Two and a half weeks later, they waited patiently in the truck in the woods with Captain Irving and a few other technical personnel in total blackout, watching silently through night vision equipment as 20 odd cars pulled into the driveway of the old Fredericks manor. Teams of Feds and local law enforcement awaited Irving's commands to storm the building from all sides. That had been a source of much tension with Frater insisting on leading the operations, until Irving had coolly informed him, "My intel, my district, my show."
The three exited the truck, walking to an unmarked police vehicle that Abbie would use to drive into Purgatory. Irving ran through the briefing again. "Men are on the perimeter waiting to go in. You go in blind, no surveillance, no communications, no weapons. We have no idea what is going to happen in there, so you get no more than 30 minutes before we join you."
He moved away speak to a technician who called him back to the truck, while Crane and Abbie waited a bit anxiously to get started. Abbie shivered a little, and folded her arms to provide what warmth she could. Given the fact that she was wearing the shortest dress she owned, it was no surprise. The silver, spaghetti-strapped dress hugged her curves perfectly, and when she'd removed her coat in the police truck, Crane had been all eyes, at a rare loss for words. That had felt so good she couldn't even restrain the grin. He of course was looking unbelievably sexy in a dark blue suit that set off his eyes. And of course the dickprint was on full display. Did the man ever wear briefs? She'd had to glance away quickly after seeing it, especially given that Irving was in the same room as them, but couldn't stop the deep inhale or licking her lips.
Now waiting on the signal to go, she mentally reviewed their mission. As much as she'd tried to convince Irving and Frater that they were capable of going undetected under the radar, she was nervous. Going in blind, weaponless and outnumbered was asking for trouble, but she was not about the let the best lead they had slip away, not when it meant finally solving Corbin's murder and the Purgatory cases. It seemed Crane was having similar thoughts for he turned to her, saying urgently, "Ms. Mills, a word before we leave. Stay as close to me as possible, but if anything untoward happens, get out quickly. I'll provide whatever distraction I can."
She was a fully trained, professional police officer who wasn't about to faint like some damsel in distress just because she was dealing with bad odds! He must have read the incredulity and anger in her expression, because he said, as serious as she had ever seen him, "I would never forgive myself if you were injured or hurt in any way, Lieutenant."
He was being sincere, she realised in amazement. "Hey," she said softly, lightly touching his shoulder. "I'm trained to handle situations like this. I'm not going anywhere Crane, not until we get Moloch." It was unfamiliar to her, this care and attention for her wellbeing, but damn if it wasn't heartwarming and tingly at the same time.
"You guys finish your heart to heart yet?" Irving's dry question from behind them had the duo snapping back to attention. Abbie shook her head lightly, trying to refocus on the mission; she noticed Crane staring off into the distance.
"Yes sir, everything is fine," she said firmly. "Standing by for your orders."
They waited in tense beats until Irving's team confirmed the guard in place at the door was one of their own, head shaven and dressed like Benson did. They got into the unmarked vehicle and drove slowly through the woods onto the road, before eventually reaching Frederick's manor. After approaching the "guard", they watched as he knocked on the door – a different door to the one they'd broken into – using three short taps, then five longer ones.
"Speak." A muffled voice asked through an unidentified amplified system.
"We the penitent with humble heart, upon this threshold do summon thee. In mirrored form, appear a gateway to the world between worlds," they recited faithfully from the card. For a few seconds, nothing else happened. They looked at each other nervously, hoping the ruse had worked. The solid door changed to reveal a perfect reflection of themselves. "Welcome to Purgatory," a disembodied voice called, before the mirrored door slid open.
Walking through Purgatory was an experience, and that was putting it mildly, Abbie thought. The lighting was dim throughout. They'd been asked to leave all cellphone or communication devices at the entrance and were firmly patted down by two more security personnel, before walking through a metal detector. A silent female guide seemed to float, ghostlike, over to where they were standing and said, "Follow me." Crane reached out for Abbie's hand; she didn't blame him. The otherworldliness of the house made her feel apprehensive, as if they were entering another dimension. Their joined hands felt like the only link to reality. They were guided to a set of stairs that twisted downwards and eventually entered what Abbie assumed was the basement. It was just as dim as upstairs had been and there were not a large number of persons milling around, nor was there music or casual talking. And from what Abbie quickly determined, there were distinct areas for drug taking and others for, well...
"They are most enthusiastic," their female guide said. She was referring to the several couples who were point blank fucking like animals in rooms with doors that were wide open, sometimes three or four persons at a time. "Whoa!" Abbie exclaimed softly, shaking her head with wide eyes. Crane choked in astonished outrage next to her.
After passing a few such rooms, their guide led them to a quieter hallway. "You may choose a room on the left or the right. Please follow the instructions for full purification to occur," she noted. Abbie and Crane looked at each other in confusion.
"What do you mean by 'instructions' madam?" Crane ventured cautiously.
"You cannot enter Purgatory with attachments to the outer world. In Purgatory, one must be cleansed of all sins. Following instructions in Lord Moloch's temple is a way of honouring him as well as signalling your intent to be redeemed. If you do not comply, you will be asked to leave." Abbie thought the guide appeared drugged herself, by her monotone regurgitation and her generally passive demeanour.
Crane looked as if he was going to argue, but Abbie jumped in, laying a warning arm on him. "Thank you for your help. We can take it from here." And pushed him inside a room before he could pitch a hissy fit.
Inside was cramped but neat. The muted lighting revealed a queen-sized bed, a closet, and an adjoining bathroom. The slow blink of a red light in one of the upper corners confirmed one thing: they had an audience. Shit. This could end up going one of two ways: If they went outside now, likely they would be found and dealt with, maybe even drugged to prevent the revelation of certain details. If not, and they stayed, the whole thing would be caught on camera. Maybe even used as blackmail of some kind. She began to understand how some in the club were persuaded to come back and why it had such an eager, discreet following.
She looked meaningfully at Crane. "I know it's not what we expected, but it's best we follow through." She gave a subtle tilt of her head, hoping he would understand there were recording devices around. His eyes widened; he got the message. The fingers at his side began fluttering. Damn, she really didn't need his discomfort, not now when she was struggling with her own. She walked over and made sure he focused on her before repeating her earlier message, only this time with emphasis. "I'm not going anywhere." He calmed slightly, nodding once before moving away to look around the room.
"She mentioned following instructions. I wonder where they are."
"I'm thinking she means these." He turned around to find Abbie quickly scanning a printed paper that had been on the bed.
"Well, what does it say?" He asked impatiently.
She cleared her throat and read, realising this was about to get a lot more complicated.
"'For purification to occur, the height of passion must be experienced by all parties as a means of cleansing carnal sin. Undress totally, with one partner going first or alternating should you desire. What happens next is up to you'." She swallowed hard, and refused to look up.
"That's left a lot open to interpretation." Crane's voice was deep and dark, and she would not look up no matter how much she wanted to see the face that went with it. Nope, not a good idea. She would keep staring at this damn list, racking her brain for something, anything, that would get them out of this predicament, and would most definitely ignore the stirrings of panic underneath.
She headed to the door, preparing to ease it open, but found it locked. Double damn. They had no way of communicating with Irving, and he wouldn't be here just yet. They had to stall – and fast.
"We don't have much choice, do we? We have to fit in." She turned back to find Crane's apprehensive gaze. He was right, she knew he was right, especially knowing there were people who were going to be very suspicious very soon if nothing happened, and likely to eject them in some way.
"Maybe I should go first," he said hesitantly. At her taken aback look, he stuttered quickly, "No, I meant to be undressed."
Thing was neither way was a good idea. Sigh. Better get this over with.
"Why don't we take turns? Take off just the outside stuff and see what happens from there. I'll go first." she suggested. He nodded, a little jerkily, and approached her slowly. Keep it impersonal, Mills. It's part of the job, just like searching through garbage for clues, or fighting off perps.
She stared resolutely over his shoulder. He hesitated, slowly unhooking her earrings. This close she could feel the body heat, and despite her willingness to depersonalise the situation, felt her heart speed up. He moved behind her and unhooked the heavy necklace she'd worn, resting it briefly on her chest before removing it. As he did, his fingertips made brief contact with her bare neck and shoulders. His body heat, which she could easily shrug off when they were in the Armory, was inescapable. It enveloped her completely, given his height, and like many times before found herself wondering how it would feel just to lean against him. She swallowed silently. He paused before gently pulling out the dozen or so hairpins used to keep in her bun, causing her hair to cascade messily down her neck and shoulders. He had to wiggle his fingers a bit to pull out the clips and the sensation of those long digits in her scalp, a fairly sensitive place for her, caused her breathing to get shallower. He had to have heard her by now. Their room was quiet, only the hum of the air condition unit punctuating the stillness.
He stood behind her, patient and unyielding, and unzipped her dress to the halfway mark, silently prompting her to lift unusually awkward limbs out of the straps. Sliding her arms out and feeling the slight friction from the dress caused her nipples to tighten and breasts to swell. Shit. He made to pull the zip down further, explaining gruffly, "I will go no further after this." But then she remembered a Very Important Thing. Shit. She scrunched her eyes and explained around suddenly dry lips, "I...uh...couldn't...This dress was a little close fitting so...uh...I'm not actually wearing much." It was actually a thong, a bright red thong to match the strapless bra that had seemed a good idea at the time.
He immediately went rigid, hand still at the base of her dress just above her hips on a zipper that suddenly felt heavier than it was. "You mean to say, you're not wearing any underpants?" His voice was too scratchy, too deep and almost filled with pain. She shivered lightly, eyes still closed, trying to regain her composure.
"No, I'm not."
They must have made an odd display, frozen in place like living statues. She wanted him to push the dress up from the bottom, further and further up, until he could caress the cheeks of her ass with those long fingers of his, eventually slipping them further into… Stop it! She thought desperately. Get it together for fuck's sake! She heard him clear his throat, and eventually removed his hand from the zip before stepping around to face her. "I'll just…" He gestured towards her shoes. He was going to remove her stilettos. Trouble was that on kneeling down, his head was dead level with her pussy. Dear God in Heaven.
He knelt before her still fumbling with straps, clearly too distracted to do it well. He leaned forward slightly, inhaling her arousal with flared nostrils and almost roughly tugged at her shoes, blindly gripping her ankle tighter than warranted. Unfortunately, it was absolutely amazing, and her head involuntarily dropped back, savouring the sensation of his digits digging into her skin. She was wet, soaking wet, and it was impossible not to feel the heat gathering around swollen lips, begging for relief of some kind. She wanted those fingers sliding up her calves, fluttering around her thighs. She wanted to feel them impatiently wrench the thong aside to finally, gratefully, touch dark heavy lips, and slip inside her wetness so she could ride them as rough or gentle as she wanted.
"Sit on the bed," he rumbled. Abbie closed her thighs as best she could, struggling for some kind of self control, but found herself leaning back slightly, weight balanced on hands behind, chest unknowingly arched. He finally unbuckled the strap of her left shoe, and dropped it heedlessly to the ground, the sound muffled by the thick carpet and making little impact in the quiet surrounding them. She was a little embarrassed to hear how out of breath she sounded. He glanced up, helplessly taking in the sight of her. She could only imagine how she appeared: messy hair and half dressed; pussy juice filling the air with her hyper arousal. His eyes darkened so much he looked positively starving, and his muffled growl went straight to the engorged clit that was literally throbbing from need. His fingers were inching ever so closer now, past her knees and pulling her forward bodily to the edge of the bed.
His mouth was open, just so, and she couldn't resist leaning down, gripping his face with both hands, and sliding her tongue into his mouth, urgently chasing his own, while welcoming his answering bold thrusts as he wrapped his arms around her torso. Still kissing, he hastily pulled off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, before standing and dragging her close against him while his hands pulled the zip of her dress as down as far down as it could go. Then he helped her wiggle the dress and the thong down while she kicked them impatiently away from her legs.
He hoisted her up, and she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, pussy somewhere mid-chest. His hands gripped her ass and she released his mouth, reeling from the sheer pleasure of his heated skin on hers. She rested her forehead on his, hands entwined in his hair, while both of them panted heavily as he adjusted his grip to move the other hand underneath her, his intention clear as his fingers slid closer to her damp heat. He groaned, body trembling slightly. "Ichabod, please," she whined helplessly, as his fingers gently traced the outer lip lightly, her body primed for him to slide them effortlessly in.
It was at that precise moment, however, that all hell broke loose.
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