“Glad you think so.” He paused, studying the other man’s expression. “You’re quite the submissive, very responsive. Did you know that about yourself?”
“Not really, no. I guess I’ve never really explored that side of myself. I always thought submissive equaled weak, especially in the eyes of—” He looked away, clamping his lips shut.
“Of the one you love?” he probed gently.
Bastian looked at him and nodded. “Yeah. Don’t most people see it that way?”
“Only misinformed people. It takes a very strong person to submit, to reach that place inside himself or herself that allows them to place their body, their very safety completely in another person’s hands. It’s all about trust and letting go.”
“When you put it like that, it sounds beautiful.”
The longing in the man’s voice touched him, and he made a quick decision. “It is. I want to show you something. Come on.”
“What is it?” his friend asked, trailing him.
“I’m going to show you my basement dungeon.”
“You mean… as in whips and chains?” He sounded nervous.
“Yep. My private playpen. The place where I make all good subs scream.”
“Shit!”
“And Bastian?”
“Yes?”
“You might want to use your cell phone and let them know you’ll be out sick for the rest of the day,” he said slyly, chuckling at the other man’s tortured groan.
He counted his lucky stars that Bastian had dropped by today with news. The man was lonely, in need of a self-esteem boost, and Blaze had the cure.
It might just be the distraction he needed as well, to take his mind off his worry about another sexy blonde.
One very dear to his heart.
* * *
Emma paced her room — no, her prison — ready to pull her hair out. J.C. had been conspicuously absent after their scorching night together, and other than the meals that had been brought to her room for the past three days, she’d been pretty much ignored. Had something happened to her protector? Oh, God, maybe Dietz had found out his cover and killed him. Maybe she was next. She felt like an animal in a cage, quietly going insane from stress and isolation.
The lock turned and the door burst open, making her jump, pressing a hand over her thundering heart. J.C. closed the door and walked briskly toward her, putting a finger over his lips to warn her from saying anything.
“I’ve missed you, sweet thing,” he said with a lightheartedness that didn’t meet his eyes. “Give me a hug.”
“Me, too. It’s boring in here.” She accepted the hug, tensing when he whispered in her ear, almost too low to be heard.
“Be ready to move tonight. Dietz has decided you’re too big of a liability and is planning to get rid of you.”
Oh, God. “O-okay.”
“I’ll be back around midnight, so have on your running shoes,” he whispered. Then, in a louder voice, “Damn, you give good hugs. And other stuff, too.”
“Thanks. Back at you. Can you stay for a while?”
“I wish I could. I’ve got a ton of things to do, plus patrol this evening. I just wanted to stop by and make sure you have everything you need, or if you want me to find you a book. I know it sucks with no TV.”
“Well, I’d like a magazine to read, if it’s not too much trouble.”
He winked, and she got the message. They’d be gone before the magazine became necessary. “No problem. Any certain kind?”
“No, whatever is lying around is fine.”
“All right. I’ll be back when I can.”
She nodded, knowing how big a risk he was taking in getting her safely away from this hellhole. He was jeopardizing his mission to save one innocent woman when the future of the free world was at stake. But being selfish, she didn’t want to die sooner than necessary, so she nodded, willing to allow him to take the chance.
She longed to see Blaze again, hold him in her arms. Have him squeeze her and tell her everything would be all right now.
A little bit longer, and she’d find out whether she’d ever see him again.
The phone rang at nine thirteen.
Blaze glanced at the caller ID and picked up. “What’s up?”
“We’ve got Dietz’s location,” Bastian said. “The op is going wheels up in forty-five minutes. Be at the launch pad or be left behind. Michael wasn’t planning to call you until after they’d left.”
Relief nearly sent him to his knees. Part of him had been afraid his friend wouldn’t go against Michael and the op would take place without him. “I’m there. How’s it going down?”
“Two groups, two choppers. They’re going in quiet to get the drop on Dietz, hopefully recapture him alive and some of his cronies as well. No word on the weapon. Might be there, might not.”
“You gonna catch shit for this?”
“Probably, but don’t worry about it. He owes me.”
No. He couldn’t let Bastian get in trouble. “Nah, I’ll take the heat. You may have given me the heads-up, but I’m the one crashing the party. My choice.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do. And Bastian, thanks.”
“Thank me by bringing our agent home.”
He was already moving even as he hung up, yanking his SIG from the holster and checking the clip, shoving it in again. He stuck one of his backup weapons in the waistband of his camouflage pants, and a smaller one in his ankle holster. His wicked M16, which he’d dubbed the Attitude Adjuster, he slung over one shoulder and headed out, less than thirty seconds after hanging up.
The drive to the SHADO compound had never seemed so long. Still, he made it in record time and pulled through the gate about twenty minutes later, flashing his ID at the guard on night duty. Thankfully, the guy wasn’t in the mood to chat, and he continued on, parked, pulled his hair back in a ponytail, and jammed his camouflage hat on his head, pulling the brim low over his eyes. He didn’t often put his hair back, so he hoped fading into the background, along with the organized chaos, meant nobody would zero in on him — and the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be here — until things were well under way.
Circling the main building, he jogged across the tarmac toward the small but lethal force gathering around two sleek, fast, armed helicopters. These were newer than the old Hueys they sometimes used, which were long- lived flying tanks, and didn’t make as much noise. Under return fire, however, the Huey was a better choice, made to take a licking. A trade-off either way.
Scanning the two distinct groups from under his hat, he searched for Michael, not seeing him anywhere. No doubt it had never occurred to the man that his new right-hand would make his first official act to countermand a direct order.
Well, that ought to make things a bit awkward around the office. So much for getting a Christmas card from the boss. Or even a bag of switches — which, by the way, were highly underrated.
As the groups loaded up, Blaze chose one and mixed right in, then took a seat among them as though he’d received the same orders as everyone else. He didn’t breathe easier until the craft lifted off and was several miles
