Any other name, p.1
Any Other Name, page 1
Contents
Contents
title pg
copyright pg
Prologue
A Stiff Drink and a Soft Woman
Turtle and Thumbknuckle
Pinpricks of Discomfort
Maelstrom
Creepily Devout
Crash into Me
Cat & Cocoon
Where Did I Land?
Duck Duck Goose
A Flaw in the Logic
By Any Other Name
So It's True
Closets & Cubbies
Foraging
The Journal
Food for Thought
The Countess
Trepidation and Temptation
Novel Feelings
Jo of All Tides
Adrenaline
Liquid Heat
Mind Blown
The Courtship
It’s So Squishy
Nookshelf
Game Trail
Ducks Don't Chase You
Hard-Wired
You've Been a Very Bad Girl
Way to Go
Power Drunk
Crosshairs
Warrior Princess with a Side of Fur
Mayday
Evidence
Houses in Order
I'll Have You
Epilogue
DearReader
After Words
About Me (KJB)
About Me (MWB)
Other books
Any Other Name
Kelli Jae Baeli
Melissa Walker-Baeli
Any Other Name
Kelli Jae Baeli & Melissa Walker Baeli
Cover Design & Creation
© 2022 Kelli Jae Baeli
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http://kellijaebaeli.com
AuthorKJB@gmail.com
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License Notes
The right of Kelli Jae Baeli and Melissa Walker Baeli to be identified as authors of this Work has been asserted by them in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
This is a work of fiction. Had it actually happened, it would have been cataloged as "non-fiction" but since it did not, it was not. All events, locations, institutions, themes, persons, characters and plot are completely fictional, except when they are not. Any resemblance to places, persons, or entities living or deceased, gender and species notwithstanding, are the inventions of the authors, or maybe they are not.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form whatsoever. Yadda Yadda, Void where prohibited by law, batteries not included, don't feed the monkeys.
Micro-Summary:
Jolene Winters only wanted to be left alone, but her new-found safety and contentment will be both challenged and shattered.
Categories/Genres:
Lesbian Fiction, Lesbian Romance, Romantic Suspense, LGBTQ Fiction, Adventure Fiction, Women's Psychological Fiction, Domestic Suspense, Women Authors
Created and Printed in the United States of America, which is not so united these days, but still where we can freely create and print things.
Prologue
Jolene
September 2021
I'd been under lock and key for a week when Giselle decided my punishment was over and opened the door.
After she left, I started packing my bags. She'd come back into my room and caught me. I should have just crawled out the window with nothing but my resolve.
The punishment for my attempt to leave her was even more severe. One I wouldn't soon forget.
Now, having demonstrated to me in no uncertain terms what would happen if I defied her again, she allowed me the honor of leaving the house with her to fetch coffee. Her two bodyguards usually did it, but they were off on some other assignment from her, and she certainly couldn't stoop to getting her own morning beverage.
Giselle pulled the Lexus into a parking slot at Starbucks. The same one I used to work at all those months ago.
"What are you waiting for? Get my coffee. You may not get one for yourself."
This is my chance. Maybe the only chance I had left. "I'm still sore, and the line is long today." I knew this would appeal to her.
"And you will stand in that line until you get my coffee, Jolene."
Dominating, cold, dead eyes bored into me.
I dipped my head. "Yes, ma'am."
Stepping into the Starbucks, I scanned the room, soon approaching the table where a young woman sat typing on a laptop, her cell phone next to it.
"Excuse me. Sorry...I'm trying to get away from an abusive, controlling relationship. I need to call a friend to come pick me up out back. May I please borrow your phone?" After the shock seeped away, the young woman handed me the device.
I had to punch in the number twice before I got it right, my hands were shaking so badly.
Berta answered.
"It's Jo."
"Girl! Where the hell have you been? I haven't been able to reach you--"
"Listen--" I cut her off in a controlled panic. "I can't explain, there's no time. It's Giselle. I'm in the Starbucks across from the courthouse. I need you to come to the back entrance and pick me up. Please."
The desperation in my voice must have been enough.
A sigh of relief left me when I heard keys jingling over the line.
"I'm leaving now," Berta said.
I handed the phone back to the woman. "Thank you so much!" The woman nodded compassionately, having heard my side of the conversation.
I hid by a potted plant near the front window, peeking through the glass to the Lexus, where Giselle was reading through papers for court.
It would take Berta fifteen minutes. I just had to hang tight until then.
For endless moments, I threw furtive glances out the café window, making sure Giselle wasn't paying attention to me. Her ego wouldn't let her entertain the thought that I'd try to leave again, so soon after my punishment. I was counting on that.
Berta must have blown a few lights, because I saw her turn into the alley leading to the rear of the store ten minutes later.
Tina, my former co-worker, came out of the back room as I dashed toward the break in the counter.
"Tina!"
"Jo?"
"I need to get away from someone. Can I please cut through and go out the back?"
Eyebrows raised, she looked around the store, and then waved me through.
"Thank you!" I gave her a kiss on the cheek and rushed through the room adorned with stacks of cups and lids, bags of coffee, the sinks and dishwasher. Continuing, I hit the appropriately named panic bar on the door, and practically dove into the passenger seat of Berta's Volkswagen Atlas.
Closing the door, I looked up into a combo-platter of confusion and fear.
"What the hell, Jo? Where have you been?"
"Drive," I yelled, one hand gripping her thigh.
"Jo--"
"Not now, Berta. Just drive. Get us out of here. Go left at the end of the alley. Go!"
Berta hit the gas and we soon merged with traffic on Alder Street.
"Where to now?" Berta asked.
Any direction away from Giselle was freedom at that point. "Your place. I'll tell you everything when we get there. Just keep driving." I scrunched down in the seat, peered out the back window, hoping not to see Giselle's Lexus following us. Once I saw the coast was clear, I sat hunched forward, my hand on the dash. I thought better of leaning against the seat. My back was still raw.
Berta was fifteen years my senior, and had been my babysitter many years ago. We'd reconnected at my parents' funeral when I was nineteen, and became close friends.
During the silent drive to Berta's house in the suburbs, my eyes drifted to the floor by my foot where a giant rainbow goldfish bag rested. The beginnings of a smile tugged at my lips.
Soon, we were seated together on her sunflower motif sofa, and I told Berta the whole sordid story.
She'd already put antibiotic and gauze bandages on the lacerations striping the skin of my back. Now, she handed me a shot glass of Crown Royal. "You've been held captive for six months. And your back? Holy shit, Jo. Why didn't you call me when things got so bad?"
I shifted on the sofa, shook my head. "I couldn't. I didn't realize the danger I was in until it was too late. Six months ago, she took my phone. I couldn't contact anyone, and I was never left alone."
"She's a high-powered attorney." A scandalized frown creased her brow. "Aside from how fucked-up this is, she knows this is a federal crime."
"She doesn't care. She thinks she's above the law, ironically."
"Well, how did she manage all that? She had to go to work, how--"
"There were always at least two more of her thugs at the house. She was in complete control of my life, Berta. How could I have been so blind? It took me over three years to realize how wrong our relationship was, so when I defied her, told her I wanted out, she went moon-bat crazy. Threw my stuff all over the place, slapped me across the face, then locked me in the room for a week. After she set me free yesterday, I started packing, thinking I'd crawl out the damn window, but she came back and caught me. She really flipped her shit." I downed the liquor in one gulp, its fire blazing down my throat. "How did I not see all this coming?"
Berta leaned closer to me, grasped my hands gently. "Jo, we have to call the police."
Fear lanced through my gut. "No."
"Jolene Winters," she scolded. "It's the only way to deal with--"
"Berta, you don't get it. She knows everyone. She can get herself out of any charges, and then I'd be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life."
"Sounds like you'll be doing that anyway. You have to tell someone."
Adamantly, I shook my head. "I'm telling you. The only way out is for me to disappear. You have to help me get a new identity."
"The feds can do that. Witness protection..."
"It won't work. Trust me. She's chummy with judges, cops, district attorneys, bounty hunters, and criminal millionaires. She's even friends with some Russian oligarchs. No. I have to just disappear."
Berta pressed her hands over her face a moment, looking tired. "Well, I have no idea how to get you a new identity. I'm just a small publisher. I don't know anything about that."
"We'll just have to figure that out."
Berta sipped at her Crown, scanning her back yard through the sliding glass door of her small house. "How did you manage to escape, then?"
I set the empty shot glass on the coffee table. "Giselle said we were going out. When she drove us to Starbucks, I knew she was going to send me in for her coffee before taking me back to the house. So I knew this would be my only chance. Giselle would never suspect me of trying to leave again so soon after she beat the crap out of me."
Berta stayed silent for a few minutes, and inside that hush, I realized how much I'd missed my old friend, and the freedom to sit where I wanted, say what I wanted.
For the first time since she'd come to my rescue, I noticed that Berta hadn't changed much. She sat next to me, completely at ease in her wild, patchwork blouse of many colors, shocking purple corduroy pants and orange Converse. The contrast to Giselle's monochromatic business suits was striking.
"Goddess, I've missed you, Berta."
Berta leaned over, kissed my cheek. "Listen. You're welcome to stay here as long as you want, and you could even work for me at the office, but I might have another solution. Maybe the perfect one. You're a writer. A damn good one--"
I cut her off. "Doesn't matter. I haven't written anything since I quit Starbucks and moved in with Giselle."
"So you're a non-practicing writer. The point is, you want your life back, and you need to write again, but still be safe."
"Yeah. So?"
"Remember that little homestead I inherited from my grandfather?"
I fetched the memory. "The one in Alaska?"
"Yeah. You can go live there. It's off-grid."
"I don't have any money. How am I going to survive off-grid?"
"You'd have no bills, and I pay the taxes. It's all in my name. It has solar panels. There's a greenhouse, and also a natural food supply. The wildlife."
She clapped her hands together, eyes as bright as her pants.
"You'll start writing erotica for me under a pen name and I'll publish you. You could still write your Sapphic romances on the side, and I'll publish those, too, under another pseudonym."
She refilled my shot glass with Crown, and continued.
"Giselle doesn't know me. Doesn't even know I'm your friend. It would be impossible for her to find you. After a while, she'll probably give up and move on."
I scoffed. "You don't know Giselle."
"Either way. You'd be safe. And you'd be writing again. There'd be no paper trail, no lease, no mortgage, no bills in your name. I can't get you a new identity, but maybe I can help you disappear for a while. I'd be the only one who knows who and where you are."
I considered the wisdom of it. Writing had been an identity marker for as long as I could remember. More importantly, I needed to feel safe. Peace and quiet would help me to recover. After living under lock and key for so long, the idea of so much solitude and freedom was both terrifying and exhilarating.
My eyes slid up to hers. "Berta, what would I do without you? You're saving my life."
She reached over to clasp my arm. "You're my best friend, and I love you. We got this."
A Stiff Drink and a Soft Woman
Courtney
One Year later
On the outskirts of Portland, headed farther into the city, I was in desperate need of a stiff drink and a soft woman. After only a thirty minute visit with my mentor, John, to talk out my concerns about the case I was working on, I was on my way to my favorite hole- in-the-wall lesbian bar, Floaters.
The owner, a sixtyish woman named Henni, once told me she decided on the name because she had an affinity for large, fake breasts, and sex in swimming pools.
Suffice it to say a Whiskey Sour burns something fierce when it shoots out of your nose. Henni was quite the character, and she had no scruples. Probably why I'd been going to Floaters for years, now.
I resisted rubbing my tired eyes, which no amount of moisturizing eye drops could ease. Night had fallen and the strobe of oncoming headlights brought on another low-grade headache.
All I had to look forward to right then was knowing I would soon be getting lost between the thighs of a willing woman. Didn't perk me up as much as it should, but I'd take it.
The past two weeks had been hell. My version of it, anyway. Chained to my desk, I'd either been on the computer or the phone.
Ms. Giselle Merrick, defense attorney to some spectacularly unsavory human beings, hired my firm. Shortly thereafter, the case agent came to me with a list of concerns, to put it nicely. Once I'd looked over the details she'd collected, I accepted her request to turn the case over to someone else. Me. I handed it over to myself. This case, the first I'd personally taken on in some time, had me looking over my shoulder.
I'd said as much to John, too. He'd looked troubled, and said, "Knew her dad. Decent enough guy, for a lawyer. Poor fool thought no matter what horrific act you committed, you still deserved the best defense money could buy, so sayeth the law. Anyway, after his wife, Janet, died, he changed his will, left everything to his only child. Giselle. Two weeks later, he was dead. Freak accident, they said. She got it all. Hundreds of millions, plus his law firm, and all his clients that would have her."
"You think she killed her father?"
"Make of it what you will, kiddo. Doesn't matter what you think..."
"...it matters what you can prove." I knew the line. It was one of the first things John taught me when he took me on as an apprentice in his one-man PI outfit. Now, I owned my own firm, and until his retirement, nine years ago, John worked for me.
If it weren't for the contract, and my reputation in the field, I'd tell Giselle Merrick to fuck off. As it stood, I was legally bound to do my best to find her stolen money, as clearly stated in our contract.
Of course, I didn't get to be the president and CEO of my own company, Sarks Private Investigations, by being unprofessional, cutting corners, or not getting the job done.
It wouldn't be the first time a client lied to me, or was a potential danger to others. My mind was open as much as my eyes, and I'd take whatever I learned as it came and go from there.
As I pulled into a parking garage near both my office and Floaters, I took a deep breath and willed away all thoughts of work, focused on finding a woman to take home and fuck senseless.
The night air was crisp but still. Calm before the storm.
Floaters was dark, just the way I liked it. Low light had a way of smoothing over frayed nerves and loosening inhibitions. Helped people get excited about doing something they may not do while exposed to the bright light of day.
Henni perched on a stool behind the old wooden bar top but rose to meet me when I walked in.
"Look like you been reading nothing but bad news all day, Court."
"Been listening to it, for sure."
She popped the top off my favorite beer and smacked it down in front of me, cackled when it starting frothing over and left me no choice to put my lips around the opening and chug.
