For a minute, many minutes, he stood, unable to move. Her car was no longer in sight, but her presence lingered like a rotting carcass, casting a stench over the farm.

Leaning on the gate, he felt as hollowed out as if she’d gutted him. His energy, his emotions were drained. Turning, he looked up toward the farm buildings. The sky showed clouds rolling in. The temperature was probably dropping, although he was already cold to the bone.

Got chores to do. He couldn’t seem to move.

With a whine, Conn pawed at Sam’s boot.

Sam shook his head, knowing he should reassure the dog. Couldn’t. Moving slowly, he started the long walk up the drive.

* * * *

As the wintery sunlight came through the windshield of Sam’s truck, he drove toward the Shadowlands. Linda sat quietly in the passenger seat.

Hours after Nancy’s visit, he still felt…off. Cold, inside and out. Like parts of him had been ripped away, leaving a husk behind.

After a few attempts to talk that had fallen flat, Linda had remained silent. He glanced over at her.

She was watching him. “Are you okay, Sam?”

Why the hell did she ask him that? “Yeah.”

“I don’t believe you.” Her brows drew together. “Is it because of last night? Because our scene went from wonderful to horrible?”

His gut twisted. He was a Dom. If anything went wrong in a scene, it was his fault. For a second, he thought about explaining, but the blackness roiling through his head eroded the words into dust. “I’m fine.”

Her huff wasn’t a happy one. “I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong. Can’t you talk to me?”

Talk? From a distance, the windows of Z’s manor glinted. “Nothing to say.”

Her fingers pleated the bottom of her shirt. “You let me cry, get me to dump all over you, but won’t share what’s bothering you.” She gave him an unhappy look. “Contrary to popular belief, a Dom isn’t a bulletproof superman. I want to help when you feel bad, Sam.”

“No need.”

She pulled back as if he’d slapped her.

He should apologize. Take her hand. But ropes had been wrapped around his soul. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, and he turned into the drive to the Shadowlands. Beneath the tall palms that lined the road, the flower beds seemed garishly bright in the gray light.

* * * *

As Linda walked beside Sam through the side gate in the privacy fence, she tried to ignore the ache in her chest.

Although he was hurting, apparently she wasn’t someone he felt he could lean on or share with.

Last night, she’d been so happy to see him. Her heart had actually lifted, bounced, danced. And he’d comforted her so sweetly after that horrible scene.

Today he was terrifyingly distant. The lines bracketing his mouth were deeper, his eyes a colder blue. He was suffering, and she wanted to help. A shiver ran through her as her stupid insecurities flared up. He didn’t need her. Didn’t need anything from her.

Without speaking, he held the side gate open for her, and they crossed the yard to the back lanai. The decorations from the wedding were gone, but the landscaping was still stunningly beautiful. People were scattered in chairs and couches in the screen-covered outdoor room. After a second, Linda recognized the two Mistresses, Olivia and Anne, whom Rainie had pointed out during the wedding ceremony. All of the Shadowlands Masters—Dan, Nolan, Cullen, Marcus, and Raoul—were present. Z sat at a long iron-and-oak table beside Vance and Galen. The two FBI agents headed the task force concentrating on the Harvest Association.

In jeans and a pink scoop-neck T-shirt, Jessica was serving soft drinks to the guests. Her “collar” sparkled in the sunlight almost as much as she did. She saw them and set the drinks down. “Linda!”

Pushing her worries back, Linda abandoned Sam to receive an enthusiastic hug from the short blonde. “Welcome home. Did you have a good honeymoon?”

“Awesome. Mostly.” After a glance over her shoulder at Master Z, her voice dropped. “When we got to the chalet, I gave him the toys I bought from Rainie. A present, right? But the bastard used them all that night. Every. Single. One.”

Remembering the number of items Jessica had purchased, Linda bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

“Yeah.” Jessica narrowed her eyes. “You know how some Doms don’t let you get off until they say? It’s much, much worse when they won’t let you stop. Seriously.”

Like what Sam had done to her after the bachelorette party? “I know exactly what you mean, and all I can say is that I’m really happy I didn’t buy half the things you did.”

Jessica busted out laughing so hard that everyone looked at them. “Damn Doms.”

Linda’s spirits lifted. How lovely to hear laughter.

Smiling, Z shook his head and said to Marcus, “I thought two weeks away from your little brat would be good for her.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Nolan said. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“Indeed,” Z said.

“Work? He calls me work?” Jessica said under her breath. She glared at Nolan. Then her eyes sliced to Linda, and she whispered, “That Dom needs a lesson. Let’s work on corrupting Beth.”

Linda choked on a laugh.

Z raised his voice. “I asked Galen and Vance to give us a rundown on what’s happening. Then perhaps Linda can talk with us.”

He’d want her to talk about that voice. About the slavers. Of course, she’d known the plan. Sickness rose in her belly.

Even as Z stood, concern on his face, Jessica tugged her to a chair. “Sit before you fall.”

“Thank you.” A shadow fell across her face. She looked up. Sam had taken a position next to her, arms crossed over his chest. The tightness under her breastbone eased slightly, then came back as she realized he wasn’t even looking at her. He stood there with a remote expression as if he were watching a boring television show. Not involved at all. Why? Why, Sam? Unable to help herself, she put her hand on his hip.

He shifted away.

She looked down, blinking hard. After a minute, she realized Jessica had sat beside her. Had taken her hand.

After squeezing Jessica’s hand in gratitude, Linda concentrated on the discussion.

Galen had been talking, his intensity a distinct contrast to his more laid-back partner. But both held the unmistakable aura of authority.

“We’ve eliminated the Harvest Association in three of the four quadrants,” Galen said. “The last one is the most entrenched and will be the most difficult.”

“Linda, I wanted to update you.” Vance’s blue eyes met hers. “The murderer you helped convict lasted three days in the penitentiary, then was shivved during a prison yard fight. He didn’t make it.”

She stared at him, unable to process the information.

After a moment of silence, Marcus sighed. “I do believe that sounds like a fitting end. May God have mercy on his soul.”

Someday, someday she hoped she’d feel the same. Maybe then, she’d know she was healed. She pulled in a slow breath. Be at peace, Holly. He won’t hurt anyone else.

Vance continued, enumerating other convictions. Then he glanced at Raoul. “A while back, we recovered a slave from Greville’s estate.”

Greville. Linda’s mouth compressed. He’d been Kim’s owner and had stabbed her. Almost killed her.

Raoul straightened. “Greville bought a slave after Kim?”

“I’m afraid so. I don’t know if you want to share this with Kim, but the girl was totally closed up. Not talking. Almost catatonic.” Galen’s lips tightened. “She came out of it soon after I told her Greville was dead, that another slave had killed him.”

“I thank you for the news,” Raoul said. “Mi gatita might find it helps the guilt she carries for his death.”

Poor Kim. But thinking of the lives the slavers had ruined, Linda couldn’t keep from shuddering. Unable to help herself, she glanced over at Sam. He was watching her, but he didn’t move closer.

“We’re still trying to locate all the missing women,” Vance said. “Not many of the slavers are willing to cooperate.”

“Those fucktards,” Anne growled. “Let me have a turn with them, and they’ll beg to tell you everything.”

As laughter broke out, Linda glanced inquisitively at Jessica.

Jessica leaned over and whispered, “Remember, she’s a sadist.” Her eyebrows waggled. “And she loves cock-and-ball torture.”

Oh. Ow. But wouldn’t that be a wonderful kind of justice?

“Now that you’re caught up, let’s talk about the spotter in the Shadowlands,” Vance said.

Was he talking about the person whose voice she’d heard? “What’s that?”

“Since the association targets women in the lifestyle, BDSM clubs are prime hunting grounds,” Galen said. “The spotter chooses which women should be kidnapped.”

Linda shivered.

“You arrested the Overseer,” Olivia said. “He worked with the spotter. Can’t he identify him?”

“He didn’t know the spotter’s name, just had an e-mail address and phone number.” Vance’s jaw hardened. “The description the Overseer gave us fits half the men in the club, and since he’s blind, he can’t ID the bastard.”