Servicing the Target

by Cherise Sinclair

  Now what should she do?

  A half-laugh escaped. The person she’d normally ask for guidance would be Ben. She rubbed her chest where the aching mass of bruised heart muscle hadn’t stopped throbbing. He knew her. He’d have given her solid advice because he liked her the way she was.

  With him, she’d been able to relax and not stay “on” all the time.

  Was that because he didn’t need her to always be strong and invulnerable.

  He was smart. Easygoing. Deadly. Competent. A survivor of the worst New York could throw at him and war, as well. He didn’t need her to make his decisions.

  She blew out a breath, feeling like an idiot. Caught up in the way she always did things, she’d tried to make every choice for her, for him, for them.

  He didn’t need her to be in charge.

  What about her? Could she cope with a relationship where she wasn’t in control all the time?

  Rather than an instant “no,” she heard only silence. As if the answer was…maybe. How odd.

  The thought of having a relationship where she wasn’t always in charge was almost as exhilarating as frightening. She’d had a couple of days like that, right? Their first weekend together, she’d only taken charge in the bedroom. The rest of the time, she’d kicked back and not even tried. She hadn’t wanted more control. Hadn’t missed it.

  But, but, but…she’d never accepted a non-slave.

  She huffed out a laugh. She’d never had houseplants either. With a sigh, she eyed the tiny African violet on the coffee table. A gift from Ben. As were the giant schefflera that stood in a corner of the room and the pothos vine trailing down from the top of the china hutch. Instead of being annoyed at a slave’s presumptuousness, she’d been touched. Pleased.

  Quite honestly, she loved the “life” the plants brought to her home. She enjoyed caring for them.

  She was changing. And perhaps she didn’t require as much control as she had required in the past. Could that be possible?

  Ben had shown he could adapt to whatever life threw at him. In that respect, he’d done far better than she had.

  He was gone, but they’d talk on the weekend. She stared at the African violet, the tiny purple flowers a symbol of hope—because she was glad it was in her home. Because it showed that she had changed.

  Linda had told her, “The earth is all about change. The seasons move from summer to winter. The continental plates push up mountains that the weather slowly grinds back down. On this planet, in this universe, nothing stands still.”

  Ben had been brave enough to try to be her slave. It was her turn.

  On Saturday, she’d ask him for another chance. She’d be his Mistress only in the bedroom—and his lover full time.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Late Friday afternoon, Anne arrived at The Brothers Bail Bonds and crossed the parking lot. Her feet were dragging as they had after her first three days in boot camp. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep. In fact, she was completely, purely exhausted.

  Over the last few days, she’d examined her past, trying to see how much of her need for control was due to experiences she’d had and what was integral to her personality. Her uglier memories had given her some emotional moments.

  And her guilt kept growing that she hadn’t seen how Ben must have been suffering.

  To top off her woes, being lonely was…horrible. Ben’s absence filled her home, stabbing her whenever she tripped over something they’d done together.

  Since they’d done almost everything together, the pain had been nearly constant.

  The kitchen was too silent without Ben’s laughter and teasing, even his messes. And the key to her house still lay where he’d left it on the island.

  But her miniscule baby needed food, whether or not its mama had to force herself to swallow. And, somehow her realization she was pregnant had summoned the nausea that went with it. Skipping breakfast no longer held it at bay.

  In the evenings, Ben wasn’t on his side of the couch or at her feet or anywhere in the house. Last night, when his favorite program came on, she’d cried.

  At night, in bed, when she rolled over, no one was there. And she’d cried.

  Damn hormones.

  Damn Ben.

  Damn Anne for being so blind to his needs.

  Despite her exhaustion, she was relieved to be at work. Yesterday had been her day off, giving her all day to mope. For the first time, she’d regretted her flexible hours.

  With a shake of her shoulders, she lifted her chin and opened the back door to the building. She’d come in early to type up the team briefing about the fugitive they’d go after later that night. Funny how much she was looking forward to the diversion.

  This morning had started bad. Although she hadn’t puked her guts out before breakfast—as Jessica had done during her pregnancy—the nausea that had swept over her had turned her hot, then cold, and had her gulping and panting like a fish out of water.

  Tomorrow night, she’d see Ben.

  Just the thought made her quivery and hopeful and despairing. She’d even tried calling him last night, but no answer. He was out in the middle of some swamp—she knew that—but she’d still felt…rejected.

  Such an insecure girly feeling.

  But tomorrow, they’d talk. She’d see if he wanted to try again and keep the D/s power exchange to the bedroom. She’d ask him to be patient with her as she worked to break her constant Domme habits.

  She’d tell him she missed him so, so much.

  That she still forgot and put water down for Bronx every morning.

  That the plants he’d given her were still alive.

  Come home, Ben.

  Tears didn’t belong in a bail bond agency. She blinked and bit her lip, letting the pain force them back. And then she walked down the hall toward the recovery agents’ room.

  Matt’s office door was open. The desk photo showed him with his latest grandchild—such an adorable baby.

  Anne sighed. Wanting to avoid Z, she’d canceled her usual visit with Jessica and Sophia. The Shadowlands’ owner could read a person almost as if he possessed mind-reading abilities—and she knew he’d take one look at her and know she was pregnant.

  No matter how much she’d love to share the news, Ben deserved to be the first to hear.

  Besides…confessing to Z that she’d managed to get knocked up? Talk about the walk of shame.

  Half smiling, she strolled into the room. Panels divided the perimeter of the room into cubicles, all open to the conference area in the center.

  In one corner, Aaron was at his desk, typing a report.

  Her cousin Robert stood in Anne’s cubicle. He dropped a paper on her desk and spotted her. “Why if it isn’t Mz. Desmarais.”

  She should have stayed in bed today. “Robert. Did you have something for me?”

  His smirk gave her a bad feeling. “Left you an update.”

  An update on what? Anne set her folder down. The paper Robert had brought was her list of agents for the team tonight. Under the team leader designation, her name had been crossed off and Robert’s substituted.

  In fact, she wasn’t on the list at all.

  The anger that flared across her nerves was out of proportion to the problem. Just hormones. I can deal. She throttled her temper back and kept her voice even. “Robert, that’s not funny.”

  His smile grew. “I didn’t make the changes. Uncle Matt did. He said you can have today off and then work the desk on Monday.”

  Desk time meant answering calls, visiting the jail, taking down information from felons, and skip tracing. It was the same scut labor she’d done in her college days when she’d worked part time here.

  Maybe she could stand to do the desk, but what about her team? Robert was incompetent enough as a team member. Having him in charge would be a disaster.

  “That’s my team,” she said evenly. “I built it.”

  “Actually, they work for my father and Matt, not you. And they’d rather
be led by someone else. Not a fucking—”

  “Robert,” Aaron snapped. “Watch your mouth.”

  Anne looked across the room. “What do the others think about this?”

  “People are fucking pissed.” Aaron’s jaw was tight. “Nobody asked our preferences. But, as he pointed out, Russell and Matt own the company. The rest of us take orders.”

  So, Robert had gotten his way.

  Anne forced her fingers open. Stay calm. Her first reaction was to tell him and the uncles to shove their job where the sun didn’t shine. But she had more control than that. And it was stupid to walk out of a job before finding another—if that’s what she decided to do. Although just the thought of having to search for a new position right now was disheartening.

  Think of that later. Of more concern was her team. The rodent was liable to get one of her people killed.

  “I’ll talk with Matt and Russell,” she told Aaron.

  “They’re not here.” Robert grinned widely and winced before continuing. “Besides, they—”

  “What happened to your face?” she interrupted. A scrape marked his jaw, one lip was swollen and split, and his right eye was partially black.

  He took a step back, eyed her, then puffed up like a toad. “None of your fucking business, bitch. Or maybe it is, considering the kind of assholes who show up at the office looking for you.”

  “Ben was here?” If Robert had bad-mouthed her, the guard dog wouldn’t think twice about backhanding him.

  He flushed. “Yeah. Ben.”

  Had he targeted her tiger with his filthy insults?

  He’d better not have. Anger surged higher. What had he said to her man? If he’d made Ben feel bad, she’d… “At least I associate with men and not dickless wonders like you.”

  When Robert’s hands closed into fists, she smiled and crooked her fingers in a come-here-boy gesture.

  He stopped.

  Right. The rodent didn’t fight, just manipulated people. With a sniff of disgust, she picked up her folder with the extra research she’d put in.

  “Aaron, I’ll leave Matt a message that I’ll talk with him on Monday.” She gave him a serious look. “You all be careful. It’s dangerous having an unreliable team member.”

  Ignoring the sputter from Robert, Aaron dipped his head. “I hear you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Saturday night, Anne sat at her parents’ overcrowded table, trying to act festive and worrying about what would happen later when she met Ben at the Shadowlands.

  Would he listen to her? Want to try again?

  Breathe.

  Unfortunately, the inhalation carried the fishy smell of red snapper—her father’s favorite dish—and her stomach turned over.

  Wonderful. She took a careful sip of Sprite and fought for calm under the barrage of piercingly loud voices around the table.

  Since this was her father’s birthday dinner, her uncles and their families were present. When they’d arrived, she’d greeted them with a cool politeness. Uncle Matt had looked guilty and still couldn’t meet her gaze. Naturally, Uncle Russell and Robert acted as if nothing was wrong,

  But she was all for a detente with the relatives tonight since her emotions were already on a rollercoaster ride.

  Every time she thought about Ben, she wanted to cry.

  Every time she looked at her uncles, she wanted to throw something at them. And subscribe them to Ms. Magazine.

  Every time Robert leered at her breasts, she wanted to beat him into a gory heap.

  And that just wasn’t worth it…because the smell of the blood would probably make her throw up.

  Her snort drew Travis’s attention, and he bumped his shoulder against hers. “What’s got you so quiet, sis?”

  She shrugged. This wasn’t the time or place to indulge in a complaint fest.

  Seated across the table, her cousin overheard. “She’s pouting because I run the recovery team now and she’s off completely. Or maybe it’s something else. You on the rag, cuz?”

  Her mother gasped at his coarse insult.

  “Shut your mouth, Robert,” Travis snapped.

  Touching her brother’s arm, Anne shook her head. Rancorous discussions didn’t belong at a birthday dinner, and her mother’d put in long hours on the party.

  “Tell you what,” Robert announced. “The guys were fucking happy to finally having a man leading them.”

  The rodent wasn’t going to shut up.

  Harrison growled, “Jesus, you’re so full of—”

  “This discussion is more appropriately conducted at the office, not at a celebration,” Anne interrupted before things could get out of hand. “I’ll discuss this on Monday with the owners.”

  “Thank you, darling,” her mother said, looking relieved.

  Her father frowned. “What the hell is—”

  “No need to wait.” Robert said. “About everyone here has been involved with the company at one time or another. I bet they’re interested in how you’re always trying to shove your way into running everything.”

  She eyed the rat. “I didn’t have to shove my way anywhere. I built that team from scratch and ran it because I have the education, experience, and skills to do so.” Still hoping to salvage the dinner, she didn’t add, “all of which you lack.”

  Harrison growled, “Exactly.”

  Perhaps her cousin had heard the part she left out. He glared. “You don’t have anything that I—”

  “Enough.” Her What-the-Fuck Meter zoomed past orange and into red. “You took the team because you can’t stand taking directions from a woman. You’re not a leader because you’re better, but because you went crying to your daddy—which you do whenever you don’t get your way. I realize it’s difficult to man up when your equipment is the size of peanuts, but do give it a try.”

  Robert turned purple.

  Travis inhaled beer, making appalling sounds on her right. Most of the relatives were roaring with laughter.

  Not all.

  Her father leaned forward and raised his voice over the noise. “Russell, you’ve removed Anne from fugitive recovery?”

  “Since Robert is quite capable of leading the team, I decided to make the change.” Russell’s florid complexion was heightened; his jowls quivered with anger. “I’ve never been comfortable sending a woman into combat, so to speak.”

  Anne choked her response back. Why fight to remain as team leader when her pregnancy would sideline her soon anyway? But, she’d worked her hardest for her uncles and to make her team the best. Being booted out…

  It hurt.

  Robert gave her father a sincere look. “A woman is far too liable to get herself killed. And a wanna-be cop doesn’t have what it takes.”

  “A what?” her mother asked in surprise. “She’s not—”

  “Robert has his head up his ass,” Harrison interrupted, frowning at Matt. “If you don’t recall, you and Russell hired her so she could bring in her law enforcement experience and train your agents. The team was her idea and creation. And she’s why you have the highest recovery percentages in Florida—and the lowest insurance rates.”

  “That may be, but recovering skips is still no place for a woman,” Matt said.

  She’d known Uncle Matt had qualms, but he was the one who’d recruited her. Now—because of Robert—he’d changed his mind. The betrayal was another small ping of pain in a growing avalanche.

  When Travis started to speak, Anne shook her head at him. No point.

  What a disaster. She needed to get their attention and quiet this mess. This was her father’s birthday party, not a venue for a verbal brawl. She held up her hand. “Uncle M—”

  “I must say, I’m relieved. I never wanted my girl working recovery and endangering her life for a few extra bucks. It’s just not safe.” The words came from the head of the table.

  From her father.

  She turned to look at him, feeling as if he’d picked up the knife sitting beside his plate and plu
nged it into her heart.

  Robert could manipulate his father into anything—because his father believed his child could do anything.

  Her father was the opposite.

  She’d tried all her life to be competent—outstanding—in any task, especially the ones traditionally assigned to men. She’d succeeded.

  But her father, the one who should have believed in her and supported her, didn’t.

  Her eyes stung with unshed tears. She pushed her chair back.

  “Anne, no,” Harrison whispered.

  She felt Travis grip her arm and shook him free.

  “You win, Dad.” Shoulders back, chin up, she faced her father. “You’ve made it clear over and over that you don’t think I can be as good at anything as your sons.”

  Her father’s face went blank. “Anne—”

  “Darling.” Her mother’s face was white. “He doesn’t—”

  “He does, Mom. It’s fine. I get it.” Her voice didn’t betray the echoing emptiness inside. Her gaze turned to Russell. “You win too. I quit as of this moment.” She glanced at Travis. “Please pick up my things for me.”

  Face set, he nodded.

  Finally, she looked at Robert. “You are a slimy turd not worth scraping off my stiletto, let alone speaking to. So fair warning. If you ever address me again for any reason, you’ll wake up in a hospital bed, pissing blood for a month.”

  Silence accompanied her as she walked out.

  * * * *

  In the Shadowlands, Ben leaned against a black leather couch and idly watched a chain station scene. In a dark-red suit, the Domme was wielding a cane on a gray-haired submissive. Her husband, actually, as Ben recalled. She was whacking him in time with the Aboriginal-sounding drums of Massive Attack’s “Inertia Creeps.” His groans provided an interesting counterpoint to the lead singer’s whispers.

  The Domme stopped to observe her sub.

  The man kept trying to look over his shoulder. As the seconds passed without a blow, he continued to tense.

  “Take a deep breath now,” she ordered in a light, sweet voice.

  The guy didn’t listen.

  Bad move, bro, Ben said to him silently.