Baker Street: The Mystery of the Black Dove: Erotic Fetish Tales by Skye Knizley

Author:Skye Knizley [Knizley, Skye]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hot Ink Press
Published: 2017-01-20T06:00:00+00:00

3

Locke woke to a gentle knock on the door and disengaged herself from the sticky mess that was Jena. Their lovemaking had continued well into the night and early morning, though she had declined to allow Jena an orgasm. It was more fun to watch her pet squirm and suffer while her honey ran down her leg and pooled in her boot. A champagne bottle rolled off the bed and fell to the floor with a thunk, eliciting another round of soft knocking. Locke slid out of bed, pulled a robe of black satin over her shoulders and approached the door.

"This had better be good!" she snapped as she pulled open the door.

One of the staff, a blonde girl named Shelley, stood there in her maid's uniform. Her eyes were wide and her breasts were heaving above her corset. "Apologies, Ms. Locke, there are some men here to see you and Dr. Watson," she said.

Locke arched an eyebrow. "What men?"

Shelley swallowed. "Police, ma'am."

"What do the police want? Has there been a problem at the club?"

"They wouldn't say, ma'am," Shelley said.

Locke sighed. "Okay. Get Jena dressed, I will dress myself."

Twenty minutes later, dressed in matching low-cut pantsuits and collars, Locke led Jena to her office located on the first floor. She rarely used it since opening the club, but she kept it open and available in case she needed to keep her hand in or something interesting caught her eye. The door with its frosted glass and 'Holmes Investigation' logo was open and she could see two uniformed officers standing beside a rumpled-looking man in a suit.

"Detective Bishop, it’s been a long time," she said, entering.

"It has, Locke. I know you're retired, but it concerns you," Bishop said. He smiled when Jena entered and touched his forelock. "Dr. Watson, I didn't expect to see you here."

Jena smiled back and perched on the corner of the desk. "I thought police were trained to expect the unexpected, Detective."

The office was large and, unlike the house, cluttered. Souvenirs from Locke's decade in the Military Police and lucrative private investigation firm covered the walls, from a box of medals to a briar pipe and deerstalker hat, gag gifts from the Las Vegas police department. All of the furniture was old and British made, some even taken from the home of Sir Doyle himself, and very well cared for, while the walls were of heavy paneling that dampened sound. Most clients insisted on discretion.

Locke sat behind the wide desk and patted Jena's knee. "Dr. Watson and I are recently engaged. I would have thought a detective of your caliber would have at least noticed the rings on our fingers."

Bishop coughed. "Of course I did, I just didn't want to comment." He sat and fumbled in his pockets. "I'm here because−"

"You're here because someone is dead, Detective. Your urgency and the presence of two officers with crime scene photographs and evidence bags makes that clear," Locke said.

"Right, um…"

He glanced at the officers, who placed their burdens on the desk.

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