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"You okay, Con?"
"Yeah." She studied the murder pictures. "You know, Mac, they didn't deserve to die like this, but I got to admit, I don't totally disagree with Suarez. It's a dangerous thing to give someone this much control over you. A guy has to have something wrong with him. It's like some type of weird Mommie Dearest complex. And don't even get me started on the women who like to be tied up. Hundreds of years to get men not to treat us like house pets, and you've got a bunch of idiot bitches begging to be tied up and beaten."
"I don't know, Connie," Suarez flashed her a grin from his desk. "I kind of like the idea of you in thigh high boots with a whip."
She shook her head. "Dominatrixes, my ass. Probably just feminists who get off on beating men the way we've been beaten down all these years. Still sick, but at least I can understand that better. It's the subs I don't understand."
Because she was trying to understand the politics of it, and there were no politics to it, Mac knew. It was about trust and power exchanges, not political correctness. Submission was the offered gift. In a way, it was not much different from marriage, two people submitting to one another's will, open to the give and take that led to unity, a complete opening of the heart to one another. Pain and relinquishing control could break down the walls even faster, make a person realize what it was he really needed, without all the fog that political baggage could bring into a relationship.
Consuela cocked a brow. "Mac, you with us?"
"Mmm."
"I think you've been immersed in this stuff way too much. Go out, go see a ball game. Hit on some gorgeous woman and have her blow you off."
"Classy," Mac chuckled, shaking his head. "How about you do the same, Con? Go home, have your husband go down on you a few times, if you can keep the kids out of the room long enough."
Suarez hooted with laughter. Mac snatched up his files and narrowly dodged the stapler Consuela slung his way. Grinning, he retreated to the conference room, enjoying the stream of creative Cuban epithets following him, and the more relaxed expression on his coworker's face. A few moments later, he heard them return to debating the pros and cons of the S&M lifestyle and blocked it out, focusing on the information in front of him.
An hour later, he looked up to see Darla leaning in the doorway.
"I hear you're headed for the gym. You think you should take some backup?"
He shook his head. "I'm just scoping it, see if I pick up a scent. I'll check in with you at nine, let you know if I'm hitting The Zone tonight, though I doubt it. Violet will be incommunicado today, but she should be back in the game in a day or so."
"Is she doing okay?"
He nodded. He wanted to say more, extract some further promises from Sergeant Rowe to keep Violet's identity secret, even if it cost him his life. No matter how he had accepted it, he could not tolerate the idea of her being exposed to the type of thinking he'd just heard, even though rationally he knew she was an adult and likely had heard it before. As he had, countless times. Like kids hidden in a closet, hearing what other kids really thought of them.
"You okay, Mac?" Darla was studying him and Mac deliberately relaxed his body, stood up and snagged his coat off the back of his chair.
"Yeah. I'm off to get a workout."
*
He had come at a busy time, as he intended, and he took some turns on the different machines, circulating, exchanging idle chatter, looking for familiar faces. One face he didn't particularly care to see was that of Jonathan Powell, but after making initial eye contact, the tall blonde turned his back on Mac, ignoring his presence with an expression of disdain.
Fine by Mac. As much as it would delight him if the cold-blooded prick was involved so he could cuff and incarcerate him, nothing about Jonathan matched their murderess's profile. There was no law against being an asshole.
"Well, well, look who's wandered into my den."
Mac turned to see Kiera or Tamara, he wasn't sure which, working the weight bench.
"Tamara," she supplied, with a knowing look. "Will you spot me, honey? I usually call one of those trainers over, preferably the one with the tightest ass, but since I have someone so willing to serve," she ran an appraising look over him, "with an absolutely superior ass, I'll take you."
"Sure," he said agreeably, moving behind her as she lay back on the bench. The position of course put her where she had a prime view of the bulge of his genitals in the tight exercise shorts and her gaze went pointedly to his face. "If we were somewhere else, say the locker area, I think I could make that come to attention. Interested in another round?"
"Flattered," he said, with an easy grin, though his insides were tight at her intense regard. Not necessarily with desire, though she was adept at stirring a man's lust, whether his mind was interested or not. Quite frankly, he found the pair of them terrifying. Violet would be amused at the thought, he knew, but a man had to be honest with himself.
"I see someone's got your heart as well as your cock on a short rein these days." She smiled herself, and it was a surprisingly pleasant and kind expression. It was an abrupt reminder that Kiera and Tamara, as scary as they could be, kept their intimidation within the rules. They didn't force their attentions where they were not requested, and they did not coerce any sub who said 'no'. They respected boundaries, and for the first time he understood why Violet was so interested in making him accept that idea.
"Well, good for you both, honey. You and Violet suit. Still, Kiera will be disappointed. Your display at Tyler's was...memorable. Eighty pounds, if you will."
He loaded up the barbell, appreciating that was a good amount of weight for a woman to lift over her head. He stood at careful attention as she took it off the rack and began her reps. She was a finely made woman, and now that they'd established the lines, he felt at ease appreciating the ripe breasts, the soft brown skin, the tight concentration of the full lips, the light sheen of sweat on her working muscles. He found himself gravitating toward the mental image of a smaller more delicate form in the same position, that small mouth less than a foot from his aching balls. Amazingly, that image tightened his loins in a way that standing right over Tamara's lithe form and hearing her open invitation did not.
Regardless, he suspected Violet would be hard pressed to believe he was thinking of her if he got a hard-on right now. In fact, he figured she'd probably pistol whip him until his head caved in before he managed an explanation. He grinned at the thought and changed the direction of his thoughts, just to be safe.
"So where is your sister today?"
