“Not a common occurrence?”
An amused look crossed his rugged features. “Honoring the bro code, I’d say that’s need-to-know, but you have eyes. What woman would come to this dump willingly? He didn’t kidnap you, did he?” He bent to look beneath the table. “No chains, but if you want to make a dash for my truck, I’ll get you to safety—and to a place that doesn’t have lingering eau-de-crack-house, what this place used to be.”
When she chuckled, enjoying him, he offered his hand. “Dale Rousseau.”
“Janet.”
The pressure of his fingers and the direct look telegraphed another quality, one she’d seen often enough for her to guess she and Dale had something else vital in common. She decided to throw out a line and see if she was right.
“So, did Max come to you for advice on how to deal with someone like you and me?”
His slow smile told her she’d hit the target. “Lots of differences between a Master and Mistress. I hopefully told him enough not to get his ass chewed off. How’d he do with the information?”
“He exceeded expectations.”
“He always does.”
She ran her gaze over him, a thorough appraisal of the broad shoulders, the fit body that looked solid and unstoppable as a Mack semi. When he shifted, the tilt of his head, the hitch in his step, brought the whole package together, and she realized he was familiar to her. She was almost certain he was an occasional regular at Club Progeny. Though he was always masked, his public sessions with submissives were memorable enough that Janet had watched more than one of them. He was thorough and overwhelming, an artist of their craft.
She didn’t ask if he recognized her as well. With the level of detail Max brought to every encounter, if this man was of the same stripe, the decorative mask she wore for public play wouldn’t hamper his ability to pick her out of a crowd. “Would you like to share my coffee? I still have half a cup. I’m sure I can find a mug here to split it.”
“There’s nothing in these cabinets except roach powder, though he usually keeps a supply of paper plates for takeout. Since he mostly swigs beer and bottled water, paper cups aren’t a priority.”
She hadn’t gotten as far as snooping through Max’s cabinets, but when Dale crossed the spare couple strides to the nearest one and opened it, she saw he was right. Even to the roach powder. Her brow creased.
Everything about Max’s house was neat, clean, well-ordered. But as she’d noted on her earlier visit, except for his clothing, a pocket change jar and a file cabinet for some paperwork, there was nothing personal in the house. Even the blankets on his bed looked like they’d been picked up from an Army-Navy supply store.
“In all fairness, given the neighborhood and the fact he’s here so rarely, he doesn’t buy things that can be stolen. He doesn’t lock his doors, so he doesn’t have to worry about repairing broken windows.” Dale shook his head at her expression. “Don’t judge the boy too harshly for it.”
“His mother and sister were his home,” she said.
After a pause, during which he was clearly evaluating how much she knew about their common subject, Dale inclined his head. “Not sure he knows how to make one without them.”
“Besides which, he’s still down range, isn’t he? Still working the mission.”
Dale’s eyes sharpened on her. She leaned forward. “Are you helping him find the last one?”
“Are you going to tell me he shouldn’t be doing that, that he should be moving forward with his life?”
“What do you think?”
He sat down across from her. When she pushed her coffee over to him, he took a sip, handed it back to her. “You take it strong. No cream or sugar?”
“I don’t like diluting the full strength of something meant to be strong.”
“I’m liking you better and better. You won’t be able to talk him out of it.”
“I get that. But did he try other options? The police?” She knew the hypocrisy of pointing it out, but she cared enough about him she asked anyway.
Dale grunted. “Max has a healthy respect for the law, the Constitution—the real deal, not the crap that people and politicians twist to serve their own purposes. But he gets there’s a difference between justice and the law sometimes, and justice gets served first when we have the ability and choice to make the call. This call is his choice. No muss, no fuss, no drama. He’s not going to talk about it, but I guarantee it takes up about a third of his brain space every day.” He cocked his head. “I expect the other two-thirds is probably about you. So you still have the majority of his brain cells, if that’s a comfort.”
“Competition is not my major concern, not when it comes to this.” She met his gaze. “Why do you limp, if it’s not too personal to ask?”
“Amputation below the knee. Lost it during an explosion.”
Her gaze swept downward, and now she noticed how one pants leg seemed to crease differently below the knee. At her look, Dale reached across, closed his hand on hers. He rested it on what felt like a plastic cuff molded to his knee joint beneath the denim. Continuing downward on her own, she felt the solid metal shaft he had instead of a leg. He wore hiking shoes, such that except for the slight limp, she wouldn’t have guessed it.
She looked up. They were almost eye to eye. He gave her a faint smile, nodded and straightened.
It affected her peculiarly, feeling metal and plastic where a firm calf should have been. She moved her touch to his other leg for comparison. It was intimate, forward behavior, but Dale didn’t object. She gripped the calf as he flexed beneath her touch and offered her a somber wink. When she sat up, sat back, her stomach was doing an odd flip-flop. That could have been Max. Or instead of losing a limb, he might not have come home. His sister would have been all alone in the world, and Janet would never have known him.
You might as well say it. I’ve known since the hospital… She hadn’t said it. Unlike him, she wasn’t ready to accept the strength of his feelings, let alone her own. This moment didn’t really leave her a place to hide from that, did it?
She reclaimed her coffee, took a bracing swallow. “You know what happens when you break them down, break them open. You understand who and what they are. There’s no compromising that. I wouldn’t want to compromise what Max is, but I have a real problem with him doing anything that would take him away from me, by death or imprisonment. I’m a selfish bitch that way.”
“Well, God bless you. Hope that he starts to see things your way.” Dale fished a card out of his pocket, slid it across the table to her. A phone number was handwritten on it. “My cell,” he said. “In case you ever need it.”
Janet lifted her gaze, held his. He had unusual blue-green eyes, but in them she saw a clear message. With a nod, she slipped the card into her pocket, took another sip of coffee.
“You know, sound carries through this house like a megaphone,” Max said, arriving in the doorway.
“Don’t kid yourself, Ack Ack. These walls are thin enough people could sit in the street and hear you,” Dale said comfortably. “Brought you the yard and plumbing tools you wanted for Gayle’s next weekend.”
“Appreciate it. I would have come and gotten them.”
“Eh. I was in the neighborhood.”
Janet turned to see Max shrugging into his shirt. Today it was tailored silk and cotton, coupled with slacks. Matt had an important meeting at the Omni Royal, one that called for his driver to wear formal attire to properly impress the attending members. As he buttoned the shirt, Max moved into the kitchen, touching her shoulder before claiming his own coffee from the counter. He didn’t seem particularly perturbed by Dale’s discussion with her, but from the glance the men exchanged, she realized Dale wouldn’t have imparted anything to her that Max wouldn’t want her to know.
“So did you check to see if he had a prosthetic ass while you were groping him?”
“That looked nicely real to me,” she said without missing a beat. “But I’d be happy to verify.”
“Better not challenge this one,” Dale advised. “She’ll kick your balls into your throat. And then grope my ass while you’re curled up like a shrimp on your dingy-looking tile floor. Jesus, buy some cheerful linoleum. Something with little yellow and blue flowers. At least a freaking potholder. I’m getting you a potholder for Christmas.”
Janet looked between the two men, amused, but then focused on Max, brow raised. “Ack Ack?”
Max rolled his eyes. “My nickname.”
“Kind of like Maverick or Ice Man from Top Gun, only a lot less cool-sounding.” Dale winked. “It’s from an early John Cusack movie, One Crazy Summer. There’s a character in it who’s a mild-mannered Boy Scout. He always comes through in a pinch. Face like a choir boy, heart of a lion and stubborn as hell when he’s sure he’s right. His nickname was Ack Ack. It fit, on all levels.”
Scraping back his chair, Dale rose, giving her a nod and another wink, then directed his parting words to Max. “I’m due at the community center. Let me know if you need anything else for Gayle.”
“Thanks for bringing them by.”
Dale raised a hand, letting himself out the back door without another word. The minimalist communication of the Homo sapiens male, Janet thought. A moment later, they heard the diesel roar of the truck starting up.
She put down her coffee, just in time to have Max lift her under the arms, turn and sit her up on the counter, putting himself in between her knees. He pushed up her short work skirt, his fingers sliding along her thighs under the hem. “You wore stockings just to drive me crazy,” he muttered against her mouth. “I need you.”
She gave back as good as given on that heated kiss, but then she pushed him back, holding him off. Somewhat. He started on her throat, his body pressed close enough to her core that she felt his erection grinding against her. “I thought you said we had to be to work on time.” Despite her protest, she slid her arm over his shoulders, bringing him closer.