“The seal of the confessional doesn’t break simply because the sinner dies,” Doc reminded her. “You, of all dommes, should know that. Yes?” He grinned a mean, nasty grin.

Nora narrowed her eyes at him. So Doc knew she was sleeping with a priest. And he didn’t mind taunting her about it.

Cyrus minded, however.

“That’s it. I’m going to punch him. You don’t mind?” Cyrus was speaking to Nora while looking at Doc.

“Go for it,” Nora said.

Cyrus reached for Doc’s shirt, but the old man stepped back and into a table. A small butane torch rolled off the table and onto the floor.

“Fine. Fine. But this can’t get out,” Doc said. “Not a word of it. I do private commissions and those private commissions pay my mortgage. The business isn’t licensed. It’s all cash. I don’t want to spend the rest of my golden years in jail for tax fraud, all right?”

“Come on,” Nora said. “You really think I report my tips to the IRS. We’re on the same page. We’re supposed to be on the same side.”

“Can we go into the house, at least?” Doc asked as he picked up the torch. “Before we burn the place down?”

“Lead the way,” Cyrus said. “You do anything squirrelly though, and I’m calling Uncle Sam on you today.”

They let Doc turn off all his equipment. He seemed to be working on some sort of human-sized cage. An ornate iron locking mechanism was in the middle of being assembled on his worktable. The man had talent, that was for sure. Not that Cyrus was going to tell Doc that.

They followed him from his shop and into his house through the backdoor. He led them into the living room, books on every surface. He offered them seats. Nora took the large leather armchair. Cyrus declined to sit, instead standing behind her, the power behind the throne.

“So…” Nora began as Doc took a seat opposite her in a club chair. “What’s up, Doc?”

“Did you really have to go there?” Cyrus muttered.

“I really had to,” she said. Doc laughed but he didn’t seem very happy, not as happy as he’d been the last time they spoke.

“It’s not flattery, you know,” Doc began as he eased back in his seat. “You really are a legend, Mistress. A friend of mine had a session with you in New York at your old club, the 8th Circle. Said it was the best kink he’d ever had in his life. Told me I had to get my old ass up to New York and beg for an hour with you.”

“Did this friend of yours give you one of my cards?” Nora asked.

Slowly, Doc nodded.

Fucking finally. Cyrus wanted to pump his fist, but he refrained. For now.

“When a man asks you for the name of a dominatrix who would do anything for the right price, there’s only one name—Mistress Nora.”

“Fair,” Nora said. “What did he want me for?”