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"Well, I'll be damned," she said at last.
Mac surged up from his chair, moved to the corner, restless and establishing some distance. He despised himself for it, but this was likely the most uncomfortable conversation he'd ever had in his life.
Everyone in the D/s lifestyle knew how the vanilla world viewed bondage. Few looked beneath the cheesy porn site depictions to discover the emotions that drove one of the most intense forms of sexual interaction there was. That was why it wasn't revealed or discussed. For most, the concealment came not from shame, but from the simple understanding that it was, in fact, beyond most people's comprehension, like a choice of religion or lifemate.
"You know I'm a good cop, and I've served the squad well. This is my personal life, and as much as you don't want to be hearing this, I sure as hell didn't want to be saying it. But those two kids were picked up and are dead because someone in that lifestyle picked them. I'd be breaking my oath to protect and serve if I didn't do what I can, use what I am to help them."
"Sit down, Detective."
Mac clenched his jaw, sat, deliberately put his hands back on the chair arms.
"Just be quiet and let me think a moment, if you don't mind."
He nodded. He'd lost his mind. Why hadn't he made up a story, a civilian friend who could take him into the scene? He had likely just blown away the rest of his career. But he hadn't made the decision hastily, had given it a great deal of thought since he had stood over Myers's body. If he got into trouble, he needed a fully informed backup, which also meant keeping the sergeant in the loop. He didn't want to think about having to go through this again with Connie, but it would have to be done.
Darla took a paper from her desk, picked up her pen and scribbled on it. Mac leaned forward as she extended it across the desk. He took the paper, looked at it, then at her, confusion on his face.
"That's my pager and cell phone, Mac. You'll use me as your call-in backup. I assume most of your more risky work will be at nightclub hours, so we'll work out a checkin and reporting schedule. I don't get a code on my pager during the arranged times, I send a team looking for you."
He wouldn't have to reveal his secret to his peers, the other men and women of his squad. The pain throbbing in his gut eased to a mild case of indigestion.
"I'm still not sure we shouldn't send in an undercover officer."
"It's like I said--"
She shook her head, holding up a hand. "No, I understand. Your logic is sound, but you're vulnerable. You're going into a situation that's personal to you, which means someone can fuck with your head." A slight smile crossed her lips. "Begging your pardon."
"No one else can do it but an insider," he replied, not denying her concern. "This murderer, whoever she is, she'll know. It's the kind of thinking you pick up on from each other, and she'll know someone who's faking it, who isn't true. Look, people not in this lifestyle don't understand it. It's that simple. Some level of resentment, condescension or outright revulsion would come through."
"I trust your judgment. I just want you to be very careful. You hear me? You're one of my best. I don't want to lose you."
Sergeant Darla Rowe didn't dispense compliments liberally. If they brought in Tampa's leading crime lord or busted open a chain of chop shops, the most they'd expect from her would be, "Good job, Detectives. Be sure to have your report on my desk in the morning." Complimenting them with her actions, not words, she busted her ass for them, as long as they were busting their asses for the people of Tampa. Nevertheless, she had chosen this moment to tell him bluntly how she valued him.
Mac had no words for how her response or her direct, steady gaze made him feel, so he rose as he would at the conclusion of any normal briefing. "Yes ma'am."
A smile flirted around his sergeant's lips.
"What?" he asked, surprised to see her color rise.
Darla gave a little laugh, waved a hand. "I guess I'll just have to live with the images that come into my brain now when you say that." At his blank look, she repeated his words. " 'Yes ma'am.' "
He stared at her in shock, but her tone and countenance were open, honest and teasing, like any cop ribbing another. Familiar ground. Relief flooded his chest like a hot shower at the end of a particularly harrowing collar. He was alive, he'd survived, and he'd done the right thing.
He grinned, albeit cautiously. "Thanks, Sergeant."
"No, no. Don't thank me yet." She rose, retrieved her keys and purse. "After my meeting with the captain, you're taking me out to lunch, Nighthorse. " Now her expression was serious, his boss again.
"We'll pick a place cops don't go, but if I'm going to be your backup, I need to know the language and the scene, so I know what's normal and not. Otherwise, I might send squad cars screaming in after you for the wrong reasons, or worse, ignore something I shouldn't and you end up dead."
"Sarge..." He slid his hands into his slacks. She came around the desk, stood before him. A sturdy well-dressed woman with an elegant carriage, Darla Rowe had poise and class written all over her, and it came through now.
"Mac," she said firmly. "It's not prurient curiosity. If you'd brought Detective Ramsey in, you would have briefed her in detail. What we talk about stays with me, unless I need it to save your life."
"Or to bring down the perp," he said.
"As I said, you're a good cop." When he opened the door for her, she startled him by raking an appraising gaze over him that damn near caused him to blush. "Of course, some of it is prurient curiosity. If there are any outfits you want to model for me so I can better understand--"
Mac choked on a laugh, wished it was appropriate to give her a rib-crushing hug. He suspected she'd knee him in the balls if he tried.
