Siren in Bloom

Chapter Four

Leo tried to let the tranquil sound of his wall fountain soothe him, but for once it was failing.

His stomach was in knots. He’d stood behind that glass with his rat fink bastard boss/ex-friend and watched as his brother made a very visible connection to Shelley. There had been that one glorious moment when she’d tried to dismiss Wolf. Leo had found himself unaccountably happy until he realized she was threatening to not accept him because Wolf was so damn attractive.

Awesome. Great. She was drooling over his brother.

And then he’d really looked at Wolf.

Fuck it all. His brother was lonely, and Leo hadn’t exactly welcomed him home.

“Uhm, is this part of the therapy? Like the quiet game?”

And he’d nearly forgotten Logan Green was sitting across from him. He was losing it. He turned to the young man in front of him. Logan Green, according to his file, was twenty-four years old. His eyes made him look older. Older. Leo was five years older than Wolf. Maybe she liked younger men. Now that he thought about it, Wolf was really closer to her age.

Logan shifted and cleared his throat.

Damn it. He had to get his head in the game and off the way Shelley had stared at his brother’s chest. “Why are you here?”

Logan’s eyes rolled, the fallback gesture of the young and sarcastic. “Uh, because I’m twenty shades of fucked up and everyone’s sick of dealing with my shit.”

Leo sat forward. He wouldn’t take a ton of crap off of anyone. He stared at the young man, letting the silence go for just a little longer than was comfortable. He tried to put Shelley out of his mind. After all, he would have to deal with her tonight. When she walked into The Club. With his brother. “It’s plain to see that you’re fucked up. I was referring to the inciting incident. I take it you’ve been going downhill for a while. You’ve been in how many bar fights in the last year?”

“A couple,” he muttered.

Logan obviously wasn’t going to just admit to his problems. Well, it had been a while since he’d had a real challenge. “According to a man named Nathan Wright, I believe he’s the sheriff you work for, it’s more like five. And one of them caused serious damage to the bar. Almost ten thousand dollars’ worth.”

“I paid for that,” he said, sitting up and pointing as though he’d been accused of something.

Leo wasn’t accusing, simply stating the facts. It was best to get everything out on the table, but it did bring up an interesting point, one many of Logan’s friends had voiced concern about. When Leo had talked to a few of the people worried for the young man, they had wondered about the incident. “Did you? How does a sheriff’s deputy come up with ten grand?”

His eyes slid away. “I have a friend. He fronted me the cash.”

And Leo could plainly see Logan didn’t like that, but Leo bought that the kid was telling the truth. “But that was months ago. You didn’t seek help then. You continued on your way. What brought you in today?”

Logan’s arms crossed over his massive chest.

Minutes went by. Leo simply sat and waited. There was no use in pushing a patient to say something he wasn’t ready to say. Besides, he’d discovered long ago that silence bothered most people. They were willing to fill the void with anything, even what they didn’t want to admit.

Of course, the silence was bugging his ass now because every second that Logan didn’t speak had him going over and over what had happened between Shelley and Wolf.

Had she gone completely insane? Wolf wasn’t that attractive. He was fine, Leo was sure. But it wasn’t like he himself was chopped liver. He worked out. Probably way harder than Wolf. Wolf looked like he’d lifted one too many weights. Who the hell was that muscular?

Flexible. Leo was flexible. In many ways. Well, not many now that he thought about it. Physically he was deeply flexible, but god, his life had become one rigid regime of working out, working, and walking the dungeon halls at night, never really joining in. He’d given up on meditation. Meditation merely brought about images of Shelley McNamara Hughes and her beautiful face laughing up at him as he took her hand.

Fuck. When was the kid going to break?

“I shot someone.”

Thank god. Leo could get back to someone else’s tortured soul. “Are you talking about the incident at the Movie Motel?”

Logan nodded shortly. “Yeah.”

Interesting. Logan’s face was blank, but guilt seemed to hang on him like a cloud. “That was in the line of duty, Logan.”

He shrugged. “The dude died. He deserved to die. He was a paid assassin. He was willing to kill anyone to get to his target.”

But Leo could see plainly that there was more to this. “Logan, lots of police personnel need treatment after they kill someone in the line of duty. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Military, police, anyone working in a high-stress job, especially one protecting the public, needs routine therapy in my opinion. And yet the very personalities that make them excellent protectors make them very reticent to seek the therapy that would make their lives better.”

Logan laughed, a bitter huff that came out of his chest. “I’m not some born protector, Doc. God, that’s a laugh. You know why I applied for the deputy job? Because there wasn’t any other place I wanted to work, and it seemed like an easy way to make some money for college. Not that I really wanted to go to college. I never really wanted to leave Bliss, but I sure as hell didn’t want to work for Stella. She scares the crap out of me. And I don’t know anything about cars so Long-Haired Roger was out. The very idea of working for my moms. God. I love them. I do, but no. When Rye Harper told me he was looking for a deputy, I jumped at the chance. Man, I took it because I could nap and I got a county vehicle. I’m not some fucking hero.”

That wasn’t what his file said. His file stated clearly that Logan Green had performed valiantly in the line of duty. And he’d sacrificed. “Why didn’t you quit after you were held by the Russian mafia?”

That was the crux of the problem. A year before, Logan had been taken captive and tortured by a member of the Russian mafia. He’d been sacrificed to save two women. He’d gone and kept his mouth shut about Alexei Markov’s true intent. He’d been tortured for hours. He’d barely made it out alive.

And, according to his loved ones, the sweet young man he’d been had died. It was Leo’s job to see if he could bring that man back to life.

“I don’t talk about that.”

The wall had come up. Too soon. If he wouldn’t talk about the incident, then Leo would veer it back to what Logan seemed willing to talk about. “This wasn’t the first time you’ve been in a dangerous situation. What was it about this time that caused so much anxiety?”

“I killed a man.”

“Is that really what sent you over the edge?”

Logan shook his head, his face flushing. “No. He deserved it. He was willing to kill a friend of mine and the town doc, the man who stitched me back together.”

“Then what’s wrong?” There was definitely something here other than simple anxiety disorder.

“I thought about not shooting him at all.”

Leo felt his brows raise. “Because you didn’t want to hurt someone.”

“Because I thought he might actually get Alexei Markov, and for a couple of minutes, I was okay with that.”

“Markov was the man involved with the mob? He was there when you were beaten?”

Logan’s eyes came up, and there was a deep blankness that Leo had seen before in men and women who had survived unimaginable things. Sometimes he saw that blankness in Shelley’s eyes. “Markov fed me to them to give himself a little time.”

“I can see where you would want revenge.”

“But that wasn’t what really got me, Doc.”

Leo was silent, allowing Logan to come to his own decision to speak.

“What really scared the crap out of me was the fact that when I shot that asshole, I liked it.”

Yes, that was the heart of the problem. And it was definitely something they needed to work on. He sat back and sighed. “It’s a good thing to admit that.”

“Really? It’s a good thing to admit that I’m some kind of a freaky killer?”

“No. We have to talk about these things so these feelings and impulses have no power over us. We learn to control them. Both my brother and I served in the Navy. We both saw heavy action. Do you honestly believe I never high-fived after I sniped a target? That my heart didn’t race and I didn’t find some sense of satisfaction in killing the man I was charged with killing? I did. Wolf did. I’m sure your boss has. It’s not having the feeling that creates the problem. It’s giving in to it. We can talk about this. And we’ll begin working on your impulse control and your trust issues.”

“I don’t have trust issues.”

Leo laughed.

“I don’t,” Logan insisted. “Look, if you’re looking for some deep, dark secret, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I was raised in a loving family. I love my moms. I adore them, and don’t you dare tell me that having two lesbians for moms fucked me up.”

“I would never say that. It wouldn’t be true. Having loving parents is deeply important no matter their gender.”

“I loved my town. I still love my town. I trust my friends and my boss. I just hate that fucker Markov. If he wasn’t around, I would have been fine.”

“Because you didn’t have any problems before he came back? That’s not what this file says.”

“I don’t have issues with trust when it comes to anyone but that Russian asshole.”

“You do. You have trust issues that run so deep you can no longer function, and it’s not Markov who is the problem. You might not trust him, but that’s not the core. That’s not the person who broke trust with Logan Green in such a deep way that you can’t come back from it on your own.”

Logan threw his hands up in obvious disgust. “Who? Oh, great and mighty fucking Oz, who? Tell me because you seem to know so fucking much. You can’t even get along with your brother, who’s one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. You seem to have some problems of your own, but obviously you know what I don’t.”

He didn’t react to the bile. It was common at this stage. “You, Logan. You don’t trust yourself anymore. You don’t trust your dreams or your hopes. You don’t trust the world you built for yourself. We have to get you back to the place where you trust the Logan Green who lives inside you.”

Logan stopped, his head going down. His hands were on the arms of the chair, and they tightened before he finally looked up. “How the fuck do I do that, Doc?”

Now he had him. Yes, he could work with Logan Green. “I’m going to show you. We start tonight. I had the staff send a pair of leathers to your room. You’ll wear them with boots. A shirt is optional. You’re a Dom-in-training. Included with the leathers is a training contract. Please read through it and sign it before we begin.”

Leo stood. This session was over, and he was pleased with the results.

Logan stayed where he was, his eyes coming up. “How is spanking women going to make me trust myself?”

This was the part most people didn’t get. “There’s trust between a Dom and a sub. It has to run deep. The power exchange can be a powerful thing, but there’s beauty even in the small exchanges. Over time, after training, you’ll learn discipline and how to control yourself because you wouldn’t ever, ever want to abuse the trust they place in you. And when you reach that place where some lovely, soft woman trusts you with her body, with her life, you’ll learn that you’re worthy of that trust, and you’ll believe in yourself.”

Logan stared for a moment, the words seeming to sink in. “Wolf was right. You’re not an asshole.”

Guilt gnawed at him. “I can be.”

“But you know what you’re doing.”

Leo nodded. “When it comes to this, yes.”

Logan shook his hand and walked out of the room, promising to meet Leo at eight.

And Leo was alone with the soothing sound of his fountain.

He wasn’t unattractive, damn it. He just wasn’t an overgrown freaking male model. What the hell was she thinking?

And why hadn’t he known about Wolf’s migraines? His brother had looked weary, and Shelley had known exactly what he’d needed.

There was a knock on the door. Excellent. Maybe someone had gone bonkers in the dungeon and needed intense therapy. Yeah, that would help. He opened the door to his office. Kitten stood there, biting her bottom lip, her eyes sliding away from his as though her shoes were suddenly very interesting.

Kitten. The secretary Julian had foisted off on him. Kitten, who barely managed to answer a phone without crying she was so damn shy.

“You have a call, Sir.”

“You don’t have to call me Sir outside the dungeon, Kitten. My name is Leo.” He’d explained it to her before, but she simply continued. She was here because she was Finn’s cousin, the only member of his family he still spoke to, and Julian was a sucker.

Note, he didn’t hire Kitten to work for him. No, the bastard had foisted the wretchedly shy girl off on Leo. Still, she was a sweet girl.

“Yes, Sir Leo. You had a call. He knows you. He said he knows you. He could be lying. Kitten doesn’t know. Kitten is not very good at catching lies. Kitten believed it when the Prince of Nigeria wrote me and wanted me to trade checks with him. Did you know he was willing to pay millions of dollars just to get his money out of the country? Kitten thinks Nigeria must be a very dangerous place. Luckily Kitten didn’t have any checks to send him. It was a scam. That’s what Finn told Kitten. Can you believe it?”

And Kitten had serious self-esteem issues. In the months she’d been at The Club, Leo still hadn’t heard her refer to herself in anything but the third person. “Shocking. Now, who called?”

She blinked a couple of times and then the light came into her eyes. “Oh, the phone call. Yes. You had a phone call. His name was Steve Holder.”

Leo did a double take. Seriously? Steve “Madman” Holder was calling him? It had been years and years. God, it had been forever since he’d talked to anyone from the Teams. When he’d walked away from the Navy, he’d cut himself off.

A vision of Ada assaulted him.

Fuck, there was a reason he’d left it all behind.

“I’ll call him back later.” He turned and walked back to his office. He didn’t want to talk to Holder. Holder would bring back a million bad memories, but he did have someone he wanted to talk to. He picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hello, dear,” Leo said, his voice filled with warmth for the woman on the other end of the line. Seeing Kitten had made him think of Janine. She was Kitten’s therapist, but she’d been much more to Leo. They’d been a horrible married couple, but they turned out to be pretty damn good friends.

“Leo, it’s good to hear from you. I was going to call you to let you know Harry and I will be at The Club tonight. I think I have enough of my figure back to feel decent about shoving my body into some PVC. Not so sure about the heels, though. I think pregnancy ruined my feet. How weird is that?” Janine Halloway asked with a laugh. She and her husband had recently had baby number three.

Janine was happy. Without him. Three years of marriage to him had been enough to throw her into the arms of another man.

“Wolf is in town,” Leo said.

There was a long pause. “I’ll be there early.”

The phone clicked, and he looked at the clock. Hours. She wouldn’t be early enough.

Shelley hopped onto the Blue Line going toward Mockingbird Station, her body slightly tired after the long, emotional day. It was crowded, the press of bodies reminding her that it was rush hour, but still a very nice man offered her his seat. She smiled gratefully and took it, placing her laptop bag at her feet and her purse in her lap. She settled in by the window as the train took off.

Why had she listened to the denizens of Deer Run? Everyone in her tiny hometown had been against her coming to Dallas. They had sworn she’d be raped and killed the minute she entered Dallas County. Apparently that was what happened to small-town women who dared to go to the big city. Well, that or she would become a drug-addicted prostitute.

What they didn’t say was that she’d gotten herself into trouble in a town like Deer Run, so how the hell would she stay out of it in Dallas?

She loved the city, and she’d almost never had to stand on the train. Dallas was filled with gentlemen. And almost no one knew about her past as the wife of the drug dealer and blackmailer. It had made a small splash in the press when Bryce’s blackmailing activities had come to light, but it had quickly been replaced when the next scandal came along.

But sometimes she wondered if it would always follow her around, like a stain that wouldn’t go away no matter how much she washed it.

She sighed and stared out the window. The train stopped at the next station, and there was a general jostling as people got on and got off. A large man stepped in and looked around for a seat. He waited as the women on the train moved into the open seats.

She was going home to her small townhouse where she would shower and maybe have a fortifying glass of wine before fixing herself up and heading to The Club. Not on a tour. Not as a designer getting ideas about a space.

As a sub. Wolf’s sub.

She smiled as the door closed, and the train jolted forward. Well, she’d been worried that maybe she would never be able to look at another man, but Wolf Meyer had put that thought firmly out of her mind.

Every hormone in her body had lit up and screamed like a teen at a pop concert. He was unbelievably masculine. Wholly beautiful. And kind.

And Leo’s brother.

Yeah, that was bugging her.

“Hi.”

She glanced up, pulled out of her thoughts by a masculine voice. She looked up and smiled back. The man was big, almost too big for the seat he was squeezed into. He sat directly in front of her, and a well-dressed woman settled into the seat next to her, a gorgeous designer bag in her lap.

The bag caught Shelley’s eye. She loved beautiful things. It was why she’d become a designer. She couldn’t sew for crap so she’d put her eye for fashion into making living spaces lovely and comfortable, but she still loved clothes and bags and shoes. It took all she had not to drool over that bag. Quilted and black, with gold braided satchel-like handles, the bag stood out on the dreary train. It was Versace. Handmade. She’d seen it at the Versace store the week before when she’d walked through NorthPark Mall looking for a little inspiration. She’d taken pictures of the straps thinking she could use it as a takeoff place for decorating the bar that served as the entryway to The Club.

That was one amazing-looking bag. Her own paled in comparison. And the laptop bag at the woman’s side was a work of art, too.

“Well, I can see I have nothing on a pretty purse.” There was a wealth of masculine deprecation in the words.

She looked up into laughing gray eyes. Damn. She’d been terribly rude. “Sorry. It’s a stunning bag.”

“Thanks,” the woman beside her said, patting the $2500 bag. Shelley had checked the price tag and remembered that she didn’t have her husband’s blood money to rely on anymore. Not that he’d shared it. She’d been forced to work in a bar just to pay her mother’s medical bills.

“I saw it just a couple of days ago. I couldn’t help but admire it,” Shelley said, trying not to think about a life that hadn’t been real in the first place.

The cool blonde nodded and held the bag to her chest. “Normally I wouldn’t carry it on the train. My ride got stuck at the firm, and I had a long day in court. I wasn’t willing to wait, but now I’m wondering. I feel like I need an armed escort.”

The handsome man in front of them saluted with a little flair. “I’ll be happy to apply for the job, ma’am. Steve Holder. Non-active duty Navy SEAL.”

The woman next to Shelley blushed and muttered something about feeling so much safer.

“Hi. I’m Shelley McNamara. I seem to be surrounded by ex-SEALs these days,” Shelley said, shaking her head as a young man in a hoodie took the seat across from Designer Bag Lady. He kept his head down, bobbing to music only he could hear.

Holder laughed a bit. He had a jagged scar that ran down his cheek, but his smile seemed genuine. Shelley could definitely buy that he was ex-military. He looked like he’d kept up the workout regime. His shoulders were massive, his neck corded with muscle. “There’s no such thing as an ex-SEAL, ma’am. A SEAL’s a SEAL. We old guys just don’t get to play anymore. But it’s funny you should say that. I can’t seem to find any. I was in town talking to some clients and tried to look up an old teammate of mine. He works at a club now as a therapist.”

Seriously? No. She sighed and asked the question anyway. “Leo Meyer?”

Holder pointed at her, his eyes widening in surprise. “Yeah. Wow. You know Leo?”

Leo seemed to be everywhere today. “We work for the same man.”

“Julian Lodge.” Holder nodded his head. “Yeah, I read up on him when I found out Leo was working for him. He’s an interesting man. He’s got quite the reputation, though I wonder how much is hype and how much is true.”

Designer Bag Lady looked up, her perfectly painted mouth dropping open. “You work for Julian Lodge? The infamous Julian Lodge? Tell me something—is that man as hot in person as he is in pictures?”

Shelley smiled and nodded. Her boss was a lovely man. “I’m redecorating his building. Yes, he’s gorgeous, but he’s also happily married.” And to more than one person. She didn’t say that out loud. Julian jealously guarded his privacy. “And his wife is pregnant.”

That was one he hadn’t been able to hide. Pictures of Dani had made the society pages just the week before.

“Damn it. All the hot ones are taken.” She grinned. “It doesn’t hurt that he’s also a billionaire.”

Her cell phone rang, and she picked it up, leaving Shelley alone, talking to Holder.

“So how is Leo doing?” Holder asked, his big, callused hands on his knees. He leaned forward, curiosity on his face.

How was Leo? He was gorgeous and remote and impossible to forget. “He’s fine. He’s made a good life for himself. He was my brother’s therapist. I can safely say the man is a miracle worker.”

She didn’t mention that the club he worked at was an infamously private BDSM club. She glanced out the window as the train stopped again. Two stops left, and then she would get out and walk the block and a half to her place and try to convince herself she wasn’t making a horrible mistake. She didn’t have long until Wolf would knock on her door.

Why hadn’t he let her come back on her own?

Holder continued on. “I can believe it. He was the go-to guy when you needed a good talk. He would listen to everyone. Man, I remember Leo. He was always a flirt. He was a great guy, but he was all about the chase, you know what I mean? I was surprised when I found out he got married.”

Her heart nearly stopped. She turned back to Holder, praying she wasn’t flushing. Leo had been married? He’d never once mentioned he’d been married. And she’d never noticed him flirting with other women. He’d always been so focused on her when he’d been around her. “I never thought of him as a flirt.”

Holder snorted a little. “God, he was the biggest flirt on the team. We called him Casanova. And he preferred his women to be unavailable. I don’t think he ever actually cheated with any of them, but he liked to play around when there wasn’t any possibility of commitment.”

She felt her whole body go hot with embarrassment. She was torturing herself over a man who hadn’t bothered to mention that he was divorced. She’d told him almost everything. She’d spent hours on the phone with him. Ostensibly they had been talking about Trev and how to handle him and how to deal with his drug and alcohol problems, but she’d found herself telling the handsome counselor everything about her life.

And he hadn’t really talked about his life. Maybe because she wasn’t really important.

“And he was great at riding in and saving women,” Holder continued. “He was a white knight, if you know what I mean. I remember this town we were liberating from the Taliban. There were bombs going off everywhere. We were taking crazy fire and Leo’s running through the flames of a house carrying a woman and her baby. I really admired the hell out of him.”

She’d been in trouble, and Leo had tried to ride in. He was a Dom with deep protective instincts. She’d been everything he couldn’t resist. She’d been right. If she’d laid her problems at Leo’s feet, he likely would have gone straight to Bryce and gotten himself killed.

She had to let him go. He’d been good to her. She couldn’t blame him for not loving her back. It wasn’t his fault, but she could damn well blame herself for not moving on. She’d been standing still for over a year. Everyone thought she’d been mourning her marriage, but it had been Leo she’d mourned.

And it was time to move on.

She gave Holder what she hoped was a gracious smile as the train began to slow. “This is my stop. It was nice to meet you.”

Holder held out his hand and she shook it. He passed her his business card. “You, too, ma’am. And if you see Leo, give him my card. Let him know I’d just like to have lunch, catch up. His secretary seemed a little confused, so I’m not sure he got my message.”

Kitten Taylor. Yeah. She was a trip. She was absolutely the subbiest woman Shelley had ever met. She made Beth look like a warrior princess. She’d probably gotten flustered at Holder’s commanding voice. “I’ll let him know.” She slipped the card into her purse. She nodded to Designer Bag Lady and stood just as the doors opened.

And immediately was back in her seat as the young man in the hoodie shoved out, his hands slamming against her chest. There were startled gasps as the young man grabbed the beaten-up leather laptop bag at her feet and leapt off the train, shoving passengers aside. Shelley scrambled to get up, reaching for the bar at the end of the seat. He’d taken her bag. She clutched at her purse, her heart pounding, a rage starting to take over. She got to her feet and pushed her way out. Her heels hit the concrete and she looked around, searching for the little shit who had her bag, and more importantly, her laptop.

He was rushing down the stairs, pushing aside anyone in his way. A woman got knocked down. He simply leapt over the railing and ran toward the street.

She had to catch that little shit. Why was she wearing three-inch heels? She was going to try anyway.

“Don’t.” A hand held her back. Holder stood behind her as the train rushed away.

“He has my laptop.” It had all her work on it. All her designs. All her thoughts. All the pictures she’d taken and sketches she’d made. Damn it. Her life was on that laptop.

“He also might have a knife or a gun,” Holder said, his grasp on her arm tightening. “I’ve already called the cops. They’re on their way.”

She could hear the sirens, but it would be too late. The thief was gone. She searched the crowd below, but he’d run toward the shopping center with its stores and restaurants and businesses. It was thick with rush-hour traffic. She couldn’t see him.

She clenched her fists and waited for the cops.