“Get a kindness, pass it on.” That was his mother’s motto. Apparently Gabi lived by it. Mama would like her.
After shutting the computer down, he poured himself a brandy. In his backyard, he took a chair and propped his feet up on another. Above the city lights, the stars shone brightly in the black sky, a comforting assurance that the universe continued on, despite the disasters on one tiny planet. As he watched, a meteor streaked across the sky and fell.
Well, he knew some of the little sub’s past now, and from the articles, she exemplified both dedication and compassion. A softhearted woman. Guilt pressed on his chest. Good job there, Atherton. Jesus, could I have screwed up any more badly?
He watched another bright light fall to its doom on Earth. In the club, she acted like a brat for the killer. It explained her idiotic rebellions like the missing fact in a trial. All those times she’d start to submit, then straighten her shoulders and spit out something outrageous—all pretense. His chest tightened as he remembered how many times he’d punished her. God, how could she ever forgive him?
He’d acted appropriately for what she’d allowed him to know—and realizing that didn’t help at all. How the hell would he make this up to her? During his marriage, his wife had demanded presents, jewelry, flowers after a fight. He dry scrubbed his face, his stubble rasping over his palms. Jewelry wouldn’t fix this. Nothing would.
In the distance, an emergency siren wailed. Marcus tipped his head back with a sigh. Hard world. He did his best to try to make it a better place. Now to discover he’d hurt someone he’d come to…come to what? Care for? Maybe.
Probably. She’d appealed to him from the beginning, even with her outrageous behavior. Of course, not all that brattiness was acting. Marcus smiled and took a sip of brandy. No, she had a mouth on her.
She’d hidden much of herself, but everything he did know attracted him. Her laughter. “I felt sorry for myself since my wimpy dom can’t catch a snail crossing the sidewalk.” He wanted that laughter in his life.
“They shot my Danny and Rock. I was so mad, and I wanted to hurt them.” So matter-of-fact when she’d told him, as if her loyalty and courage weren’t remarkable.
He tilted his head back, remembering her wistful voice. “You know, he’d buy me romance novels. We were broke, but somehow he’d still find me books.” Such a little thing to mean so much to her. He wanted to be the one to comfort her. To take care of her. He smiled. To buy her romance novels.
But she’d undoubtedly run from him now. What if she didn’t return to the Shadowlands? She might not want to give him a second chance. His mouth tightened, and determination settled inside him with a weight like gravity.
Such a shame that a sub doesn’t always get what she wants.
* * *
On Monday, Gabi rode the elevator in the Clearwater hotel two flights past the FBI agents’ floor, then took the stairs back down. Her dread of the coming interview increased with each step closer to the room.
She opened the stairwell door, stepped into the hallway, and trudged across the thick carpeting. She and sleep hadn’t been on speaking terms, and her exhausted body felt as if it was wading through water.
At the door, she hesitated. What could she say? She still didn’t understand what had happened to her last Saturday, so how could she explain it to the agents?
Maybe Master Z had called? But all contact was supposed to go through Rhodes. And she already knew his reaction. Her mouth twisted. When she’d finally reached him late Sunday, he’d completely lost it. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’re undercover—un-der-co-ver—or doesn’t that mean anything to you? So he fucked you and you decided to spill everything. What is that—pillow talk?” He’d finished his rant with what she’d expected. “I’m going to have your ass for this.”
Even before she’d called him, she’d known her career in the FBI was over. Finished. Termini. No one would understand. They’d simply see she’d exposed an ongoing investigation to a whole lot of people. Yeah, serving as a decoy wasn’t her real job; yes, she’d volunteered to do it; but after destroying a covert operation, it wouldn’t matter.
So. I might as well get this over with and then start seriously job hunting. She tugged her T-shirt down—why dress up to get fired?—straightened her shoulders, and knocked on the door.
The door opened, and the big agent, Vance Buchanan, let her in. He wore faded jeans, a blue T-shirt, and beard stubble. He looked her over slowly as if assessing her condition. “Bad week, eh, Gabrielle?”
At the rough sympathy in his voice, tears burned her eyes. She turned her head away and sucked it up. “I’ve had better.”
“I bet. Z gave us a call yesterday.” He pointed toward the L-shaped couch and chairs where Galen waited. “Go sit.”
As she took a chair across from Galen, Vance took a soda from the small refrigerator, opened it, and set the can on the coffee table in front of her.
“Thank you.” Okay, confession time. Rhodes had already told them—God, she just bet he’d told them—but she needed to also. “Some of the Shadowlands Masters learned I’m working undercover. It’s my fault.” She started to pick up her drink and realized she couldn’t swallow past the lump in her throat. Instead she folded her hands in her lap and forced herself to meet Galen’s eyes. “I told them. By accident. But it’s still my fault. I—”
“Stop,” Galen said, holding up a hand. “I’m not sure I understand your logic. You have a dom, one experienced enough that Zachary Grayson trusts him with the Shadowlands trainees. He strings you up, drives you straight into subspace, and asks you questions. Why the hell do you think that’s your fault?”
“But—”
“Shut up and drink your soda.” Galen’s baritone was actually kind.
“You don’t blame me?”
“You’ve played a brat too long, Renard. What did I tell you to do?”
Oh hell, that answered one question. The guy was definitely a dom. She picked up the can and took a tiny sip.
Standing behind the couch, Vance leaned his forearms on the back cushions. “Gabrielle, the sole reason we accepted you as a decoy is because you’re submissive. You had no defenses against a determined master like Marcus Atherton.” He fixed her with a level gaze. “Am I clear? We don’t blame you in the least.”
She let out the breath that she’d held since…oh, since the day Rhodes went ballistic.
Galen’s brows drew together. “You figured we’d fire you?”
“Seemed logical.”
Vance’s blue eyes turned hard. “Rhodes is an asshole. He had the contacts to get him assigned to this case and plays the game well enough we can’t justify yanking him off, but do us the courtesy of not thinking we’re complete idiots.”
A gasp of laughter escaped her, and both men grinned.
“Much better.” Galen leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “We didn’t ask you here today to ream you out. Quite the opposite. Gabrielle, are you willing to return to the Shadowlands?”
That was so far from what she’d expected that her head spun. “I will. You know I will, but Master Marcus—he knows. He knows I’ve lied to him and been faking it all.”
Vance tilted his head. “Personally I’d say you only fake about fifty percent. What do you think, Galen?”
“I think sixty-forty, with the weight on the sassy side.”
Her mouth dropped open, and then she glared.
Vance chuckled. “You win. There’s more brat there than fifty percent.”
“And that’s not funny. Did you hear what I said?” Gabi crossed her arms over her chest, less to appear confident than to conceal her trembling hands. “Marcus won’t tolerate me coming back, and even if he did, I don’t want to…to do anything with him. Ever.” She’d trusted him, and he’d taken advantage of her. She shook her head and tried to keep her mind on the subject. “Besides, the other Masters know also.”
“It’s all right,” Vance said. “Z explained it all. The Masters aren’t stupid, and they understand why we kept your identity secret. It won’t be easy for them now. They’ll have to fight back the need to protect you, not punish you.”
Galen interjected, “But they swore to do their best.” The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Not the most reassuring thing in the world for you to hear, I’m afraid.”
Go back. Be terrified of a kidnapper. Be punished.
Be with Marcus. Her hands curled into tight balls of dissent. He’d seen her at her most vulnerable and taken advantage of it.
“I’ll go to a different dom?” Could she bear having someone else in charge of her? She bowed her head, watching her knuckles tighten. I don’t have a choice. She’d woken before dawn covered in sweat from another nightmare about Kim being whipped. Her screams had dug into Gabi’s mind until she could hear them echoing off the walls of her apartment.
A tap sounded on the door, and she raised her head.
Galen glanced at his watch. “Damn lawyers are way too punctual.”