I Spy a Dark Obsession

Nobody’s going to look out for you, Bastian, old boy. You have to do it yourself.

This was self-preservation, and he had to go.

And if he had tears running down his face? Nobody would ever know.

Or care.

Seven

Humming, Michael walked into the house. Given the previous night’s activities, he should’ve been exhausted. But this morning, he felt energized. Hopeful. The extra spring in his step and the adjustment in his attitude could be attributed to one person. Well, make that two.

Katrina. God, what a revelation the woman had turned out to be. Beautiful, with a streak of kinkiness under her classy exterior and an open-minded outlook that surprised him. Ever since she’d planted the suggestion of a menage in his brain, the wheels in his head had done nothing but churn.

A threesome. With a woman he admired and who was rapidly getting under his skin, and the best friend he… loved. Yes, loved. Even though he stumbled over precisely which definition of the word to apply to him and Bastian. In any case, after a lot of soul searching, he had no problem envisioning the scene Katrina had described of the three of them together. On the contrary, the idea made his cock twitch in anticipation, though it couldn’t manage much more than a nod of agreement after last night.

This really could work. And as she’d said, he and Bastian didn’t have to have sex for the three of them to enjoy being together. It would be perfect. As for the fact that he’d let his friend blow him in the limo? A moment of weakness — that’s all. Bastian would understand once he explained how good things could be.

Tantalizing breakfast smells were coming from the kitchen, as Mrs. Beasley was no doubt fixing something spectacular. He decided to head upstairs first, see whether Bastian had made it home yet and was conscious. They needed to talk — the sooner, the better. At his friend’s door, he knocked lightly.

“Bastian?” No answer. He tried again, louder. “Hey, Bastian?”

The man never locked his bedroom door, so Michael turned the knob and eased it open a crack. If the guy was still asleep, their talk could wait. Peering through the crack, he blinked at the sight of the perfectly made bed, and pushed the door all the way open. He walked inside. Empty. Which meant he’d never come home, or had come back and left early.

“Damn, you must’ve had some wild night if you never came home.” And hell, that thought sat in his gut like a rock.

As he turned to leave, something stopped him. He scanned the room, struck by a sudden sense of the space being completely devoid of life. As if the emptiness was more than Bastian not being here at the moment. Stalking to the dresser, he yanked open the top drawer and stared.

Where socks and underwear should be neatly folded, there was nothing. Next drawer, same story. No T- shirts or shorts.

“What the fuck?”

Heart lurching, he moved to the bathroom. A razor and shaving cream sat on the counter, and there was a bottle of shampoo in the shower. That meant Bastian hadn’t necessarily left for good. Right? Hurrying to the closet, he stepped inside, flipped on the light.

Gone. Every damned suit, shirt, tie. He’d cleaned his shit out of Michael’s life almost as though he’d never been there.

In a fog, Michael walked to the bed and lowered himself to sit on the side. “Why? Was it because of last night?” Stupid question. Obviously, it was.

He’d screwed up by allowing what happened between them in the car. Had set some sort of expectation on Bastian’s part about where their relationship might go. And then he’d pulled the rug out from under his friend not once, but twice. First by shutting him down after the incredible blow job, and then by whisking Katrina right out from under the man’s nose to have her for himself.

Okay, Michael was a selfish bastard. But he could fix this.

Fishing his cell phone from his pants, he speed-dialed his friend’s number. The call went immediately to voice mail, and Michael took a deep breath. “It’s me. We need to talk. Please don’t shut me out.” He paused. “Okay, I’ll try your landline.”

Ending the call, he waited a couple of minutes, then dialed Bastian’s number at his condo. On the fourth ring, he got the answering machine. After Bastian’s taped greeting and the beep, he spoke more urgently. “Please pick up. Come on, don’t do this to me. Dammit, I know you’re there.”

Nothing. Well, shit! He’d have to go over there, because this tactic wasn’t getting him anywhere. Hanging up again, he pocketed his phone and bounded down the stairs, yelling, “Simon!”

The older man was hurrying through the living room as Michael reached the bottom of the stairs. “I say! Whatever is the matter?”

“Bastian’s gone!”

The butler hesitated, uncertain. “Perhaps he had a pressing errand—”

“No, I mean gone. As in packed his stuff and left.” Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair. “I guess that means you didn’t see him go.”

Simon stiffened, appearing affronted. “Of course not, sir. I would have phoned you straightaway had I known.”

“Damn, I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I know you would have. I’m just worried. I didn’t expect him to take off like that.” Though the guilty little voice in his head whispered that he should have.

“Really?” Was that a note of censure?

Michael didn’t have the inclination to listen to Simon’s pearls of wisdom, or a lecture on how he took Bastian for granted. Besides, that wasn’t true. “Yeah. Listen, I’m going to look for him. If you hear from him, call me.”

“Immediately.” The butler eyed him sharply. “And I do hope you can convince him to return. The estate won’t be the same without him.”

The truth of that statement hit Michael hard as he headed for his Camaro. He tried to imagine the house without Bastian’s teasing, his sunny smile, his laughter. The absence of that special light was a depressing prospect.

“Hey, boss?”

Car keys in hand, Michael stopped and turned to see his head of security bearing down on him. A man on a mission. “John?”

The man halted a few steps away, frowning. “I’ve been waiting for you to get home. Thought you should know that Mr. Chevalier tore out of here in the wee hours this morning. One of your agents trailed him and—”

“Why didn’t you call me?” he snarled.

“I tried,” the man replied evenly. “Kept getting one of those out-of-service messages.”

“I didn’t notice any glitch in my cell service. But, then, I was occupied for a while. When did Bastian leave?”

“The gate records show he arrived at five fifteen and departed at five forty-two, with one of your agents — Thompson — right behind him. Thompson tried to notify you, as well, but when he couldn’t reach you, he called me. Mr. Chevalier went straight home and hasn’t emerged since.”

Michael nodded. “Thanks. My phone seems to be working fine now, so call me if anything else comes up.”

“Will do.” With a wave, the man walked off.

Michael got in and started the car, grateful that his men had his wayward friend under tight surveillance. Thinking of the danger Bastian had placed himself in by moving off the estate, Michael’s blood began to boil. By the time he arrived at the man’s first-floor condo, his head pounded from being torn between thanking God he was safe