Power Relinquished (D.C. Power Games Book 3)
Power
Relinquished
A D.C. Power Games Novel
Power
Relinquished
A D.C. Power Games Novel
Ivy Nelson
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Ivy Nelson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: IvyNelsonBooks@gmail.com.
First edition June 2019
ASIN- B07Q5C3SBT
www.ivynelsonbooks.com
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
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A Note From The Author
.
Power Relinquished contains depictions of BDSM. This book is the authors interpretation of BDSM fantasies and is not intended to be an educational tool. BDSM is different for everyone and this is just one perspective. Everything in this book is fictitious and should be read as such. If you choose to participate in BDSM, please remember consent above all else and please do educate yourself with something that isn’t a work of fiction.
I hope you enjoy this creation.
Ivy Nelson
Chapter One
“Jesus Carrie, did somebody send you a glitter bomb?”
Carrie Davenport glared up at her boss before she bent down to pull off the five-inch heels that had been hurting her feet for at least the last six hours.
“I told you Tom; I was back at the Doll House all night.”
“I thought you were doing research for a story, not moonlighting as one of the strippers. Do I not pay you enough?” Tom Neiland had a scowl on his face, but Carrie knew he was teasing.
“Ha-fucking-ha, Tom. You’re so funny. I had to fit in, or the girls wouldn’t talk to me. I think I have enough for my piece though, so I won’t have to go back there ever again. Unless I want to that is,” she added with a wink.
The Doll House Cabaret was a high-end strip club in D.C., and for the past few weeks, Carrie had been visiting places like it to talk with women in the adult entertainment industry. She hoped to write a piece highlighting the ways a recent anti-trafficking bill was jeopardizing their livelihood. It was going to be a great human-interest story that also dealt with some of the corruption in D.C. politics. Not only had she been talking to the girls, she had been observing the customers and many of them were the men who had backed and even written the bill that was now threatening the industry.
“Well get out of reception before somebody sees you. Why didn’t you go home first?” Tom asked, waving her through the lobby and into the safety of the cubicle farm that housed dozens of reporters.
“Sorry, I have this editor who likes reporters to show up at seven in the morning for work.”
“Sounds like a real bastard,” Tom muttered as they walked through the office.
It didn’t go unnoticed that journalists and fact checkers were surreptitiously peeking over their cubical walls to catch a glimpse of her skimpy glitter coated outfit. With the hand holding her heels, she waved at the ones she noticed, taking the time to flip the bird to the guy in the middle of the room who thought it was appropriate to whistle. Maybe she should have gone home first.
She had to get a stack of research from her office and file another article before she could go home. Once she finished though she was leaving to shower and sleep for twelve hours straight. Hanging out in strip clubs until four in the morning may sound like fun, but not when you’re not drinking and have no one to take you home at the end of the night. Not that Carrie was into letting people take her home from bars at night anyway.
“I’m just going to hide in my cubicle and take care of this stuff, Tom. But then I’m out of here until tomorrow afternoon,” Carrie said when they reached her cubicle.
“Sounds good. I’m sure your piece will kick ass. They always do.”
“Thanks, Tom.”
When Tom left for his own office, Carrie woke up her computer and got to work filing her articles and compiling information she had collected the last couple of nights at the Doll House.
When she turned to grab a sticky note, she noticed a manila envelope sitting in her mail basket. It had been a couple of days since she’d been at her desk, so she had no clue how long it had been sitting there. There was no post mark, but it was addressed to her. Picking it up, she noted that it wasn’t heavy. With her letter opener, she slit the envelope and looked inside. There was a thin stack of eight by ten photographs and a single piece of paper.
She went straight for the photos first. Each one had been taken inside the Doll House where she had spent the last several nights.
The pictures all featured men speaking to each other in dark corners of the club. She recognized several as those she was about to name in her article for being hypocrites. Others she recognized for being powerful in D.C. The most recognizable was the director of the CIA, Corbit Upwood. She hadn’t actually seen him come into the club on any of the nights she’d visited, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been there.
She felt her pulse pick up as she flipped through the photos. Once she had looked at them all, she picked up the single sheet of paper. It held a lone typed paragraph.
Miss Davenport
I’ve read a lot of your work, and when you showed up at the Doll House a few nights ago, I knew you were the one I needed to send this information to. I can’t reveal my name or how I know this, but you should know that there is a human trafficking ring being run out of the Doll House. Corbit Upwood and the other men in these photos are involved. If you come back to the Doll House this week, I’ll see you and know you’re willing to investigate. Another package will follow.
RIP
Carrie read the letter several times before she stood to pace. This was big she could feel it. Who was RIP? Was it initials? A warning? It kind of creeped her out a little. Something told her she needed to clear her docket and focus only on this. That meant finishing an article from a previous assignment that Tom was waiting on. Back at her desk she quickly went to work typing up the piece.
As she hit send on the final copy thirty minutes later, the noise in the newsroom changed. Fingers were flying across keyboard
s and phones were ringing everywhere. There was a hum. An electricity in the air that she recognized immediately. Breaking news.
Carrie grabbed a sweater off the back of her chair, hoping to hide her strip club attire, and went barefoot to the AP alert station. As she did, Sam, a fact checker, nearly ran into her.
“What’s going on, Sam?”
“Somebody just tried to blow up the CIA director’s house.”
“Whoa. Seriously?” Carrie glanced at the cellphone in her hand. Her Twitter account hadn’t blown up yet, so this was fresh.
“Yeah. Bomb techs are diffusing it now. Word is, this is the second attempt on his life and the president is issuing an executive order for a Secret Service detail. Upwood is pissed.”
It couldn’t be a coincidence that the day she gets an anonymous tip about Upwood being involved in human trafficking someone tries to blow him to bits. “Gotta run Sam. Can you verify whether this is a second attempt?”
Sam cocked his head and looked at her quizzically. “I thought you were doing the strip club thing. Isn’t that what the trashy outfit is all about?”
“No Sam, I’m just trying out a new style,” Carrie snarked. “Just get me that verification. And find out if the executive order is real too. I’ll be at my desk.”
Carrie ran back to her computer and pulled out the mysterious package. Flipping through the photos she found the one of Corbit Upwood. She didn’t recognize the man he was talking to. Finding that out would be her first step.
The thought of her twelve-hour nap was long gone. She would have to change and grab a case of energy drinks to dig into this now. If she could break the story that the director of the CIA was a human trafficker at the same time that someone was trying to blow up his house, it might be the biggest story she had ever written. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d written a negative piece about Corbit Upwood either. Though he technically hadn’t been named in the first one, she knew he was a sketchy bastard who liked to have his way with women. Carrie shuddered as she recalled interviewing a female soldier that Upwood had been less than gentlemanly towards in Afghanistan.
Sam poked his head over her cubicle wall, interrupting her thoughts.
“Secret Service detail has definitely been ordered. I’ve got double confirmation from two sources on the record and a copy of the executive order with the president’s signature is on its way.”
Carrie quickly flipped a blank sheet of paper over the photographs as he spoke.
“Thanks Sam. You rock. I guess I’ll forgive the trashy outfit comment. What about the rumor that this is a second attempt?”
“Still working on that one. He’s the director of the CIA so death threats really aren’t breaking news with this guy.”
Someone else across the newsroom shouted Sam’s name and Carrie waved him off. “I’ll start calling people too. Thanks again.”
With a flurry of typing, she fired off three e-mails to people she knew with contacts in or around the CIA. Then she put in a call to a former Post employee and dear friend who now worked for CNN.
“Hey Gina. It’s Carrie Davenport. What’s the latest on Upwood?”
“I should be offended that you’re just calling me as a source and not a friend. When are we having drinks again?”
Carrie chuckled. “Sorry friend. Can the drink be Red Bull? I’m running on cat naps right now.”
“Of course you are. You say it like that isn’t normal for you.”
“What can you tell me about Upwood?” Carrie asked, brushing past Gina’s unwanted observation about her sleeping habits.
“What makes you think I know more than you?”
“I’ve been in a strip club all night. Humor me. Besides, I thought you had a high up CIA source.”
Gina sighed. “I’m not even going to ask about the strip club. My source is NSA not CIA. Alphabet soup is hard to keep straight sometimes. All we know is someone dropped a bomb at Upwood’s doorstep. He was home with his wife and son. Now he’s at work and his family has been whisked off to safety somewhere. Word is he’s fighting the protection detail, but apparently somebody left a bomb in his car two weeks ago. He managed to keep that one out of the news but this time nosy neighbors gave the press a heads up.”
“So, since he’s gotten two bombs delivered, the President is forcing a detail on him?” Carrie asked, furiously typing away as her friend spoke.
“Exactly. Plus, there was an upswing in the amount of hate mail and death threats a week before the first bomb. I can’t verify any of this by the way. CNN is still working on confirmation of sources.”
“Understood. I’ll let you know if we verify first.”
“Thanks. Get some sleep and then let’s get that drink.”
“Eh. I’ll sleep when I’m dead. I’ll call you about drinks.” When the call ended, Carrie went back to the photographs. It was then that she noticed a stamp on the back of one. It was a date. Were these the dates the photos were taken? If so, some of them were from before she visited the Doll House, but others were from the same nights that she had been there, including the one of Corbit Upwood.
With a glance down the long corridor between the rows of cubicles at Tom’s office door, she knew it was time to clue her boss in on what was happening. He wouldn’t be happy about her taking on another dangerous assignment, but she had to go where the leads took her and right now this was the hottest lead she’d had in a while.
Before she ruined Tom’s day, she stopped at the break room and chugged a cup of coffee. Five minutes later she was knocking on her boss’s door frame since his door was wide open.
“Come in Carrie.”
“Hey Tom. I need to run something past you,” Carrie said as she shut the door behind her. “And I need you to know I did not go looking for this.”
Tom groaned. “OK. Hit me.”
“I think Corbit Upwood is running a human trafficking ring.”
Tom sat up straighter.
“I’m listening.”
Laying the photos and note from the anonymous tipster on the coffee table in front of her, she motioned for Tom to come look. As she made her case, she watched his face closely to see if he was going to shut her down or let her run with it.
The editor crossed his arms over his chest as he contemplated what she was saying.
“I’m not saying you don’t have something here Carrie, but Corbit Upwood is a powerful guy. He’s been in Washington for decades. You don’t just decide to print a smear piece on this guy without some serious evidence and so far, you don’t have that.”
Carrie held up her hand. “I’m not saying I print anything yet. Let me run with my original story on the anti-trafficking bill. I’ll make it a series and give myself a reason to go back to the Doll House. I’m just asking for permission to look into the anonymous tipster.
Tom leaned against his desk and eyed her. “I don’t know Carrie. Somebody just tried to blow this guy up with his wife and kid at home. I thought we agreed you were going to take a break from the dangerous pieces for a while. You’ve had too many close calls for my taste.”
Carrie tried not to roll her eyes. So, she had gotten into a sticky spot or two while investigating stories. That was the life of an investigative journalist. Tom often tried to be the overprotective dad she didn’t need. If he hadn’t been such a good friend and mentor in her early years, she wouldn’t let him get away with it.
“Besides,” Tom continued, “Do we really want to be the assholes pointing fingers when somebody just tried to kill him?”
“If he’s guilty, then fuck yes we do Tom. Why wouldn’t we? We’re journalists.”
Tom closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he was in complete boss mode. “You have permission to look into the tip. However, you do not type a single word of a story until you have the green light from me.”
Carrie was nodding. “That’s perfectly fine with me. Thank you, Tom.”
“And for God’s sake, go change your clothes,” he said ef
fectively dismissing her from his office.
Carrie saluted and backed out of the room.
The building had a gym with showers, and she kept a bag of workout clothes at her desk. It wasn’t something she’d ever actually used, but yoga pants and a tank top were probably better than the strappy glitter contraption she was currently wearing underneath her sweater.
Since she couldn’t go home and take a nap, she opted for a long shower in the gym locker room. It felt nice to let the hot water cascade over her body and wash away the stench of sweat and alcohol from the night before.
After towel drying her hair, she quickly dressed in her slightly more appropriate for the office attire and walked out of the gym. She needed to churn out a rough draft of the human interest piece on the strippers first to keep Tom happy, then she would go home and take a nap before heading back out to the strip club to see what she could see and hopefully prompt the delivery of a second package from whoever RIP was.
Forty-five minutes later, she e-mailed her rough draft to Tom. Then she went to a store at the corner for a case of energy drinks, one of which she chugged on her way back into the building. Tom was still locked in his office, so she popped the tab on a second can and pulled up Corbit Upwood’s bio.
Tom was right, the man had been in Washington for years and had made some powerful friends.
Her desk phone rang as she was reading about how he wound up as director of the CIA.
“Carrie Davenport,” she answered.
“My office.” It was Tom, and he sounded tense.
“On my way, boss.”
Carrie punched the phone back into the cradle and picked up the now half-empty can of Red Bull. When she reached Tom’s door she knocked rapidly, bouncing on her tip toes as she waited for him to beckon her inside.
The door opened and Tom watched her bounce with amusement on his face.