Eliminating suspects wasn't as difficult as he thought. After being granted access to the office, it was clearly evident that several passwords were required to obtain personal client information. Address, contact number, and some detailed profiles for longer-term customers. All three former clients had received services for nearly two years on a consistent basis. Based on that small sample it was possible that the targeted had been regulars.
Only long-term customers had any pertinent information kept for the basis of taking care of future needs. Each blackmailed client met with a small list of specific workers from the domain. The third extorted customer kept strictly to the services of one employee.
Nick refrained from reading what exactly the services were for the moment, but so far there wasn't one singular domain employee that had provided services to all of the blackmailed clients.
Access to this information was key, and that narrowed down who would be able to get to Heather's computer or hack into it. The Lady of the house gave him files of employees who could use her password, a scant three people, and those who had tech backgrounds. One thing was for sure; the mistress protected the rights and privacy of those who worked for her along with that of her clientele.
He'd been making notes, lists actually, with a real sense of energy. Nick missed this kind of drive. He'd been cooped up and was lethargic from being locked away in his home for too many hours.
If the existence of photos was a real possibility he'd know how to divide his energies. Heather promised him access to two of the rooms used for those who had been blackmailed to see any possible way that their 'actions' could be documented, and that could lead to other trails, other possibilities.
Nick had some leads on paper, and let his body sag against the plush office chair. This place was…strange. Smells, sounds, scenes like something out of the Playboy mansion. Or a bad B movie. Not that he had been privy to anything that went on behind closed doors, but the way the employees here studied him, made him feel truly like some voyeur in their realm.
It was indeed another world, one that was as foreign to him as--
His head jerked up at the sound of the door opening, expecting Heather, but was surprised to see a very scantily clad woman entering silently.
"May I help you?" he asked.
The woman in question sizzled with electricity, the very air popping as she moved into the space between them. Her entire outfit was sheer, leaving nothing to the imagination, from her voluptuous breasts to her other attributes. Only incredibly long vinyl boots truly covered flesh.
He didn't know if the rest of his body flushed as warmly as his cheeks did. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. Not that women didn't hit on him, they did, but it usually wasn't so blatant.
Different rules for an environment based on freedom of every expression. He knew Warrick would give him a hard time about his stuttered silence.
"I'm Bridget, Lady Heather's assistant."
As if that explained everything since all the woman did was stand attentive. Nick found his voice. "Is there something you needed, Bridget?"
Her jet black hair was pulled back showing off high cheekbones, green eyes highlighted by painted shadows. He trained his gaze at those eyes, the makeup much more deliberate in shades and layers, like one of those stage acts in Vegas.
"Lady Heather wanted me to see if you needed anything. Drink or food. We can get take out."
He wasn't really hungry; the idea of food was appealing, but he wasn't sure how much more time he'd log in tonight. The blacks and reds of the room were beginning to imprint their color into everything he visualized and it was having a subdued impact on his thoughts.
So caught up in them in fact, he had not taken notice of the assistant's entrance and her close proximity. Cherries and lilac shampoo filled his nasal passages; her painted toenails caught his attention.
Accented by toe rings. Huh.
"So, you're a scientist."
His eyes went up the length of long legs, skipped past other things and found a nice freckle not hidden by pale powder to stare at. "Yes."
"And you study death."
Her voice was smooth, like honey, and the back part of his brain sent all kinds of warnings through his nervous system. Checking his libido at the door was not doing the trick. It had found its path right back to him.
"In a way."
Distraction. That's what he needed. He looked beyond her body, at the door, for anyone else. Her eyelashes had glitter caught between tiny hairs.
"Must be dangerous."
His gut clenched, skin ran fever hot.
"I just collect and interpret evidence." The lining of his throat felt raw.
Fishnet flexed, and fighting his instincts was becoming a lost cause as the room swelled with animal needs.
"You pack heat?"
His rising body heat froze to sub-arctic temperatures. As those words grounded him to reality, the artificial assault to his senses dug fortified trenches.
Her teeth were ultra white, brilliant. Too many peroxide treatments. Breath like mint mouthwash. An employee looking for a job and his drive finally fell back into neutral.
"I'm working, maybe you should---
Bridget sauntered over, practically on top of him. "I like law enforcement guys, so...on edge."
A hand reached for his belt sliding over his hip, and he grabbed it, "Um, excuse me."
Her eyes danced with amusement. "Just wanted to see your gun," and smiled way too sweetly.
He stood up now, towering over her, blocking any further advancement. "Don't have one on me now."
The assistant bent down to his ear, giggling, hand still trying to wrestle out of his. "I won't pull the trigger, I promise." She checked out the leather that encircled his waist. "You really don't have one. What if some big scary man comes here, and you need to use it?" she cooed, her hand now free and tracing heat along his inner thigh.
"I don't carry one now," he gritted out, trying to rein in waning control, fighting back memories ignited by all of her seductive taunting. "Why don't you go back to work? I don't think your boss would like----"
"Bridget!"
He backed away at the fierceness of that tone and the woman who had wanted down his pants scurried away from him like he had the plague.
"Yes, madam."
"You may go back to your duties out front, unless our guest requested some late dinner."
"Yes, Lady Heather." The assistant scrambled away quickly.
"And, Bridget?"
The employee glanced over hesitantly.
"We will discuss this later."
The assistant grew pale and Nick felt his pulse quicken at the effect the domain's boss had over her employees.
"You may go."
The woman kept her head bowed and took out down the hall. The mistress casually entered her office.
Nick didn't sit back down, not with those eyes upon him. The air still crackled with a new, unstable energy. The pulse points of his body became even more overloaded with just the presence of the Domain's leader.
"Everything all right here?" Heather inquired, posture quite relaxed. So opposite of how he felt.
His tongue worked finally. "Yes, yes, things are all good."
The mistress remained long enough to notice his bobble.
"Very well."
The overseer of the domain left without another word, her entrance and retreat so fast, so powerful, he wasn't sure what the hell just happened.
Nick's leg felt ready to collapse so he fell heavily back into his seat. He sat there, no attempt to go back over his progress, his attention elsewhere.
His hand sought out his holster, knowing that there wasn't one there.
"Ever fire your gun before, Mr. Crime Scene Guy?"
He buried his head into his hands and held it back---held it all.
The file folders went suddenly flying across the desk and, for once, he didn't pay his increasingly chaotic state of mind much thought.