Make Me, Sir Page 9

  “Silence.” The snap in his voice not only shut Jessica up but everyone else in the immediate area.

  She took a step back, knowing she"d gone too far. And with Z that was never a good thing.

  He pulled a leather gag from his pocket. “You"ve exceeded my patience, Jessica.”

  A gag? She glared at him and shook her head. He"d had it in his pocket—like he"d planned to gag her all along.

  His eyes turned from gray to almost black, and her resolve crumbled into mush. When he crooked his finger— come—she obeyed.

  * * *

  54

  Cherise Sinclair

  After work on Monday, Jessica drove down the tiny country road toward the Shadowlands. The spatters of rain against the windshield matched her mood perfectly—the mood she"d suffered since Saturday night. How dare he have gagged her? He knew how much she hated that, dammit. She moved her jaw side to side, feeling as if the stupid thing still filled her mouth. She should have punched him.

  Instead she"d melted. Like always. The touch of his sure hands firmly tying the gag, the overpowering way he looked at her, the unyielding grip on her shoulder as he kept her right beside him—she"d probably never get enough of that, even if they lived to a hundred.

  If we’re still together. The disheartening thought pulled her down like quicksand. Sinking. Inescapable.

  After slowing her car, she drove through the iron gates and up the palm-lined driveway. Under the rain, the flowers turned their bright blooms toward the ground, muting the landscape.

  Z rarely gagged her, so why had he last Saturday? Because of that woman, Gabrielle? Her eyes narrowed. A new trainee brought in without any warning seemed strange. He and the trainers—first Cullen and now Marcus—usually discussed potential trainees to the point of nausea, wanting just the right person.

  Aside from Andrea, they"d always chosen them from longtime members.

  Why the change? The unease inside her grew. The way Z had looked at Gabrielle had been…different. Of course, he always acted as if all the subs in the club were his responsibility to protect. Jessica loved that…mostly. She did hate the way submissives came on to him, even though he made it clear Jessica was his sub.

  She couldn"t blame the other subs—who wouldn"t want Z?—but so many were drop-dead gorgeous. She couldn"t help wondering when he"d find one he liked better than her.

  But this new trainee wasn"t beautiful. She wasn"t as overly round as Jessica, but still a little on the heavier side. Friendly-looking, with a wide smile and big eyes. And yet, Z had squeezed her shoulder and smiled at her as if she was more than a new trainee. Like they had a secret or something.

  Why hadn"t he said anything about doing a favor for someone?

  Then again, all this week, Z had acted reticent. She"d even asked if something at work had bothered him. His patients were all children, and sometimes their problems, their pasts, ripped him up inside, but he"d said no.

  And then she"d wondered if he was unhappy that her doctor had taken her off the pill last month, forcing them to return to condoms. But he hadn"t seemed upset at the time. She pulled the car into the side parking lot and turned off the engine.

  The gusting wind rocked the car as she watched clouds blacken the sky.

  Maybe she"d blown everything out of proportion. She had to admit she felt insecure right now…with good reason. Z"s sons had arrived yesterday to spend a few days with him before they returned to the University of Florida, and Z wanted her Masters of the Shadowlands 5: Make Me, Sir

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  to meet them. Avoiding his children for—oh, a lifetime—seemed a much better plan, but he"d refused to listen to her protests.

  “You"ve stalled long enough, pet,” he"d said yesterday morning as she prepared to leave, and she"d seen the amusement in his dark gray eyes. “You might as well get it over with.”

  He could be such a jerk sometimes.

  Okay. Here goes nothing. She slid out of the car and went through the side gate to the back, hoping to find them on the covered veranda where she could easily escape. No such luck. Great. Her hands grew clammy as she climbed to the third floor. The sprinkling rain and the wind turned her hair into a tangled mass. She sighed. So much for the time she"d spent making herself pretty. Could life get any better?

  She reached the third floor and knocked.

  Z opened the door a minute later, dressed in his usual black slacks and black shirt. “Did you lose your key?”

  “Uh. No. But I didn"t want to…”

  He chuckled and put his hand on her lower back to direct her into the house.

  “You didn"t want my sons to discover their father has a life beyond being a parent?”

  “Well. Yes.”

  Z turned her to face him, setting his hands on her shoulders. “Kitten, my boys know who you are.”

  “Oh.” What had he told them? Why hadn"t she asked more questions yesterday like, What exactly do the boys know about us?

  He led her into the living room, where the two young men sat in the dark leather chairs. Z stopped beside the couch and said, “Jessica, this is Eric. He"s a senior this year”—he pointed to a tall, lanky blond—“and Richard, a junior.”

  Richard had black hair and brown eyes. Muscular. Both wore jeans. Richard"s T-shirt displayed a country-western band; Eric"s a metal chick band.

  “It"s nice to meet you both,” she said, taking a seat on the couch. She leaned against the end, idly tracing a dent in the leather left from Sunday morning when Z

  had bent her over the arm, then… She jerked her hand away and straightened, feeling herself turn red.

  Z chuckled and said, “I"ll get you a drink, Jessica.” The way his eyes danced with laughter, he knew exactly what she"d remembered. The jerk.

  As he left the room with his silent gait, she turned her attention to the two young men. They were studying her closely.

  Although Eric frowned at her, Richard grinned in obvious approval. “You"ve been seeing Dad for a year?”

  “A bit more.” And nothing had changed in that year.

  “How"d you meet?” Eric asked. His cold gaze assessed her, and his mouth twisted as if he thought her a whore who"d wandered off her street corner. She tried 56

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  not to take it personally. He probably acted that way toward any of his father"s women.

  “It was a dark and stormy night,” she started, winning a snort of laughter from Richard. “An armadillo lay in the center of the road, and when I braked, I skidded right into a ditch filled with water.”

  “Did you miss the armadillo?” Richard"s brown eyes held concern.

  He sounded as protective as his father. She gave him a warm smile. “I did.

  Then I walked here to see if I could call a tow truck.”

  Z handed her a drink. He joined her on the couch and rested his arm across the back. “She bore a distinct resemblance to a drowned cat.”

  The two boys laughed.

  “Thanks a lot.” Jessica frowned at Z, but when her eyes met his, she remembered the rest of that night. How he"d taken charge, forcing her to take a shower, drying her off himself…everywhere…despite her protestations. He"d overwhelmed her—he still did, dammit.

  The laugh lines beside his eyes crinkled as if he remembered as well.

  “Yeah, well, Mom says hi,” Eric said, drawing their attention back to him.

  “She"s getting a divorce from that loser. Finally.”

  “Finally,” Richard echoed. “She"s sure got screwed-up taste in men…aside from you, of course.”

  Z inclined his head. “Of course.”

  “I"ve noticed with divorced people that after the first marriage, the next choice is always crappy,” Eric said, aiming the cut right at her.

  She tried not to wince, but even knowing how a son might resent his father seeing anyone new, the insult still hurt. She knew she hadn"t concealed her reaction well when Z squeezed her shoulder.

  “Eric.” Z"s firm voice had the same effect on the young man as on the subs in the club.

  Eric flushed. “Sorry.” He shoved to his feet and crossed the room, not quite stomping. “It"s just… Fuck, Dad, look at her. She"s our age. She could be your daughter, for Christ"s sake.”

  Z sighed. “Only if I"d started making babies at eleven.”

  She"d known meeting his children would turn into a disaster. Jessica forced a smile. “I appreciate the compliment, Eric. Especially since turning thirty this year really sucked.”

  He didn"t look like he believed either of them.

  Richard grinned at his brother. “Put your foot into it, dumb-ass.”

  Eric scowled at him, then her. “Yeah, well. Sorry.”

  No, you aren’t. She looked down at her hands as her stomach twisted around the lump that had formed. Maybe he had a point.

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  * * *

  Hopefully the personnel office wouldn"t waste their time trying to hire her, Gabi thought as she walked out of the Tampa department store. The muggy air filmed her skin with damp until her inexpensive tan slacks and button-down shirt felt pasted on. With a disgusted sigh, she pulled the newspaper from her bag and checked the next stop on her job-hunting excursion. Oh joy—an auto repair shop needed a receptionist. The job-hunting directive had come from the two agents leading the investigation. Kouros and his partner wanted her to appear unemployed so the kidnapper"d think no one would notice if she disappeared. But, please, she hadn"t liked looking for work even when she"d really needed a job.

  She"d have to play this game for three more weeks. Unless the perp tried for her. The thought sent a shiver through her. Sure she had backup, but she knew too well arrests often went bad. She could get kidnapped like Kim.

  I could die. Her life could end. Just…stop. She looked around. To never walk on sun-scorched sidewalks again, never see a limitless, blue sky, or hear a little girl giggle over an ice cream cone. She worked with the survivors of aggression every day, knew the devastation that accompanied senseless death.

  Now she"d purposely put herself squarely in the path, like lying down in front of a train. She swallowed. At least this time, the violence would only be directed at her. If everything fell apart, no one she cared about would get hurt.

  Because people did get hurt when bad things happened. Despite the heat of the afternoon, her skin chilled as she heard again the sharp blast of a pistol in a small room, heard Danny"s low grunt and the gut-twisting sound of a bullet punching through cloth and flesh. Red splattering out across everything. The way he"d hit the floor, limbs flopping—her scream wiping out the thud. The shock on his face made it all so much more horrifying. He hadn"t thought he"d die that day.

  As her chest tightened and sickness welled inside her, she shook her head.

  Stop, just stop. She forced a long inhalation. Another. Rubbing her hand against the brick wall behind her, she let the abrasive pain anchor her in the present. In the here and now, where cars flowed down the street. Most were white. Then a yellow sports car. A red pickup. A horn beeped, and brakes squealed. Two teenagers, hair in dreadlocks, argued as they sauntered past. Then one threw back his head and laughed. Life goes on.

  Shaking inside, she watched the noisy, energetic world around her. She"d gone a year without any flashbacks and had hoped they"d left completely. After all, Danny and Rock had died ten years ago. That day had been one of those life-defining moments, the day she"d discovered that horrible things really can happen and people you love can die. Suddenly. Violently.

  After scrubbing her face with her hands, she strode down the sidewalk as if to outrun her memories. Not possible, but sometimes she could fast-forward to the end. How she"d cowered in a corner, unable to run, blood pouring down her cheek, 58

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  more between her legs. A man had entered the tiny apartment. Silver-haired, deep lines beside his mouth, his face open and honest. His long-sleeved shirt clean and white, with no terrifying red splotches.

  She"d whimpered like a hurt animal, unable to stop the pitiful sounds. When he had come closer, she pushed back against the wall, making herself smaller, tugging at her torn clothing as if it could shield her. He"d snapped something, and someone handed him a blanket. He"d stepped forward. She shook her head, no no no, but he had simply opened the blanket and dropped it onto her lap. And then he"d backed up and knelt a few feet away. Far enough that she had managed to breathe again. Could look at him. “My name is Abe, and I’m with the FBI, sweetie.” He"d waited a moment for her to understand, then said, “I’m here just for you. To help you. Let me take you someplace safe.”

  There is good in this world to balance the bad.

  She"d been given a gift—a person who understood, who listened, who helped put her life back together. And using him as a model, she"d become an FBI victim specialist—someone who could reach past the terror. Could listen. Could help.

  Speaking of which…

  A bench at a bus stop provided a seat, and a tall maple lent some shade against the burning sun. With the ugly disposable cell phone Agent Kouros had provided— did she look like a person who’d carry a gray phone?—she checked the status of a victim"s compensation process and called her temporary replacement, Zella, to remind her of Josh"s court date and that the teen would need hand-holding.

  As Gabi answered Zella"s questions on the other cases, guilt stabbed deep inside her. People depended on her, and she"d run off to Tampa to serve as a decoy.

  When they"d finished reviewing, Zella said, “The boss says you"re off on medical leave.” A pause. “I heard a rumor from the Tampa office you"re there doing something exciting.”

  Gabi"s mouth dropped open. Then anger bit. Someone should muffle that gossipy secretary. She watched the traffic—black car, taxi, white car—and said truthfully, “I"m seeing no excitement here. I"ll be back and raring to go within three weeks or so.”

  “Good to hear. I"ve heard a lot of whining about your absence, especially from the kids.”

  The warmth that spread through her outfaced the sun. It’s nice to be missed.

  “Thanks. See you soon.”

  After disconnecting, Gabi dialed Rhodes. He didn"t answer. Of course.

  Dickhead wouldn"t take calls if he wasn"t on duty. Yet someone needed to deal with this quickly. Scowling, she dialed the backup number.

  “Galen Kouros.” She"d have known him from the New England accent.

  “This is Gabrielle Renard.”

  “Gabrielle. What can I help you with?”

  She bit her lip. Ratting on someone. Maybe she should have—

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  “Is there a problem, Gabrielle?”

  “Well, I hear there"re rumors I might not be on medical leave, that I"m doing something exciting in Tampa. Perhaps it"s not that bad, but—”

  “And how did you hear this?” His voice took on a grim tone.

  Oh hell, she wasn"t supposed to contact her office. “Ah. I called to check that my replacement is doing all right and answer questions about my caseload.”

  Silence and a sigh. “Victim specialists. I suppose I should have expected that.

  Bighearted social workers.” He made the term sound more like an insult than a compliment. “I"ll deal with the leak and speak with your replacement. You concentrate on your current job.”

  Considering the way he made Gabi feel like an idiot, the poor secretary was in for a rough time. “Yes, sir.”

  “I spoke with Z by the way; you did a fine job at the club last weekend. Your prior experience is making a difference—the other three decoys aren"t doing nearly as well.”

  After he"d clicked off, she stared at the phone for a moment. A compliment?

  Well. How nice after hearing all of Rhodes"s complaints.

  And enduring Marcus"s disapproval. Her throat tightened at the memory. How could the disappointed look in the dom"s eyes be more difficult to bear than a physical punishment?

  Not relevant, Gabi. Get back to work. She scowled as she uncrumpled the page of ads. On to the next token job application. Only a block away. She slung her purse over her shoulders and headed down the sidewalk. She felt sorry for the poor agent trailing her, waiting in the hot street while she filled out fake applications in air-conditioned offices.

  But he"d get the weekend off, while she"d have to continue her act at the Shadowlands.

  And she"d see Master Marcus again. Her heart gave an extra beat. What was it about that man—that dom? How could she want another perfect suit-person like her last boyfriend? The last few dates with Andrew, he"d never stopped criticizing her: her attire, her manners, her attitude, even the way she made love. When she"d realized he sounded like her parents and that she"d permitted him to make her feel inadequate, she"d called it quits.

  Mr. Perfect Marcus was just one more like Andrew—even a lawyer, for God"s sake. Do not get attracted to another conservative prig, Gabi.

  At the intersection, the light changed, and she followed the cluster of pedestrians across the street. Two men beside her razzed each other about a failed weekend date. Having fun.

  Unlike her reserved father, Marcus did seem to have fun. He had a big, open laugh, and he joked with his friends. She sighed. And when he wasn"t unhappy with her, he"d been so warm she"d wanted to curl up at his feet.

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  Even after she"d taunted him, he hadn"t lost his temper. Instead he"d tried to figure out what would reach her. As a social worker, she recognized how he searched for a susceptible place where he could push her in the direction he wanted her to go. He might well find it. She had vulnerabilities, everyone did, and maybe she had a few more than some.

  He’s gotten to me, hasn’t he? She already wanted to please him and felt bad when she sassed him…and she really wanted to see him again.

  The realization worried her. How could she possibly look forward to being under his control? God, that spanking had hurt. She hadn"t cried like that in years.

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