean and I mean what I say. I have
never welched on a bet, owed a debt I couldn’t pay, or cheated my employees. I
don’t lie. I don’t steal and I always do what I say I will. If you fulfill the
provisions of our bargain to earn the million, you will receive the million. Is
that clear?”