If only

back.

Happiness filled her. Staying between his legs, she settled herself with her back to him so she could lean forward and grab a handful of snack mix from the bowl beside Vance. And like a dutiful submissive, she twisted around and offered it up on her open palms to Galen.

Rather than taking it, he laughed at her and ran his finger down her cheek. “Don’t try to warp yourself into something you’re not, imp. Vance and I are happy with you as you are. We don’t want a full-time submissive. If I decide to take control at an unusual time, you’ll know it; you won’t be confused.”

Well, that was true enough. She remembered how on her first day with them, he’d tossed a cushion on the floor and pointed to it. “But—”

“You’re adorable when you try to be a slave, but that’s not who you are.”

“But don’t you like—”

“Makes me nervous to be waited on hand and foot,” Vance said.

“Oh.” She frowned. “But…I don’t feel as if I’m giving enough.”

“Works for me to share the chores. In the bedroom, I expect a submissive.” Vance grinned. “You don’t seem to have a problem with that.”

She flushed, remembering the early morning fucking that he liked so well. Galen liked to get up before dawn, but she and Vance would sleep until the alarm went off. And Vance would definitely take charge. The headboard probably had her fingernail marks on it.

Behind her, Galen tugged the scrunchie from her ponytail, and to her shock, he picked up her hairbrush from the table and started to brush her hair.

Long, smooth strokes. He even worked the tangles out with his fingers if he hit a snarl.

With a moan, Sally fell into the pleasure. “God, Galen.”

Galen laughed under his breath, his voice husky. “I used to do this for my mother.”

“Seriously?” Vance asked. “I can’t imagine your mother letting anyone touch her.”

“She got worse with the divorce. Totally retreated into the arctic zone.”

“Ah.” From the lack of expression on Vance’s face, Sally had to guess he didn’t like the woman at all. Which made Sally figure she must be a royal bitch.

And Galen had thought he’d caused that divorce, and afterward his mother pulled away into a cold shell. How would that affect a kid?

Sally frowned. Galen seemed like a gaming computer. Sensitive and responsive and always functioning at high speed. Far too easy to break. She wrapped her arm around his calf, holding him close as if she could make up for all the affection he’d missed as a child.

“Are you sure you don’t need more from me?” she asked, wanting just to…give.

“No, baby girl. What you bring us is more valuable than labor. The house is happier with you in it. More fun.” Galen’s hand stroked down her head after the pull of the brush, a double hit of tenderness. “Imp, wherever you go, the air practically sparkles.”

Her eyes blurred with the rush of tears.

And for one second—one second only—she could see herself staying. Long-term.

Chapter Fourteen

Nice to be home. In the short hallway to their home office, Galen stretched. His shoulders and neck ached as if he’d taken Vance on in a weight-lifting competition rather than spending a day doing paperwork at the field office. Being an agent wasn’t all car chases and gun battles as he’d dreamed as a child.

The older he got, the more grateful for that he was—no matter how many reports he had to fill out.

In the office, Glock was stretched out on the center table. Galen walked over to stroke him. The rumbling purr merged with the country-western crap that Vance loved. Least it was a female vocalist this time.

Vance looked up from his desk. “Hey.”

“Where’s Sally?”

“Just left. Her job hunting must not be going well, since she looked pretty miserable. Shut her laptop down and went out to swim.”

Galen set his briefcase down on his desk. The thought of the imp moving away didn’t sit well on his chest. Nonetheless… “She’ll find something pretty soon, I’m sure.”

“Right.”

Galen frowned at the gruff answer. He knew damned well Vance didn’t want her to leave. “You two have a fight?”

“Not with her. Figure I’ll be having one with you.” Vance sounded tired. Discouraged. “I got an e-mail.”

“Go on.”

“The safe house holding the Harvest Association manager burned last night. The manager didn’t survive; the marshals are dead as well.”

“Fuck.” Galen slammed his hand on the desk, welcoming the flare of pain.

Glock gave him an offended stare for his behavior and stalked out of the room.

“God fucking dammit to hell.” Arson. What a fucked-up way to die. A coldness grew in his belly as he took the logical next step. How soon before the Harvest Association extended their targets to those in the FBI—or their loved ones? “We need to let her go.”

Vance didn’t even pretend to misunderstand. In fact, he looked almost resigned to the argument. “You think she’d do better without us? What about the next asshole who uses her for a punching bag?”

The memory of her bloody face made Galen scowl. “We can’t keep her safe.”

“Since the other quadrants shut down, the Association’s hits have all been in New York.” Vance shook his head. “Our residence isn’t listed; phones are unlisted. No one knows she’s here except the Shadowlands members.”

“True.” The tightness in his chest receded. Maybe he was being hasty. After all, Sally’s desire to be needed could lead her into more danger than the remote chance the Association would notice her. He thrummed his fingertips on the desk as he thought. “No outings. Let’s keep her out of the public eye until this is over.”

Relief filled his partner’s face. “You’re going to be reasonable?”

“Sure wasn’t your logic that swayed me.” It was because he liked having her here as much as Vance did. It was because hearing about her job applications had sent his mood spiraling downward. It was because he wanted her.

Real soon he and Vance needed to think about the future. Before it was too late. But for now… “It’s been over a month since we had our first scene with Sally. I’ve been thinking about taking things to the next level.” He smiled suddenly. “It might be a way to coax out what she’s been hiding.”

* * *

Sally dived into the pool behind G and V’s house, hammered out a lap, another, and another. Breathless, she stopped at one end and tossed her tangled hair back. Despite the late afternoon sun, the rising wind cooled her wet shoulders.

Redolent with the fragrance of the lush green vegetation around the lake, the breeze this far inland held only a trace of the ocean. The slight scent of chlorine came from the water.

Chlorine was supposed to make a person feel clean, but she had a feeling she’d never feel clean again.

Three men had died. The Association manager…she didn’t know anything about him, but he’d chosen his destiny by dealing in human trafficking. His death was of his own making. But—God, those other men. Marshals, trying to protect the manager. Dead. A sob shook her chest, and she dived for the bottom of the pool.

Her fault.

And yet… If I hadn’t sent the New York cops information about the three managers, more women might have been enslaved. Might have died. I did the right thing. She’d been telling herself that since she’d checked on the manager they’d caught and found out about the fire. How long before she stopped feeling guilty?