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, 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—

“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.

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. But afterward he’d held her, pressing her head against his strong shoulder, murmuring comfort in that rich drawl. Had anyone ever cared for her so sweetly?

Or aroused her so thoroughly? She’d sure never come so hard. Ever. The memories had given her lushly erotic dreams every single damned night, and she’d wake up hurting from needing to come.

But she hadn’t gotten herself off. Gold star for me. He’d told her not to come without permission, and she wanted to please him, even though her entire purpose in the Shadowlands was to defy him. Yes, the sneaky, perfect dom had snuck under her defenses. She set her jaw. Too bad for her…and him.

Straightening her shoulders, she walked a little faster. Next Friday and Saturday, Master Marcus could deal with her defiance, and she could deal with his response…somehow. That’s just the way it had to be.

Chapter Seven

Carrying a tray full of drinks, Gabi paused as the members watching a noisy ménage session blocked her path. She shook her head. The whole place was filled. How wonderful. More people to laugh at her getting in trouble.

She had a feeling tonight wouldn’t be nearly as pleasant as last night.

On Friday, she’d pushed herself to extreme brattiness, but aside from one swarthy dom and the bartender, who’d both punished her, no one seemed to care. Marcus had arrived late, then done a scene with that blonde, so he hadn’t had a chance to give her hell.

Marcus is here tonight. The knowledge sent excitement skittering along her nerves.

When the submissive in the ménage scene groaned, one of her doms laughed. Curious, Gabi edged her way forward. Unfortunately she got too close to the dom in black leathers who’d called her insolent, the one named Master Dan.

He frowned at her and jerked his head, a silent get back to work. He sure wasn’t very nice. Why did some of the doms act like they owned her and others didn’t?

When he turned his back, she stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes. Laughter rippled around her, and the pregnant sub tucked under his arm giggled. Grinning, Gabi returned to the bar. That had felt good.

As she walked out of the crowd, she glanced over her shoulder and noticed the golden armband circling Master Dan’s bicep. Interesting. Sam and Cullen both wore those gold bands. So did Master Marcus. Once safely out of Dan’s sight, she stopped to scan the room. Apparently only a few doms wore armbands: the swarthy, muscular dom she’d met—to her misfortune—a domme with a male sub, another domme with a female sub.