“Scotch, Macallan if you’ve got it,” he ordered when the bartender inquired. After he nodded and walked off, Flynn turned his attention to the floor-to-ceiling mirror behind the bar and assessed the Saturday night crowd. As he knew it would be, the club was packed. Special events were popular, and always well-attended. A masquerade where an air of mystery added excitement, not that a BDSM club lacked excitement. And, when the goal of the event was to bring in new subs, the membership turned out in full force.

When he’d gotten a personal invite a few weeks back from his old teammate, Eric Dupree, an ex-SEAL turned club owner, he declined. Then the SOB baited him, claiming he wasn’t getting any younger, and he’d better put himself out there before he had to start trolling senior citizens’ centers and nursing homes for available women.

“This is California. We have many beautiful, experienced subs your age,” he went on to say. “Or, if you’re looking for young and innocent, we could set you up in the nursery and let you play Daddy Dom, or in your case granddaddy.”

“Fuck you, Dupree,” he’d barked in return. Used to taking a good deal of ribbing from his longtime friend, he wasn’t perturbed. Except with things as they were with Cassie, the taunt hit close to home. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’re two years older than I am, you bastard.”

“Yes, but I’m young at heart, and don’t scowl constantly causing unsightly frown lines.”

“You’re a laugh riot. Remind me why I count you as a friend?”

He didn’t respond, other than to grin. Ever since Eric had collared his submissive, and not long after, put an engagement ring on her finger, he’d been euphoric on a level approaching nauseating. Apparently, he’d decided what worked for him would work for his single friends and turned into a matchmaker.

It seemed only natural in his role as Master Dom to bring members together. The club’s mission—and the reason for its success—was to offer a safe place for its members to meet others in the lifestyle, learn and explore, as well as prove a first-class, well-equipped dungeon for play. Just like in a vanilla club, members hooked up, some became exclusive, and often, after an evening together, they decided they hadn’t found what they were looking for and went their separate ways. There were breakups, heartbreaks, love triangles, and love affairs, some Doms and subs—the lucky ones like Eric and Val—found the perfect partner for life.

And with Eric so fucking content, he’d set his sights on Flynn as the next to fall. After waxing poetic on the benefits of a fulfilling committed relationship, not to mention having an exclusive submissive at the ready, his old friend got personal.

“We traveled the world for nearly two decades, have seen and done things no man ever should, not to mention enduring crap conditions and sleeping in some of the worst shitholes known to man. With that behind us, don’t you think we deserve a few rewards? Now that you’ve got a cushy, full-time position at Coronado, why wait?”

Except for the cushy comment, which he’d make him pay for later, Eric was right. In the past twenty years, Flynn had spent more time abroad than on U.S. soil. He’d never gotten involved long-term with a woman because he didn’t think it was fair to leave her waiting and wondering. Since transferring to BUD/s as a training officer, he had settled in and could afford to become exclusive if he wanted to.

And he did, but only with the right submissive woman.

A pair of blue eyes, soft lips, and a guileless expression popped into his head.

As hard as he tried, he couldn’t get the woman out of his thoughts. She filled his dreams every night and starred in all his waking fantasies, like the one this morning.

On her knees in front of him, as she’d been the other day, this time Cassie was naked. He groaned as her lips locked around his dick, and he slid deep into her tempting mouth. With his skin slick from her agile tongue, his fingers tangled in the wet strands of her long hair, urging her to go faster, to suck harder, as he pumped into her. Flynn came while calling her name.

But when he opened his eyes, he was disappointed, again. Instead of Cassie’s hot mouth bringing him off, it was his own hand in the shower.

Unsurprisingly, his cock was a painful iron rod pressing against his zipper, and the black jeans he wore uncomfortably tight. He shifted on his bar stool, trying to think of a distraction. Surf training, lying in wet sand, the frigid Pacific washing up on shore, over his inert form, then rushing back out, soggy NWUs, grit from the sand in his boxers, a candidate whining about the cold and getting on his last fucking nerve—hellfire! Even after that, he was still hard.

He spun on the stool to face the room, needing a distraction, but in his current mood, he wouldn’t be good for just any sub, only a masochist. But he didn’t lean toward sadism. Spanking, yes. A medium weight flogger—heck yeah. A crop, clamps, and plugs—definitely. More than that, no.

Maybe he should leave. Instead, he tossed back the scotch the bartender refilled for him—his second and limit, if he wanted to play, and be able to drive home later. While enjoying the warmth curling in his gut from the superior eighteen-year-old scotch, he looked over the crowd.

On one of the nearby couches a petite sub with a high ponytail—blonde, like the woman he was trying to forget, as his luck would have it—sat perched on the leather-clad knee of her Dom, a pretty pout on her pink lips. He had his lips next to her ear, from his frown and the hand wrapped around her nape, he was unhappy about something. While he spoke—likely giving a lecture, or a warning—his other hand curled around her hip, slipped beneath the hem of her white leather skirt, and cupped a bare cheek.

Someone was naughty.

At once, the image of another little imp popped into his mind.

Something was up with Cassie, and he didn’t like it. She’d been avoiding him, as good as snubbing him at the coffee shop the other night. He’d racked his brain trying to figure out why, if it was something he’d said or done. All he could come up with was Meyers’ insensitive remark, which was the last time he’d spoken to her. After he’d educated the dumbass on how to act around a lady, he’d gone to find her. But she’d left the lab which only proved how upset she’d been.

That didn’t explain why she wouldn’t answer his calls and had canceled their lunch together, something that hadn’t happened in the entire six months she’d been working there. She’d also gotten busy the two times he’d popped in to speak to her. With others around, and her occupied—with what looked like busy work, and stall tactics—he’d waited several minutes then left in frustration. It was that or be late for his next meeting. But Flynn didn’t like things unsettled between them.

For her to cut him out so abruptly without explanation, ticked him off. If she belonged to him, he’d haul her over his knee for a sound paddling until she did two things: apologize and communicate what was going on in her beautiful head.

And, while he had her there, he’d make her pay for tempting him all these months. He imagined her reaction if he called her into his office and did just that. Her eyes would get wide, her lips parting in shock, but being the good girl that she was, she’d obey him. He’d pull down the snug-fitting trousers she often wore and bend her over his lap, enjoying the view as her panties stretched tight across her round bottom. Thongs didn’t suit his Cassie, she should wear something feminine, white, and with lace.

As he pulled her in close, encircling her waist with an arm to hold her in place, he’d smile as she trembled, her upturned bottom quivering in anticipation. He’d stroke it using a light touch, the tug up the delicate material, wedging it between her cheeks and baring the fullness of her ass for his hand. The image of those luscious globes jiggling with each sharp, quick smack made his already rigid cock twitch in his pants.

Fuck! He couldn’t escape her even 120 miles north in LA.

“You look like you’re in a foul mood.” Lost in his spanking fantasy starring Cassandra Hardwick, he hadn’t noticed when Eric took the empty seat beside him. “Have a drink,” he said, as he pushed his refilled shot glass closer to him.

“This is my second. Any more and I’ve wasted a trip.”

“If this is what you’re like after $175 a bottle scotch, I’ll tell Isaac not to waste the good stuff on you. The top shelf Macallan 25 goes for a grand.”

“I’ll feel better once I can get rid of this tie and tweed jacket you insisted I wear.”

His friend chuckled. “Stop bitching. You wear a tie almost every day, and the tweed makes you look the part of the teacher you’re supposed to be playing.” Eric tilted his head toward the boisterous throng crowding the bar. “We’ve had an excellent turnout which gives you at least twenty naughty schoolgirls to choose from.” His eyes shifted, and he nodded to a table to his left. “The brunette is lovely.”

Flynn shook his head after assessing then eliminating the sub in question. Tall, as he liked, she was a bit on the slutty side with her blouse open to the navel, revealing flat sculpted abs and the inner curves of her surgically augmented breasts. “I prefer a little more subtlety, not to mention authenticity, in my bad girls.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Eric asked in utter surprise.

Flynn didn’t elaborate, thinking Cassie would look fucking fantastic in a plaid skirt and knee socks.

“Okay, how about the blonde over there? She’s buttoned up to her chin all prim and proper.”

He followed Eric’s gaze. She reminded him too much of the woman he was trying to forget. “No blondes.”

“You’re not making this easy,” his friend observed with distinct irritation. “I’ve brought you to the trough, horse. Now it’s up to you to drink.” With that, he walked away.

Flynn sighed. He’d driven over two hours to play; he might as well give it a fair shot. As he stood, he straightened his tie, ready to mingle though neither his heart nor his dick was in the mood.

“I’m a weekend player,” the Dom in the sports coat with suede elbow patches told her. Not one to notice men’s suits in detail, this looked like something her dad wore twenty years ago.

His fashion style aside, he was average height, putting him several inches taller than her petite frame, even in heels. He wore a subtle cologne—quite nice, actually—and was easy on the eye. She would have given him a ribbon if he wasn’t also beyond arrogant, speaking as if it was a foregone conclusion that she would choose him. And the entire time, he didn’t look at her face. Not once. Instead, his eyes were riveted to the front of her blouse, keying in on the hint of white lace bra showing underneath.

Even though Jules had provided her skirt and ruffled panties; the prim, white cotton shirt had come from her closet, which was telling.

Clubwear long in her past, she’d gone for the Britney Spears “Baby, One More Time” look, leaving several buttons undone at the top and bottom, and knotting the shirttails over her navel. With her fake red hair in twin braids complete with fuzzy hair ties, she added thigh-hi lace stockings beneath her plaid skirt instead of the knee socks that came with it, in a vain attempt to keep the Daddy Doms at bay. Completing the sexy school girl look she was going for, were a pair of black and white saddle shoes—again courtesy of her closet and her past—the four-inch heels giving a boost to both her diminutive height and her flagging confidence.

By eleven o’clock she’d met at least ten teachers, giving up three of her five ribbons, but not sure why. No one had come close to sparking her interest. One was an excellent dancer but wanted a full-time slave girl. Another had two left feet and had nearly caused a pile up on the dance floor when he’d tripped over them both. Although not a full-blown disaster, it had been close. He’d lurched forward with her in his arms bumping into the couple slow dancing beside them. The other irritated Dom had growled as he assisted his partner off the floor, telling the poor man to spare them all an ER trip by having a seat at the bar. Her partner had flushed with embarrassment and excused himself. She’d then watched him fly out the door with one of her ribbons in hand. After the doors had closed behind him, she tried to picture him in a dominant role, but couldn’t see it.

Two others had bought her a drink, bringing her to the two-drink club limit. They’d then proceeded to bore her with talk of rules and protocols, not once asking about her. Not her name, what she was looking for in a Dom, nothing. It was all about what they wanted, which was more of a Master/slave dynamic, but she wasn’t looking for that. She had to want to please the dominant she was with, and she so did not want to with either of these two.

This meant one of her ribbons was MIA, and two were with men selected because they offended her less than the others, which was a sad commentary on the teacher role-players she’d met thus far. The man in front of her wasn’t ribbon-material either, which left her very little time remaining before the midnight unmasking to give out two more. She needed to get rid of him and find someone else, anyone else, and quick.

“Naked weekends.”

Elbow Patches’ comment snapped her back to the present, and she realized she’d missed half of the conversation. “Pardon me?”

“That’s what you can expect as my slave,” he continued, not noticing her inattention. “Intense bondage: ropes, clamps, plugs, and gags. I will be firm, am a strict disciplinarian and expect complete servitude. Please me, and you’ll be rewarded with incredible pleasure. If not, you’ll find my punishments can be quite severe.” His eyes continued to roam over her chest. “You have magnificent breasts. They are perfect for a special serving tray I found. It clamps tightly onto your nipples. While you serve me and my guest’s their drinks with your arms in a binder behind your back, the weight on the tray will have you crying pretty tears and begging for mercy from behind your gag. If that interests you—”

It doesn’t. No way!

“—I’ll claim you by the dungeon doors at midnight.” After this proclamation, he pulled on one of the bows at her wrist. Before she could sputter a denial, and, with him still not having once glanced above her chin, he turned and walked away with her fourth ribbon.

“Arrogant putz,” Cassie murmured under her breath. If that was his best offer, it was no wonder he was searching for a submissive.

A familiar chuckle behind her made her turn. “Charles lacks a certain charm. Many of us have tried to work with him on his approach, to no avail.” He shook his head, then shifted his gaze from the departing Dom to look down at her.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stared up at Flynn’s smiling face. His tweed suit coat and tie wasn’t much of a disguise, and unlike most of the other Doms who played the game, he had eschewed wearing a mask, so there was no mistaking the gray-blue eyes or the tawny hair with the slightest hint of silver at his temples. Speechless with horror, her body froze too. All she could do was blink up at him.

“Did he shock you, little sub?” he asked, his lips kicking up on the ends in a dazzling smile as the dimple in his cheek made an appearance. “I agree, he can be a real putz. Still, you should refrain from calling the dominants names. It’s not only frowned upon but against the rules and could get you punished.” He cocked his head to the side, a brow arching as his gaze swept over her hair, her mask, and then keyed in on her mouth, which remained open in shock. “Unless that’s what you’re aiming for.”

She shook her head, still unable to put thoughts into words.

“Ah, Red,” he drawled, leaning in closer, his gorgeous eyes twinkling mischievously, “I was hoping for a different answer entirely.”

That’s when it hit her. Flynn didn’t know who she was. The wig and mask were doing their job, just as Colt and Jules predicted. Not to mention he probably never considered his computer geek from work would ever dare set foot in his club. While she sighed inwardly, her relief palpable, she also felt a sharp pang of disappointment.

Cassie quickly averted her gaze, to be sure he wouldn’t recognize her eyes. Softly she snorted at her immense ego as if anything about her were so memorable.

“Would you like to dance with the teacher, pet?” His invitation was like something out of her dreams. She wanted to, badly, but didn’t dare risk it.

“Um, I’m not a very good dancer, sir.” As she gave her excuse, she pitched her voice lower to disguise it, just in case.

“I saw that mishap earlier,” he said without pause. “That was his fault, Red, not yours. And you don’t have to be a good dancer if you have the right partner. Besides, it’s almost midnight, and you need a fifth.”

Her head came up with a puzzled expression.

He lifted her wrist and with a head tilt, indicated the remaining ribbon on her bracelet. Claiming the last one for himself, he tucked it into his jacket pocket and without waiting for her consent, took her hand, and pulled her out on the dance floor.

Turning her into his arms, he pulled her in close, his body pressed against hers from chest to knees, as a slow song started to play. She should have known by the way he moved, fluid and self-confident, that he would dance the same way. He made it seem effortless. Swaying and turning her in sync to the seductive beat, once he spun her out to arm’s length, then rewound her, catching her against his hard body, and so tightly pressed together, daylight wouldn’t pass between them from breast to groin. Later, at a perfect point in the song, he dipped her low, his face hovering above hers so close, their lips almost touched.

It was something out of a dream, only the reality of it was so much better.

She absorbed every moment, should it never come again, which it wouldn’t. It couldn’t. Not at the risk of her job, her reputation on the base, or worse, the look of disappointment on his face when he learned the curvy, naughtily dressed, redheaded submissive in his arms was merely Cassie, girl genius, his strictly in the friend-zone lunch partner every other Friday.

Blinking back tears, she swayed along with him, her face pressed into his neck, feeling his pulse beat against her temple, savoring the roughness of his beard-shadowed jaw against her cheek, and letting his clean, masculine scent fill her lungs. He guided her into a turn, his strong hands low on her back, one of his legs between hers. In her short skirt, his denim covered thigh rubbed against the thin cotton barrier between him and her pussy. It would be so easy to give in to her desire, especially with the thick length of his arousal pressed against her belly, proof he wanted her. She tried not to get caught up in the masquerade, telling herself to guard her heart and her body. He’d had ample opportunity to show an interest in the real Cassandra Hardwick but hadn’t. This one dance would have to be enough.

And despite the Flynn-induced sexual fog surrounding her, a question—a big one—kept nagging at her. What about his girlfriend? The game was for available Doms and subs. His participation indicated he was free and looking. Perhaps she’d been wrong about the black-haired beauty, but if she was right, what did it say about the man she thought she knew? She never imagined Flynn being dishonest, or as a cheater. But here he was with her, only two days after being cozy with another. She imagined every available sub in the dungeon would jump at the chance to be with him. If he only wanted a submissive for one night, why go to all this trouble? Her mind reeled in confusion, and although she had a million questions swirling in her head, she couldn’t ask any of them.

As the slow song melded into one with a faster tempo, he kept pace, moving them across the floor in a series of intricate steps. She followed without knowing how and found he was right, with him as a partner she didn’t need to. When the next one bled into another, she barely noticed because as the minutes passed his hands became bolder. They left her hips to stroke up her sides to the curve of her breasts, then swept down her back, moving over her skirt. Without reservation his fingers slid lower, tracing the lace edge of her stockings and the bare skin above them. Her heart nearly stopped when he dipped her again, and one hand curled around her knee, bending it high on his hip. Once propped there, his fingertips moved beneath her hem and traced along the edges of her ruffled panties. Before she could think, or speak, or contain her runaway heart, his hand slipped beneath the elastic at the leg, and he palmed her bare bottom.

Cassie almost orgasmed on the spot. He didn’t linger, however, and she wasn’t sure why. Maybe because the music changed, or he wanted to tease her more, or because it was unseemly to make your first-time partner come in the middle of a crowded dance floor even in a no-holds-barred sex club like Decadence. But he only curled his fingers and gave her ass cheek a firm squeeze before he stood, bringing her up with him.

Their dance resumed, with hips aligned, Flynn in a half-crouch and bringing her up on her toes to make it possible. As such, his erection nudged the gusset of her panties, which in her aroused state was so much worse than having his hand on her bare ass.

Her already hard nipples tightened even more and her clit, which had been tingling since he’d first taken her hand in his, throbbed with need. A surge of liquid desire flooded her pussy. This close, he must be able to feel her heat and the dampness of the thin cotton. Cassie ground her hips against him, not caring in that moment about crowds, or roles they played, or beautiful girlfriends, or work on Monday, mindless to everything other than her need to come.

“Your attention, please.”

The music ended abruptly at the interruption. Those around her stopped dancing, and so did Flynn. Cassie bit back a scream of frustration. She was so damn close.

His arms loosened, and he turned them to where Master Eric, the tall, blond Dom who had greeted the newcomers in the entryway earlier and explained the rules of the game, now stood before the dungeon doors. “It’s time for what you’ve all been waiting for,” he said. “Will the players in our masquerade please come forward?”

Cold reality setting in quickly squelched her unsatisfied yearning. She didn’t need to be told what time it was. Like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight, her fantasy was nearing an end. Frantically, she pulled away and began searching the faces around her for her friends. In the middle of the dance floor, and as short as she was, finding them would be next to impossible.

“Is something wrong, Red?”

“Yes, I came with someone.”

“You’re attached?” his voice had deepened, a tinge of anger making it sound like a growl.

“Oh, no,” she quickly explained. “I came with friends. The Dom is a member and asked me to introduce him to whoever I selected.”

“That’s fine. Let’s go meet him.”

She glanced up and her “Not you,” came out bluntly.

His head jerked in surprise. “Why not me?” he demanded to know.

At a loss, Cassie searched wildly for an excuse.

“You’d rather have one of the two spouting protocol, verbatim out of a book? Or the oaf who stomped on your toes?”

Aware she had offended him, she backed up, murmuring, “They were all very nice.”

“Nice isn’t what you need, Red. Neither is Charles and his naked bondage weekends which, from your reaction, isn’t your thing either. I could tell you were going to say no when he couldn’t stop staring at your chest. And the other two sure as hell aren’t going to make you as hot and wet as I had you a moment ago.”

She averted her gaze, cheeks flooded with heat, and resumed scanning the crowd and hoping for a timely rescue. Where the heck was Colt?

He caught her chin in his hand and turned her face up to his. “Do I scare you, little sub? Is that it?”

More than you’ll ever know.

She didn’t say that, though, nor did she have time for anything else because the other ribbon bearing teachers descended upon her and began to lead her toward the front. All except Flynn who hung back, watching with an irritated look on his face.

One by one, the other new subs selected their Dom for the night and entered through the gothic double doors. When it was her turn, and Colt still hadn’t found her, she’d worked herself into a state close to panic. Master Eric held out his hand indicating she should join him on the steps at the entrance to the dungeon.

“Your mask, little schoolgirl, then I’ll hear your selection.”

She shook her head. “No, sir. I, um… I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to go in.”

He angled his head down, which was a long way. About the same height as Flynn, and dressed all in black, he oozed authority and was just as intimidating. Surprisingly, his voice was gentle when he asked, “What has you spooked, little one?”

“I’m sorry. I made a mistake coming here and need to go home.” She thought she heard Colt speaking and turned. He was still a good distance from her but making slow yet steady progress through the press of curious onlookers watching the proceedings.

“What is this?” a stilted voice demanded from behind her. “How can she choose no one?”

“It is always her choice, Charles; you know that,” Master Eric explained, sounding annoyed without a hint of the gentleness from before.

“Then this has been a colossal waste of time. At least let us gaze upon the morsel that has escaped us.” He caught her arm and dragged her down the steps to him.

“No!” she cried as his fingers pinched her skin. She struggled as his other hand reached for her mask.

“Release her,” Eric barked, at the same time another angry voice demanded, “Let her go.” This came from Flynn, who suddenly sounded very close.

Colt arrived and became the third Dom to order Charles to back off, but it was too late. Even as her hands came up to stop him, the odious Charles pulled off her mask and along with it, her wig. Pins hit the floor as her hair uncoiled from its knot, the thick mass coming down around her shoulders.

“Cassie?”

Her gaze shot to Flynn, reading his shock and disbelief. Then something else darkened his face; she wasn’t sure what it meant, except that it wasn’t pleasant. She wrenched her arm out of Charles’ grasp, darted past Eric, and down the steps on the far side. Pushing her way through the gawking crowd, she became frantic when she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. In seconds, Colt was beside her, his hands gripping her shoulders.

“Are you all right? Did that asshole hurt you—?”

She tried to twist free of his hold, thinking only of getting to the front door. “I need to go. Please, take me home.”

“Are you sure? That’s Flynn Dalton. I know him.”

“I do too. We work together. I can’t stay here—”

“Cassie.” Low and demanding, Flynn ground out her name. There was no doubt he wanted an explanation and deserved one, but she couldn’t face him. Not here, not now, maybe never.

As he moved toward her, moving people aside and not always gently, she panicked and yanked her arm out of Colt’s grasp. If he wouldn’t get her out of there, she’d go on her own. It was LA, surely, she could get a cab even at midnight. Weaving quickly between the bodies that had pressed close to watch the drama unfold, she fought her way to the front.

“Cassie, stop,” Flynn ordered, hearing him grumble “move” in irritation. Relieved the mass of members and guests slowed his pursuit, she ducked and twisted, dipping down, and using her size to her advantage for once. She didn’t stop, not for Colt, or Commander Dalton, or for Jules who also called out to her.

When she reached the lobby, she didn’t dare stop for her purse. Instead, she pushed through the double doors, ignoring the receptionist who offered to help. The humid night air made it more difficult to breathe as she flew down the stairs and out onto Beverly Boulevard. With an odd stroke of good luck, several taxis waited.

She chose the first one, shouting at the driver as she climbed in. “Go! Now, please!”

His eyes flicked behind her as she slammed the door and locked it. As if sensing the impending danger, the cabbie stepped on the gas and peeled out. Too afraid to look back when a fist pounded the side of the cab, she faced forward as it sped off. Trembling, she dropped her head in her hands trying to figure out what she would do when Monday came.

“Do you need the police or the emergency room? That man who came after you was huge and looked angry. Did he hurt you?”

“No, it isn’t like that. I’m fine.” The tremor in her voice disproved her statement—she was anything but fine. “I need to get home to San Diego.”

He hesitated. “That’s a four-hour round trip.”

“I left my purse but can’t go back. I swear I’ll pay you when I get to my place. There’s a generous tip in it if you’ll take me, please.”

She watched in the mirror as his eyes moved, taking in her messy hair and tear-dampened cheeks, then dipped lower to her outfit.

“I have a daughter your age. I’d have a fit if she were out this time of night and at a club like that.”

Cassie didn’t correct him. The man looked no more than forty. He couldn’t possibly have a daughter her age, but she welcomed his assumption she was much younger if it meant he would take her home.

“Promise you won’t do it again, and I’ll take the fare.”

“Yes, sir. I’ve learned my lesson.” The new tears rolling down her face weren’t contrived. “I just want to go home.”

He nodded his head and flipped the lever on the meter.

As she watched the night sky through her window, her stomach knotted with dread for what the coming work week would bring. How would she face Flynn? Or Colt, who had to be fuming she’d left alone. She didn’t even have her phone to text Jules and let her know she was all right. Leaning her head against the window glass, she closed her eyes, feeling lost, alone, and utterly miserable while enduring the longest cab ride of her life.