by Chloe Lang
Doms of Destiny, Colorado 3
Mastered by Mavericks
Officer Nicole Flowers gets a call from a sheriff in Destiny who sends her on quest to find out the source of all her recent troubles. The truth she doesn’t know is her new struggles aren’t new but were born in her dark past.
When Nicole arrives in Destiny to do a little personal detective work, everything changes after she meets two cowboys—Sawyer and Reed Coleman. Though resistant to the sheriff’s insistence for the two to be her bodyguards, intrigued, she finally agrees.
Sawyer can see the beautiful policewoman has been carrying a heavy load of guilt, though Nicole’s unwilling to share much about it. Reed is immediately blown away by Nicole. Her presence awakens feelings inside him he’s never experienced before and isn’t sure he’s ready to face.
Unseen danger surrounds this trio. Will they be able to overcome past guilt and crushing sorrows and cling to each other in time, or will evil find them first?
Note: There is no sexual relationship or touching for titillation between or among siblings.
Genre: BDSM, Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Western/Cowboys
Length: 61,649 words
MASTERED BY MAVERICKS
Doms of Destiny, Colorado 3
Chloe Lang
MENAGE EVERLASTING
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting
MASTERED BY MAVERICKS
Copyright © 2013 by Chloe Lang
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62740-132-6
First E-book Publication: June 2013
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
Dear Readers,
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DEDICATION
This one is for Sophie Oak, Liz Berry, Chloe Vale, Shayla Black, Lexi Blake, and Lanae LeMore for all the love and support each of you continually give me.
I truly love you, ladies.
We’re overdue for our three-margarita lunch.
How about we try for Friday at our favorite spot?
MASTERED BY MAVERICKS
Doms of Destiny, Colorado 3
CHLOE LANG
Copyright © 2013
Chapter One
Gut tightening and fingers shaking, Nicole Flowers held the phone to her ear.
“Hello, this is Sheriff Jason Wolfe.” The man’s voice was deep and authoritative, but she didn’t give a damn how he sounded.
“And this is Officer Flowers of Chicago, Sheriff,” she snapped. “Apparently you already know me, but I don’t know you.”
There was a pause on the other end and then an, “Ah.”
“I just left my commander’s office. I’m on suspension indefinitely because of you.” Trouble always did like knocking on her door. “Why do you have it in for me?”
“Do you remember filing the missing persons report on Katherine White, officer?” the sheriff of Destiny, Colorado, asked.
“I do.” It had been almost three months since she’d filed the report. Why was it coming up now? She chose her words carefully, knowing well how they could be twisted against her.
According to her mustached, asshole boss, her suspension began immediately. She should be clearing out her desk and heading for her apartment right now, but not before she looked through the database for the file Wolfe had used against her.
Hearing the sheriff on the other end brought the memory of her downfall to the forefront of her thoughts. Had it only been twenty-four months? Yes, though it felt more like several dark decades. In two days, it would be exactly two years to the date since the disaster. Another twelve days after that and her four-year service anniversary would arrive.
Two good years. Two bad years. Quite the resume.
Ancient melancholy oozed through every fiber of her being. Her past debacle was always cued up in her head for replay. An odd glance, a partially heard comment, or a pending peer review and the projector would fire up and play the movie in her mind again and again.
“Flowers? You still there?”
“Yes, Sheriff,” she said, softening her tone. “Give me a second to pull this up.”
The sheriff wasn’t going to let go of this, and even though that had led to her suspension, she had to appreciate his ethics. That could mean trouble for her, which she definitely didn’t need especially given her current status in the station. Quite a change from the legacy she’d inherited.
Her great-great-grandfather, Horatio Flowers, was one of the first Chicago police officers killed in the line of duty in the late 1800s. His youngest son Jeremiah Flowers, who had been only one at the time of Horatio’s death, had joined the force years later. Jeremiah had three sons, one of them being Nicole’s grandfather. All three became police officers with Chicago PD. Each, in their own way, had added to the family’s legacy, but her grandfather had lifted the Flowers name even more, earning a slew of department citations, medals, and ribbons, including the Carter Harrison/Lambert Tree Medal for his act of bravery in a 1980s sh
ootout between rival gangs in Cabrini-Green.
Skipping a generation, Nicole had been the pride of her granddad when she’d put on her badge. Thankfully, he’d died without ever knowing the black mark she’d put on her family’s name because of one particular chain of events she couldn’t seem to escape.
“Did you take the information down or did someone else?” Wolfe’s question pulled her back from her thoughts. His voice was professional, but there was obvious aggravation in his terse tone.
The truth was it was Jaris who had given her the report to log into the system. Jaris—her former partner. God, she missed having a beat almost as much as she hated sitting at this desk. Everyone at the precinct loved Jaris—the polar opposite of how they felt about her. Jaris was the only person besides Patti who treated her with any semblance of kindness. If it weren’t for him, she would’ve likely lost her badge completely.
“The investigating officer’s name should be in the report, Sheriff.”
“It isn’t. Just your name.”
That’s odd.
To free her hand, she tilted her head so that the phone’s receiver could stay in place between the side of her face and her shoulder. She typed on the keyboard to bring up an image of the report on her computer monitor.
The digital copy of the paper record filled her screen. Under her breath she cursed, seeing the investigating officer’s field was empty. The only name from the station listed on the page was Nicole’s as the police clerk. She’d scanned it into the system. She was a desk cop now. That was her job. How many reports had she filed in the last two years? Thousands? Tens of thousands? She should’ve noticed the error and brought it back to Jaris to correct, but she hadn’t.
This is totally my fault, just like always. I should have checked. That’s my job. As per normal, she felt like a total idiot. Her mistake had led to her suspension. But her commander had made it clear that it was much more than a clerical error that had put her in this awful situation.
“Officer Flowers, please enlighten me on why this report shows Katherine White as married to a man named Sergei, which is false. Ms. White is single.”
Damn. This wasn’t what she needed. The commander had to love this. He’d been looking over her shoulder for any bungle that he could use against her. This mistake had gotten her suspended. If anything else was uncovered during the investigation, it might end in her being off the force for good.
What then?
She was a cop. That was all she knew. It was all she had left after everything. It was the only thing that defined her. It made life bearable, if only slightly.
Sergei? The name sounded so familiar. Why? “Are you certain the woman isn’t married?”
“Very certain, officer,” Wolfe declared.
“It might be a typo, Sheriff. That does happen.”
“Pretty big typo for Chicago PD, don’t you think? A typo that ended in a body count of seven in my town. What do you think about that, Flowers? Sergei’s last name wasn’t White, and he wasn’t married to Kathy.”
Shit. This was bad. “Have you talked to the guy himself, Sheriff? He might have the answers you’re looking for.”
“He’s one of the seven. Doubt if he has anything to say.”
“His last name was?” She held her breath while she waited for the answer.
“Mitrofanov.”
Slippery slopes seemed to find her no matter how hard Nicole tried to avoid them.
Sergei Mitrofanov. No wonder his first name had sounded so familiar to her.
The creep had been brought in for a drug possession charge six months ago. Of course, lots of creeps came through the station for the same kind of charge, but that one had been different for several reasons.
One, Sergei was the son of Niklaus Mitrofanov, a Russian mafia kingpin in South Chicago. Internal Affairs was presently on a witch hunt to flush out all the dirty cops in the department on Niklaus’s payroll.
Two, less than twenty-four hours after his arrest, Sergei had been released because the evidence had been misplaced from the station, which resulted in a total mess for her and Henry Underwood, her grandfather’s last partner and protégé. Henry had been a rookie back then, but later became her own mentor when she’d joined the force. They were both being scrutinized by Internal Affairs for the mishap. She was the station’s administrator for all paperwork, which included cataloging incoming evidence. Henry had taken the job of managing the station’s evidence locker six months ago to knock out the remainder of his time until retirement. Though he missed his beat, Henry’s knees were shot. But Henry’s golden years were on the line. They both needed to be cleared of any wrongdoing in the Sergei Mitrofanov case soon. If not, they might get suspended or worse—lose their badges.
Three, and the final thing that tied this horrible package up with a nasty little bow, the arresting officers that had brought in Sergei were Nicole’s only two friends left in the station—Patricia Edmonds and Jaris Simmons. Patti and Jaris.
Navigating this mess might be more than Nicole could handle. Internal Affairs had already been a constant thorn in the district’s side since Mitrofanov’s release. Who could she talk to about what the sheriff was telling her? Normally, she would say Jaris, but now she wasn’t so sure, especially given what she was reading in the report on the screen. It had come from him, a man she trusted. He’d pulled her out of some very hot water on more than one occasion. He had her back. Always. Didn’t he still? She believed he did.
Should she talk to someone in IA about Wolfe’s findings on the Katherine White missing person’s case? She wasn’t sure that would be a good idea since it was rumored that a few of them had been bought. Besides, would her word have any credence given her own record? No. It didn’t matter anyway. Her commander probably was already on the horn with the higher-ups about this.
There was a contact number listed on the form.
“Hold on, Sheriff.” She put him on hold and dialed the number.
It rang three times and then the voice mail picked up. “This is Sergei.” The dead man’s voice had the Russian accent she remembered from the day he’d been booked.
She clicked it off and looked around the station, which was quiet for a Friday night. She was about to punch the red flashing button to bring the sheriff back on the line when Patti and Jaris walked back in from their smoke break. Funny, since only Patti still smoked. Jaris had quit three years ago, but he had told Nicole he still loved the smell of a freshly lit cigarette.
Patti was tall for a female, nearly six feet, but looked small next to Jaris’s six-five, muscular stature. Both were in uniform. He took off his hat, revealing his thick blond hair. Patti did the same, and her mane of dark locks fell to her shoulders.
Should I trust them? God knew she wanted to, but trust didn’t come easy for her. IA thought there were dirty cops inside the station, and she was beginning to believe they might be right. With her suspension in play, she could finally take some of her built-up leave the commander had been pushing her to use. She’d refused, afraid of being away from the station, afraid of facing temptation, afraid of being alone. Was this the opportunity to do some real police work she’d been looking for?
“Sheriff, do you know where Kathy White is now?”
“Here in Destiny. Why?” he asked.
“Just getting all the facts straight.” She needed to clear her name of this screwup. Talking to Ms. White might be a good start. The woman might know more about the Mitrofanov family than the sheriff believed. Why else would Sergei have somehow gotten his name on the report as White’s husband? A few questions about any cross associates of the woman might eventually lead Nicole back to her station and the ties that the Russian had there.
If she succeeded, she might also be able to clear Henry’s name, identify the officers who’d been on the receiving end of the Mitrofanov family, and give her own record a much needed boost.
But what if Jaris was at the center of the whole mess? Jaris was a friend. Better for h
er to find out before Internal Affairs did. She would give him the same favor he’d given her. It was the least she could do for Jaris.
When Patti waved at her, she punched the hold button.
“Are you there, Sheriff?” she asked.
“I am.”
“I’ll be in Destiny tomorrow.”
Chapter Two
Nicole couldn’t believe she was in danger, but Sheriff Jason Wolfe, his deputy, the former CIA agent, and the Russian guy had made quite the case that she might be.
“How do you know that?” she asked the dark-eyed man. “By your own words, you’ve been on several shit lists since leaving your old life. Who in the mob would still be talking to you?”
Alexei Markov shrugged. “Many peoples talk. I am friendly man. They also attempt to stab me, but luckily I am hard to kill.” The enormous bear of a man leaned forward. “I would not to be steering you in misdirection.”
And the big guy still seemed to be struggling with English.
Wearing sunglasses indoors, Dylan Strange, the former federal agent, turned to him. “When do you head back to Bliss?”
A brilliant smile came over the Russian’s face. “Now. I am missing my heart’s sweet. But do not to be worrying, I am working on idea to flush out badgers in Flower’s station in Chicago.”
“Badgers?”
Strange covered a grin. “I think he means moles.”
“Badgers are better. You smoke badger from hole and badger tries to kill. Mole is just ugly. I do not understand why to call it mole.” He sighed. “It’s all right. I will teach you better ways.”