Page 6 of Winter’s Fire

The briefing had brought back every last fucking detail of the darkest period of his life—confirmation once and for all that the past was never going release its death grip on him. His breath solidified in his chest, turning his lungs to solid concrete. He wanted to get the hell out of there and run, run forever, but Sir Guy hadn’t finished with him yet.

“Come with me. There’s something I need to discuss with you, and I’d rather not have this conversation in front of Lucy.”

“Sure.” Nausea still thrashing in his gut, Logan followed his CO to the two leather armchairs arranged by a low table.

His boss sat down and motioned towards the other chair. Logan sat back, propped his left ankle on his right knee, and did his best to appear relaxed.

“On the off-chance there’s more to this than meets the eye, your cover has to be better than airtight.”

Ah. That wouldn’t be a problem, but explaining why was an option Logan wasn’t keen to pursue. He hoped assurance rather than explanation would do the trick. “I know enough about the lifestyle to put on a convincing act, sir. You needn’t worry.”

“I don’t want to have to worry, Simmonds. Given the lifestyle to which the resort caters, faking it could be risky.”

“I know, sir.” Logan cleared his throat. Looked as if he had no choice but to come clean. “If I may speak in confidence?”

“Please do.”

“Playing a Dom won’t be a problem.” Logan paused. A new boulder suddenly lodged itself in his stomach. He was about to out himself to his new boss, a move that could kill his career with the squad stone dead before he’d even had a chance to prove himself properly.

What the hell. As career options went, working the doors at a nightclub might not hit the high notes, but it’d still pay the bills. He continued. “I’ve been involved in the kink scene since I was old enough to appreciate what it means. I have more than enough experience as a D—top to carry this off.”

Logan waited for a scandalised reaction, but all Sir Guy did was give a slow, thoughtful nod. “Thank you for telling me—you have my word it’ll go no further. And I’m sure your experience will be invaluable in training Lucy for the mission, should she decide to go ahead.”

“Sir, about Miss Winter. If I may be frank, I doubt she’s a submissive.”

To his further surprise, Sir Guy chuckled. “Agreed. Our Miss Winter can be a little… fiery.” He became serious once more. “She may also have saved our bacon with her offer. As I mentioned, Sir Malcolm Carstairs—Diana’s father—is pressing for an immediate start to the investigation.”

Yeah, that was Sir Malcolm all right. The man had never been reticent when it came to using his title and position to achieve his goals. “Doesn’t he realise we can’t go wheels-up without preparation?”

“I doubt it. I’ve been able to stall him, citing urgent operational requirements elsewhere, but only until the next flight out there. In practical terms, we’re talking about a window of six days at most.”

Six days? That was all he had, six bloody days to turn Lucy Winter into a convincing submissive? Sweet Jesus, the mission was well and truly fucked—and six months wouldn’t be enough to accomplish the bloody impossible.

“If Miss Winter agrees, then I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all any of us can do. We can but hope that Lucy won’t change her mind. If all goes according to plan, I want a daily progress report. And Simmonds?”

“Yes, sir?”

“At the risk of stating the obvious, if Lucy does accompany you to Nenufar, her safety is paramount.”

Logan understood where his boss was coming from. Didn’t mean he had to like the implied slur on his sense of responsibility, though. “You can rely on me, sir.”

With that, the meeting came to a close. As he left Sir Guy’s office, Logan started cataloguing what needed to be done. As the list formed at the front of his mind, the back of his mind came to one inescapable conclusion—without doubt, his life had gone to shit in seconds, a mammoth clusterfuck if ever there was one.

In need of peace and quiet to put together a plan, he headed back to his apartment, where the extent of his full-scale mental riot became apparent. To quell the chaos, he was going to need every bit of the ability to focus that had been drummed into him during his commando training.

He toed off his boots and dropped in a full-length sprawl on the black leather sofa. What he’d give for a good stiff drink. This whole situation was crazy as fuck. Problem number one—Lucy Winter didn’t have a submissive bone in her body. Two—just how amenable would she be to taking instruction from someone she regarded as public enemy number one? Three—she had zero experience of working undercover.

As for four… He’d worry about four if—no, when it happened. The coward in him, engulfed in guilt and self-loathing, was desperate to flee from his past, but if he didn’t face it, another life could be extinguished. That family had already suffered too much.

All because of him.

Shame weakened his defences and the images broke through, a sucker punch that caught him without warning. A maelstrom of memories eddied and swirled, bringing with it the gut-churning chill of death.

The growing sourness of nausea finally made good on its threat. Logan lurched for the bathroom and barely made it before he lost the entire contents of his stomach.

The retching continued long after there was nothing left to expel.