Tymber Dalton - Safe Harbor

It had felt damn good walking away and leaving her standing there in shock.

He grinned.

He felt a little guilty testing the waters when Mac returned home the next evening, telling him that she had shown up and watching Mac’s face to see what he thought. The joyful thrill that ran through him when Mac looked scared before he clamped down on it, and then Mac’s relief when Sully reassured him and repeated the conversation.

The more eager than usual way Mac begged to be used that night once they went to bed.

No, he’d never get rid of Mac for Cybil or anyone else, for that matter.

He turned back to his laptop and tried to write.

* * *

About an hour before Jason’s scheduled arrival, Mac walked into Sully’s office and quietly closed the door behind him. “How do you want to handle this?” he asked.

“Tell her a friend and his wife are coming for dinner. Don’t tell her he’s a cop yet.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

Mac frowned. “I’m not lying to her.”

“How is that lying?”

“Not telling her he’s a cop. She’ll never trust me again.”

Sully swore under his breath. Mac was right. “Where is she?”

“She’s watching TV in the living room.”

Sully stood, pushed past Mac, and silently swore again at her startled flinch when he entered the room. He offered a smile.

“Sweetie, a friend of mine and his wife are coming over for dinner tonight.”

She’d been channel surfing. At his words, she put down the remote and started to stand. “Okay, I’ll just eat in my room.”

“No, honey, that’s not what I meant. I want you to meet them.” He sat in one of the other chairs. “He’s my former partner. I want you to talk to him, tell him what happened.”

He hated that her scared rabbit look returned. She shook her head.

“No, that’s okay. Mac can run me over to Uncle Tad’s—”

“Clarisse.” Mac’s stern voice from behind Sully startled him. He glanced over his shoulder, but Mac’s gaze had focused on her.

“Honey, Jason is a good guy. He’s going to help us nail that son of a bitch to the fucking wall. I promise.”

She’d gone white, like she teetered on the edge of another breakdown. At Mac’s firm tone, she hesitantly nodded. “Okay,” she softly said.

“Good girl,” Mac soothed, moving to sit next to her on the couch.

Sully watched them for a moment before he quietly left the room and returned to his office. He shut the door behind him. Even through the door he could hear them eventually moving to the kitchen and the sound of pots and pans rattling, the aroma of cooking food drifting to him.

Her laugh.

Since getting together with Mac, he’d never felt deep fear over the possibility of losing him.

Until now.

He closed his eyes. Despite their dynamic, Mac could come and go as he pleased. If Mac fell hard and fast for this girl, he couldn’t—

wouldn’t—stop him from leaving.

Even if it ripped his soul out in the process.

* * *

Jason and Katie arrived right on time. Katie was a sweet, soft-spoken librarian. Sully had seen her charm a roomful of rambunctious, sugar-high ten-year-olds without raising her voice. He had no doubt she could relax Clarisse.

Clarisse hovered around Mac, almost using him as a human shield. Sully would have found it amusing except he knew how terrified she felt.

Mac artfully seated her between himself and Katie. As their meal progressed with no mention of taking her statement, Sully watched Clarisse relax. When they finished, before Mac could stand to clear the table, Sully stood. “You all talk. I’ll do the dishes.”

Mac shot him a glare but didn’t argue. They moved out to the living room where Sully listened while Jason carefully steered her toward the events of the attack. As they talked, Sully sneaked a peek.

Jason had taken out a notepad and jotted information as she quietly related what happened. By the time Jason and Katie were ready to leave, Clarisse had marginally relaxed again.

Sully escorted his friends downstairs, leaving Mac with Clarisse.

Both Jason and Katie looked angry.

Jason blew out a deep breath. “Goddamn, that poor kid’s totally fucked up.” Jason and Katie had a daughter just a few years older than Clarisse.

“You see why I had you come over.”

“She can stay with us if she’d be more comfortable,” Katie offered.

“Thanks, Katie. I’ll pass that on, but from one cop’s house to another, she’ll still be frightened. She’s latched onto Mac.”

“How about I take her out to dinner one evening when she’s feeling better? Girls’ night out?”

“That would be good for her. Thanks.”

They said good-bye. When Sully returned upstairs, Mac was sullenly cleaning up what Sully had missed in the kitchen. “Where is she?”

“She went to bed.” He threw down the dishtowel and turned on Sully, but before he could lay into him, Sully held up a hand.

“Brant, listen to me. She needs to come first. Don’t hassle me on this. She’s going to be taking over some of your chores anyway, so what difference does it make if it’s me or her doing them?”

He started to reply, then dropped his gaze. “That’s different. It’s not right you doing stuff. You’re my Master. It’s my job.”

Jesus, I so don’t need this tonight.

Bless his heart, Mac was pretty set in his way, had his oddly skewed sense of duty and pride when it came to protocols. “You have to take care of her first and foremost. Do what’s best for her. Your job is what I tell you it is. Quit topping from the bottom, goddammit.”

He couldn’t have slapped Mac and elicited the same shocked look.

Mac bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Master,” he quietly said.

“Good. I did leave you stuff to finish, by the way.” He stalked to his office, quietly closed the door, and locked it after thinking about it. His nerves were on edge, partly from Clarisse’s tension throughout the meal, partly from Mac’s unwillingness to back the fuck off protocol. He understood why it was so important to Mac. The income disparity aside, Mac seriously considered it his job to take care of him. It made Mac feel like a failure when he didn’t do it. Sully totally got that.

It didn’t mean that it didn’t exasperate him, especially considering the situation.

Around their normal bedtime, he heard Mac try the office door knob. That was a clear, silent sign to Mac that he wanted to be left alone.

He put his headphones on, cranked his MP3 player, and wrote until nearly four in the morning, until words swam across his laptop screen and he spent more time correcting errors than he did typing.

When he opened his office door, he nearly tripped over Mac. The man had fallen asleep sitting in the hall, his head resting against the wall.

On one hand, it irritated Sully. On the other, it warmed him. If a third hand were available, it would have been holding a bucketful of guilt that Mac had spent all those hours waiting for him. He should have anticipated it and ordered him to bed.

He knelt beside him and touched Mac’s chin. Mac’s eyes snapped open.

“Hey, buddy,” Sully whispered, hoping they didn’t wake Clarisse.

“Ready for bed?”

Mac nodded and followed Sully to their room. Within minutes, they were in bed and Mac was already dozing again. Where Sully thought he’d fall asleep immediately, he found his troubled mind wandering. Mac was a strong man, a tough man, but whenever he felt emotionally vulnerable his slave side took over, sometimes to an annoying degree.

Mac didn’t like to talk about his feelings even though he was a sensitive man. He preferred to present a solid, silent, stoic façade to the rest of the world, a holdover from his childhood. An abusive, alcoholic father who had left his mom and the three kids when Mac was eight. Not until after he’d beaten the shit out of Mac, Betsy, and their mom plenty of times first though. Only Mac’s younger brother, Jim, escaped the abuse, born four months after David MacCaffrey’s departure.

When Sully tried to talk Mac into counseling, he’d refused. Sully didn’t want to stoop to ordering him to go because then it wouldn’t do him any good.

He drifted to sleep, trying not to think about Clarisse’s mistrustful stare.

Clarisse didn’t hear anyone stirring when she awoke early Tuesday morning. The dinner had been stressful, but she really liked Jason’s wife. She found it easier to put her mistrust for Sully and Jason aside, but it would take some time.

Intellectually, she knew her mistrust was neither warranted nor fair, considering they’d been nothing but nice to her.

Especially considering what Sully had done for Uncle Tad.

Emotionally was another story. She checked herself in the bathroom mirror. Some of the bruises had faded to ugly greenish-yellow clouds on her skin instead of the deep, angry purples and blues. Her eye almost looked normal, and her lip had nearly healed.

Stripping, she turned to look in the mirror again. Along her back and thighs, those bruises were also fading—thank God—and the worst of the pain had abated. Several nights in a damn good bed without worrying about dying had helped.

After her shower, she dressed and started for the kitchen when she realized she hadn’t pulled her hair back.

Okay, so she didn’t mind doing that for Sully.

Pretty eyes. The way he’d said it…Yes, it sent a warm, sweet thrill through her that she’d never felt before.

Even though her hair hadn’t dried, she pulled it back and loosely bound it at the nape of her neck. Hell, it was the least she could do.

One simple request from a man who had twisted himself inside out to take care of her and her uncle when she’d done nothing but mistrust him.

At the very least, she owed him this simple gesture until she felt more comfortable calling him friend.

The house sat dark and quiet. She guessed the men must still be asleep. Having spotted where Mac kept the coffee and filters, she fixed a pot and walked downstairs to get the paper while it brewed.

She shivered in the chilly air and wished she’d put on more than jeans and a T-shirt. Not quite six-thirty, the neighborhood lay still and quiet around her.

There were worse places to live. Far worse. She felt guilty she had uprooted the men’s lives and knew she’d have to save her money and get her shit together so she could get a place of her own no matter what she’d promised Uncle Tad. Wouldn’t be nearly this swanky, but as long as it had A/C and no roaches or rodents, she’d survive.

She needed a job. She couldn’t do that until she got her driver’s license changed. But to do that would put Bryan on her trail.

No car. Very little money.

She missed Bart.

The last thought finished her. She sat on the bottom step and cried with her head in her hands. That was another thing—she couldn’t control her fucking emotions! Mac had warned her to expect mood swings considering all she’d been through, but this was freaking ridiculous!

She cried for ten minutes, then angrily chastised herself to pull it together. She didn’t want to cry in front of the men, didn’t want to look like a total damn moron. After taking a deep breath, she returned upstairs with the paper but realized she still felt too unsettled to stay inside. She pulled on a sweatshirt and jacket and took the paper and a mug of coffee downstairs to sit by the seawall.

Faint tendrils of steam floated off the bayou’s calm surface. A beautiful view, very relaxing. Next to her aunt and uncle, she’d missed the water most of all when she’d to moved to Ohio. There was nothing more beautiful than a quiet morning on the water, watching the world come to life. Plenty of times Uncle Tad had let her sleep alone on the Dilly in the marina. She’d claimed it was so she could sleep a little later in the mornings before a trip. The truth was she didn’t know how to explain, without feeling like an idiot, how the water calmed her. Soothing. The sound of the rigging chiming as the boat rocked in its slip, the calls of seagulls, the deep, warm throb of the engines, all of it.

No words could adequately describe it.

The paper lay unread in her lap as she sipped her coffee and stared across the bayou. Beyond it lay the Gulf. She’d love to work on the Dilly again. Hard work, sure, but nothing compared. Being stuck on dry land in Ohio made her miserable. When her parents told her of the move she’d sobbed, begged to stay behind. Uncle Tad and Aunt Karen had offered to let her live with them and finish high school, but her mom stood her ground, not wanting to be away from her “baby.”