Cherise Sinclair - If only

“You don’t know—”

“Jesus, bro, I lost a partner in a takedown. Been through the if-I’d-only-moved-faster remorse. Had a partner turn into an alcoholic. Been through the if-only-I’d-been-more-supportive remorse. We all feel guilty about shit we could’ve done better. The rest of the world gets past it.”

Galen stood. Considered smashing his fist into that sarcastic mouth.

Vance’s gaze met his. “It’s time to move on, Galen. You’ve hung on your guilt too long.”

Maybe. But the past didn’t just disappear. Neither did worries over someone’s safety. Galen closed his eyes and exhaled. But others made it through to the other side. Time to man up. “Anything else you want to get off your chest,” he asked in a dry voice.

Vance grinned and leaned his hip against the desk. “Long as we’re being all girlie here, yeah.” He crossed his arms again. “We live together. Top together. Co-Dom when there’s a sub in the house. Always figured we’d co-husband together if we found someone.”

Fuck. “You get any more in touch with your feminine side, and you’ll need tampons.”

Vance’s lips quirked. “Yeah, well…” His voice changed into the tone he used to coax information from suspects and submissives. “Can you trust me enough to share your idea of the future?” He waited.

Fucking Dom manipulative techniques were fucking effective.

Galen paced across the room and stared out the window. The glossy hibiscus shrub boasted a wealth of flashy red trumpet flowers…and they’d wilt away by late afternoon.

No lasting power.

He scowled at the bush. When he’d joined the FBI, no one mentioned one of his enemies could be his own mind. But he’d never backed away from a fight before. Wouldn’t start now. And he’d win this one.

So. Although he still wouldn’t mind putting a fist in the pushy bastard’s face, Vance deserved an answer.

Galen sighed. If he could conquer his worry and guilt, then…then, he could think of nothing better than living in the future with Sally. With Vance at his side.

Ayuh.

He turned and looked his partner in the eye. “Being the older husband, I expect to name our first kid.”

A few hours later, Galen followed his partner through the back gate into Z’s private gardens. A distant rumbling made him look up. The air was muggy, and black clouds piled up like skyscrapers on the western horizon. Yeah, it was almost June. The afternoon thunderstorm season had started. Getting drenched would be a fitting end to a dismal day.

They still hadn’t found Sally.

Since she didn’t carry much cash, they figured she’d holed up with a friend, and so they’d called the trainees. No luck. Tried the Shadowlands submissives, one by one. Good thing that grad school had limited the imp’s social time or they’d have been calling every female in her university.

They’d gone through the entire list of Shadowkittens without success.

Then Z had called after hearing from the other Masters. Although Jessica was home, she hadn’t mentioned receiving their voice mail.

Yeah, she knew something.

“Think Jessica will tell us where Sally went?” Vance asked as they walked across the veranda.

“Not a chance.” That little banty hen had a rep for defending the submissives. She was as protective in her way as Z was in his, so coaxing information out of her might be tricky.

Jessica lived with Z on the Shadowlands mansion’s third floor, and by the time he reached the top, Galen’s knee hurt like a son of a bitch.

Z opened the door to their knock. “Gentlemen.” Dressed in black jeans and a loose black shirt, he led them through the kitchen, the dining room, and into the living room. The light from arched windows streamed over the creamy walls, the dark red carpet, and glinted off Jessica’s long golden hair. Curled in a corner of the leather couch, she stared at them with wary eyes. The determined tilt of her chin was worrisome.

Vance lifted an eyebrow at Galen, showing he recognized they were dealing with a hostile subject.

As Vance leaned against the stone fireplace, Galen picked up a ladder-back chair from the dining area and set it next to the couch. Inside her comfort zone.

Wisely staying out of the kill zone, Z took a chair at the other end of the couch and leaned back with his fingers steepled on his stomach. From his reserved expression, he’d intervene if he felt they were overstepping their bounds. And during the phone call, he’d made those bounds quite clear.

Galen straddled the chair, resting his forearms on the back. After giving Jessica a smile that wasn’t returned, he asked gently, “Did Sally tell you what happened?”

Her mouth opened. Her eyes narrowed as she recognized the trap. This wasn’t a submissive who would lie to—or in front of—her Dom, so she couldn’t say, I haven’t seen her. But she would have no problem with evasions. “I’m sorry, but I believe conversations between friends are private.”

“Jessica, we’re worried about her,” Vance said, forcing her to split her attention between them. “Our lakeshore drive isn’t a safe area for a woman on foot at night. Can you, at least, tell us if you picked her up?”

“I don’t want to talk with you.” Her mouth turned mulish.

“I think that was a fair question, kitten,” Z murmured.

“Dammit,” she muttered and glared at Vance. “Yes, I picked her up. But she’s not anywhere on Shadowlands’ property. And she’s safe.”

Thank God. The tension in Galen’s chest eased slightly. Jessica wouldn’t say that unless she was sure. “Thank you, pet.”

“That’s all you’re going to get from me, even if he lets you beat me. You made her cry.”

The verbal hit sliced into Galen’s heart like a knife. “I did. And I’d like to apologize to her and make amends. Won’t you help us find her?”

“No. I won’t.” The glance she cast at Z was antagonistic. “No matter what he does.”

Oh hell. Now he’d caused trouble between two people he liked very much. The exhaustion weighing Galen down was joined by frustration and a goodly amount of despair. Everything he’d done in the last twenty-four hours had gone wrong.

But he could start by fixing this. Maybe.

He glanced at Vance and saw his partner was willing to let him take a stab at it. “Jessica. I’m sorry. Sorry if we created trouble between you two. Z is our friend, and he was trying to help us, much as you helped Sally. I’ve never met a more loyal man.”

Her gaze dropped.

“You can be angry at us, because we—I—hurt Sally, but Z is trapped like you, right in the middle. Please don’t be upset with him.”

When her lips trembled, Galen felt her unhappiness like another blow. He pushed to his feet. “We’re leaving.”

Vance walked over to crouch in front of Jessica. “You’re a good friend, sweetie. Sally is lucky to have you.”

She glanced at him and Galen. “You two are pretty effective, aren’t you? No wonder she had trouble resisting you.”

Galen’s spirits lifted slightly. Hopefully she still would.

Vance patted Jessica’s knee. “With such good friends, I’m surprised she’s not staying with one of you.”

“Well, she felt—” Jessica caught herself, and this time Vance received the you’re-a-cockroach-that-needs-to-be-squashed glare.

But the good-guy trick had worked. If Sally was at a friend’s, Jessica would probably have said, But she—rather than starting an explanation.

The imp might or might not be in town, but she wasn’t with one of her buddies.

Galen’s eyes narrowed. Just how far would Jessica go to help her buddy? He’d checked on Sally’s credit card…but they hadn’t checked anyone else’s.

Gotcha, imp.

Vance held his hand out to Jessica, not moving until she gave him her fingers. “I’m sorry for the trick, sweetheart. But we really are worried. I don’t know if she told you, but she did something that will get her targeted by the Harvest Association. That’s what we fought about.”

Jessica’s mouth formed an O. “Sally didn’t talk about why. Just said she’d caused problems, and it was time to leave.”

“Time to leave?” They’d just see about that.

Under a blue, blue sky, the green fields of Iowa rolled out as far as the eye could see. Sally took her time, smiling at the weathered farmhouses, the occasional dog barking and racing along a fence line, the peaceful cattle grazing in pastures.

Her plane had gotten into Des Moines yesterday. She’d planned to drive straight to the farm, but after fighting back her tears and anger, she’d known she couldn’t deal with her father. Instead, she’d holed up in a hotel for a night of weeping and throwing things.

Plastic hotel glasses hurled across the room? No satisfaction in that whatsoever. And what inconsiderate jerk had replaced heavy—breakable—coffee cups with Styrofoam? To hell with them.

And to hell with the Feebs too.

They were wrong. And Galen had no right to tell her what to do.

She could hack the Harvest Association e-mails if she wanted to. And she’d started before she’d moved in with them, anyway. And she’d saved women from being kidnapped. She’d done good. She’d been a hero.

They’re just totally shortsighted dipwads.

But why did it have to end so badly? She tightened her fingers on the steering wheel and blinked back the tears. Don’t visit Father with red eyes.

Really, she was making too much of all this. She hadn’t planned to stay with the Feds, right? She didn’t want a long-term ménage. That would be insane. Sure it had been fun for a while, but obviously the while was over.