EXCERPT: She was dressed in a long dark gown, with silver buttons at the cuffs and long black boots. My mind flickered to what lay under those clothes, and I slipped into my chair. I needed more sleep in order to make any sense of the wonderful dream or terrible nightmare my life had become. She closed the door.

"Well, quite a morning," she said. "Picked up for murder?"

"Why . . . did you sub for me last night?" I asked. "I have to know."

"This isn't the best time to talk about that, is it?"

"I have to know," I replied.

"I don't know . . . I enjoy topping now, but sometimes I miss . . ."

"Sometimes Doms like to sub," I said.

"Have you ever subbed?" she asked.

She was seated now, leaning back in her chair, watching me.

I shook my head slowly.

"Subbing is about . . . trusting people on some level. I trust myself. I haven't ever trusted anyone enough."

She sat forward. "You are going to sub for me now," she said. "Because I do have your life in my hands, and you are going to have to do exactly what I say—"

"You are mixing metaphors," I said. "The attorney client relationship—"

"Why did you talk to the police?" she asked. I didn't like her tone. Bitchy, demanding, as if I were stupid. I’m not stupid. She knew that. She was still talking.

"Do you not watch television? Do you not go to movies?"

"It was six thirty in the morning. I was asleep—"

"Of course you were. That's why they came. It’s always six thirty in the morning, or after midnight, or while you are in the middle of something impossibly important that they show up. They want to catch you off guard, and they did—"

"I told them the truth!" I said.

"You told them you were at the murder scene, and that you were the last one to see the girl alive."