He was definitely going to vomit. And he felt oddly secure.

Would he have this weird family around him if he’d stayed in the Agency? He doubted it. He would have drifted further and further from them. He would have been forced to hide so much of his life from them that being around them would hold no meaning.

If he’d spent the last five years in the CIA, would he even know his brothers anymore? Or would Sean and Alex have drifted away, their lives meaningless to his plots? He knew himself. He didn’t lie. He’d enjoyed the plots, loved pitting himself against others in a deadly little game. He’d gotten a rush off it. He’d been a little obsessed with it.

Until he’d found something he was more obsessed with. Charlotte. Charlie.

Had she saved him from a life that held absolutely nothing but the game? He would never admit it but he loved Grace. She had rapidly become the heart of his little family. Grace and Sean and Carys. His niece. He liked the way she looked at him, with a little bit of wonder. There was nothing but pure love in his niece’s eyes, and it had cleansed him in a way.

Would he have held Carys in his hands if Charlie hadn’t found her way into his life?

Likely not. She probably wouldn’t exist because he would never have started McKay-Taggart and Sean would never have met Grace.

He didn’t like the feeling that he owed Charlie anything at all. It wasn’t like she meant to keep him from a family-less life.

“Do you want another donut?” Alex stared out, not looking at him. His hand was out, a sugary bit of confection sitting there.

He took the fucking bait. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Cool.” Alex nodded. “We can just stand.”

Ian stood with his best friend.

Maybe he wasn’t so alone.


* * * *


Charlie let the chair twist to the left and then the right. It was a big leather chair, solid and well built, like the man it belonged to.

Was it brutally pathetic of her that it had been worth it to be nearly murdered because she’d been in his arms for a few seconds? She hadn’t even thought about it, hadn’t reacted herself. She’d just trusted him.

Was he about to toss her out again? Her phone rang. She looked at the incoming number before answering. “What’s up, Chelsea?”

“Okay, it’s official. Yuri Zhukov’s in town. He’s traveling under a Polish passport, but I found the fucker.” Her sister sounded almost chipper, like finding out a highly paid Russian assassin had found them was a thing to celebrate. God, she was so tired. So fucking tired.

So at least she knew who was taking shots at her. “I’m glad you found him, but you were a little late.”

There was a pause on the line. “What happened? Fuck. The shooting downtown that turned out to be a car backfiring? That was about you?”

So that’s how Ian had played it. She’d wondered exactly how he was going to keep the cops out of it. “It wasn’t a car. I’m pretty sure it was Zhukov, but Ian took care of it.”

“How did he take care of it?”

“He threw his body over mine and then handled the cops.” Which was a really good idea because if he hadn’t, there was every likelihood that her face would have gotten into the system and the minute that happened, she would have more than Zhukov on her ass.

“We need to move,” Chelsea said.

Yes. That was the protocol. The minute they even had a hint that someone from the syndicate knew where they were, they left town. Sometimes they left the whole damn country. But she’d known the minute she’d started the St. Augustine op that she wouldn’t be leaving again. She would fix the problem and get her husband back or the fuckers could take her down. She was done. That didn’t mean Chelsea had to be. “I want you to go. Head to the islands for a while. You like it there.”

“You want me to leave you here? That’s insane. Charlotte, that man is going to get you killed.”

“That man” was right behind her. Oh, he moved silently, but she had years of practice in making sure she always knew if someone was stalking her. Her teen years had been one long lesson in always knowing her surroundings, in memorizing and cataloging anything that could help her to survive. The memory of his scent had helped her to survive these last few years. He still used the same soap, clean and masculine. She breathed it in. She turned and her heart skipped a little beat. It was still amazing to be in the same room with the gorgeous bastard. Her eyes held his as she replied to her sister.

“You’re probably right, but I’m going to take the chance. Chelsea, you knew this was where I was going. I never lied to you about what I wanted. I love you. Leave me a note if you’re heading out.” She clicked the phone off over Chelsea’s vigorous protests.

She turned it off because there was no way her sister didn’t call back.

“Your sister?”

Charlie nodded. “Yes. She thinks it was a man from my father’s syndicate.”

“Zhukov or Sobrev?”

Charlie frowned. “Zhukov. How did you know that?”

Ian shrugged a little. “Maybe I’m the one who hired him.” He set the coffee down on his desk as she gave him her best stare. “Fine. I happen to know that the syndicate has two long-term assassins they use. I made a study of your father’s organization after they became involved with my Irish operation.”

Liar. He’d made a study of her father’s syndicate after he thought they killed her. But she was going to leave him his pride. “Zhukov arrived at DFW under a Polish passport.”

Ian grunted a little. It was his preferred method of communication. She’d learned to interpret his many guttural, caveman-y sounds. This one was his agreement grunt. “Not surprising. He’s the senior of the two. They must really want you dead.”

It was time for some more honesty. “I’m surprised. I thought they would nab me, not just kill me. I know a couple of things they would probably really like to get the lowdown on.”

His eyes narrowed. “Did you steal money from the Russian fucking mafia?”

She really wished she could say she hadn’t. “I thought of it as my inheritance.”

“Goddamn it, Charlie.” When he growled at her like that she actually felt cared for. She was so fucked up.

“I could give it back. In the years since I took it, I’ve made ten times that.”

“Do I dare even ask how you managed that? Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

Because he knew her really well. Again, something that gave her hope. But she didn’t mention all the information she’d sold over the last couple of years. She’d tried to do good with it, but she wasn’t sure Ian would see it that way. She was absolutely certain that the world’s intelligence agencies didn’t see her as a force for good. She’d heard they had a code name for her—The Broker. Hopefully, Ian never had to find out about that. “Did you have a hard time with the police?”

“I have contacts. It’s fine. You’re in my chair.” Ian frowned down at her.

She gracefully stood. “Of course, Master.”

Ian tossed his big body into the chair and flipped open his laptop. “I have Simon working on who took that shot, but I need you to keep your head down. He’ll try again.”

So he wasn’t going to toss her out. Wasn’t that interesting? It would have been the easiest thing to let the police take her. Once she was in the system, it wouldn’t be long before someone came calling. There were several governments who would love to get their hands on her. He wouldn’t ever have to deal with her again. So he’d made his choice.

But then she’d made hers, too. She would deeply prefer to stay with Ian and that meant following protocol. She sank to her knees. “Yes, he will try again and likely soon. Zhukov is very impatient. I guess they’ve decided to cut their losses and take me out.”

She let her head sink onto his lap, the way she used to. He could sit for hours just petting her while he worked. It seemed to soothe him. For those hours she could let her thoughts drift because she was safe. She’d been able to daydream, and every thought had been about him.

She sighed and rubbed her cheek against his thigh and almost immediately felt his quick and sure interest.

But his whole body went utterly still, like a rattlesnake had wrapped itself around him, coiled and ready to strike. “Charlie? Would you like to tell me what you’re doing?”

Getting her husband back. “You think better with a sub at your feet.”

“I’ve never had a fucking sub at my…” Ian stopped. “You should get up now.”

He’d never had a sub at his feet but he’d had a wife there. Just her. Only her. She had to remind him just how good it could be between them. She’d noticed that he’d brought the lemon donuts in with him. He needed her. He was so rigid. He didn’t allow himself anything, not even comfort. She’d grown to truly understand this man. Despite the fact that he came off like a big bad take-nothing-from-no-one Dom, he was actually a service-oriented top. It was what no one at the club she’d met him at understood. Ian needed to serve his sub, to meet her needs before his own were met. It was why he hadn’t taken the time to explain to Grace how he liked his coffee made. If he did that, if she changed her ways for him, he would owe her. He didn’t like to owe anyone.

But he did believe in the power exchange.

“I was very scared, Mast…Ian.” She didn’t need to push at this point. She just needed him in the right frame of mind. She let her eyes drift up. His hand was moving, carrying the lemon donut to his mouth. He was enjoying the treat she’d bought for him. He would enjoy this, too, if she just phrased it in the proper way. “Could I just have a few moments? It would relax me. I feel like I’m on the verge of tears, and I know how you hate them.”