Scorching Desire (11 page)

Damon turned the card over in his hands. “How badly would it damage your career if you were kicked out of the Trinity Masters?”

Marco sank into a chair and looked at his ring. His life had been defined by his membership. He couldn’t imagine being without it. “I don’t know. Is that what you think will happen?”

“Formal summons are for invitations to join and being called to the altar. I doubt the Grand Master has suddenly decided to match us.”

“Or that we’d be
so lucky as to be in the same trinity.” The words were out before Marco could stop them.

Damon looked up sharply, gaze searching Marco’s face. Embarrassed, Marco went to make a drink.

“Is that what you want, Marco?”

“It doesn’t matter. We’re being kicked out.”

“But if we weren’t, is that what you’d want, for us to be together?”

Marco braced his hands on the bar. “For the sex, I want two women.”

Damon snorted. “Of course.”

“But the trinity marriage—it’s about more than sex. When it comes to sharing my life with someone? I did want it to be you.”

Damon rested his hand on Marco’s shoulder. Marco braced himself to have his heart broken. He knew Damon didn’t see the world the way he did. Or at least he hid his emotions better, ruthlessly crushing anything that couldn’t be dealt with easily. What was between them was more than friendship, more than a shared interest in beautiful women.

They were bound together by history, by a unique understanding of one another. It was the most intimate relationship in Marco’s life, despite the fact that Damon now lived on the other side of the country.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” Damon said. They stood that way as the sun dropped behind a building, throwing the room into darkness.

~~~~

Chapter Eight

The next morning Marco kept an eye out as Damon keyed in the code to the locked door of the rare book room.

#333

Behind the section containing maps and diaries related to the Masonic Temple—an organization with secrets and a history as complex as that of the Trinity Masters—was a section of wall with a triangle inscribed into the plaster. Carved below it were the words
Mitimur in Vetitum
.

We strive for the forbidden.

Damon pushed and the section of wall popped in and slid to the side. Together they stepped into the small room beyond. When the wall clicked back into place the lights turned on.

The wood-paneled walls and carpet of the closet-like space mimicked the other private rooms in the library, meaning anyone who stumbled on it would be shocked but not have a clue as to its true purpose. Marco shifted out of the way as Damon moved the empty book cart that blocked the entrance to the hidden elevator.

“Wait,” he said.

The book cart, which was normally empty, had two pieces of paper on it. Marco picked them up, only then seeing that his name was on one, Damon’s on the other.

“Box 28,” Marco read aloud. He flipped the card over, but there was nothing else.

“Box 29,” Damon added.

The wall to their left was inscribed with numbered boxes. They were so skillfully hidden in the wood grain of the paneling that it would be hard for anyone who didn’t know they were there to see them. Marco found 28, pressed on it and the box sprang open. Inside was a key and another card.

You’ll find garments and a mask in room A. Right-hand corridor.

Wait until you hear the bell.

Grand Master

Marco stared at the words in shock.

Damon opened his own box, read the letter and then cursed. “He’s got to be fucking kidding me.”

Marco licked his lips. “Does this mean…”

“I think so.” Damon let out a tired laugh. “We’ve been called to the altar.”

“Together,” Marco couldn’t help but point out.

Their gazes met and something passed between them—a recognition that their relationship was about to go from devoted friendship to something more.

The elevator was too small to take both of them, so Damon went down first. He was waiting for Marco in the long marble hallway several stories underground.

At the far end were the main gathering rooms. Hallways off each side of the corridor held changing rooms. The ones on the left were for general use when the Trinity Masters had parties or meetings—a place for members to shed themselves of the trappings of the upstairs world—to put on their robes and masks. The hallway on
the right housed private dressing rooms for the most elite of members and those who’d been called to the altar.

Marco fit his key into the door of room B. Damon did the same for room A and then looked past Marco at room C. Whomever they’d been mated with was behind that door.

“Why now?” Damon asked. “There has to be a reason.”

“Maybe it will solve our problem,” Marco said.

“How?”

“I have no idea. This doesn’t really make sense.”

Damon sighed. “No. It doesn’t. But here we are.”

Marco saluted his friend and soon-to-be husband and let himself into the dressing room where a hooded black robe waited.

*****

Tasha stared at the white robe draped over the chair in the Grand Master’s office.

“What is that?” she yelped.

“Tasha, it is time for you to join in a trinity.”

Her stomach rolled and Tasha took a step back. “No. You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

She met the Grand Master’s gaze, anger making her words tremble. “Don’t pretend that I’m like the rest of them. I have nothing to offer a trinity. All I am is your little soldier.”

“Natasha,” he barked her name. “This is not a matter for debate. You knew the rules when you joined.”

“And you knew I was dying inside, and still you asked me to do your dirty work.” Anger she thought she’d buried years ago bubbled up. “You can’t change that now.”

The Grand Master’s hand closed into a fist. “I’m giving you the courtesy of telling you in person that you’ve been called to the altar, rather than simply issuing a summons. I will give you a moment to get dressed. You’re welcome to use my office. Then you will go to the altar room for the presentation ceremony where you will meet your spouses.”

Tasha felt like she was choking. The need to lash out crawled along her skin and her fingers curled into claws. Before she could do something she couldn’t take back, Tasha grabbed the robe from the chair and stormed out of the office.

“Natasha,” the Grand Master warned.

She marched along the hall that connected his office with the rest of the headquarters. She stopped before a door she’d never gone through before—the Grand Master’s entrance to the ritual room.

Natasha threw open the door. Beyond it was a stone room, much smaller and more intimate than the massive gathering room. The floor and walls were marble and three high-backed wing chairs faced a large metal medallion in the center of the floor. Each chair was illuminated by a rectangle of light. Two chairs were occupied by figures in black robes—two men.

The Grand Master thought that after everything she’d done for him he could suddenly match her? Worse, he wanted her to marry two men, rather than the man and woman she’d dreamed of? She didn’t know anything about being a wife. She needed another woman to show her what to do.

“Leave,” Tasha told them. “You don’t want this.” She threw the white robe onto the medallion in the floor. “Whoever you are, you’re about to be trapped, married to the Grand Master’s pet spy.” Tasha hadn’t been this angry in a long time. She tried
to rein it in, but everything that had taken place in Chicago was right there on the surface, muting her ability to retreat to the emotionless place where she functioned best.

“Natasha
Kasharin,” the Grand Master’s voice echoed from behind her. “You are out of line.”

“I will not spend my life married to people who hoped for power, intelligence and wealth from their partners only to find themselves married to a whore, a liar and a killer.” Tears choked her, and she dug her nails into her palms to fight them back. “I took your pity once, I won’t do it again.”

Tasha faced the men again. “Leave,” she said, meaning it to be strong, but it came out as a plea.

One at a time, they rose. Tasha breathed a sigh of relief—they’d listened, they’d go.

“Tasha.”

Her heart stopped when she heard the voice. She shook her head. “No.” It couldn’t be.

Marco threw back his hood. “Tasha, it’s us.”

Damon did the same.

She whirled to the Grand Master, her mind racing. “You’re…you’re punishing them for falling into his trap.” She looked back at Marco and Damon. “You’re punishing them…with me.”

“
Natasha, that is not it. I chose to join you with them because it’s clear that you have a connection. A connection you’ve never had with any other member that you’ve helped. When I found out that you included them in your plans, I knew you trusted them. This is not punishment—for any of you.”

Tasha laughed bitterly. “It’s not? Marco, who should have an elegant, sophisticated wife, would instead be stuck with me, who can only pretend to be something good and pure. And Damon—he will never become a federal judge if he is associated with me. I’m the daughter of spies. No one will care that I gave up everything for this country.”

“Tasha,” Damon said. “I’m so glad it’s you.”

She
gasped, his words like a knife to her heart. He couldn’t mean that.

“Tasha, come here,” Marco coaxed. “Take a deep breath, beautiful.”

“No.” The word trembled on her lips. “No. I won’t let you do this to them.”

She ran, brushing by the Grand Master. She knew all the exits from this place and took the one into a water main that dumped into the harbor. It was for the
most dire emergencies—which this was.

Three blocks later, wet to her waist, Tasha climbed out through a manhole. She ducked into the first clothing store she could find, bought new clothes and then changed. She walked quickly and jumped on a bus, resorting to tradecraft—spy behavior—without even having to think about it.

Two hours later, she was on a Greyhound headed to Oklahoma. It was time to go home.

*****

Damon stared in shock at the darkness into which Tasha had disappeared. So many things had just happened that he had trouble deciding which he should focus on—the fact that Tasha was going to be their wife, her assertion that the Grand Master had arranged the match as some sort of punishment, or her belief that she wasn’t good enough for them.

The last one caused the guilt he felt over the way they’d confronted her to thicken in his gut. He’d seen little hints of the vulnerable woman who’d just stormed from the room. And yet he’d still acted as if she were plotting something by having kissed them both.

“Don’t just stand here,” the Grand Master said. “Go after her.”

“Wait.” It was Marco who spoke. “You need to tell us what’s really going on.”

There was a beat of silence. “I don’t need to do anything.”

“That’s our future wife,” Damon added. “What did she mean when she said she took your pity?”

The Grand Master, who stood in darkness, sighed. It was the most human thing Damon had ever heard him do. “Her CIA handler was a member. When it became clear that Tasha could not survive as an asset for much longer, her handler, who was himself retiring, asked that she be made a member. Tasha is…unlike anyone else. She never had a normal life, and yet she knows more about people than anyone I’ve ever met. I should have paired her right away. I knew she was excited about a marriage, excited because she would get to be part of something that to her would seem normal.”

“A trinity marriage?”
Damon asked. “That was normal?”

“Marriage, planning a future, being intimate—they were things she said she didn’t know how to do. She even asked me if she could be paired with a man and a woman, so that she would have someone to teach her how to be a wife.”

“Jesus,” Marco breathed.

“Then why us, and why now?”
Damon said. “Why not then, when she wanted it?”

There was silence before the Grand Master said, “There are things happening that you don’t know about. We’re under attack and have been for years. Tasha had no ties, nothing to lose. She was…not wrong in accusing me of using her the way the CIA did.”

“And why didn’t you match her?”

“Because I know the members of this society, and I knew that once she was married, her spouses would move heaven and earth to protect her—even from me.”

“And you’re damned, fucking right,” Damon growled.

“Stay away from her,” Marco added.

“Don’t forget who you’re talking to.” The Grand Master’s words dripped with warning.

“We won’t forget,” Marco said. “We just don’t care.”

They turned for the doors to the dressing rooms.