by Mari Carr
Joyful Engagement
Mari Carr
Lila Dubois
Copyright © 2020 by Mari Carr
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Epilogue
About the Author
Chapter One
He didn’t have a gun. The mission—to deliver a letter—didn’t feel gun worthy.
In hindsight, he should have brought a gun.
Tate Greene mounted the steps to the small, white house just outside Charleston, South Carolina. The house was devoid of any Christmas stuff. It was December twenty-ninth, so it was possible the adornments were already down, though they’d seen plenty of Christmas decorations still up and on display on the way here. Like a scary amount. One house about five miles back had filled every inch of their yard with inflatable Santas, reindeer, snowmen, and even a baby Yoda holding a candy cane.
But here? On the Hayden property? It could have been any month of the year.
His companion, Roman Tanaka glanced over, clearly waiting for Tate to take point. Roman was also here playing mailman. To anyone who didn’t know what was really going on, it would seem ridiculous that the Grand Master of the Trinity Masters would send a former Marine sniper—now a grad student at Harvard studying philosophy and specializing in the German philosophers—and an accountant for the NSA to play mailmen.
But the Grand Master had her reasons, at least one of which was that Roman’s cousin, Selene Tanaka, was receiving a letter.
Tate and Roman shared an impressed look as they took in the Tesla Coil in the yard, before Tate raised his hand and knocked on the door. He was pretty sure this was the right house even though there were several residences on the property.
They’d dropped the third in their group—their other “partner in crime”—Scarlet Hall off at the main farmhouse at the front of the property. The secondary houses and other assorted buildings were scattered around what had once probably been a working farm.
Their information as to which house they were looking for had come from a very reliable source. Langston Hayden had, until recently, lived in the converted barn to Tate’s left. The Tesla Coil was his. The two small houses belonged to his identical triplet brothers, Oscar and Walt.
A tall, muscled, black man opened the door. He didn’t look surprised to see them standing there—Langston had warned them that Oscar had elaborate security around the buildings at the back of the property, including video surveillance.
Scarlet—currently “breaking in” to the farmhouse—should be fine since there wasn’t security on that house, besides a standard alarm. Besides, Langston had given her a key to the front door and the code. The large, original farmhouse sat empty. The Hayden parents had moved a decade earlier, preferring to live in downtown Charleston to be closer to their daughter, Sylvia.
Oscar Hayden wore ugly green-and-red plaid pajama pants—perhaps they did celebrate Christmas after all—and nothing else. He had his arms crossed over his chest and he was radiating irritation.
Beside Tate, Roman made a face. It was just after one p.m., a little late to still be in pajamas, which meant Oscar had probably gotten out of bed to answer the door. Gotten out of a bed that contained Selene Tanaka and Luca Campisi.
The letter Tate had in his bag was for Luca. Roman’s was for Selene.
Oscar wasn’t getting a letter.
“Who are you and what do you want?”
From inside the house, a female voice called out, “I told you it’s my cousin! Give me a second to get decent, Roman!”
That confirmed they had some kind of video surveillance that had allowed Selene to identify Roman.
Oscar didn’t move.
Roman cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot. It was Roman’s equivalent of throwing his hands in the air in disgust. Roman was in “business” mode—a facade of reserved accountant. Since he was an accountant, it made sense, but Tate had gotten to know the real Roman during the planning meetings leading up to this trip to Charleston. Considering what he did, calling him an “accountant” was like calling a jaguar a cat. The mild-mannered face he wore hid a razor-sharp mind and incredible sense of humor.
“That answers my first question,” Oscar grumbled. “Doesn’t explain why you’re here.”
“We have letters,” Roman said quietly. “From the Grand Master.”
“Letters? Plural?” Oscar jerked as if they’d poked him with a sharp stick, and then his irritated expression melted away, replaced by relief.
That was when Tate’s instincts started to scream at him that he should have a gun.
He and Roman were delivering a letter on behalf of the Grand Master, the leader of the Trinity Masters—a secret society that had been functioning in the United States since the ink was still drying on the Declaration of Independence.
Membership in the society was offered to the best and brightest the country had to offer, however, one of the terms of inclusion involved a rather unusual caveat. Those who joined agreed to allow the Grand Master to place them in an arranged ménage marriage of her choosing.
Roman smiled when Selene appeared in the doorway.
“We’re still working on Oscar’s people skills,” she said. “It’s a steep learning curve.” She gave her cousin a warm smile and hug that revealed a genuine fondness between the two. “Would you both like to come in? I can make coffee or tea or grab some bottles of water if you’d like. Might even have some eggnog left if you’re in a festive mood.”
Roman stepped across the threshold, but Tate hesitated, wondering if they’d be smarter to stay out in the open where there was more room to run. Of course, the nearest thing to hide behind was the Tesla Coil, which would provide zero cover.
Oscar probably didn’t have a gun. It was probably going to be okay.
Some of Tate’s alarm was probably a byproduct of the way Langston had repeatedly warned everyone that this was a bad plan. But the Grand Master had been adamant. During post-meeting chitchat, Langston had mentioned that Oscar hadn’t exactly endeared himself to the Grand Master. Several weeks earlier, when the Trinity Masters had been trying to hunt down Luca, Oscar hadn’t played nice. Along the way, they’d also uncovered a crazy religious cult training future bombers, and apparently that was when Oscar had shown his ass.
Langston’s information made this plan—deliver two letters and make sure Oscar knew he wasn’t getting one—make a hell of a lot more sense. The Grand Master was punishing Oscar Hayden. It was a temporary, emotional torture sort of punishment. Maybe the Trinity Masters should implement some sort of court martial system. That would be more straightforward. Kant, Fichte, and maybe Hegel would argue that it’s a sign of respect for the humanity of the wrongdoer to give them just punishment.
Maybe, had he tried to use the argument of dead Germans to suggest the Grand Master change the plan, she would say that this was a “just,” and temporary, punishment for Oscar.
Roman was now deep in the house, which meant Tate had no choice but to step over the threshold. In a dangerous situation, the unit had to stay together.
Luca Campisi emerged from the bedroom. Tate had “met” the man twice, under two very different situations. The first time, Tate had been attem
pting to rescue Mina Edwards, to whom Luca had strapped a bomb. Believing the bomb was about to detonate, Mina had jumped into Boston Harbor, and Tate had followed her into the frigid water to save her. Mercifully, the bomb had not exploded.
Needless to say, Tate had been shocked when he’d been assigned to protect Luca, as well as Selene and Oscar, in Boston a few weeks ago. A man who’d been a known enemy was now a high value target to be protected.
He and his roommate had extensively questioned Harrison Adams about how the hell Luca was now someone they would protect. Harrison served as his, and the other Warrior Scholars’ handler. Tate liked to refer to him as Bosley, or lead henchman, depending on the mood.
The Warrior Scholars were an elite group of former military men turned academics. They served the Grand Master’s Boston-based bodyguards and security team. All eight men lived together in a big house turned grad-student housing, and they were all currently enrolled in graduate programs at one of Boston’s many Ivy League schools.
Harrison had filled Tate and Andre in on Luca’s background, explaining that the guy had been recruited as a kid by a religious cult in Europe and trained to build bombs. Luca had been working under duress, in order to protect his younger sister, Joli. When he’d met Luca the second time, he’d seen in the other man a willingness to do anything to protect the people he loved. Tate had nothing but respect for that.
Luca walked over to Tate and shook his hand, smiling widely, as if he’d just run into a long-lost friend.
“Tate. It is very good to see you again,” Luca said. “We weren’t expecting you.”
“Where are the letters?” Oscar asked, cutting straight to the chase.
Tate had been hoping for more time to get the lay of the land, to study their surroundings, and map out an escape plan if this went as badly as he feared it might.
“Letters?” Selene asked.
Tate reached into his pocket and withdrew a single, cream-colored envelope, embossed with the symbol of the Trinity Masters, a triquetra. He handed it to Luca, whose eyes widened. “Is this…” He looked over at Selene and Oscar.
Unlike Oscar, Luca’s expression wasn’t one of relief as much as resignation.
At least until Roman produced the letter he was carrying and gave it to Selene.
Luca brightened immediately. “We’ve been, ah…” He stopped, probably to think of the term. “Called to the altar?”
Tate knew from their planning meetings that Luca was now not only an ally but a new member of the Trinity Masters. So was Oscar, but Luca was obviously still feeling his way around how things worked. Members were called to the altar by the Grand Master in order to meet their trinity during a binding ceremony. The fact that Selene and Luca were receiving their letters at the same time was a solid bet they would be placed in a marriage together.
Of course, they could have just opened the letters…
In the time he’d spent guarding Oscar, Luca, and Selene, he’d seen the genuine bond—no, love—the three felt for each other.
Tate was feeling pretty damn guilty about what was about to happen next. Kant would not approve. Punishment should be clearly identified as such in order to meet the humanity of the wrongdoer. Oscar was going to figure out real damn fast this was punishment, but he wasn’t going to know for sure that his lack of envelope was direct punishment for defying orders.
Selene shook her head. “No. It’s too soon for Luca and Oscar to be called to the altar. Neither of them has been a member for six months yet. We could be summoned to Boston for something else.” Selene was clearly trying for calm and reasonable, but her expression was lit with excitement. “I mean, maybe they need a super villain—”
“I hope not. It’s a miracle we didn’t fucking die the last time,” Oscar grumped, but he was smiling.
Selene looked first at Oscar, then Luca, and started to open her letter. However, she stopped when she realized Oscar was standing next to her, empty-handed.
Tate saw the excitement drain from Selene’s face, to be replaced by an expression somewhere between grim and wary.
She gazed up at her cousin, Roman, who had at least six inches on her. Her voice was low when she said, “Roman, give Oscar his letter.”
“I’m here to deliver your letter,” Roman said.
Selene turned to him, a panicky anger twisting her features. “Tate. Give Oscar his letter.”
Tate now knew why the Grand Master had sent a former Marine.
Tate cleared his throat. “Those are the only letters we have.”
Selene sucked in air. “It’s not a call to the altar then. It’s a rule, you have to be a member for six months…” There was worry in her voice, and Oscar’s jaw was clenched so hard, Tate could see the muscle.
Gun. He really should have a gun.
Selene finished ripping open her envelope. She read her letter, then turned to Luca, who opened his own, with less violence than she’d used. Luca and Selene looked at one another and then turned to Oscar.
Slowly, Luca held out his letter to Oscar. Oscar scanned it, and Tate knew what he was reading. Those letters were a call to the altar. And only Selene and Luca had received them.
Emotions flashed across Oscar’s face—shock, sadness, resignation, disappointment, and finally, rage. Tate muttered a soft curse when rage was the one that stuck, and he reconsidered taking his chances behind the Tesla Coil.
“Roman, why are you hand-delivering my letter?” Selene demanded, her attention still on Oscar, though she spoke to her cousin. “Why didn’t these come by courier?”
“I delivered it because the Grand Master asked me to,” Roman said simply.
Luca reached out to put his hand on Oscar’s shoulder. “You both have family who are members. I don’t.” Luca looked briefly at Tate. “Perhaps Langston is bringing your letter and he’s running late.”
“Yeah,” Oscar said, the word sounding far too emotionless and wooden to match the fury blazing in his eyes.
“Oscar,” Selene said gently, as if she was trying to calm a rabid dog.
“Gimme a minute.”
Before any of them could say another word, Oscar disappeared down the hallway.
Tate was tempted to play along with the Langston supposition, mutter something about “oh sure maybe.” His Spidey senses were tingling, telling him that this whole mission was about to be FUBAR. Tate reached for the back of Roman’s pants, wanting a handle so he could haul the other man out of there if needed.
He managed to grope Roman’s ass in the process. Roman turned to face him, arching a brow and giving him a look that was considering rather than offended.
Okay then.
Maybe if this mission didn’t go south, he and Roman could fool around. Tate had spent a solid hour last night fantasizing about Scarlet, but he was adaptable.
Selene spun to face them. “Is Langston coming with his letter?”
Tate put on his blank soldier face. “I’m sorry, Ms. Tanaka, I don’t have that information.”
Selene grabbed her cousin by the shoulders, and Tate tightened his hold on the back of Roman’s pants. “Is Oscar getting a letter?”
“Selene, I was sent to give you your letter. That is all.”
Roman, smart man that he was, worded his response very carefully.
Seeing the panic and fear on Selene and Luca’s faces made Tate’s heart hurt. He seriously considered telling them what was up, but this was supposed to be a punishment. Supposedly for Oscar, but it looked like the Grand Master, whom he didn’t dare do anything to piss off, was also punishing Luca and Selene.
“Damn it. I’m not...not ready to...” Selene whispered.
“Selene,” Luca said, stepping closer to her, his gaze worried. “Perhaps there is something we can do?”
Selene shrugged, shaking her head slowly. “We knew this day was coming eventually. Knew we were living on borrowed time, but I truly hoped...believed that the Grand Master would…”
She didn’t finish. Instead, s
he looked down at the letter. “We have to be in Boston in two days.”
“Two days?” Luca looked back down the hallway where Oscar disappeared. “That would give us enough time—”
“Enough time to run,” Oscar said as he appeared at the far end of the hall. His shoulders were set, his stride a bit too fast. And he held one hand down at his side and slightly behind his thigh, hiding his hand.
Mayday, mayday!
Tate’s internal alarm sounded, the suspicion that things were about to be FUBAR all but confirmed.
He locked eyes with Oscar, and in the other man’s gaze, he saw desperation. The desperation of a man who was about to lose the people he loved.
Tate yanked Roman back and slid in front of him, barking, “RUN!”
“Oscar, what—” Luca started to ask.
Oscar raised his hand and fired the weapon he held.
Tate had a split second to act, but with Roman, who had not run, behind him, there was nowhere to go. He used that second to shove Roman, shouting “Run!” again, and then the two barbed projectiles from the Taser stuck into Tate’s chest and shoulder.
Tate’s jaw clenched as pain rocked through him, fueled by the electricity. He hit his knees, and had just enough brain cells left functioning to remember that Luca had, not all that long ago, used a modified stun gun-type weapon on Levi, which had resulted in a nice hospital stay.
A fresh arc of electricity seized his muscles and Tate face planted.
He didn’t quite blackout, but he couldn’t move and his ears were ringing.
“Um, that may not have been an excellent idea,” Luca said.
“I’m buying us time,” Oscar snarled, his voice retreating as he stepped over Tate.
“Oscar, where are you going? You better not tase my favorite cousin.”
Tate lay on the floor of the hall, unable to move. He could vaguely hear shouting from outside.
