brute. I have never needed to use my safe word, nor do I ever expect to.”
Hannibal’s eyebrows rose at another new concept. He realized that just observing one evening had not taught him all of the code. “Please explain safe word,” he typed. This time he stared hard at the screen, watching the words pop up with even greater interest.
“This is the word Master has given me as proof that he will protect me, even from Himself. If I feel that He may hurt me more than He intends, or order me to do something that will be harmful to me in the long term, then I say my safeword and He will stop what He is doing.”
Hannibal wondered if Marquita would have taken other men if she felt she had a choice. Did she have a safeword to defend herself from actions that would destroy her spirit? His mind burned with more questions than before.
“Sir.” The word drew him back to the screen. “May i please go now? This conversation is becoming a little uncomfortable.”
He was no closer to understanding why a woman would volunteer for degradation this way, but he now knew that there were layers and shades to this “lifestyle” beyond his immediate grasp. That in itself was insight.
“Of course, you can leave whenever you want,” Hannibal typed. “I don’t own you. And thank you. You have been very helpful.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Tell your master that I said he should be very proud of you.”
“Thank You, Sir.” was the final line she posted. Hannibal shut down the Internet connection, gulped more coffee, and sat back in the dark for a long while. He sipped the dark liquid, smiling both at its flavor and a sudden thought about Anita. She may have been just like this charmer at one time, but no longer. As angry as he was about her confronting Mantooth, he was proud of her courage. She had managed to strike one blow for womankind. She didn’t scar him, but she hurt his favorite possession.
“Whoa!” The thought hit him so hard he splashed coffee on his desk. He realized that there was a reason no one had seen the car, and it had nothing to do with Mantooth leaving town. Hannibal snatched the phone off the desk, pulled a card out of his jacket pocket and punched in a phone number. He was more anxious than he wanted to admit to himself while the phone rang, and was grinning like a fool when it was answered.
“Clarence Nash,” he said, sounding as giddy as a game show host. “Thank God you’re still at the shop. This is Hannibal Jones.”
“Hannibal? Oh, yeah, I remember now. The guy in the black suit. Hey, funny you should call. You’ll never guess who was in here this morning.”
“Please tell me that bastard Rod Mantooth brought that custom car back to you.”
“You got it,” the mechanic said. “Man, he was fixing to bust. Somebody done keyed the driver’s door bad. He brought it straight to me, wouldn’t let nobody else touch it.”
“I knew it!” Hannibal was pacing the office, too excited to sit. “How long will you have it there?”
“Couple days,” Nash said. “Had to order the paint. Not much call for this particular mix today. Then there’s a couple day’s work after I pull the door off.”
“Pull the door?” Hannibal asked. “It’s a scratch, right? You fill in the paint and buff it out.”
Nash’s laugh roared out of the phone. “You sure don’t know much about cars, son, at least not this kind of car. The whole body’s dipped in chrome and airbrushed with twelve coats of paint. Each of those layers has got to dry before the next one goes on. It won’t be ready too soon.”
“Okay, Clarence,” Hannibal was calmer now, and sat on his desk, leaning against the computer to share its comforting warmth. “Can I get you to call me when it’s ready so I can meet Mr. Mantooth over there?”
“Don’t see why not, as long as you meet him after he’s paid me and left,” Nash said. “Can’t promise I’ll remember, but I’ll try.”
“Uh-huh. Do you suppose a C-note would be a memory aid?”
“A hundred dollars?” Nash said. “Why, that’s better for the memory than that ginko Balboa stuff.”
Hannibal hung up with a new outlook on life. Now he was certain he would catch up with Rod Mantooth, finally meet him face to face in a few days and learn what he had done, if anything, with Vernon Cooper’s miracle drug. He had a lot of good news, but he would brief the clients in the morning. Right then he would call Cindy and see if she could tear herself away from business long enough to join him for a late dinner at that little Thai place she loved so much.
A smaller voice at the back of his mind hoped he wasn’t celebrating too soon.
13
Morning phone calls brought Hannibal a number of surprises. First he learned that Anita was recuperating at Blair’s house. Blair had decided that she shouldn’t be alone, and this way Henry could keep an eye on her. Then he learned that Blair had taken the morning off to work from home. That would save Hannibal some driving time, since he had originally intended to meet with both Angela and Blair. Henry met Hannibal at the door of Blair’s vertical mansion.
“Good morning sir. Very good to see you again. Please come in.”
“I’ll make you a deal, Henry,” Hannibal said, stepping across the threshold. “If you’ll stop calling me sir, I’ll stop treating you like some servant who shouldn’t stick his nose into Ms. Cooper’s business. What do you think?”
Henry pursed his lips, weighing his options for a moment before choosing one. “Very good, Mr. Jones,” he said after a pause, but his smile seemed more genuine and Hannibal accepted the small step.
They climbed a long flight of stairs and walked down a hallway under a small cut-glass chandelier toward what Hannibal assumed was a guest room. Henry raised his hand to tap at the door when they heard a scratching noise from the bathroom beyond. The door stood open and Hannibal walked past Henry to look inside. He found Anita kneeling in front of the bathtub, scrubbing it out.
“That can’t be good for those ribs,” Hannibal said.
Henry was behind him a second later. “Ms. Cooper. Really!”
She turned and stood, straightening her short apron in front of her. “Really yourself, Henry. I can’t just lie here all day and let this place fall farther and farther behind.”
Hannibal didn’t even know how to describe the absurdity of the scene, but his smile seemed to break through their conversation. “Ahh, domestic discord,” he said, not realizing the pun until he had said it. “Could you take a little break so I can fill you in on the news?”
“Have you found my father’s prize?” Anita’s face brightened like a child’s on Christmas morning as the men trailed her to her temporary room. To Hannibal’s surprise the room held two comfortable chairs in addition to the full size bed and dresser. The scent of jasmine filled the room, and he wondered if that was always the case or if its present occupant had introduced it. Anita bounced onto the bed, not looking at all like a woman who had been beaten badly enough to be hospitalized. Hannibal sat in one chair. Henry chose to stand.
“Tea?” Henry asked the room.
“Oh, please,” Anita said.
“And coffee,” Henry added, nodding toward Hannibal.
“Uh, sure.”
Henry wafted away without a sound, and Anita stared at Hannibal until he realized he shouldn’t wait for Henry to return.
“Well, to directly address your question, no, I haven’t found what was stolen from you. But I do now know what it was.”
“Oh, I’ve had such childish fantasies,” Anita said. “Like it was a treasure map to hidden gold, or a ton of stock in the pharmaceutical company, or even the deed to some island he bought over the years.” In her glowing eyes Hannibal could see the innocent youth that Rod Mantooth could not resist dominating.
“In fact, it was nothing so exotic, but perhaps something even more valuable and certainly it was way more important. Your father apparently discovered the formulation for a drug, or maybe a vaccine, that would actually
