Read I Spy a Dark Obsession Online
Authors: Jo Davis
Tags: #Intelligence Service, #National Security, #General, #Romance, #Erotic Fiction, #Suspense Fiction, #Suspense, #Erotica, #Fiction
I Spy a Dark Obsession (26 page)
“Kids can be cruel,” she agreed. Some of those memories were deeply painful. “That’s why they eventually decided to homeschool me. I guess that’s why I sort of hold myself apart from people until I get to know them. You and Michael were exceptions.”
“I’m glad you trusted us enough to let us in,” he said with feeling. “So your parents are still together?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling. “And so in love it’s nauseating. They are proof that it can work, despite the crappy odds and the stigma attached by society.”
“You want what they have.”
She looked down at their hands, which had somehow become entwined. “I thought I did have it, once. Things didn’t work out.”
“From your voice, I’m guessing that’s an understatement,” he said quietly. “Want to talk about it?”
She shrugged. “I don’t mind. We were in our early twenties, and when you’re pushing forty, that seems like a lifetime ago.”
“No kidding,” he agreed. “You had two male partners?”
“One man, but the other was a woman.” Surprise registered on Bastian’s face. “I loved them both and I thought they loved me, but the dynamic was doomed from the start. Our downfall began when Brenda wanted to get pregnant.”
“Uh-oh.”
She nodded. “You’d think I would’ve seen this one coming a mile off, wouldn’t you? But no, I was so excited. I thought I should get pregnant next so our children could be close in age. Joe thought it was a good idea to wait until after Brenda had her baby before we tried for another one. You can probably fill in the ending.”
“Let me see.” He pretended to think hard. “Joe and Brenda bonded over the pregnancy and changed their minds about raising their child in a ménage relationship. They broke your heart.”
“You get the prize.” God, she’d been devastated at the time. “Getting over it took years. But I’ve always believed I could have what my parents do and that someday I’d want to try again. Just not with another woman involved, ever.”
“I can certainly understand that.” He grinned at her. “You won’t have to worry about me or Michael wanting to get pregnant.”
“Idiot.” She leaned over and brushed his lips with hers, then deepened the kiss. He tasted sweet, minty, and the man knew how to use his tongue. She couldn’t wait to learn its other talents.
Breaking the kiss, she laid her head on his shoulder, careful not to hurt his healing bruises. His arm came around her, held her close against his solid body, and she felt it.
The tenuous thread winding between them was like a tender green shoot pushing through new soil. Growing stronger with each passing hour. A thought hit her: where the three of them were concerned, Bastian was their glue. Their quiet strength.
One man was forged steel, and the other was the only fire hot enough to make him bend.
Now she just had to make them hers, for keeps.
Eleven
“A
re you comfortable?” “Yes, thanks.” “Need anything before I go?”
re you comfortable?” “Yes, thanks.” “Need anything before I go?”
“No, thanks.”
“More coffee? A bagel?”
“I’m good.”
“I don’t think so. You’re not eating enough, and—”
“Michael,” Bastian growled. “Go. To. Work! Because if you don’t, so help me, I won’t be held responsible for where I shove this crutch.”
Michael eyed his grouchy friend. “I’ve been hovering too much, huh?”
“For the entire past week since you brought me home! You’re both driving me crazy!”
“Hey!” From her spot at the breakfast table, Katrina scowled at Bastian over the top of her newspaper. “Before lunch, you’ll be bored out of your mind and wanting us to come home.”
“Fat lot of good it’ll do me when neither of you will touch me. And blow jobs don’t count,” he grumbled. “I even have to sleep by myself because you guys are afraid one of you will bump my thigh in the night.”
Katrina’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, they don’t count? The last time I checked, ‘Oh, God, suck harder. Take it all’ wasn’t a complaint.”
Oh, boy. Time to make a tactful retreat. “Well, since you’re all set here, we’ll give you some peace and quiet. If you need anything—”
“I know. Simon and Mrs. Beasley are here. Have a nice day.” Their lover went back to moping over his cold coffee.
He raised his brows at Katrina in a signal to get moving. She folded her paper and followed him out through the living room. Simon met them in the foyer.
“The car is waiting, sir.”
“Great.”
“Sir, if I may be so bold?”
He stifled a sigh. “Go ahead.”
“Sir, if you don’t take matters in hand, I shall be forced to seek other employment.” Simon sniffed, looking down his regal nose at Michael. “There’s nothing wrong with that lad that a sound buggering won’t remedy.”
Michael choked, and beside him, Katrina giggled. “I’m sure your resignation won’t be necessary. Bastian will be better than new in no time.”
“Very good, sir.”
He beat a retreat out the front door and headed for the car. “Jesus.”
As they climbed into the back, Katrina said, “Simon’s got the problem pegged, you know. Our guy is craving some attention that has nothing to do with his injury.”
“I know. He’s like a grumpy porcupine.”
“If this is the way he gets when he has to go without for a few days, it’s a good thing there’s two of us.”
For some reason, he felt it necessary to defend his own libido. “I have just as many needs as he does. I’m just as sexually active.”
She gave him a knowing grin. “Yes, honey. You’re a virile He-Man beyond compare.”
“See that you don’t forget it.”
They enjoyed the rest of the ride together, the mood lightened some. So what if they’d been forced to delay consummating their relationship? Bastian was alive and healing, and the three of them were together. His friend would be smiling soon, his grumpiness a thing of the past.
And when Michael caught Dietz and sent him to hell, their lives would be perfect.
At the compound’s gate, the day guard waved them through. When the car stopped, he got out first and gave a hand to Katrina, pointedly ignoring the stare of one curious agent who glanced back and forth between them. He didn’t give a rat’s ass what his employees were saying and knew Bastian would hold his own, but he worried about the effect on Katrina.
“Does it bother you that they’re probably talking about us?” he asked as they disappeared inside.
“No. Remember, I was raised in a nontraditional environment and I have a thick skin when it comes to those who don’t understand.”
Earlier in the week, she’d told him about her parents’ loving three-way partnership. It had made sense to him then, how she could be so accepting of alternative lifestyles. She was a wonderfully sexual woman, open even to exploration and play with other partners, and he felt like he’d won the fucking lottery.
“But I’m willing to bet your parents don’t work together,” he pointed out. “And one of them isn’t the boss at work over the others.”
“True. But I still don’t give a shit what anyone thinks.”
“That’s my baby.”
He’d worried about the work angle, but if any of his people didn’t like it, they could hit the road. SHADO didn’t even officially exist, for fuck’s sake, so who were they going to complain to? The president?
At the corridor that led them in opposite directions, he gave her a kiss and went to tackle the pile of crap waiting in his office. The stack was twice as big as normal with both Bastian and Michael out for the past few days, and Bastian’s return on hold indefinitely. Common sense would dictate getting a temporary replacement to handle Bastian’s load—either Ozzie or Blaze would do a fine job—but he couldn’t bring himself to make the call.
Cursing himself for going soft, he dove into the pending cases on his desk. Checked top secret status reports from the FBI and CIA on some of America’s most-wanted criminals, spoke to the agents in charge for updates. Three of the fugitives had been captured by SHADO, two more busts were imminent, and the president had phoned to check on Bastian’s recovery and praise Michael again for “neutralizing” Tio. All of which heralded a good day in store.
He’d worked through half of his 146 e-mails when Blaze walked into his office without knocking. He peered at his friend around his computer monitor and immediately tensed upon seeing the man’s serious expression. “What’s up?”
“Randall Burns wants to talk,” he announced. “He’s decided our accommodations aren’t up to his standards.”
Michael snorted. “Poor little felons just don’t get a fair shake these days. I assume he has a sad story to share in hopes of improving his future?”
“So he says, but he won’t spill it to anyone but you.”
“Fantastic. I knew this day was going too well.” Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest. “And I suppose he wants a golden ass wiper installed in his cell in exchange for this tidbit? Maybe a steak dinner thrown in?”
“He wants to walk.”
For about two seconds he stared at Blaze, then burst out laughing. “Sure. Right. I’ll put that on my agenda, right next to launching my ‘Hit Men Are People, Too’ campaign.”
It took him a few more seconds to realize Blaze wasn’t laughing. And that he’d closed the door.
Cold washed over him and he sobered, studying his friend. “Okay. You know more than you’re saying. Tell me.”
Blaze remained standing, one hand gripping the back of the guest chair in front of him. “He claims he can give you Maggie’s killers.”
The breath left Michael’s lungs with the force of a blow from a sledgehammer. He sagged in his chair, one palm pressed to his chest. Maybe then he could hold his heart together, keep it from finally falling apart. His voice emerged as a hoarse whisper. “He’s a fucking liar.”
“Could be. But you’re the only one who can find out because he won’t say jack to us. We’ve tried, believe me. Nobody wanted to come to you, upset you, if he was spouting a load of bullshit.”
He took a few deep breaths, tried to compose himself. “I appreciate that. You guys did what you could. Where is he?”
“In the interrogation room.”
“All right. Let’s go hear what this asshole has to say.” He stood on shaky legs.
“Michael . . . what are you going to do if he’s telling the truth?”
Wasn’t that the million-dollar question? He had no answer, and Blaze didn’t press him as they rode the elevator down and strode through the maze of corridors to reach the small, sterile space where Burns was waiting.
The man was sitting at the sole table, hands folded on top. To Michael, he looked like any average man—a coach, a car salesman, a teacher, your next-door neighbor. There wasn’t much remarkable about him, save for the fact that he’d been hired by Dietz to kill Bastian and had attempted to follow through. Burns was an amateur, and as Michael slowly approached the table, flanked by Blaze and Ozzie, he got the impression that’s all the man would ever be. A loser looking for a quick buck.
Michael took a seat at the table, folded his arms on top. He stared dispassionately at Burns for several long moments, letting the man sweat. As most dogs do, Burns looked away first, unable to hold his stare. Michael took grim satisfaction from the telling body language.
“Talk,” he ordered Burns.
“What are you going to do for me?” The man’s attempt at bravado was spoiled when he wiped the perspiration from his upper lip.
“Doesn’t work that way. You’re at a disadvantage. You want something from me, not the other way around. You want to deal, give me what you’ve got and I’ll see what I can do. Otherwise, you can rot in your cell for the rest of your miserable life—where nobody can hear you scream.”
Burns licked his lips nervously. He seemed to consider, but must’ve known his captor wasn’t bluffing. “You had a wife who got mugged last year. Stabbed to death for her purse.”
He longed to crush the man’s throat in his bare hands.
Wait for the correct target.
Wait for the correct target.
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