Cherise Sinclair - If only

“The Feds haven’t stopped. I shut down the network.” Drew shoved past him to enter the cabin.

Ellis scowled. That meant no nice fires in his future. “That sucks.” He leaned against the door, watching Drew unbuckle his pants. “What are you doing?”

“Got rid of my slave. Just in case.”

“And you didn’t call me to kill her?” Anger welled up in him.

“You only want to burn them, and I didn’t have time for that. She’s at the bottom of the ocean instead. And I’m without a fuck toy.” Drew nodded to where Slut knelt with her forehead pressed to the ground, ass in the air. “I came to use yours.”

“Whatever.”

“Thanks. And don’t break this one for a while. You’ll get no new ones until I start the network back up.”

All bad news. He wanted a fire, to sweat at its nearness, hear the roar as it caught and grew, watch the victim’s eyes widen. The struggle. The itch was under his skin, pulling at him.

“Hey guys.” Sally walked into their home office, her clothing soaked from the rain, her backpack dripping, her feet dragging. Sometimes the world just sucked. And this had been one of those days.

“You’re running late,” Vance said without looking up from the paper on which he was making notes. The classic heavy metal of Deep Purple played in the background, showing he’d lost the toss for music selection to Galen.

“It’s almost seven.” Galen turned from his computer, saw her, and narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong, imp?”

Vance spun his chair around.

She looked at them, one on each side of the room. Unsmiling, lines cut into their faces. They looked as grim as she felt. “Just a bad day.” She dropped her backpack on the floor and wrapped her arms around herself. Could she really smell death on her clothes, or was it her imagination? “I don’t think I like reality.”

“C’mere.” Vance opened his arms, and she walked into them. He tucked her down on his lap, cradling her to his big chest. Over the past few weeks, she’d come to realize he gave excellent hugs, engulfing her in the wonderful feeling of being cared for. She pressed closer and rubbed her cheek on his soft T-shirt. His clean scent erased the horrible stench from her mind…at least for a moment.

“What happened?” Galen leaned forward with his forearms on his knees, his attention completely on her. The way he so readily put aside his work to focus on her was a little disconcerting. He made her feel…special. “Sally?”

“Nothing that bad.” She sighed. “I just don’t like dead bodies. Or violence.”

Galen’s smile held sympathy. “I’ve heard police stations tend to have a bit of those.”

“So it seems.” But she had her heart set on law-enforcement support. “Maybe Illinois will be quieter. I got an interview request from a sheriff outside Chicago.”

Galen’s mouth tightened at her reply.

“So how’s your case against the Harvest Association going?” she asked, hoping to take his frown away.

Vance tilted her so he could see her face. “How do you know about that?” He glanced at the papers on his desk. “You can’t look through—”

“Oh please. I have never, ever touched your desks.” Or even hacked into their computers, which she thought entitled her to a halo, for sure. “You do realize the Shadowlands submissives always learn what’s going on. Which means the trainees eventually know.”

Vance’s smile turned rueful. “Should have known. Sorry, sweetheart, I wasn’t thinking. You’re not the kind of person to sneak.”

Oh, that hurt. Under the guise of being insulted, she pushed to her feet. God help her if they found out she’d snapped pictures of documents on Dan’s desk. But that had been different, after all. Her name had been on those papers. “So, can you tell me anything?”

“Although this isn’t classified, you may not discuss it with anyone.” Galen gave her a stern look.

“No problem.”

“We’re in a foul mood because the activity in the Northeast territory has halted. Accounts we were monitoring have been closed.”

“They stopped?” she asked. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Vance took her hands. “We wanted to arrest the ringleaders, not have them go to ground like hunted foxes. The chances of finding them went down; the search will take longer.”

“Oh.” The bastard who killed that nice cop wouldn’t pay for it? And he’d start running auctions again. Anger flared inside her. “That would make anyone mad.” She twisted and squeezed Vance around the waist, wanting to give some comfort back. The way his arms tightened around her said he’d needed a hug.

When he released her, she glanced at Galen and saw, beneath the impassive look, a hint of longing. He didn’t offer affection as readily, but she was slowly learning he needed her touch…as much as she needed his. With a small smile, she walked across the room, pulled him to his feet, and wrapped her arms around him.

His hug was long and grateful. Yes, he’d needed her care. Both Feds were driven, but Galen didn’t put the job aside as well as Vance did. She could almost feel the cuts in Galen’s soul.

His arms loosened, but before he let her go, he murmured against her hair, “Thank you, pet.”

As she stepped back, he glanced down. His shirtsleeves were wet where they’d contacted her wet clothing. “You’re soaked. Go shower and get into dry clothing.”

“I’m fi—”

He jerked his head, back in his nonhuggable Dom mode. “Go.”

Sheesh. A few nasty words nearly escaped her…until she met his darker-than-night gaze, and the words turned to smoke and dissipated as she walked away, managing—barely—not to stomp her feet. Bossy. Why sometimes she adored a bossy Dom and sometimes she hated one wasn’t exactly clear. Why Galen could give her a rush of lust and still make her feel like kicking him wasn’t clear either.

She picked up her backpack and glanced at Vance. He was laughing.

Bastards, the both of them.

She trotted up the curving stairs and detoured to the end of the hall. To Galen’s bedroom. He liked antiques and dark wood. The cream-colored walls held paintings of lighthouses on the New England coastline.

His bed was covered with a burgundy-colored satin quilt and felt like clouds, she knew. The time she’d brought him up a gooey chocolate-chip cookie just out of the oven, he’d eaten the treat, tossed her on the bed, and thanked her in a very…carnal…fashion.

She pulled in a breath. What that man could do with his mouth…

Focus, girl.

Galen kept his toy bag in a carved chest at the foot of his bed. The anal plugs were there, she knew, since they still occasionally “prepped” her beforehand.

Soooo… Her own backpack held colored markers. On the slimmest purple anal plug, she used her silver marker to draw a smiling face. Yeah, just like Happy from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.

For the ridged black anal plug, Sleepy seemed like a good pick. Her silver marker drew a slack face with half-closed eyes. The clear blue plug got Doc’s big nose and tiny glasses. The oversize flesh-tone and cock-shaped one soon boasted a scowly face for the dwarf named Grumpy.

“Wonder how long it’ll take him to notice?”

Would he recognize the dwarfs? She grinned. Considering how he’d teased her about her collection of Disney films, he very well might.

Mood lightened, she took a hot shower, scrubbing energetically and washing her hair to try to erase the prickling feeling that seeing violence left on her skin.

Once out, she donned old jeans and a soft pale blue top—no red colors today, thank you—and skipped the bra as well. Want comfort. The Doms wouldn’t mind. They liked seeing her comfortable…and they’d never had a problem making her change.

She smiled. She liked knowing they wouldn’t hold back when they wanted something. Somehow it reduced all sorts of anxiety. But they didn’t play the Dom card all the time—not like Frank. They made sure she knew she had boundaries, but not so much that she felt as if she were on a choke chain.

Actually, despite the stress from the Assholyation case, they’d been very careful with her. Sweet and thoughtful. She stood in her pretty pale blue and ivory bedroom, which they’d filled with her belongings brought from her apartment. Her colorful pillows brightened the room…and drove the men crazy because they had to toss them off the bed.

They kept buying her things. Like the rich blue fuzzy robe Vance had bought her after finding her old bloodstained one in the trash. On the bedside tables were stained-glass lamps from Galen because she’d mentioned she liked to read in bed.

Thinking of the anal plugs, Sally bit her lip. She really was an ungrateful bitch, wasn’t she?

Needing a way to show her gratitude, she pulled her laptop out. After booting it up, she checked her e-mail, going through the Scum Sucker folder slowly.

She sat back and pursed her lips. Well. G and V were right. Over the past few weeks, she’d managed to infect only three managers. All three had been contacted by someone even higher. The High Muckety-muck had ordered them to shut down and wipe their files. The Harvest Association was going on hiatus.

She glared at the screen. Well, didn’t that suck?

Now what? The infected managers had replied to the High Muckety-muck, and, unless the boss’s fire wall and antivirus program was brilliant, his e-mail system was the proud possessor of her virus. She’d reached the top and hadn’t a clue what to do about it. Tracing him back to who he really was might be more than she’d planned. But her Feds were unhappy.

And an ex-student like her who was no longer inundated with homework had an awful lot of spare time, right?

She grinned. And, just for the hell of it, sent the three managers’ e-mail addresses to the New York police station.

* * *

Their little subbie was in a better mood, Vance saw, as she entered the kitchen. Dressed in one of the soft tops he and Galen had picked up, she looked incredibly cuddly. The slight tilt of her nose made her seem younger than her real age, and her wavy hair rippled across her shoulders. Glock lay in her arms, furry chin resting in the curve of her elbow.

“You look as if you’re about five with a teddy bear,” he said. Except for the way other parts of her bounced as well. Fuck, he loved her breasts.

Dimple flashing, she sniffed in a derogatory way. He was pleased to see her eyes clear and free of shadows. “Whatcha making? It smells good.”

Vance glanced at the long windows running over the sink and dishwasher. The solar lights around the covered porch, down the sidewalk to the dock, were dimmed by the heavy rain. Lightning flashes illuminated the whitecaps on the small black lake. “Seemed like a good night for tomato soup and grilled cheese.” He started to set the fixings out on the island.

After putting Glock down and washing her hands, Sally perched on a leather-topped stool. “What can I do?”

Vance smiled, enjoying her. There wasn’t a lazy bone in her curvy body, and he was experienced enough to appreciate that. Aside from some defensive responses ingrained in childhood, the little sub didn’t back away from anything—not work, not arguments, not sex, not laughter. “If you put together the sandwiches, I’ll grill them.”

“Got it.” She started cutting cheese. “What will you and Galen do if you can’t find the Association jerks?”

He put a shred of cheese between Glock’s paws. After a sniff displaying his opinion of the inadequate offering, the cat took a delicate bite. Fussy feline. “We’ll try awhile longer, but soon we’ll have to put it on the back burner and start working a caseload here in Tampa.”

“Is that good?”

Now that was a tough question. He took the sandwich from her and put it in the skillet. The butter sizzled, sending up a savory fragrance to join that of the soup. “Probably. Galen might take time off and have knee surgery.” Before too long, they both might need to look at where their careers should go.

“Definitely surgery.” Galen limped through the kitchen door and sat down beside Sally with a huffed groan. “I’m ready.”

Vance shook his head, turning back to the stove. Odd to come to love the idiot like the brother he never had. It drove him nuts not to be able to fix his pain, to take the tightness from Galen’s voice.

As if she’d followed his thoughts, Sally glanced between them. Her dimples showed again. “You know, I thought you guys were gay at first.”