by Lila Dubois
“No, but I think there are some situations even they can’t fix.”
“That’s true.”
Marco jumped at the woman’s voice. He and Damon both leapt to their feet.
A slim blonde woman sat on his baby grand.
“Who the hell are you?” Damon demanded.
She slid off the piano and walked over to the couch. She wore dark pants and a white shirt unbuttoned enough that Marco thought he could see the lace of her bra.
“You were just talking about me,” she said.
“We were?” Marco asked.
The blonde sat on the back of the couch, running her fingers over the leather. Her straight, silky-looking hair swung gently around her face.
“The Grand Master sent you?” Damon asked.
“Yes.”
“Do we get to know your name?” Marco asked. Despite the seriousness of the situation, he was captivated by the blonde. Her skin was pale and creamy, her cheekbones high and pronounced. He was struck by a desire to have her look at him so he could see what color her eyes were.
“I’m Tasha.”
“Tasha who?” Damon demanded.
She focused on Damon. They stared at each other for a long moment. Marco raised one brow—it was a brave soul who would attempt to stare down Damon Corzo.
“You do not need to know more than that. Show me the video.”
“Not until we have some proof about who you are.”
She sighed and then started unbuttoning the bottom of her shirt.
“Well, this is interesting.” Marco sat down, crossed his legs and prepared to enjoy the show.
She opened her shirt enough to expose the top of her pants and her flat belly. She wore a gold belly chain and dangling from it was a small tri-spiral pendant. It was the sign of the Trinity Masters—a match to the large signet rings he and Damon both wore. “Enough?” she asked.
“Fine.” Damon set down his drink, went to his bag and pulled out his tablet.
The blonde’s focus shifted to Marco. Her eyes were blue—a pale clear blue with a ring of darker color around the outside. She was strikingly beautiful—the kind of beauty that spoke of strength and sexuality.
“Why do you wear it there?” he asked her.
“Identifying jewelry is dangerous. When I have to wear it I make sure no one can see it, that no one knows I have it on.”
“I wouldn’t have said it was dangerous, but then again we’re being blackmailed because our rings might give us away.” Marco smiled at Tasha, but she didn’t react.
“Here.” Damon handed her his tablet.
She tapped the screen. The buzz of video background noise filled the living room.
“Come here, baby,” a female voice said.
“You think you can handle both of us?” Damon’s voice was nearly unrecognizable—he always got growly when he was having sex.
“Need me to fuck you harder?” Marco winced as he heard his own voice. He’d been deep in the pretty redhead’s pussy when she beckoned Damon over.
“Oh yeah, fuck me harder while surfer-boy fucks my mouth.”
Tasha rolled her eyes. “This is uninspired.”
“You’re critiquing our blackmail video?” Damon asked.
“No. I’m critiquing her performance. It’s clear she’s setting you up.”
“She’s hardly the blackmailer,” Marco said. “She’s not taking the video.”
Tasha’s gaze swung to him. The video continued to play, the soundtrack now just groans and the slap of flesh. “You think that this woman was not a part of the plan? That she did not purposefully put herself in this position?”
Marco looked at Damon, who was running his hands through his hair. “We didn’t…I mean she’s hardly the first woman we’ve shared.”
Tasha smiled slightly. “And you just assume no woman can be in the same room as both of you without wanting to fuck you in tandem?”
“Insulting our intelligence isn’t helping. If it’s your professional opinion that she was part of this blackmail plot then we’ll deal with that.” Damon’s voice was cool and calm, but Marco could hear the frustration he was trying to hide.
Tasha tipped her head to the side, her hair swinging. “Very well. I will do my job and not say anything more about it.” There was something in her voice that made Marco sit up. It was almost as if she’d been hurt by Damon’s tone.
Damon must have heard it too. “I’m sorry if I misspoke. I simply want this situation resolved. I tried to resign, but the Grand Master wouldn’t let me.”
“Of course not,” Tasha said. “I understand you are valuable and they have plans for you.” She handed the tablet back, rose and walked across the room to the bar.
Marco shrugged when Damon looked at him in confusion. There was something strange about Tasha, some subtext he couldn’t figure out. As she added ice and vodka to a shaker, Damon sat on the back of the couch near Marco and leaned over.
“Who do you think she is?” Damon whispered.
“You mean what is she?’” Marco watched her back. “I don’t know. She’s not what I expected.”
“She may be some corporate security agent—someone who specializes in finding and deleting information.”
“That sounds boring.” Marco shook his head at Damon’s lack of imagination.
Damon snorted and sat up as Tasha returned to them carrying an iceless glass of clear liquid—chilled vodka, served neat.
“Salute.” She raised her glass to them and then downed the contents in one swallow.
“Whoa,” Marco muttered.
“Mmm hmm.” Damon raised his glass to his face to cover his response. “Cheers.” He took a drink and Marco followed suit.
“Now, gentleman, tell me the rest.” Tasha brushed past Damon as she made her way around the couch and Marco saw his friend stiffen.
When Damon didn’t respond, Marco answered her request. “The party was about a month ago. We were in Vegas. I had a concert—one night only at Caesar’s Palace. Damon flew out from L.A. to join me.”
“Where were you when this was taken?”
“In my suite.”
“And how did you meet the women you were with?”
“Some of them had invitations to the patrons’ party. It was after the concert, ten thousand a person for those who wanted to mingle with the artists.”
Tasha raised a brow. “Each of these women could afford ten-thousand-dollar tickets to a classical music party?”
“You think beautiful young women won’t spend money on the arts?”
“I think beautiful young women don’t have to pay to attend parties in Las Vegas.”
Damon snorted out a laugh. Marco nodded, conceding the point.
“We went to Pure, the nightclub in Caesar’s,” Damon said. “It was after the patrons’ party closed down at midnight. At least fifteen people from the patrons’ party—men and women—went with us. But by the time we left the club at two a.m. the men were gone and we’d acquired a few more women.”
Tasha nodded and crossed her legs, drawing attention to the slim columns of her thighs. “And did you invite them all up to your room?”
Marco shrugged. “I don’t exactly remember. We’d had a few cocktails.”
“Then I’m suitably impressed by your sexual prowess considering you were drunk.”
This time it was Marco who laughed. For the first time, a true smile curved Tasha’s lips. It was gone as soon as it happened.
“How many women were there?” she asked.
Damon was rubbing his head. “Eight, ten? We didn’t have sex with all of them. There was a blonde I was with, and then the redhead we shared.”
Tasha’s gaze was cool. “You talk about her as if she were a bottle of wine you split.”
“I didn’t mean…we absolutely respect women.” Damon looked grim.
“I’m sure you do. What was her name?”
Marco looked at his friend. Her name?
“Well…” Marco said
. “I don’t think we know.”
“As I said. She was nothing more than a commodity to you—a bottle of wine. Though I suspect you remember the names and vintages of wines more than you remember the names of the women you fuck.”
An unfamiliar feeling curdled in Marco’s gut. He felt…guilty.
“You think we deserve what happened to us,” he said to Tasha.
“No, blackmail is a heinous thing. I have no doubt that the women you’ve been with were using you just as much as you were using them.” Tasha’s gaze moved between them. “Together you are quite the pair. Dark—” she motioned to Marco “—and light.” She gestured to Damon.
“Well, we’ve established that we’re idiots for bringing women from a club to our hotel, and that we’re pigs for fucking them. Now that we’re done with the guilt trip, what do we do?” Damon’s voice was hard, demanding. He did not like to dwell on anything, either good or bad. He liked solutions.
Marco would have preferred to continue talking, to explore Tasha’s words, to understand her censure. It was a novelty having someone comment on his behavior. Their position with the Trinity Masters meant they had been free to indulge themselves, essentially operating outside societal norms. They would be married when they were called to the altar and until then they had no one but themselves to answer to.
At least that had been true until the blackmail.
Tasha rose and crossed to where Marco sat. She knelt on the couch between him and Damon and laid a hand on both of their shoulders. Marco could smell her perfume, see the lace of her bra. She was slim and lithe. Unbidden, an image of her on her knees, that silky hair wrapped around his hands, rose in Marco’s mind’s eye.
“Tell me the rest,” she whispered. “Tell me everything.”
The shift from confrontational to confessional had Marco scrambling to make sense of her.
“There’s, uh, not much more.” Damon sounded as flustered as Marco felt. “A link to the video was sent to my personal email. I tried to trace the account it came from but there was no name. I know a bit about computers and I was able to track the IP address back, but it bounced around, and as far as I can tell it originated in Morocco.”
“I’m impressed you were able to do that.” Tasha smiled softly and leaned in to Damon. “Is there anything else that happened? Even something small?”
“Someone stole Marco’s phone,” Damon said, gazing into Tasha’s eyes.
“Damon!” Marco barked, reaching past the blonde to smack his friend.
Damon shook himself and then looked at Marco. “Fuck.”
Tasha rose to her feet. “I knew you were holding something back when you reported to the Grand Master.”
Damon frowned. “You were there?”
“Yes.”
“But…where?”
“Sitting in the office.”
“What? How did I not see you?”
“Very few people can see me when I don’t want to be seen.” She was back to being hard and matter of fact.
“Who are you?” Damon demanded.
Marco was holding his breath, hoping they wouldn’t circle back to the issue of his stolen phone.
Tasha faced him. “What was on your phone?”
Apparently Marco’s luck was not that good.
“My contacts, calendar.” He shrugged.
“Something more than that, otherwise you wouldn’t be hiding the fact it was stolen.”
Marco looked at Damon. “I’m sorry,” his friend muttered. “She Jedi mind tricked me.”
Marco snorted. “You’re a disgrace.”
“I know.”
“Gentlemen.” Tasha sat on the coffee table and leaned forward, elbows braced on her crossed knee. “What was on the phone?”
“Photos.”
“Of?”
“Of the Winter Gala.”
Tasha’s eyebrows rose. “The public reception?”
“Some…and some in the private party.”
Tasha shook her head. “That is a problem.”
Four times a year, the Trinity Masters hosted grand galas in the Boston Library. Half the party took place upstairs and was open to the public—the wealthy public. Potential new members—usually undergrads from the world-class universities in and around Boston—were invited, as were influential people who were not part of the organization. It was an excuse to bring the members of the Trinity Masters together in one place. As the public party wound down, the private party in their secret headquarters under the building started up. Often there was a formal meeting included as part of the event, but Marco rarely attended that—he was there for the festivities. It was a chance to meet other members and indulge himself with people who, like him, could not commit themselves to a relationship because they were waiting to be called to the altar.
“Could other members be identified from the pictures?” she asked.
“I don’t think so,” Marco answered. “We were all wearing our masks, but there are photos of members upstairs.” He hadn’t wanted to tell anyone about the phone because he couldn’t bear the idea that he’d betrayed the trust of his fellow members. There were few things as important to him as the Trinity Masters. The video was clearly the more pressing threat, and as far as he knew the phone might simply have been lost. He’d had it at some point, but by the next morning it was gone. “It shouldn’t be a problem,” he told Tasha. “I was able to log into my account and delete the contents of the phone.”
“And were you able to trace its location?”
“No, that had been disabled.”
“Meaning whoever took it knew enough to prevent you from recovering it.”
“Or it fell out of my pocket and was run over by a car on the boulevard.”
“That would be very lucky, but I doubt it’s the case.”
Damon broke in to the conversation. “The probability of someone using the video of us, plus the pictures on Marco’s phone, to positively identify the existence of the Trinity Masters is slim. The likelihood of them correctly picking out members from photos or the attendee list of the Winter Gala is so narrow—”
“It is not as improbable as you think. There are things you don’t know.” Sasha stood. “We have to find these women—the redhead and whoever took the video.”
“We?” Marco asked.
“What happens when we find them?” said Damon.
Tasha cocked her head to the side. “You thought I would simply clean up after you? No. You—” she pointed at Marco “—will go with me to Las Vegas.” Her attention shifted to Damon. “And when I find them?” She smiled, and it was not a kind expression. “Perhaps it’s best I don’t tell you.”
She rose to her feet. “Marco, be ready at eight am. A car will pick you up. Damon, you may return to Los Angeles.” She nodded once and then left, letting herself out.
Damon looked stunned. Marco felt a bit dazed himself.
Their gazes met. “Holy shit,” Damon said.
Marco went to get another drink.
Holy shit indeed.
~~~~
Chapter Three
Marco leaned on the handle of his suitcase and yawned. It had been a long time since he’d had to get up so early. Most of his work happened at night—be it concerts or composing.
Damon had gone to bed at two a.m., but Marco had been up until four. Worry and frustration over the situation had kept him awake, and the only way to work through the feelings was to play. Luckily, Damon, who was sleeping in the same room he’d used while he’d been living in the condo, had learned to sleep through the sound of Marco’s cello.
By the time he went to bed at four, his soul was at peace. However, when his alarm went off at seven he’d felt decidedly un-peaceful. More so because he wasn’t able to indulge in his normal routine of coffee, a run and then reading the paper.
A black sedan pulled up to the curb. The driver got out and silently opened the trunk. Marco handed him his bag and opened the rear door.
“Good morning,�
� Tasha said as he slid into the backseat.
“I dislike mornings.” Marco leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
“I see that. Luckily, it’s a quick flight.”
“I hope we’re flying first class,” he said, not caring that he sounded like a diva.
“We are. I didn’t think the famous Marco Polin would agree to coach.”
“Famous?” He snorted. He didn’t feel famous right now. He felt tried and grumpy.
“Aren’t you?”
“Perhaps, among those who enjoy accessible classical music.”
“I do.” Her words were so quiet he almost didn’t hear her. “I saw you play in London. It was transcendent.”
Marco sat up, suddenly wide awake. “What was that?”
Tasha was looking out the window. She didn’t acknowledge his question.
An hour and a half later they were at O’Hare airport in the first-class airline lounge. Marco had finally gotten his coffee and his paper and was feeling more himself. Tasha sat across from him with a cup of tea and a plate of fruit.
“Why did he send you?” Marco asked as he sipped his coffee.
“Who?”
“The GM.” Marco used the shorthand name for the Grand Master since they were in public.
“He must have thought I could help you.”
“And why did he think that? What do you do?”
Her lips twitched. “That’s classified.”
“Do you work for Price at Bennett Securities?”
Tasha frowned. “You know him?”
“No. Damon knows he’s a member. That’s who he thought the GM would send.”
“Then I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“I’m not disappointed.”
The attendant came by to let them know their flight was boarding. It wasn’t until Marco was buckled in beside her that he realized she’d managed to completely avoid his question.
*****
Tasha’s blood started humming as the plane touched down. It was a familiar feeling, the calm anticipation before an op. She’d slept a few hours and spent the rest of the night gathering the information she needed. It had been easy enough to run an image of the redhead through facial-recognition software she’d plugged into the Nevada state DMV database.
