No Simple Sacrifice (Secrets of Stone Book 5) (11 page)

“Talia told it to Taylor. Then Taylor just told me. Just now. On the phone. On my lunch—”

“We understand.” Though Fletch cut her off like a Mack truck to a deer, it was still better him than me. Personally, I wanted to pop the woman’s head off, just like mutilating my sister, Lizzy’s Barbies when we were kids. I was barely keeping my cool, but refused to make this innocent pay the price for my rising wrath at Talia. “Innocent” being relative, of course.

Fletch, picking up on my tension like the true buddy he was, clapped a hand to my shoulder. “Listen, Melissa…there’s definitely a misunderstanding here.”

“Anything I can help…clear up?” She flipped her head,
one-two
, executing a perfect toss-toss of the blonde mane, before parking her hands on her lush hips. Amazement blended into my agitation. As recently as six months ago, those hips would’ve inspired a thousand erotic scenes in my head. Now…
nada
.

“No,” Fletcher emphasized. “We’re good. Really. No offense. We’re just not interested in anything right now.”

“Right now?” Another toss-toss. A contemplative pout. “So I’ll just pencil you in my calendar for next time, then.”

“No.” He rolled the word in glass now. “Not next time either.” When the woman appeared to comprehend that as clearly as a quantum physics equation, he took another step backward. “We’re…we’re going to just head on in to our meeting now. You take care of yourself.”

He shifted by another step—clearly the one who was thinking around here. My statue status was sealed by pure shock. The woman had gumption—or
something
—actually pulling out a business card while Fletcher was basically telling her to fuck off…
after
he’d told her we were off the damn market.

“Well,” she murmured, “if you change your mind…or just get a little lonely while you’re here and she’s there…”

Fletcher, jamming his hands back into his pockets to avoid accepting the card, flashed his fakest-of-the-fake smirks. “No thanks. We don’t have time to be lonely.” Another fat lie—we’d both been pining for Talia like a pair of Edwards with our Bella.

“Well, I’m not looking for anything other than a good time, if you catch what I’m saying.”

Fletcher finally, reluctantly, took the card. Shoved it in his pocket while looking only at me. “I think we’re done here, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

It was still all I could manage. Disbelief and irritation were quickly escalating into bewilderment and fury. What the
fuck
was happening—and how had we not seen it coming before we left? Had we been blinded by our own wants and wills instead of paying attention to tells from Talia to the contrary? Had we missed all the signs from her, even when we were wrapped in each other’s arms, blurting
I love you
s, feeling so fucking right? How had we not anticipated
this
, with a tart-on-high from the SGC office filling us in on direct quotes from the woman we’d just spilled our guts for, now telling us there
was
no “us”, while getting in her side order of beefcake while she was at it?

After we made our way around the curve in the hall, past Melissa’s still-undressing-you-both gaze, Fletcher stopped short. Seized my shoulder to make me do the same.

“What the
hell
is going on?” he growled. The question was practically rhetorical. He knew I had no more of an answer than he did. After savoring the commiseration of it for another few seconds, I drew air in through my nose, underlining the sobriety of my reply.

“Good thing I didn’t stow the rope far.”

Another familiar voice punched down the hallway—infinitely more welcome than the last.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat’s dragged in.”

I joined Fletcher to raise a smirk at Killian Stone’s unmistakable baritone. I watched as he and Fletcher locked hands then leaned in for a gruff hug. “Hey, pretty boy.”

“Talking to the mirror again, bastard?” Kil rejoined. “My, my. Look at those golden locks. Braid some flowers in and you’ll make a fine spring window display down at Macy’s.”

“Fuck you.”

When I didn’t echo or add to that, Killian jerked his chin in my direction, curiosity narrowing his eyes. “What the fuck happened to you?”

I grunted. “That’s how you say hello when you’re the king of the world?”

“Something to look forward to,” Fletcher teased, while I stepped over to shake Kil’s hand. Trouble was, he didn’t let me have it back. Kept me locked in the grip while peeling off a look of gooey concern.

“What?” I finally snapped.

The gooey vanished. His dark brows shot up. “We’ve known each other for a very long time, Newland,” he responded. “And right now, you look like a PTSD flashback got the better of you.” Still no let-up with the grip. “Seriously, you okay?”

“Fine.”

I jerked my hand away.

He winced—before punching the security panel outside a darkened, empty office. Before the lights even activated inside, he ducked his head toward the space, a silent order for me to move.

“I
said
I’m fine.”

“Get your ass in here, Drake.”

Gritting profanities I usually saved for get-togethers with guys from the Corps, I let the big jerk have his way. Only this time—and only because they couldn’t start things in the next room without him.

Whoever the office belonged to was apparently out of luck too. Once the three of us were in, Kil punched his override code on the door again. They were as locked out as we were barricaded in.

“Okay,” he directed, turning back with crossed arms. “Spill.”

I fought the urge—a pretty damn strong one—to flatten his pretty head against the wall behind him. As a result, my demeanor clicked into its default of stony control. “You know, you’re
really
letting the king shit go to your head.”

Fletcher canted his head. His hair flopped into his glaring eyes. “He’s the king because he cares, man.”

“I’m going to drop the next bastard who calls me king.” Kil’s jaw jutted, again right at me. “And
you
, asshole—I’m just trying to be your friend right now.”

The indictment was harsh—but edged with hurt. I nodded slowly, knowing he was right. Like a twelve year-old, I was letting emotions stab at my own override panel. With a deep, full breath, I worked at untangling those circuits once more.

“That woman you saw us talking to down the hall…”

“The blonde stripping you both with her eyes?” To his credit, Kil spoke it as truth and not a taunt.

Fletcher huffed. “That’ d be the one.”

“Yeah, well.” I paced across the room. Swung out a chair from the small table then straddled it backwards. “She said some stuff that’s not sitting well with me.”

“Explain.”

I pushed out a harder breath. Kil scowled, recognizing when I dug in my figurative heels—knowing me well enough to also see that his ire didn’t mean a rat’s ass. I didn’t need more “perspective” on this matter. I was already confused enough.

But Fletcher was also in the room.

Fletcher, the professional shrinks’ couch surfer, who felt like anytime was a good time to share.

Shit.

“Her name’s Melissa,” he filled in for Kil. “Apparently, she’s good friends with someone named Taylor, from your San Diego sales division. This Taylor is also tight with Talia.”

“And my sister and wife, as well.”

Fletch and I gaped at him. Then at each other.

Killian continued, “Before you ask, I
am
damn certain. Margaux’s relayed tales of a few escapades Taylor and she ‘enjoyed’ before Michael settled her ass down. Claire was pulled into the bunch by osmosis, though she and Taylor have forged closer ties since the pregnancy started. Taylor’s a decent woman; heart of gold. She comes to the house all the time, to bring Claire cookies. And pickles.”

Shuddering felt too dangerous. Laughing, even more so. I went still once more, letting Fletcher vocalize for us both. “Cookies and
pickles
?”

“My breathtaking wife is having just as breathtaking an identity crisis. Cookie monster one day; pickle stork the next.” As he relayed it, a soft smile grabbed at the man’s mouth—though even without that, a person would have to be dead to miss how Killian Stone’s entire demeanor changed when speaking about his wife. He was ass-over-end in love with that woman. It was sickening. And distracting.

And amazing.

Because for the first time in my life, I could completely relate. I wanted to walk around with that same dorky grin on my face. To look at it on Fletcher’s too. To know a forever with the woman who’d put them on us. I wanted it so badly, I could taste it—yeah, even to the essence of cookies and pickles.

Killian stowed the daddy-to-be shit again, and parked his ass against the desk. Arms still folded, he urged, “Go on.”

Fletcher recounted our “discussion” with Melissa of the golden hair and fast-flying business card. Killian said nothing, though the gears in his head were clearly running at high speed. I dreaded the unsolicited advice to follow—and it seemed the knock on the door might save us from the fate—but Kil just tilted his head over and barked, “One minute, Britta.”

“Certainly, sir. I’ll let them know.”

As her footsteps receded, I steeled my posture and muttered, “Because this is the part where he shoots out all the fun advice.”

Kil shook his head. “Past time for that. You dipshits know what you need to do already; you just need a push in the right direction.” He pushed off the desk and strode back to the door. “To that end, I’m having Britta call over to Midway. As soon as this meeting is over, the jet will be fueled up and ready to go. I need to get home to my baby mama, and you two need to go set a sexy little Russian straight.” He swung a glance at us both. “Plan?”

“Plan,” Fletcher and I agreed in unison.

Kil paused as his hand hovered over the keypad to release us. I was already set to follow him out but froze as he did, obeying the instinct to growl, “What now?”

His angled face betrayed another second of vacillation. “You probably don’t need to hear this from me,” he said at last, “but I’m going to say it anyway. Sometimes, the best things in life are the ones you have to work the hardest to get. I’ve only met Talia a handful of times, but she must be one hell of a girl to have you two so upside down. I’ve never seen you like this. Ever.”

Fletch and I exchanged knowing grins. That was all it took to prompt Fletcher’s response to our friend. “Because we’ve never felt like this before, man.”

Killian didn’t return the smile. “Just go carefully. She’s going to need some patience, considering the issues from her ex.”

Fletcher shot his stare back to me. This time, we didn’t trade a smile. Not by a long shot. It was my turn to show our hand to Kil. “
What
issues?” I fired.

The man’s brows arched again. “You really don’t know?”

“That he was a dumb shit who let her slip away after doing a number on her self-esteem?”

He released a slow breath. “According to Claire, he was also abusive. Yeah,
that
kind of abusive. So you’re likely dealing with some significant shell shock. Women seem to hold on to damage way longer than men do.” His eyes narrowed. “And this also goes without saying: you let me know if we need to find that fucker and teach him how to treat a woman. I’m not opposed to remedial etiquette for any man who beats a woman.”

He had our backs—I knew that in my head—but in my heart, the declaration stabbed like a bayonet. I let my ass fall to the lip of the table. Fletcher did the same along the desk, raking a hand down his shock-struck face. “He really beat her?” he gritted.

I looked up, meeting Kil’s dark gaze. “We’d thought it was all just mental fuckery,” I explained—a miracle in itself, since I felt kicked in the stomach. The thought of anyone hurting my girl in the head had been hell enough. Now, adding an image of physical damage too…I saw pure red.

“Okay, both of you breathe.” Killian raised a reassuring hand. “And tether those conclusions you’re jumping to, as well. You’d best get all of this straight from her.”

“Oh, we intend to.” Fletch’s promise was practically a growl. I nodded, backing up the sentiment. Why the hell had Talia allowed us to restrain her, without vocalizing any of this? She wasn’t a stupid woman. Did that mean she trusted us that much…or was repressing that deeply?

“I’m not sure about the extent of it,” Killian clarified. “I’m not even sure Claire or Mare do either.”

“You still have your balls after calling Margaux that?”

Fletcher mercifully changed the subject—a move Kil eagerly embraced, as well. “To her face,” he added, chuckling. “She loves me. I’m an awesome brother.” He shrugged, letting a slow smile take over his face. “That little kitten’s claws aren’t nearly as sharp as she wants everyone to believe.”

“Nice to know.” Fletcher grunted. “Won’t be testing the theory anytime soon.”

“Wouldn’t recommend it. Michael tells me that lately, she’s been a bit of a demon. Pregnancy hormones. Fun times, indeed.”

“Going to take your word for it.” I dipped my head, twisting a look full of better-you-than-me. “Strong women are sexy as fuck, but Margaux Asher…that ‘kitten’ scares me a little.”

Now I knew I wasn’t in my right mind. I regretted the confession from the moment it left my mouth—especially after the victory smirk on Kil’s face.

“It’s going to be damn hard keeping that a secret, Newland. I may need hush money.”

“Dick,” I snarled.

“That’s why you love me, honey,” he jibed back—though was all business a second later, smacking his palms together. “So we’re San Diego bound after this dog and pony? I’ll know our ETD by the time the meeting is over.”

Fletcher rose, hauling his black computer bag back to his shoulder. “I just have to swing by the office for some paperwork. I can take my meetings for tomorrow morning via phone.”

“Don’t forget the haircut,” I reminded him.

“Haircut?” Kil echoed. “
Pssshhh
. Why’d he want a haircut? Rapunzel’s locks are just getting pretty.”

Fletch narrowed his glare. “Says the princess himself.”

In true Killian style, the dig was ignored. “We should be able to shove off tonight, as long as the meeting doesn’t go too long—though I saw McGraw setting up a projector earlier. I think we’re in for one of his famous PowerPoints.”