Willing Sacrifice (Knights of the Board Room) (51 page)

“Thank you for everything, sir.”

He pivoted, a fucking rash burning in his lungs. He’d managed five strides when Matt spoke.

“I spoke to her last night, Max.”

Max stopped and turned, heart in his throat. Matt still had the same look, but he was talking about her, so that was fine.

“She indicated that you had no control over their participation—hers, Dana’s and Marcie’s. Knowing all three of the women in question as we do, we were well aware of that. But she asked, as a personal favor—the second one she’s requested from me in all our years together—that there be no repercussions against you, that you keep your job. She also called and spoke to Peter and Ben, making clear what Dana and Marcie, respectively, also made clear to them. That you are not to be blamed for the situation.”

“With all due respect, that’s bullshit, sir. And I don’t hide behind women.”

“You’d need to hide behind your SEAL team if I relayed that second comment to them.” Though the comment was dry, nothing about Matt’s visage suggested humor. “But I agree with your first one. You understand there are consequences to your actions that no friend, foe or family member can exonerate. Which I expect explains this.” He put his hand on the resignation, and his gaze sharpened, such that Max almost did feel the laser cut of it across his sore ribs. “You understand our code. That no matter what was outside of your control, three women I consider mine to protect, two of whom also belong to men of my family, were put at serious risk because of your situation.”

“Yes sir.”

“That, should anything about this matter ever come to light, they are accomplices to murder.”

He’d cop to the death of every one of those bodies under oath to take the full heat of that, but that wasn’t Matt’s point. Max nodded again, swallowing hard.

Matt inclined his head. “I accept your resignation. For now.”

Max blinked. “Excuse me, sir?”

“If you accept the consequences of your actions, then you accept responsibility for healing what you’ve injured. My trust, the trust of my team. Janet’s heart. You’re used to situations where you go on missions, and then you come back home, two totally different theaters. When you were pursuing Dino, you weren’t in that kind of vacuum. You built relationships. Dana, Marcie and Janet all came into that situation because that is what happens when you create a family. They would no more allow you to face what you faced alone than you would have allowed them to do so if they faced something similar.”

That same nail, being hammered into his head once again. Hadn’t Janet as much as said that to him?
This isn’t a mission environment. This is your life.

“So I understand the guilt you are carrying,” Matt continued, “likely far better than they do. You know it was your fault that they were there. However, the answer is not abandoning your family. We know what lengths you’ll go to avenge them. Show me what you’ll do to keep them, heal them. Now, come shake my daughter’s rattle to prove to her that she utterly captivates every person who sees her. I only have a few more weeks to spoil her. Then she’ll be walking and she’ll have to learn about rules and manners.”

Max dutifully came back across the grass. When he squatted by the blanket, he managed a stiff smile as Angelica looked at him with her mother’s liquid blue eyes. But the dark hair, the determination in her delicate features, that was Matt. She was going to be a scary heartbreaker. He touched her small hand, and she ended up being the one who shook the rattle at him, which made her burst into another fit of baby laughter that couldn’t help but make him smile a little more naturally, despite the ache it increased in his chest.

He looked down at the design of the baby quilt. There was embroidery on every other panel, a mouse and rabbit dancing together in a field of flowers on one, taking a nap together in another, and so forth. Between each panel was a quilted blue square. With all the horrible things he’d seen, it always bemused him that such things existed in the same dimension, let alone on the same planet. He wondered how long Janet had felt like that after Jorge. Probably quite awhile. And he’d driven that schism back into her world again.

“I don’t know how to break through, sir,” he said miserably. “She’s shut me out. It’s like an ice wall. I could go beat on her door, force her see me, but I know that’s not going to break it.” She’d just stand behind that wall of ice and stare at him, tell him to go away. “I know it’s only been a day, but I know what my gut tells me. Something’s really wrong, something that time’s not going to help.” Or at least, by the time it got resolved, she’d have him completely cut out of her life. If he wasn’t a selfish bastard, he’d accept it, accept she was maybe better off without him, but he couldn’t let go of her. He just couldn’t.

“I’ve been around SEALs for a while, Max. First through my father’s acquaintances, and then you. The one thing I know is you don’t give up. You figure out how to win, and there’s no strategy you leave unturned. So figure it out. If you can’t break the ice, melt it.”

Angelica had hold of one of Max’s fingers now and was examining it with great interest. Keeping himself in her grasp, Max looked over his shoulder at the CEO. “Any intel to help with that, sir?”

Matt was totally within his rights to tell him to go to hell, he knew it, but Max wasn’t above pressing an advantage. The CEO gave him a cool look. “You know her vulnerabilities, her needs, Max. You know the way in. The question is to what lengths you’ll go to get there, what sacrifices you’ll make. That’s what it’s always about. The willing sacrifices we make for those we love.”

Matt picked up his paper, indicating their meet was at an end. Giving the baby a brief stroke of her absurdly soft hair, Max straightened. “Thank you, sir.”

Matt offered one more of those withering glances before he shifted his attention back to the financial section. “Be aware—at some point, Peter and Ben are planning to subject you to a vast amount of blunt-force trauma. On general principle.”

“Roger that, sir.”

* * * * *

When gathering intel, there were a lot of routes to take. He made a few test runs, trying to shake something out. He didn’t respect her request about contacting her, at least at a distance. He texted her. He left messages on her phone. He sent her flowers, whimsical trinkets. Small gifts and gestures that he hoped she received, because he received no response. Not to any of it.

He was certain the key was in his mind, in what he knew of her. She was a Mistress. Not necessarily the hardcore, whips and leather boots Dominatrix type, but there was a core to her that was about possessing another, winning their trust and surrender. Had he damaged that trust? What had happened that night to shut her down so firmly? Since he continued to volunteer at Dana’s church, he learned from the blind woman that Janet was back at work and doing her job as efficiently as ever.

“But it’s different. Alice says it’s like she’s on autopilot. Right smiles, right catty remarks at the right moment, but no feeling. Like a doll. Matt’s tried to talk to her, and so have I. She just says she’s fine, smiles and squeezes my hand like I’m worrying over nothing, and then Janet-bot goes back to work. Matt would push harder but…”

Dana had paused then, her blind eyes searching for something, but Max filled in the blank.

“He knows that’s my job. He’s waiting for me to figure it out. Figure her out.”

He had plenty enough money to live on for a while, so rather than seeking another job, he’d thrown himself into more demanding projects at Dana’s church, helped Dale landscape several of his neighbors’ yards, and continued his regular visits with Amanda.

He also took Dale to see her, as well as Lawrence. Janet had been right, no surprise there. Amanda was initially wary, but just as she’d demonstrated with Janet, she seemed to gravitate toward those who had a strong connection to him, almost as if they bore his scent or some piece of his soul. In Janet’s case, that was the truth.

He was going fucking insane. He missed her like a vital organ, as cliché and stupid as that sounded. It was still as true as a knife blade plunged in the right place was fatal. No ifs, ands, buts or passing go.

You know the way in…

The purpose of the hellish first few weeks of BUD/S training was to ensure full commitment. To verify that each man had what it took to not only endure but accomplish the missions they would face. They were broken down, subjected to unimaginable levels of physical and psychological hardship. Maybe to get into the head of a Mistress, figure her out, he had to do the same, so to speak.

He knew he had a good body, fit, hard, the kind that drew women’s eyes. With the right look and attitude, he could take a deeper step into her world, see if he could figure it out from the inside. She’d taught him the way of it, the mannerisms, the codes.

So Friday night, he shaved and cleaned himself up, slapping on a light cologne. He put himself in a pair of black jeans, a snug T-shirt, boots. Then he gave himself a critical once-over in his cracked mirror—lucky he wasn’t superstitious, at least not that way—and took a breath. He was going to Club Progeny. Time to use that guest membership again. On his own this time.

* * * * *

Janet sat out on her balcony, watching the evening dogwalkers go by on the sidewalk. Poodle…English Springer Spaniel…Great Dane. She’d thought about getting a dog at one time, but she had a feeling she and a cat would see more eye to eye on things. For almost a year, a feral tom had been hanging around for the scraps she gave him. Sometimes, in the heat of summer, he’d lain in her bird bath to cool off, the mockingbirds fussing at him from the trees.

She looked at the book she hadn’t cracked open tonight, though her hand rested on it with intent. But she knew if she started it, she’d look blindly at the words and not internalize the story. No point. The routine of getting up, going to work, handling things for K&A and the domestic requirements of her house—that was all she was in the mood to do of late.

Yes, something was wrong, but she’d been here before. After she came to the States, after Matt helped her get out of Mexico, she’d been this way for months. It had taken awhile to break out of it, but one day, she had. She’d started to feel, rather than pretending to feel. She’d embraced the pleasure and freedom of that. But she wasn’t sure what the catalyst had been then, any more than she could anticipate what would do it now.

When she laid her head back on the chair, closed her eyes, Max filled that darkness. His scent, his body, his steady gray eyes. Camping with her, lying on his truck. Before she could get much further than that, though, she saw chains hanging from a ceiling, his bruised and battered body slumped over in a chair. The distant, cold intent in his eyes when he killed the man just beneath her, his expression when he came to her, to tell her it was over, that it was done. The mission was done. He’d be dealing with that feeling now, what to do, where to go from here.

She’d been there as well. When a goal that big was accomplished, a person died a little death. They had to resurrect themselves to embrace the future. But she couldn’t deal with that. She couldn’t sustain any good memory to get past the bad one, so it was like Jorge. She had to package it all up, box it away. Put it away. Let it go.

She pressed her fingertips to burning eyes and took a swallow of the wine she’d poured herself. She might need something stronger tonight, and thought about cracking open some of the rich bourbon she had for holidays. Just a shot glass should be enough to put her to sleep.

Her cell phone buzzed. She kept it with her, despite the fact she deleted all of Max’s texts without reading them, the voicemails without listening to them. She couldn’t go that route, had to box him up with all the rest.

She glanced at it and her brow furrowed. She had an excellent memory for numbers, but she had to stretch to recognize that one, since she’d only dialed it once in her life. Dale. It was Dale. Was Max calling from Dale’s phone, hoping to get her to pick up? No, he wasn’t like that.

She flipped open the phone. “Dale?” She tried to make her voice sound cordial, pleasant. Detached. Like she hadn’t shared an evening of murder and mayhem with him and his impromptu SEAL team.

“I’m down at Progeny, Janet. Max has signed up for a session with Mistress Sue. I called up the form he submitted on himself for Dom review. He’s representing himself as a Level Ten. No holds barred on pain, no limits in terms of being shared with other Doms or subs. Male or female.”

“Within two seconds of being around him, no Mistress in her right mind will believe that shit.”

“He has the training to do and be whatever’s necessary to get the job done,” Dale said evenly. “And you know no one can stretch a Level Ten like Sue. She’ll break him down like a set of Legos.”

“If he thinks…”

“He doesn’t know I’m calling you. I think he’s trying to figure things out about you. Like BUD/S training. Full immersion. So this call is a lot like the one you made to me a few weeks ago. Max may be in trouble. If that concerns you, you have until ten o’clock to make an appearance and do something about it. That’s when his session with her is scheduled to start.”

* * * * *

She waffled, she struggled with herself. Getting dressed to go to the club almost defeated her. She didn’t want to leave her solitude, the comfort of her nest. By the time she appeared in the foyer of Club Progeny, it was quarter to ten. She’d wasted five more minutes debating on whether she was going to get out of the car. She was angry at Dale for calling her, angry at Max for doing this. She was just angry, but in a passive, badger-down-its-hole way. She wanted someone to stick their hand within biting range so she could take off a few fingers, almost as much as she wanted to stay unmolested.