Beloved Sacrifice: Trinity Masters, book 9

by Mari Carr

  Juliette chose her words with care. “My father attended Harvard; perhaps that is where they met.”

  Many members of the Trinity Masters were recruited in college, from one of Boston’s three major universities as well as others.

  “I believe your brother went there as well.” Marek’s tone matched hers, each word deliberate.

  If he knew that the previous Grand Master—Harrison—was her brother, then he knew more about the inner workings of the Trinity Masters than anyone but the counselors should.

  Something in her body language must have given away her tension because Marek’s eyes narrowed and he held up one hand. “Please understand, Ms. Adams, I do not wish you any ill will.”

  Devon came half out of his chair when Marek said her name. Once more she laid a restraining hand on his leg.

  “It’s okay, Devon.” She pushed back the hood. “Perhaps we should speak frankly, Marek.”

  “Frankly and honestly,” he countered.

  Fine. She cleared her throat and spoke.

  “Your mother was a legacy member of the Trinity Masters, who declined to join so she could marry your father. You have gained a reputation as an international security consultant and political advisor.”

  Marek inclined his head.

  “There was a story in a small Moroccan paper that mentioned you helped locate and negotiate the release of some hostages.”

  Two matched frown lines appeared between his eyebrows. “I had thought that story was removed from most records.”

  Ha. Now it was her turn to know more than he was comfortable with.

  “We have some excellent researchers,” Juliette said demurely. Score one for her cute history geek—Franco had found something a professional thought he’d buried.

  Marek’s expression smoothed out and he didn’t say anything more. Whatever moment of discomfort or chagrin she’d managed to elicit by mentioning the paper was gone. And with it her advantage.

  “We need help locating someone,” Devon said.

  “Someone the Agency isn’t able to find?”

  Devon’s back went stiff at the mention of the Agency. Juliette’s palms started to sweat. Marek Lee knew too much, far too much, about them.

  The silence was now filled with tension, and Juliette felt vaguely ill. She looked at Devon out of the corner of her eye. If Marek knew who they both were, Devon might not let him leave this lobby alive, and it would be another piece of shadow weighing down her husband.

  Marek cleared his throat. “It appears I’ve alarmed you; that is not my intention. I’m not an information broker—I’m not here to blackmail or threaten you. I would never tell anyone what I know.”

  “And why should we believe that?” Devon spat.

  “Because I’ve never said anything before now.” Marek’s eyes were calm and steady. “My mother chose to marry my father, rather than join the Trinity Masters. They both made sacrifices for love. I have the privilege of having wealth, knowledge, and skills that allow me to spend my time helping others. If I choose to help you, it will be because you need my help, and because it’s the right thing to do.”

  Devon let out a hard, barking laugh. “The right thing to do?”

  Juliette sat quiet, picking through every word he’d said. Normally Devon was far better at this than her, but he wasn’t his usual self.

  “Yes, Mr. Asher. The right thing.”

  “Then I don’t know if you can help us. The person we need help finding isn’t a damsel in distress.” There was a hint of a question, or maybe it was a plea, regarding the veracity of that statement in Devon’s voice.

  “It’s a woman you need help finding?”

  Devon snarled, realizing what he’d given away.

  “Devon.” Juliette laid her hand on his arm. “Give us a minute.”

  She expected him to protest, but instead he stood and stalked away, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

  Juliette regarded Marek calmly. “May I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “You said your father gave up something too. What did he give up?”

  Marek studied her for a moment, then smiled a brief but dazzling smile. “My mother was a legacy to America’s Trinity Masters. My father gave up his legacy membership to the Masters’ Admiralty.”

  * * *

  Marek watched Juliette Adams, Grand Master of the Trinity Masters, go still.

  She recognized the name “Admiralty.” That was good. It meant she was aware of the world beyond America’s borders. Marek’s mother had mentioned that the man who’d been Grand Master when she was approached about joining as a legacy member—Juliette’s father—had been extremely America-centric. It had been one of the reasons Janet Underwood had decided not to join the organization her family had been a member of for generations.

  Juliette’s prolonged stillness told him that she was considering her next words carefully.

  “One of our members has gone missing,” she said.

  “Have you called the police?”

  Juliette grimaced. “I should have been more precise. One of our members was kidnapped off the street. She was seen being dragged into a van, a hood pulled over her head.”

  Marek sat up a bit straighter. “Who saw?”

  Juliette turned just her head to look at Devon. Ah, perhaps that explained some of the other man’s tension—he blamed himself for not being able to prevent this kidnapping.

  “You need my help locating her?” Marek was surprised. According to his mother, and the few whispers he’d heard, the Trinity Masters had more than enough power and resources to hunt down a kidnapper.

  “We have looked. A top security firm has a team searching for her.” Juliette’s expression was carefully neutral. “Her home, and the home she grew up in, they’re both being monitored. There haven’t been any ransom calls, nor any sign of her.”

  Juliette looked up, met his eyes, and for the first time Marek saw not a pretty young blonde, but the monarch and commander of the Trinity Masters. There was presence to her, as if she wore the might of the Trinity Masters like an invisible cloak.

  “If she is within my borders,” there was a slight emphasis on the word “my” that Marek noted, “then we will find her. But I fear she is not anywhere in the United States. Based on what little we were able to learn about you, it seems you’ve worked all over the world.”

  He inclined his head. “I have had wonderful opportunities to travel and learn languages.”

  “There was a private plane that left a small airport here in Boston forty-five minutes after she was kidnapped. It was traveling south to the Cayman Islands. According to its flight records it stayed there, but we were able to acquire some information that put the tail numbers of that plane at a small regional airport in Leeds about the same time it was set to land in the Caymans.”

  “You’d like me to look for her in England.”

  Juliette nodded.

  “Have you spoken to anyone in the Admiralty?”

  Juliette was very still. She shook her head once.

  Hmmm.

  This job was simpler than many others he’d taken on, but he also knew that there were very few people the Grand Master would have been able to turn to.

  Protect those who can’t protect themselves.

  That was the motto he’d lived his life by. He was privileged, with skills and resources few others had, so he did what his grandmother had charged him to do—protect.

  “I will help you, Grand Master.” He inclined his head respectfully, showing her the deference she was due.

  When he looked up her face hadn’t changed, but the tension was gone from her neck and shoulders. “Thank you, Mr. Lee.”

  “Who do you need me to find?”

  She turned and motioned to Devon, who came stalking back. Juliette held out her hand. Devon withdrew papers from his breast pocket and passed them to her. She in turn slid them across the table to Marek.

  He unfolded the papers.
The top sheet was a photo of a beautiful dark-haired woman.

  “Rose Hancock,” Juliette said as he looked at the paper. “Find her. Bring her back to Boston.”

  The remaining pages were a list of times and known locations, pictures of a small Cessna, and blurry surveillance shots of two people boarding a plane. Both wore hooded coats, one person shorter than the other, with a slender stature. The bulky jackets were identical, and concealing enough that the short figure could be either a woman or a slim man.

  Marek looked up, then nodded. “I’ll save her.”

  Devon’s face blanked and he turned away once more.

  Juliette smiled sadly. “Save her. Yes, please save her.”

  Chapter Two

  Rose tried to swallow and couldn’t. Her tongue felt glued to the top of her mouth. Her head ached and her arms hurt. She was lying on her back. She raised her hands toward her face, wanting to rub her gritty eyes, but her arms stopped short, chains jangling.

  She squeezed her eyes closed for a second, then blinked them open. The ceiling was sharply sloped and white, the walls a pretty mint green. Deja vu swept over her. She’d seen this room before.

  She pulled on her arms again, listening to chains clank. She sucked in a breath, the sound making her stomach jangle with nerves and remembered sickness.

  Here. She’d been here before. Wait, that wasn’t right. She was still here. Moment by moment, it came back to her—the van, the hood going over her head, a needle in her arm, a plane. And Caden.

  Caden.

  A sickening rush of adrenaline made her sit up. Her mind was still foggy but her body remembered—her wrists were manacled, the chain connecting the restraints looped through and padlocked to the iron headboard of the twin bed. Her ankles were manacled too, but the chain between them was loose, allowing her to swing her legs off the bed and sit up.

  She scooted closer to the head of the bed, so one arm wasn’t pulled awkwardly across her body, then looked around the room. It was small enough that she could press her feet against the opposite wall. Probably a closet, and given the pitch of the roof and lack of windows, it was probably in an attic.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d woken up in the room. Bits and pieces of memory were tumbling around in her brain, jangling and clashing. Everything was fuzzy, as if they were half remembered dreams that lingered rather than memories of reality. She had no sense of how much time had passed, and that was terrifying.

  She tried to place what she remembered in order. Boston? No, before that. She’d been at home in L.A. Caden had called her.

  Caden was dead.

  No. Go back. Think.

  Caden had called her from Boston. He was going to steal some stupid poetry book from a member of the Trinity Masters. It was yet another task in the Andersons’ endless machinations. He’d planned to steal it, going in without backup, sure that the poetry book’s owner, a member of a newly formed trinity, would be at the hotel all new trinities went to. He’d been sure this would be the one, the thing that would allow him to unlock whatever secret Elroy, Barton, and Victoria were trying so hard to protect.

  “I’m tired, Darling. I want to be done. I want you and Tabby safe.”

  “Okay, I’ll check flights. I can be there by morning. Early afternoon at the latest.”

  “No. I’m doing this tonight.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  That was the great plan. Caden would find this secret, then use it as the leverage they needed to finally escape. He, Rose, and most importantly, Caden’s disabled younger sister Tabitha would flee to South America, where they would live out the rest of their lives in relative peace.

  Caden had gone in, even as Rose had rushed to the airport, sure that something was about to go wrong.

  And it had.

  Once more her stomach lurched. She bent, elbows tucked into her stomach, and dry heaved.

  “The first one reads ‘Loss and darkness await me. Night, like death—’”

  “Caden?”

  “I heard something,” he whispered.

  “Caden, get out of there. Run. Run!”

  Pop.

  Thump.

  Then the sound of new voices, faint through the cell phone connection.

  “Oh my God!”

  “Is he dead? God! Is he dead, Christian?”

  A woman crying. “So much blood. I don’t know what to do.”

  Caden’s blood.

  Then the godforsaken flight attendant, who didn’t know and didn’t care that Caden was dying, dead. “Ma’am, we’re about to take off. You must end your call and put your phone on airplane mode. Ma’am?”

  Her phone slid to the floor. Fingers and lips numb. Cold. Cold all over. Numb.

  She didn’t cry.

  She’d listened to him die. Sat still, silent, and cold all through the flight to Boston.

  She’d landed and then…

  Then the grief took over. Pain and disbelief and revenge. Revenge. She’d taken her revenge on the trinity who’d killed Caden and on the Trinity Masters.

  She’d been ready to die, in that tunnel deep underground, a fitting tomb, but…

  But she’d been pulled out. Put in a van, then on a plane.

  Everything was coming back now, and events were starting to reorder in her mind. That had been days ago. She’d woken up the first time tied to a chair and seen…

  “Who are you?” Her voice was ragged and scratchy, a blindfold covered her eyes.

  No reply.

  “Where am I?”

  Her wrists were bound to the arms of a chair. The familiar feeling of rope and the restriction of bondage triggered her submissive training. She fought against it.

  “Where?” Laughter. Male. Rough. Gritty. “You’re not in Kansas anymore.”

  “Devon?” She must have been captured by the Trinity Masters. The voice wasn’t Juliette’s, and Devon was the next most likely person. Plus, there was something familiar about it.

  No answer.

  “Where am I?” she asked again.

  “Keep your voice down.”

  Behind her blindfold, her eyes closed. She dipped her chin submissively. “Yes, Sir,” waited on her lips, and Rose hated herself for it.

  The blindfold loosened and fell away. When Rose could focus, she looked up. It couldn’t be. “I thought you were dead.”

  “Dead? Maybe I am.”

  In between one breath and the next, it all became too much. Rose yanked against the ropes, screaming and crying. Her head felt like it was going to split open. She closed her eyes and screamed—the pain needed an outlet.

  A familiar rubbery sphere was forced between her teeth. A ball gag.

  No. No. Don’t make me keep the pain in. I can’t hold it inside anymore.

  The gag muffled but didn’t stop her screams, but when a strong, rough hand caught her jaw, that familiar voice hissing at her to be quiet, she shut down. The part of her that was Rose tucked up into a corner of her mind, safe there. She let the training take over. She went still and quiet. Obedient and waiting.

  “Rose, I have to leave you alone. I don’t want to, but there are too many things going on right now.”

  A small click and then a prick of pain in her leg. Then sweet, numbing sleep took her.

  Rose opened and closed her mouth, testing her jaw muscles, which seemed none the worse. He must have taken the gag out right away. There was a sore spot on her thigh from the needle. After that, she’d woken a few times in this small room. Once, she’d woken and he’d been there, helping her to the bathroom, urging her to eat. When she woke alone, she’d sipped from a bottle of water left for her then turned over, closed her eyes, and gone back to sleep.

  Her stomach knotted again, and this time she recognized it as hunger. If she had the timeline correct, it had been days since she’d eaten anything beside the sandwich she’d been given, and that might have been a dream.

  She was awake now, and the fog in her mind was burned away to a few wispy pieces of mist. Bu
t the memory of being tied to the chair, of what, of whom, she saw, must have been a dream. Because that couldn’t be real.

  She touched the sore spot on her thigh. It couldn’t be real.

  The door to her small if nicely painted prison opened.

  “Rose.”

  Time slowed and stilled. She didn’t look at him. She let the voice wash over her. Familiar, yet also so foreign. So different than she remembered.

  “Rose?”

  She opened her eyes, and for the second time said, “I thought you died.”

  A scarred, battered man looked down at her. “I almost did.”

  She took a deep breath. “Caden…” Her throat closed tight with grief. She had to stop and fight with her emotions, shoving them down until she could speak. “Caden is dead.”

  Weston Anderson nodded once. “I know.”

  Tears welled in Rose’s eyes and slipped down her cheeks.

  “They killed him,” Rose said.

  “The Trinity Masters?”

  “Christian Stewart Rogers.” She spat out the name.

  Weston stepped into the small room, filling the doorway and blocking out the afternoon light that spilled in. “Come on, you need to eat. You’ve been asleep for days.”

  Rose dropped her gaze to the cuffs on her wrists.

  “They’re safety cuffs.” His voice was low but rough. It hadn’t been like that when she’d known him a lifetime ago. “Just take them off.”

  Rose stared at her wrists. There was a little loop at the top of each cuff where she could grab it with the tip of a finger and pull.

  She didn’t move.

  A submissive accepts a Dominant’s bondage, and does not remove, reject, or complain.

  “Rose, come on.”

  The cuffs, the command, the emotional shock—it was all too much.

  She corrected her posture and said, “Yes, Sir.” She used mental imaging to imagine herself as an adult—strong, confident, poised—walking into a large gold bird cage and pulling the door shut. Out of the shadows stepped a different version of her—younger, maybe sixteen. Timid, fragile, obedient, submissive Rose took over. Inside the gilded cage was cold and calm—numbing. Nothing could touch her there.