Voices from the television played in the background. Some kind of sport…football? Cat tuned out the cheering and Jane's occasional "Are you blind? How can you miss that?"
She was so cold. Not even the blanket Maura had carefully tucked around her helped with the chill. The cold was inside Cat. It also meant Cat's emotions were frozen. After that first initial shooting pain as Tara removed the collar, Cat hadn't felt much of anything. She was numb...and cold.
"Cat, would you like something to drink?" Maura didn't quite hover. She'd been in and out of the room, rearranging pillows and poking at the logs in the fireplace. Cat knew she was worried. At another time, she might have appreciated it. Right now, she simply wanted to be alone.
"I'm fine, thank you," Cat replied politely.
Maura hesitated. "You're not fine, Cat. Depression is a very common reaction to such a disappointment."
Disappointment? Cat stroked her throat. Her bare throat. Tara had given her a glimpse of Heaven and then taken it right back. Disappointment didn't begin to cover it. It wasn't worth an argument, however. Turning her head and resting her cheek on the back of the couch, Cat watched the fire.
It wasn't enough to get rid of Maura. She sat down on a coffee table a few feet from Cat's position on the couch. "You've dealt with unimaginable loss since your bond was broken, and I know you've worked hard to put that behind you."
Cat would have laughed if she'd had the energy. Or cared enough to correct Maura's confusion. She hadn't put anything behind her. In fact, her past had followed Cat, and her name was Faith. "I really am fine," she said again.
Frustration flickered briefly over Maura's face before she controlled it. "You're not fine, Cat," she repeated and Cat came off the couch in a rush. Domme or not, Maura needed to let this go.
Damned Dominants never took a hint. Maura met her and they stood toe to toe. "Do you want to tell me again how you feel?" she demanded.
"No." Cat was done talking about her feelings. Shaking her head, Cat dropped back onto the couch and wrapped the blanket tightly around her body. She wasn't talking or fighting.
"Anger, denial..." Maura's hand reached out, hesitated, and then dropped away without making contact. "I think you should schedule an appointment with your therapist. It's a suggestion, Cat. I won't go to Lieutenant Cavanaugh. I trust you to know when to ask for help." With one last, searching look, Maura left Cat alone in the room.
Maura trusted Cat. Funny. Cat didn't trust Cat. Too much was happening all at one time. The case and task force. Faith. Tara and her collar.
Cat was floundering. One minute she was so high she was flying – like today with Tara. The next, she was so low she thought about eating her gun. She'd been aware of being alone for a long time. No one put on a Red Cuff without a big, gaping hole in his or her emotions and hearts. Today, though, had magnified that lack for Cat. Today had expanded the black hole deep inside where her bond had once been until it was so large it threatened to suck away her entire existence.
She relived, over and over, the warmth of Tara's collar on her neck. The connection she'd felt with her new Domme - even without a bond - changed everything...and nothing. Because now the collar was gone. Cat could still feel it nestled against her throat until she reached to touch it and found only skin.
"Damn it, Maura. Your turtle chewed a hole in my socks!" Jane's voice was outraged, and it woke Cat from her uneasy doze. "It's the third pair this week."
Even though Cat couldn't see Maura, it wasn't hard to imagine her cool expression as she answered. "Bass is a tortoise, Jane. I don't understand why I have to explain the difference to you every day. Although both turtles and tortoises are reptiles from the Testudines family, turtles are water dwelling. Tortoises, on the other hand, reside on land."
The tortoise in question raised his head and peered over the edge of the couch at Cat. "Don't look at me, Bass. I just woke up," she mumbled. God, her head hurt. There was an entire marching band doing a half-time show behind her eyes.
"Did you leave your socks on the floor again?" Maura asked, and Cat put the blanket back over her head. It sounded like Jane was about to get a lecture on following basic household rules and Cat wasn't up to listening. Unfortunately, the blanket wasn't thick enough to block out Maura's voice. "I believe we discussed Bass' eating habits and his delicate digestive system last week. And, correct me if I'm wrong, Jane. You agreed to put your socks in the hamper."
Jane didn't answer, and Cat dragged herself off the couch. It was clearly time for a shower and a change of clothes. The movement increased the percussion section in her head. Advil. Shower, clothes, and Advil. "Don't eat anymore socks, Bass. I've seen Jane work out. Not to mention she's on the job for days at a time. Those things'll kill you." Vaguely remembering Maura giving directions to the guest room, Cat staggered in that direction.
Hot water and painkillers weren't miracle cures, but she would live. Was that good or bad? Staring into the bathroom mirror, Cat could see the tightness around the corners of her eyes from the headache. The rest of the maelstrom inside was invisible. Cat dressed in the pair of designer blue jeans Maura had left out for her. They fit except for the three inches of extra material at her ankles. The chambray shirt was better. Pasting on a smile, Cat followed the smell of food to the kitchen.
"Good morning," she said with as much enthusiasm as possible. The edge of mockery in her tone was an unplanned bonus.
Maura and Jane jerked apart. Jane's hair stood out in rumpled, asymmetrical spikes thanks to the hold Maura had had on the strands. Her blouse was untucked along one side and at least half the buttons were undone down the front. "Hey!" Jane's response was too loud and overly casual. She apparently didn't know how to treat Cat after yesterday.
"Thanks for the clean clothes." Cat leaned against the large central island and kept her gaze fixed out of the window behind the sink.
There was an uncomfortable silence. Cat could sense Maura and Jane observing her and refused to react. "I made some scrambled egg whites, whole-grain muffins, and yogurt. There's orange juice in the refrigerator." Maura, the consummate Domme, was still trying to take care of Cat.
Cat didn't want Maura to coddle her. She wanted to skip breakfast, not to mention this stiff and awkward scene. If she did, though, Maura would never leave her alone. "Muffins sound great," she lied. "Mind if I pack some for the road? Tara," the name came out slightly choked, probably from the sudden constriction in Cat's throat, "and I only managed the couples' groups. I need to hit all the singles groups today." As she carefully wrapped three muffins in a paper towel, Cat had to glance at Jane. "You and Frost will have to check out a few. I've worked with them before, Victim Assistance," she clarified.
She hated the pity in Jane's eyes. "No problem. We could even pick up the rest, if you wanted." Translation: You fell apart last night and I don't know if I trust you to do your job today.
Holding back an angry retort, Cat managed a cool, "I'll do it." She even forced an almost-natural wink and smile. "After last night, I'll be able to play the poor, pitiful Red Cuff to the hilt. It should bring the Legion right to my door."
Her acting was good enough to convince Jane and Maura it was time to leave for the station house. Cat sat quietly in the back of Maura's Prius with her eyes closed. She needed to plan out the day. There were a lot of groups on the list. Which ones offered the best option for connecting with the First Legion?
What were they looking for? What was the Legion's purpose? How did they choose their victims? Somehow, Cat had to figure it all out and become a target. Avery Little would be her guide. Cat would follow Avery's footsteps.
As soon as Maura dropped Cat and Jane at the station, Cat made a beeline for Frost's workstation. "I need Avery Little's financials. Bank and credit card statements for the last six months." If Avery had been attending a support group multiple times a week, chances were she'd bought gas, had dinner, or visited a coffee shop in the same area.
He gave her a questioning look before digging an expandable file out of a box. "You don't look so hot. Everything OK? If you need to talk…"
Fantastic. Was she so transparent that everybody knew how she felt? "I don't…" Cat began sharply and then bit the words back. It wasn't Frost's fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. It just was. "Thanks, Barry. I'm not ready to talk about it yet." Taking the files, she retreated to a quiet and oddly uncluttered corner of the room.
It didn't take long to find a starting point for the day. Dozens of purchases in the North End over a six-week span, all on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. Cat quickly crosschecked the area with her list of support groups. The list of fifteen groups shrunk to two top contenders: Living with Loss and Starting Over. She mapped out the other groups as well, listing the three that Frost and Jane would need to investigate.
"I'll be back later," she announced to the group – really just Frost and Jane. The rest of the core group had yet to arrive. Before Jane could stop her, Cat tossed the list of groups onto the table in front of her. "I'll do the ones at the top. The ones at the bottom I told you about earlier." Cat hurried from the room and tried to convince herself she wasn't running away.
She could have waited for the rest of the team to arrive. She should have. Korsak and Faith might have discovered something about the Legion social events.
The flood of relief as Cat started the car convinced her not to go back inside. Jane would call if they found anything. With every new intersection, Cat relaxed more. This had been a good idea. She needed alone time, and she was the only one on the team who could pull off this piece of the investigation.
Who knew? Being Forsaken actually had an upside.
Living with Loss utilized a series of rental offices over a barbershop at the corner of Hanover and Clark. Cat took a moment to look around the neighborhood. North End was popular with young professionals like Avery Little. People walked or biked to the cluster of restaurants and trendy shops. Those that drove parked Hybrids nose to tail with minivans.
It was the perfect hunting ground, Cat thought. She located the outer door to the office suites and rang the buzzer for Living with Loss.
"Yes?" Cat thought the voice emanating from the tiny speaker was male.
"Yeah, I'm here about the support group," she answered.
No buzz announced the door had unlocked. "It's Wednesday. The group meets on Tuesday and Thursday nights. Come back tomorrow at six thirty.
He had to be kidding. "Look. Last week's Globe said there were over 200,000 Red Cuffs in Boston according to the latest census data. You expect me to believe you only meet in the evenings? 'Cause you don't like soccer moms or overnight Wal-mart shelf-stockers? Open the fucking door so I can get some support."
"Come on up. Third door on the left." The door buzzed and then popped open. Cat trotted up the stairs and hid her smirk of triumph.
The door on the left was unmarked. Not even a plaque adorned the wall. She paused and looked around. This was a busy area. Real estate prices were at a premium, and this place appeared deserted. For the first time, she wondered how a support group afforded the rent on a unit in North End. The Starting Over group met in a church basement. Most of the couples' groups from yesterday had been in similar locations unless they were funded by private medical groups or governmental agencies. Nothing about the Living with Loss office fit with Cat's experiences.
All of Cat's instincts screamed for her to call for backup. Instead, she squared her shoulders and opened the third door on the left.
The interior was a letdown. The office was tiny and guarded by a yuppie sitting at an antique roll top desk. "You really should wait for the session tomorrow," he said without preamble. "It's got more people in it. This morning's group is kind of invitation only."
"I have an invitation." Cat made a show of patting down her pockets. "Must have lost it. Found a flyer at a Laundromat over by The Old North Church. Will this work?" She shoved her right wrist at him, the leather cuff on display.
He stared at it – and at Cat. "Go on in. I already let them know you'd be joining." Making no effort to get up or escort her into the session, he pointed down a narrow hallway. "Go for it." He rated an "F" on both receptionist skills and support.
That didn't stop Cat. She followed the pointing finger and opened another door into an airless, windowless room. Eight people sat in a circle in the center of the space. Right on cue, they all looked at her.
"Welcome." If the guy at the front desk had been a pampered poster boy, the session leader was a wolf in wolf's clothing. Faded desert camouflage pants tucked into well-worn black tactical boots. He'd tried to lighten the killer effect with a bright red t-shirt with an image of the smiling Kool-Aid Man, but Cat wasn't fooled. "I'm Thomas."
Maybe Cat shouldn't have come alone. She took a half-step back and then stiffened. She was here to do a job. Thomas could back the Hell off. "Cat."
There was a mini-standoff as neither of them said more or moved.
After a long minute, one where Cat fought the need to shift or flee every second, Thomas chuckled. "Have a seat. You've missed most of our guest speaker's presentation, but we'll give you a chance to meet and greet after Helen finishes enlightening us." He gestured to a dumpy woman in an ugly wool dress and death-defyingly high heels. "She's our guest speaker this evening."
Cat settled into an empty chair and pretended to give her attention to Helen. She was really checking out the rest of the group. Most of them didn't set off Cat's internal warning system. Indulging in a little playtime, Cat guessed at their backgrounds and reasons for being at the session. Helen was easy. Widowed middle-class submissive who'd bonded with an absentee Dominant. This group was her escape from suburban boredom. Two men were bonded. They sat a little too close, shared one too many heated glances. College professors, probably. Both had heavy satchels with books peeking over the tops. Why were they there? What loss qualified them for membership?
The rest of the room… Cat gave them a quick once-over and stopped looking. They made her skin crawl, and Thomas continued to be the biggest creepy-crawler of them all.
"…and it's imperative that we own our destiny." Helen was prattling on. Cat stifled a yawn and stretched her legs out. "Just because society declares us Red Cuffed anathemas doesn't mean we have to hide our true selves."
At least Cat had missed most of the speech. She thought Helen might have flashed a peace sign in a different era. She reeked of anti-establishment philosophies and was probably a good match for the College Twins.
Cat couldn't figure out the rest of the group members. That was bad. She was a trained observer. She should be picking up something. Cat was so lost in thought that she flinched when Thomas stood up again.
Of course, he noticed. "Cat, are you afraid? This is a place of safety." Sure it was, Cat thought. "We'll start off the introductions so you feel more at home here." He gave her a smile which didn't help her relax. "I'm Thomas. My submissive passed away three years ago in a car accident. I had no family until I joined the first Living with Loss support group."
It was all a lie. Cat restrained the urge to jump up and challenge Thomas and his story. It was calculated for sympathy – and he was getting it in spades from Helen and the men. However, Cat had lost her bondmate. Even fifteen years later, she couldn't talk about it without tearing up. Thomas might as well have been reading off a cue card.
She took mental notes as Helen talked about her beloved Fred, an international banker, who'd suffered a fatal heart attack last year. Helen was legit. She sobbed, and Cat winced at her obvious grief. John and Albert were visiting professors at Boston University School of Theology. No big, gaping hole in their hearts. They were "bleeding hearts" who came to offer support (and money, Cat suspected).
The final three guests introduced themselves. Cat could have filled entire notebooks with her observations even though they offered very little information. Each deferred to talk about their history claiming to be new. New but invited? Cat wondered. Dominik spoke with a heavy, Germanic accent. His eyes were dead. He sat away from the group, as much an observer as Cat, but more obvious. She hoped.
Reid looked like a bouncer or bodyguard. His pea-sized head was mounted on a nonexistent neck above mountainous shoulders. Tattoos covered both arms and emerged from the neck of his skin-tight black shirt.
And then there was Alina. She defied description because she was just so amazingly unremarkable. Brown hair, pale gray or blue eyes, average height and weight. Even her voice was nondescript. Cat might have written her off as not important until Alina turned to say something to Dominik. Alina talked with her hands, and the light glinted off a ring on her right hand. A ring Cat thought was embossed with Abigor's Sigil.
Pay dirt.
Cat filed it all away and then realized it was her turn. "I'm Cat." No one dared to repeat her name or say hello after she glared around the circle. "My bondmate left me fifteen years ago. Not dead. No. She just…disappeared from the link. And then out of the blue, she turns up at my job a couple of days ago. Gorgeous. Perfect." Cat paused for effect and to push back the explosive rage that fought to escape. "Did I mention she's not only bonded to someone else, she's a submissive?"
She received an entirely unwanted and smothering hug from Helen, who also cried for her. The other group members were less effusive but no less supportive. She endured another thirty minutes of pointless questions and comments about the best way to deal with grief, to learn to love herself. When the session broke up, Cat milled around until Thomas was free. "Thomas?"
He turned and smiled. He needed to stop doing that. It didn't work with his intense stare. "Cat. I hope you enjoyed your first session and that you think Living with Loss will give you the help and support you need."
Actually, Cat really needed more time to study the group and to get recruited. "I don't know. This wasn't your normal group. The guy at the desk said I should come tomorrow night…" She let her voice trail off, leading Thomas to hopefully take the bait.
"Yes, this was a more advanced group, but I thought you fit in perfectly. You are welcome to join us again; this particular session meets every Wednesday at nine." Thomas put his hand on Cat's shoulder and she tried not to tense noticeably. "However, come to tomorrow night's session, too. I'll introduce you to the group members as well as some of our other counselors."
There it was. Cat's foot had slipped inside the doorway of opportunity.