Mal beamed a smile at Juliette, which she returned wholeheartedly. Where Keith had a rather no-nonsense reputation, Malcolm was widely regarded as the more approachable of the duo. That was why Mal often took the “good cop” role when they worked together. People tended to like Malcolm, and they tended to be intimidated by Keith. As a pairing, it worked well.
Getting close to people wasn’t easy for Keith. He’d spent too much of his life practicing the art of shutting them out to shift gears and let them in. When they’d first met, Malcolm hadn’t seemed to notice Keith’s inherent unfriendliness. It had taken some time, but the man had come to occupy a place in Keith’s life that few people could ever claim to have held. He had a ton of acquaintances, and being an agent had come with automatic brotherhood, but none of that mattered to him very much without the only person he called a friend.
The state of their relationship for the past two months had cast Keith’s world into a hellish state. Juliette slid past Malcolm and squeezed his arm. Even though Keith’s actions had netted a huge bust and several breaks on other cases, since Malcolm had been subject to investigation by internal affairs, he got all the sympathy.
She closed the door on her way out, but only after turning to give Keith a warning look.
Malcolm parked his ass in the chair on the other side of Keith’s desk. He leaned back and drummed his fingers on the padded armrests. “I forgive you.”
If it were anyone else, Keith would have thrown out the sanctimonious bastard. Malcolm’s lapse in judgment—who took a time-out from an undercover assignment to argue with the woman he’d knocked up in a house they knew had state-of-the-art security?—had led to Malcolm being shot and put Darcy in danger. People who weren’t privy to all the details inevitably blamed Keith’s planning for the mess instead of realizing that his quick thinking had salvaged the operation.
However, he knew Malcolm meant what he said. Keith lifted his chin in acknowledgment. “I forgive you too.”
Mal chuckled softly. “What’d you do to Jules? She’s been muttering under her breath about you since yesterday.”
He’d been in the field conducting research. The job of a special agent never ended. “I didn’t do anything. Savannah keeps calling here.”
“Your sister?” Malcolm frowned thoughtfully. “How long has it been since you talked to her?”
Though he shrugged, he knew the answer. Subtract one month from the number of years it had been since he’d achieved sobriety. He’d given his sisters and his parents an ultimatum. He couldn’t have them in his life if they were going to continue to drink. Leaving that life behind meant leaving everything connected to it, including the people who taught him how to be an alcoholic. Of course, that worked better in theory. His mother managed to track him down every six months or so. Sometimes she wanted to know how he was doing, but usually that just meant she was calculating how much money she thought she could shake out of him. He wasn’t much of a giver, but that didn’t stop her from trying.
“Are you going to call her back?”
“Nope.” No hesitation there. He’d meant what he’d said. “I made my position clear a long time ago.”
Mal rubbed his chin. “What if she’s sober? What if she’s calling to tell you that she’s turned her life around and she wants to make amends?”
Leave it to Malcolm to poke holes in his logic. It was another reason they worked so well together. The question forced him to reconsider something he’d given up on, compartmentalized with the rest of his shattered hopes, and sealed off. It wasn’t that simple.
He knew how to play the logic game. He caught Mal’s pass and threw it back. “She’s probably calling because she’d been arrested and she wants me to help get her out of jail.”
This time, Malcolm shrugged. “You won’t know until you call her back.”
Returning the call, even just considering the idea, opened up too many wounds. Of the two evils, he’d take his mother over Savannah. Keith shook his head. “I’m done with that. I can’t get involved with that stuff again. I can’t let it destroy everything I’ve worked to achieve.”
Malcolm studied him for a long moment. Keith’s refusal hung in the air, scented with the fear and desolation he kept bottled inside. “People change, buddy. Circumstances change. If you don’t learn to forgive and move forward, then you’re the one who’s losing out. In order to have the love and relationships in your life that you deserve, sometimes you have to take risks, put yourself out there.”
Nobody else in the world could have said that and had Keith take them seriously. He didn’t come back with a quick or snappy response about how life was so much easier for Malcolm or point out that he’d just practiced the art of forgiveness. Malcolm enjoyed the bonds of a close family and the love of a good woman. Keith had neither of those things, not really. And he desperately wanted them.
While he didn’t necessarily want to reconnect with his older sister—she’d been violently abusive to him—he did want something else. An image of Kat, her face tight with the weight of a rejection he hadn’t wanted to give, flashed through his mind. He would never be able to live with himself if he hurt her worse than he already had.
He stared at something on his desk, not seeing anything but her pain. “I don’t know if it’s worth it.”
“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but you’ll never know if you don’t try.”
__________
After toying with her options for three days, Katrina decided on Dustin Brandt. She wasn’t sure some of the men she’d considered for the task were actually Doms. Confidence and arrogance and a job with the Federal Bureau of Investigation didn’t necessarily translate into having a kink. Of the ones she knew about for sure, Dustin seemed safest. He hosted munches the third Wednesday of every month in the private meeting room of an Irish pub not far from her condo. He liked to mentor beginners. She aimed to see if she could persuade him to have more of a hands-on role.
Arriving at the pub at four required a little schedule juggling, and she was still twenty minutes late. She would have to work late on Friday, but that wasn’t a new thing. Sunlight streamed through the big front windows of the long, skinny room. She glanced around, but she didn’t see Dustin.
A server approached. Katrina must have looked appropriately nervous and lost, because the older woman smiled gently. “Are you here for the munch?”
It sounded innocuous enough. Anyone not familiar with the lifestyle wouldn’t understand the term for a meet and greet among kinksters. Katrina nodded, and the woman directed her to the hallway leading back toward the kitchen. “Last door on the left.”
She passed the bathrooms, also on the left, and mapped her escape route. The clank of pans and the shout of voices came through a door on the right. A kitchen should have a door that led outside. Should it go horribly wrong, she didn’t plan to stick around.
A PRIVATE PARTY sign hung on the door. She wasn’t sure whether she should knock. After wrestling with indecision for almost a full minute, she turned away. Just then, the door opened, and a man nearly ran her over.
He caught her arm. “Sorry. I didn’t expect anyone to be there. Go on in. Nobody bites without permission.”
Heat crept up her neck as she remembered Keith’s bites. He hadn’t asked permission. She liked that he took what he wanted. It made her feel protected and helpless, safely vulnerable.
“You don’t have to keep your eyes lowered here. We don’t use protocol at these things. Plus, I’m a sub too.”
She had been unaware that her embarrassed reaction could be construed as submission. Looking up, she took in the details of her fellow submissive. He was tall, just under six feet. Wavy blond hair fell to his broad shoulders, and a neatly trimmed beard covered the bottom half of his face. He wore black jeans and a studded belt. A motorcycle emblem graced his dark shirt.
He looked like he could take on an entire gang, and yet he’d identified as a submissive. Interesting. Katrina felt an immediate ki
nship with the stranger.
She nodded. “I’m Trina.”
“Kirk.” He grasped her by the shoulders and set her out of his path. “And I’ll be back in a few.” With that, he disappeared into the bathroom.
Gathering her courage—she’d come this far—she stepped into the room. The conversation died down immediately as they all turned to stare at the newcomer. She felt like a dragonfly pinned to a board, put on display for all.
A quick glance around the table had her suppressing a groan. Not only did she recognize Dustin, but Jordan Monaghan also sat at the huge round table. She hadn’t seen Jordan since he’d stopped by to run some theories by her. After his appointment with Chief Alder, he’d returned, moving the discussion to two other cases before he excused himself.
Both big men started for a second before settling back into their usual unflappable mode. She looked from one to the other, desperately wishing she’d chickened out before arriving at the pub.
Dustin wore a white shirt. His blue tie had angled gold stripes, and his jacket hung over the back of his chair. Like her, he’d come directly from work. Though he’d relaxed his posture, she knew his catlike reflexes were poised and ready, and she recognized the curiosity in his dark blue eyes. If Keith looked like a bad boy, Dustin claimed the boy-next-door image. Every strand of his light brown hair fell perfectly into place. He was tan and built, and he looked good in a suit.
Jordan, with his long dark hair and his propensity for wearing denim or leather, bucked the dark-suit archetype that most FBI agents embraced. He seemed to have more in common with Kirk than with other law enforcement types.
“Trina, come on in.” Dustin smiled, but the doubt clouding his eyes ruined the effect. He exchanged a nervous glance with Jordan.
Since only six people sat at a table meant for fourteen, plenty of open seats remained. Jordan made the decision for her by pulling out the chair next to him. She sat down and smiled her thanks.
Dustin introduced her to the group. Besides the two men she knew, four women rounded out the crew. Each person there said a little bit about themselves, and then Jordan asked the million-dollar question.
“So Trina, what brings you here tonight?”
She didn’t want to be honest with the whole group. Her request could wait until she had a private moment with Dustin. Kirk had returned. She met his friendly gaze and took a breath. “Curiosity, mostly. I think.”
Dustin nodded. His expression indicated that he was aware of her evasion, but he let her get away with it. He asked someone else another question, which kick-started things. Conversation flowed until the server brought the bills.
Jordan grabbed Trina’s check. Too nervous to eat, she’d had only an iced tea. He flashed a grim smile at her. “We always treat the newbies.”
She wasn’t sure, but his explanation sounded like a dismissal.
One of the women, Andrea, looked up from where she had been rooting round in her purse. First she frowned at Jordan, her brow furrowed in warning. Then she gentled her expression and regarded Katrina. “We’re here the third Wednesday of every month. We hope to see you back next time.”
Katrina tried for an uncommitted nod. People left. She lingered. From the way Dustin and Jordan took their time, she knew they wanted a private word with her. When Jordan’s cell rang and he got the oh-shit-it’s-work expression on his face, Katrina exhaled with relief. She didn’t want to proposition them both. Not at the same time, anyway. If Dustin turned her down, Jordan was next on her list. It wasn’t a very long list, but it was nice to know she had options.
Jordan and Dustin exchanged meaningful glances, and Jordan left. Two of the other ladies lingered, and Katrina got the feeling they wanted more from Dustin than a friend and mentor. Well, so did she.
Dustin picked up his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. “Trina, stick around for a few, will you? I’ll buy you another iced tea.”
Disappointment marred the expression of one of the women, while the other looked a little relieved. They said their farewells and left.
Katrina tried to say something. She knew Dustin had questions. This was probably the best time to proposition him. If he’d asked her to hang back because he had questions about a case, it would derail her courage, and she’d waited so long. Though the meeting had opened her eyes a bit, she wasn’t really a stranger to this world. She was just inexperienced.
He held the door open and then guided her to a booth toward the back of the restaurant. The server came by immediately. Dustin ordered two iced teas, never once taking his gaze from Katrina. That pinned-dragonfly feeling returned.
He didn’t make her wait too long. “Do you want to tell me what you’re really doing here tonight?”
This was it. She could put her card on the table and see how he responded. “I wanted to ask you to train me.”
Other than the twitch of his eyebrow, he didn’t show signs of surprise. “What brought on this sudden interest?” His tone was gentle, and his question lacked judgment.
Not willing to divulge her true goal, she shrugged. “I think I’ve always been a little interested. Now I’m a little more interested.”
He lifted the cardboard coaster and tapped the edge against the table as he thought. “What, exactly, are you interested in?”
She wanted to learn to be the kind of submissive who could make Keith happy. “You’ve trained submissives before.”
“Are you interested in switching, or did you just want to learn the one role?”
There was no way in hell Keith would ever switch. He had constructed his life to have careful control over every tiny detail. “Just subbing, for now.”
She sipped her iced tea, belatedly realizing she hadn’t noticed the return of the server. Nerves were to blame. This wasn’t the easiest conversation in the world to have.
“You’re looking for straight D/s, or did you want bondage too?”
“Yes.” Heat seared her cheeks. How had she not choked on her drink yet? “And impact play.”
He sat back. Those too-knowing eyes seemed to cut through her with laserlike precision. “I’m sorry, Trina. I can’t do it. I’m not into casual play.”
Disappointment sat heavy in her stomach, a thousand pebbles that didn’t belong there. Before she could beg, he continued.
“Plus if I even thought about touching you, your brother and Rossetti would kill me. Dying would seriously damage my career aspirations.” He laughed a little, but his attempt to lighten the mood fell flat.
She grabbed the handle of her purse. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position.” Tears of humiliation blurred her vision. Dustin said something else, but she didn’t stay to hear anything beyond his refusal.
This was why she never asked men out. Rejection sucked. She didn’t know where men found the courage. Two strikes and she never wanted to see another man again. She totally preferred when they made the first move.
For the rest of the evening, scenes of her stupidity played in her head. Sound bites of Dustin’s refusal mixed with Keith’s, and even a punishing workout on the elliptical couldn’t chase them away.
__________
The next morning, she dragged her ass into work and nearly cried on Aaron’s shoulder when he handed her a caramel macchiato.
“It looks like you’re having a crappy week too.” He pulled a chair closer to her desk. Around them, the office buzzed with the ringing of phones and the bustle of people. Neither of them rated the privacy of an office yet, and the government didn’t see fit to waste money on dividers.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Not my best.” The details were too painful to say out loud, and she didn’t know where Aaron stood on the issue of BDSM. He was the kind of friend with whom she talked about work and casual topics, never sex or anything too personal.
“Good thing tomorrow is Friday.” He glanced around before leaning closer. “Can we meet up for lunch? I’m due in court in an hour, and I have some more prep to do, so I can’t
really talk right now.”
She squeezed his knee. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. I’m in court all day today too. We could meet at the usual place.”
He grinned. “Ice cream and burgers. My favorite meal.”
As it happened, she got stuck with a cranky judge and missed lunch. She texted an apology to Aaron and let the matter slip from her mind. If there was anyone in her life who wouldn’t hold something like that against her, it was him. After all, the same judge had done the same thing to him before.
Her day ran late, as expected. She didn’t make it home until nearly eight. The only thing she wanted more than to get out of her hose and heels was something loaded with carbs to eat. She shucked her clothes and slid into a pair of light sweats. Just because she was so tired, she decided to wash her face now instead of later. She scooped up her pile of discarded clothes and scrunched them into a ball. With practiced ease, she shot over her shoulder to the laundry basket.
The routine motion shouldn’t have produced more than a quiet whoosh, so the crash startled her. The end-of-the-day lethargy fled, courtesy of the adrenaline from the shock. She whirled around to find that she’d missed the open basket completely. In fact, the basket wasn’t even there. She’d hit a floor lamp that hadn’t been there when she’d left for work that morning. The force of her throw had caught the long, skinny pole just right, and it now lay across her doorway with her clothes, still wadded, on top of it.
Thunderstruck, she stared at it for a long time before she recognized the lamp. It had been in her guest bedroom. The thing had a lime-green, metallic shade. It had been a housewarming gift, but it wasn’t to her taste, so she’d relegated it to a room she didn’t often visit. She couldn’t remember who had given it to her, and she wondered why her mind barreled in that direction when it should be trying to figure out how it had come to be in her bedroom. And where was her laundry basket?
Re/Paired (Doms of the FBI Book 2) Page 4