Without a Net (32 page)

“Me? I need to pull my head out of my ass? Really? Because I sent him my text number. I asked the director to pass on my address. Actually, Travis gave you this address, so clearly he could be here if he wanted and he’s not.”

“He didn’t contact you. Big fucking deal,” Buck said. “You can’t send him your number and call it done.”

“So I should beg him?” Ollie’s chest hurt, and he was almost sure if begging worked, he’d grovel. All the raw emotions he’d walled off were bleeding, and Buck kept poking at him. “Not a fucking chance,” Ollie said in a voice little more than a whisper.

“Oh, you idiot,” Buck said in a fond tone. “You don’t get shade Doms, not the good ones.”

“Here comes another round of how misunderstood you all are.” Ollie snorted and clung to his anger to help him rebuild the walls against the pain of losing Travis.

“I’m not a shade Dom, so, no. I’m not misunderstood. But the ones who are on the edge like Milan and Allemande and Goode, they know they’re fucking terrifying. They know they come on too strong, and sometimes that means they back off too much. When Allemande kept backing away, I broke into his apartment and parked my ass in the middle of his bed.”

Ollie felt a weak flame of hope, a seed of a fantasy where he did that and Travis invited him to stay. Unfortunately, that was fantasy. The man had arrested his own mentor and father figure, so he certainly wouldn’t mind arresting Ollie for breaking and entering. “And you want me to do something like that?” Ollie gave a derisive laugh.

“You’re miserable because you want it hard and rough, but you want a Dom you can trust and who trusts you. You want someone who respects you. So go claim Goode.”

“I don’t think that’s practical.”

“Why?” Buck asked. “Are you afraid he’ll say no? Throw your naked ass out in the street? Shoot you? Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“Abject humiliation?”

“We’re shade subs. Well, you are. I’m a switch, but still…humiliation isn’t exactly new territory.”

“Not for me,” Ollie said firmly. “I’d rather avoid it, especially since I’m not sure I am a shade sub. God, you have no idea how much I’ve railed against shade clubs and all their fucked-up rules…or lack of rules. I mean… Damn. How do I draw a line between abuse and edge play when I can’t see a line? What Milan did was abuse, and Travis was part of that, so how do I have a relationship with someone when we started in that sort of fucked-up wrongness?” Ollie sank back down into the chair and seriously considered calling his psychologist for an emergency therapy session.

“I guess you need the safe-sub speech.”

“My mother stuttered her way through that speech when I was sixteen, thank you. And I’m pretty sure that anything Travis and I did would break most of the rules she managed to get out before flinging a sex brochure at me and fleeing.” Ollie smiled fondly at the memory.

“Moms. They’re all the same,” Buck said.

“I think she was hoping I would pursue a career as a monk.”

“Probably,” Buck said with a laugh. “But here’s the thing. You can be a shade sub and still protect yourself. Have an escape plan. Have friends who aren’t friends with your Dom. Have a bank account you don’t tell anyone about. In fact, create a ghost profile in e-mail and have your hidden bank statements sent there. That way if you decide to leave, you have money and people who are guaranteed to help you. And if your Dom tries to get you to cut ties with your friends, kick him to the curb. It’s not all that different from a safe word, just more complicated. Make sure your friend expects to see you from time to time, and make sure it’s someone with enough balls to confront your Dom or call the damn cops if you stop showing up. We don’t ever give our power away. We loan it out. And like anyone who loans out something important, we have a plan for retrieving it if we need to.”

“You make it sound easy.”

Buck shook his head. “It’s not. But then using a safe word isn’t easy either. Lots of people at control clubs don’t want to safe-word out because they think it makes them look weak or undesirable as a partner. And Doms have their own issues. When I dominate someone, I spend a quarter of the time worried that I’m pushing too hard or not hard enough, and another quarter feeling guilty after I’ve spent time so lost in my own pleasure I lost track of the game. And I’m a switch. I know from the submissive’s point of view that half the fun is making a Dom lose his or her famous control. I’m telling you, being a Dom is not an easy path, and Travis is struggling right now. He sees himself as your rapist.”

“He’s not!” Ollie practically yelled. If he heard that one more time, he was setting someone’s head on fire.

Buck reached for his hand. “Then go convince him of that.”

“I don’t know how. I’ve told him I don’t blame him.”

“I already told you, so get your ass out there and go claim your Dom.”

Ollie opened his mouth, but Buck cut him off before he could say anything. “No. No, don’t keep making excuses. Go. Now.”

“I have a guy coming out to rewire the kitchen.”

“I’ll let him in. You’re going to get out there and do something about your idiot Dom.” Buck pointed at the door.

Ollie was caught between wanting to take Buck’s advice and a brilliantly cold fear that if he did, his last illusion would shatter and Travis would tell him to get lost.

“Go!” Buck shouted at him.

“You’re too pushy to be a sub.”

“Every sub I know is a pushy, manipulative asshole. You included. So stop changing the subject and get out there.”

Hope blossomed in Ollie’s heart, and he couldn’t find the strength to shut it down, not without trying to make this work. “Fine. I’m leaving.”

“Good. Don’t let the door hit ya where your Dom should be whippin’ ya,” Buck said.

Ollie looked down at his dirty jeans and sweaty shirt. He fought with himself about whether he should change, but in the end he knew if he delayed one second, he’d talk himself out of it. He already would have except Buck’s gaze was on him, reminding Ollie that if he didn’t do this, he was acting out of cowardice. So with a quick prayer to whatever god might be listening, Ollie headed for the garage. He was going to get his man.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

By the time Ollie pulled into the FBI parking lot, he was already regretting his decision. He might have turned around and driven home, only one of the agents in the parking lot waved, clearly waiting for him. Besides, if he went home, Buck would call him a coward. Putting the car into park, unbuckling his seat belt, opening the door—every motion was a struggle and an act of willpower.

When Ollie locked his door, Agent McGraw came over. “Hey, is some lawyer forcing you to make another statement?”

“No. I thought I’d come by and see Agent Goode,” Ollie said, and he was painfully aware of his dusty gray T-shirt and jeans. “I’ve been keeping myself busy with home repairs.”

“Good for you. I mean, I hate fixing things, which is why I live in a condo, but keeping busy is good. Too much time to think leads to bad places.” She emphasized the word “bad” to the point it was almost comical.

“So everyone keeps telling me.”

“Everyone is right. So, you’re saving the unit from Goode’s bad temper, huh?”

“Has he been that cranky lately?” Ollie needed some sort of reassurance that maybe Buck was right, that maybe the relationship had meant more than Travis’s absence suggested.

“He’s never a fluffy puppy, if you know what I mean, but lately he has been taking bigger chunks than usual out of people’s backsides. Cavanagh had a new probie who broke the chain of evidence by leaving a bag unattended on his desk. I thought the man might cry by the time Goode was done with him.”

“Yelling?” Ollie guessed.

McGraw huffed, a sound that fell somewhere between disgust and amusement. “The probie wished. No, Goode had this quiet, intense voice he used to describe all the ways the probie had tanked the case and helped the suspect continue on his path of raping, and how it must feel good to be an accomplice to the rapist after he went free because of the probie’s screwup.”

Ollie cringed. That was incredibly not okay. That was huge, steaming piles of not okay.

“Yeah. The director suspended him for two days, but at least all our probies are being much more careful with evidence, and the supervising agents are being much more careful to supervise.”

“Hard way to make a point, though.”

“Hell, yes. So take him out to lunch, bed him, haul him off on a vacation. Do something, okay?”

Ollie grinned. “Yeah, I’ll try. He’s kind of prickly, so I don’t know how well this is going to work, but I’ll try.”

McGraw gave him a smile before pulling out her phone and texting someone. “I know you will. At the very least, you’ll give him someone new to intimidate.”

“What about Darla?”

McGraw looked up from her phone. “She transferred to New Mexico last month, but she’d stopped partnering with Goode full-time before that. So, come on. Let’s go see what Goode is up to,” McGraw said with a smirk that made Ollie worry a little.

“Are you texting Travis?”

McGraw gave him a horrified look. “Oh, no way. Do I look stupid to you?”

“I’m guessing the best answer to that is no.”

“You’d be right. You aren’t on the list for any active cases, so I’ll need to sign you in as a guest.” McGraw headed for the front doors, and Ollie followed.
Crap.
He’d been to this building so often he knew the guards and assumed he could sign in with his fingerprint. It hadn’t occurred to him that with the last case over, his access had vanished. When he’d left his job with the department, he still had this place with the bad coffee and interview rooms done in weird shades of gray with ripped sound insulation. It felt like home, although at the station he typically wasn’t in the witness rooms, and that was where Ollie had spent his time in this building. Life was changing so fast, and Ollie didn’t know if he was desperate to get Travis back or desperate to get back something he’d had before.

They got to the door, and McGraw signed for Ollie while he put his hand on the print reader. Agents moved past them, hurrying out to follow leads or hurrying back or reading phones while drinking coffee and walking. Feds tended to look like cops with a better dress code.

“Ready?” McGraw asked before heading for the elevators.

“I appreciate you getting me in. I guess I thought you guys were as lax as we were back at the station. Once we had someone on the approved list, they pretty much stayed on it.”

“Homeland Security likes to run checks on that sort of thing, and we might have had a small incident with a soon-to-be ex-wife and a batch of truly dangerous chili.”

“That sounds disturbing.”

“Oh, yeah.” McGraw gave a full-body shiver as she got in the elevator. “I wasn’t even here at the time, but let me tell you, that story makes the rounds. So unless you want every agent in the building using the bathroom at once, you will keep all visitor logs updated and make sure that if you’re having extramarital affairs, you don’t ask your coworkers to cover for you. It makes potential ex-wives cranky.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Ollie stood by while a pair of agents escorted a crying woman past them. That was one part of the job Ollie didn’t miss.

“So, what are you working on now that you’re not stuck babysitting me?”

“Oh, I got the Sauvageot case along with my regular caseload. We tracked her to Al Mukalla in Yemen, and then she vanished, but we’ll find her. Eventually. Just don’t hold your breath. That woman is slick.”

“Yemen. That’s unexpected.”

“I’m telling you, Greyson should have promoted that woman. She’s a criminal genius, and bringing her down is going to feel so very good.”

“I don’t doubt that you’ll do it,” Ollie said. He knew as well as McGraw did that sometimes criminals escaped, but he did believe she’d stick with the case and do her best. The elevator doors opened, and Director Sewell was in the hall.

“Mr. Robertson.” She held out her hand and sounded genuinely pleased to see him. Pleased, not surprised. Ollie could smell a trap when he walked into one. Sometimes.

“Director Sewell,” he said with a smile.

“It’s good to see you. I hear you’re hoping to catch Agent Goode.”

Ollie glared at McGraw for a second, but she smiled and darted away down the hall. “Um, if it’s not a problem.”

“Not at all.”

“I don’t want to interfere with his work. I know you guys are busy.”

“You two can use the conference room, and I hope that improves his work.” Sewell stopped at one of the doors and rested her hand on the knob. “I’m turning into a stereotype of a Jewish mother, and this is truly not my place to get involved, but every time he comes near a rape case, he’s doing something stupid. I hope you will be successful in talking to him, but if talking doesn’t work, try to avoid leaving evidence of any crime involving your boot and his ass.” She gave him a grin and then pushed the door open. Ollie could only see the presentation vid at first, but as he walked in, he spotted Travis standing at the window.

“Have fun,” Sewell said, and then she pulled the door closed.

“Ollie.” Travis stared at him, his expression devoid of anything that might be an emotion.

“Travis.” This was not an auspicious start. Ollie couldn’t figure out what to say now that he was here, but he had the overwhelming feeling that if he walked out of this room, Travis would make sure their paths never crossed again.

“You doing all right?” Travis asked in the same tone someone might use to ask about the weather.

“I hear you were trying to get to me in the van after the medics took me in there.”

“Buck.” Travis spat the name out like a curse.

“Yep,” Ollie said. No use in denying it. “I assume he’s telling the truth.”

Travis sagged down onto one of the chairs. “It wasn’t my finest moment.”

“In what way?” Ollie was trying to understand this, because as far as he was concerned, Travis trying to batter down the castle walls to reach him was a good thing.

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. How is it bad that you tried to check on me?”

“You’d been raped. I was a participant in that rape. You didn’t need me to get in your face after that, not to mention the damage it would have done to our case against Greyson.”