"Was it that good or that bad?"

She glanced up to find Aaron b.u.t.termore sitting on the corner of her desk, a caramel macchiato, her favorite drink, in his hand. He handed it over. As she sipped, she realized she hadn't unpacked her briefcase, and she wasn't wearing nylons under her knee-length skirt.

With a sigh, she set the cup of heaven next to her keyboard. "Neither. I stayed home all alone. Worked a little. Did a whole lot of nothing. Woke up feeling like my head's full of cotton. Thanks for the coffee. You rock."

He smiled, an expression that lit his friendly face. When he'd first begun working at the US Attorney's office last summer, she'd toyed briefly with the idea of dating him. He was handsome and tall. With his clipped blond hair and mossy green eyes, he seemed a watered-down version of Keith. However, the chemistry between them had fizzled within the first five seconds of actual conversation. They had so much in common, and he behaved more like a girlfriend than boyfriend material. It was just a matter of time before he met the perfect woman and they had a perfect wedding and perfect kids.

"No problem. You should have called me. I would have helped."

Katrina shook her head. She didn't need a witness to her wallowing. With the first smile of the day blooming on her face, she lifted her coffee in a toast to Aaron. "You helped."

He grimaced and looked away.

She realized he had something on his mind, but he was waiting until she could gain her composure. Feeling sorry for herself wasn't going to make anything better, so she took another deep breath and squared her shoulders. "What's going on?"

"I wasn't a.s.signed to the Holbrook case."

The Holbrook case involved a school district superintendent who funneled payments intended to pay for physical therapy for special-needs students into his personal bank account. In the current political climate, nailing anyone in the schools for embezzlement and fraud meant garnering the attention of powerful people. Aaron had been schmoozing Elizabeth Alder, the chief of the White Collar Crimes Unit and their immediate boss, for the past month.

In addition to kissing up, he'd also done a ton of grunt work leading up to the indictment. Katrina squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry. Maybe next time?"

He stared at the place she touched him for a long moment. "Hopefully. I won't stop trying; that's for sure. Alder said I don't have enough experience yet."

Perhaps she shouldn't have let her attention wander, but at that moment, she figured out the real reason Keith had turned her down. His kiss, the one that had knocked both of them senseless, proved he found her attractive. He was reluctant to take her on because her lack of experience increased the likelihood that he'd do something she wouldn't enjoy. Training meant experiencing new things. Some of them she'd like; some of them she wouldn't. Keith didn't want to take the chance he'd wreck their friendship with something she didn't like.

Aaron was still talking, but she only heard the buzzing in her head. Keith couldn't turn her down if she had experience. He wasn't the only Dom she knew. If Keith wouldn't train her, she would find someone else who would. Then she could go back to him with the kind of knowledge and experience he required.

Just before lunch, Special Agent Jordan Monaghan dropped in on her. Though he was a newer agent and younger than them all, he had already struck up a close friendship with her brother and Keith. Jordan didn't seem to have much in common with many of the other agents she knew. He wore his black hair long and loose. Dark stubble perpetually lined his cheeks and jaw. The knot of his tie hung level with the third b.u.t.ton of his shirt, which gaped open at the neck. The relaxed, semi-scraggly look worked for him, and he only cleaned up for court. The first time she'd seen his transformation, it had taken her several moments to realize who he was. He'd grinned at her the entire time.

Jordan was also a Dom. A handsome face hid behind his facial hair and the locks falling over his eyes and ears. He wasn't her type, not at all, but he was a Dom. She put him on her list, but not at the top.

He took off his wraparound sungla.s.ses and sank into a chair next to her desk. "Do you have a few minutes? I have some theoretical questions I'd like to discuss." He studied her intently, no smile on his face.

She slid her laptop aside and nodded. "For you? Of course."

He flashed a quick smile, more a dutiful reaction than an indication of emotion. "Let's say there were some discrepancies in the evidence logs."

Katrina knew he was talking to her for a reason. Though they knew each other socially, they weren't close. The details of cases she was currently working zinged through her brain. She needed more from Jordan. "How do you know there are discrepancies?"

Jordan tapped his thigh. "A hunch. Some of that evidence has gone missing, or it has been conveniently misplaced."

Missing evidence could destroy a case. Tampering with the chain of evidence could also destroy a case. Katrina frowned. "The evidence rooms are kept under surveillance."

"Sometimes criminals are smart enough to hide their faces and any identifying features." He stared at her hard, studying her face.

She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "Jordan, what's going on?"

He shook his head. "I wish I knew."

She wanted to ask how much of this theoretical problem involved her, but she knew better than to ask questions whose answers could jeopardize cases. If Jordan had enough to speak in absolutes, he would.

"Sometimes the FBI installs cameras that n.o.body knows about."

Jordan chuckled, but his laugh wasn't real. "You're confusing us with the CIA."

She wanted to help, but she could only offer insights he already had. "Investigate the cases. Follow the money. Find a motive, find the bad guy."

This time, he snorted and gave her a genuine smile. "It's just like you lawyer types want everything handed to you on a silver platter."

She grinned. "I prefer platinum."

An intern whose name Katrina didn't know came over. She folded her hands demurely in front of her. "Agent Monaghan? Chief Alder will see you now."

Jordan rose with a grace that surprised Katrina. "I'll catch you later, Legato."

__________.

Keith's office on the fifth floor overlooked Ca.s.s Avenue. If he followed that corridor down to Bagley, he'd find the location of the first BDSM club he'd ever attended. He thought about that club now, long since vanquished by the economy and frequent law enforcement raids, and longed to rewind the clock a few years.

The club had featured trained experts who would, for a reasonable fee, whip him into oblivion. Submission was not obligatory, and he always opted to exclude that element. He wasn't submissive, but he did have a m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.tic streak that occasionally required nurturing. He could use that kind of anonymous, mind-numbing subs.p.a.ce right about now.

A knock tore his attention from the dark places it had wandered. "Come in." He kept his invitation curt, his way of letting his unscheduled visitor know they were intruding on his valuable brooding time.

Juliette strode into the room, unaffected by his gruff demeanor. Tall and willowy, she had a stately air about her that she'd probably possessed her entire life. She'd been an administrative a.s.sistant at the McNamara Building long before he'd arrived on the scene, and she didn't hesitate to let him know it. He might be an agent, but she was in charge.

She smacked a piece of paper down on his desk. "I'm not your personal a.s.sistant. It isn't in my job description to field calls from your family."

He glanced down to see that his sister had called six times since Monday. Given that they were only halfway through Tuesday, that was a lot, even for her. Normally Juliette would forward messages like this electronically. Writing it on paper meant she knew he didn't want evidence of his personal life in the official records, and e-mail was an official record. He appreciated her effort.

"Thanks, Jules. I'll take care of it." He fought the urge to crumple it up and throw it in the trash. There was a reason his parents and sisters didn't have his cell number. He wanted nothing to do with them, but they didn't seem to care about what he wanted. Nothing new about that.

"Hey, Jules."

Keith's day officially became more difficult. Malcolm stood in the threshold, leaning against the jamb. Dressed in a suit, minus his jacket, he managed to look every inch the federal agent he was. The affable smile on his face never failed to put people at ease. He radiated confidence and acceptance. People naturally gravitated to Malcolm. Now that he was in love, his magnetism had increased.

Mal beamed a smile at Juliette, which she returned wholeheartedly. Where Keith had a rather no-nonsense reputation, Malcolm was widely regarded as the more approachable of the duo. That was why Mal often took the "good cop" role when they worked together. People tended to like Malcolm, and they tended to be intimidated by Keith. As a pairing, it worked well.

Getting close to people wasn't easy for Keith. He'd spent too much of his life practicing the art of shutting them out to shift gears and let them in. When they'd first met, Malcolm hadn't seemed to notice Keith's inherent unfriendliness. It had taken some time, but the man had come to occupy a place in Keith's life that few people could ever claim to have held. He had a ton of acquaintances, and being an agent had come with automatic brotherhood, but none of that mattered to him very much without the only person he called a friend.

The state of their relationship for the past two months had cast Keith's world into a h.e.l.lish state. Juliette slid past Malcolm and squeezed his arm. Even though Keith's actions had netted a huge bust and several breaks on other cases, since Malcolm had been subject to investigation by internal affairs, he got all the sympathy.

She closed the door on her way out, but only after turning to give Keith a warning look.

Malcolm parked his a.s.s in the chair on the other side of Keith's desk. He leaned back and drummed his fingers on the padded armrests. "I forgive you."

If it were anyone else, Keith would have thrown out the sanctimonious b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Malcolm's lapse in judgment-who took a time-out from an undercover a.s.signment to argue with the woman he'd knocked up in a house they knew had state-of-the-art security?-had led to Malcolm being shot and put Darcy in danger. People who weren't privy to all the details inevitably blamed Keith's planning for the mess instead of realizing that his quick thinking had salvaged the operation.

However, he knew Malcolm meant what he said. Keith lifted his chin in acknowledgment. "I forgive you too."

Mal chuckled softly. "What'd you do to Jules? She's been muttering under her breath about you since yesterday."

He'd been in the field conducting research. The job of a special agent never ended. "I didn't do anything. Savannah keeps calling here."

"Your sister?" Malcolm frowned thoughtfully. "How long has it been since you talked to her?"

Though he shrugged, he knew the answer. Subtract one month from the number of years it had been since he'd achieved sobriety. He'd given his sisters and his parents an ultimatum. He couldn't have them in his life if they were going to continue to drink. Leaving that life behind meant leaving everything connected to it, including the people who taught him how to be an alcoholic. Of course, that worked better in theory. His mother managed to track him down every six months or so. Sometimes she wanted to know how he was doing, but usually that just meant she was calculating how much money she thought she could shake out of him. He wasn't much of a giver, but that didn't stop her from trying.

"Are you going to call her back?"

"Nope." No hesitation there. He'd meant what he'd said. "I made my position clear a long time ago."

Mal rubbed his chin. "What if she's sober? What if she's calling to tell you that she's turned her life around and she wants to make amends?"

Leave it to Malcolm to poke holes in his logic. It was another reason they worked so well together. The question forced him to reconsider something he'd given up on, compartmentalized with the rest of his shattered hopes, and sealed off. It wasn't that simple.

He knew how to play the logic game. He caught Mal's pa.s.s and threw it back. "She's probably calling because she'd been arrested and she wants me to help get her out of jail."

This time, Malcolm shrugged. "You won't know until you call her back."

Returning the call, even just considering the idea, opened up too many wounds. Of the two evils, he'd take his mother over Savannah. Keith shook his head. "I'm done with that. I can't get involved with that stuff again. I can't let it destroy everything I've worked to achieve."

Malcolm studied him for a long moment. Keith's refusal hung in the air, scented with the fear and desolation he kept bottled inside. "People change, buddy. Circ.u.mstances change. If you don't learn to forgive and move forward, then you're the one who's losing out. In order to have the love and relationships in your life that you deserve, sometimes you have to take risks, put yourself out there."

n.o.body else in the world could have said that and had Keith take them seriously. He didn't come back with a quick or snappy response about how life was so much easier for Malcolm or point out that he'd just practiced the art of forgiveness. Malcolm enjoyed the bonds of a close family and the love of a good woman. Keith had neither of those things, not really. And he desperately wanted them.

While he didn't necessarily want to reconnect with his older sister-she'd been violently abusive to him-he did want something else. An image of Kat, her face tight with the weight of a rejection he hadn't wanted to give, flashed through his mind. He would never be able to live with himself if he hurt her worse than he already had.

He stared at something on his desk, not seeing anything but her pain. "I don't know if it's worth it."

"I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but you'll never know if you don't try."

__________.

After toying with her options for three days, Katrina decided on Dustin Brandt. She wasn't sure some of the men she'd considered for the task were actually Doms. Confidence and arrogance and a job with the Federal Bureau of Investigation didn't necessarily translate into having a kink. Of the ones she knew about for sure, Dustin seemed safest. He hosted munches the third Wednesday of every month in the private meeting room of an Irish pub not far from her condo. He liked to mentor beginners. She aimed to see if she could persuade him to have more of a hands-on role.

Arriving at the pub at four required a little schedule juggling, and she was still twenty minutes late. She would have to work late on Friday, but that wasn't a new thing. Sunlight streamed through the big front windows of the long, skinny room. She glanced around, but she didn't see Dustin.

A server approached. Katrina must have looked appropriately nervous and lost, because the older woman smiled gently. "Are you here for the munch?"

It sounded innocuous enough. Anyone not familiar with the lifestyle wouldn't understand the term for a meet and greet among kinksters. Katrina nodded, and the woman directed her to the hallway leading back toward the kitchen. "Last door on the left."

She pa.s.sed the bathrooms, also on the left, and mapped her escape route. The clank of pans and the shout of voices came through a door on the right. A kitchen should have a door that led outside. Should it go horribly wrong, she didn't plan to stick around.

A PRIVATE PARTY sign hung on the door. She wasn't sure whether she should knock. After wrestling with indecision for almost a full minute, she turned away. Just then, the door opened, and a man nearly ran her over.

He caught her arm. "Sorry. I didn't expect anyone to be there. Go on in. n.o.body bites without permission."

Heat crept up her neck as she remembered Keith's bites. He hadn't asked permission. She liked that he took what he wanted. It made her feel protected and helpless, safely vulnerable.

"You don't have to keep your eyes lowered here. We don't use protocol at these things. Plus, I'm a sub too."

She had been unaware that her embarra.s.sed reaction could be construed as submission. Looking up, she took in the details of her fellow submissive. He was tall, just under six feet. Wavy blond hair fell to his broad shoulders, and a neatly trimmed beard covered the bottom half of his face. He wore black jeans and a studded belt. A motorcycle emblem graced his dark shirt.

He looked like he could take on an entire gang, and yet he'd identified as a submissive. Interesting. Katrina felt an immediate kinship with the stranger.

She nodded. "I'm Trina."

"Kirk." He grasped her by the shoulders and set her out of his path. "And I'll be back in a few." With that, he disappeared into the bathroom.

Gathering her courage-she'd come this far-she stepped into the room. The conversation died down immediately as they all turned to stare at the newcomer. She felt like a dragonfly pinned to a board, put on display for all.

A quick glance around the table had her suppressing a groan. Not only did she recognize Dustin, but Jordan Monaghan also sat at the huge round table. She hadn't seen Jordan since he'd stopped by to run some theories by her. After his appointment with Chief Alder, he'd returned, moving the discussion to two other cases before he excused himself.

Both big men started for a second before settling back into their usual unflappable mode. She looked from one to the other, desperately wishing she'd chickened out before arriving at the pub.

Dustin wore a white shirt. His blue tie had angled gold stripes, and his jacket hung over the back of his chair. Like her, he'd come directly from work. Though he'd relaxed his posture, she knew his catlike reflexes were poised and ready, and she recognized the curiosity in his dark blue eyes. If Keith looked like a bad boy, Dustin claimed the boy-next-door image. Every strand of his light brown hair fell perfectly into place. He was tan and built, and he looked good in a suit.

Jordan, with his long dark hair and his propensity for wearing denim or leather, bucked the dark-suit archetype that most FBI agents embraced. He seemed to have more in common with Kirk than with other law enforcement types.

"Trina, come on in." Dustin smiled, but the doubt clouding his eyes ruined the effect. He exchanged a nervous glance with Jordan.

Since only six people sat at a table meant for fourteen, plenty of open seats remained. Jordan made the decision for her by pulling out the chair next to him. She sat down and smiled her thanks.

Dustin introduced her to the group. Besides the two men she knew, four women rounded out the crew. Each person there said a little bit about themselves, and then Jordan asked the million-dollar question.

"So Trina, what brings you here tonight?"

She didn't want to be honest with the whole group. Her request could wait until she had a private moment with Dustin. Kirk had returned. She met his friendly gaze and took a breath. "Curiosity, mostly. I think."

Dustin nodded. His expression indicated that he was aware of her evasion, but he let her get away with it. He asked someone else another question, which kick-started things. Conversation flowed until the server brought the bills.

Jordan grabbed Trina's check. Too nervous to eat, she'd had only an iced tea. He flashed a grim smile at her. "We always treat the newbies."

She wasn't sure, but his explanation sounded like a dismissal.

One of the women, Andrea, looked up from where she had been rooting round in her purse. First she frowned at Jordan, her brow furrowed in warning. Then she gentled her expression and regarded Katrina. "We're here the third Wednesday of every month. We hope to see you back next time."

Katrina tried for an uncommitted nod. People left. She lingered. From the way Dustin and Jordan took their time, she knew they wanted a private word with her. When Jordan's cell rang and he got the oh-s.h.i.t-it's-work expression on his face, Katrina exhaled with relief. She didn't want to proposition them both. Not at the same time, anyway. If Dustin turned her down, Jordan was next on her list. It wasn't a very long list, but it was nice to know she had options.

Jordan and Dustin exchanged meaningful glances, and Jordan left. Two of the other ladies lingered, and Katrina got the feeling they wanted more from Dustin than a friend and mentor. Well, so did she.

Dustin picked up his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. "Trina, stick around for a few, will you? I'll buy you another iced tea."

Disappointment marred the expression of one of the women, while the other looked a little relieved. They said their farewells and left.

Katrina tried to say something. She knew Dustin had questions. This was probably the best time to proposition him. If he'd asked her to hang back because he had questions about a case, it would derail her courage, and she'd waited so long. Though the meeting had opened her eyes a bit, she wasn't really a stranger to this world. She was just inexperienced.

He held the door open and then guided her to a booth toward the back of the restaurant. The server came by immediately. Dustin ordered two iced teas, never once taking his gaze from Katrina. That pinned-dragonfly feeling returned.