Kim stared at the woman, unable to move, her world shivering to a halt. Red hair with a streak of blue, creamy skin, big blue eyes. Gabi?
A shriek of joy split the air. “Kim. Oh, God, Kim!” Gabi grabbed her into a jumping-upand-down hug.
Fiery pain ripped through Kim, and she yelped.
“Dios!” Master R pried Gabi off. “Stop it. Let go, Gabi. Now.”
The sharp command froze Kim in place.
Gabi scowled at Raoul. “Raoul, what are—”
“You’re hurting her. I flogged her last night.”
“What the hell did you do that for?”
The fury in her best friend’s face panicked Kim. If Gabi was rude to him… She grabbed Gabi’s arm. “Shhh. Don’t make him mad.”
“Kim,” Gabi said, “you don’t—”
“Shhh.” She couldn’t…couldn’t let him hurt Gabi. She stepped in front of Master R. He’d have to go through her first.
He didn’t even try. Instead, he slowly stroked her hair, ignoring the way she flinched away. His eyes seemed as gentle as his hand. “Brave chiquita. No one will hurt Gabi or you, Kimberly.” He glanced at Gabi. “It was the only way I could get her out.”
A man appeared on the doorstep. Styled brown hair, sharp blue eyes, taller than Master R. He took Gabi by the upper arms and lifted her to one side so he could enter the house. Obviously a master with a terrifying self-confidence.
Oh God, they’d kidnapped Gabi too. As he greeted Master R, Kim swallowed and turned toward Gabi, whispering the horrible question, already knowing the answer. “You’re a slave?”
Gabi’s eyes filled, and she took Kim’s hands. “Oh Kim, no. Neither are you, sweetie.”
“What do you mean?” Kim stared at her, then at Master R. Her owner.
He looked down at her. “I’m no slaver, chiquita. I’m working with the FBI, but you wouldn’t believe me—you thought I was trying to mess with your mind.”
Kim shook her head. Her lips were numb. FBI? The air pulsed how around her, even though her face felt cold. Her knees sagged, melted into the floor, and the room whirled as she fell.
“Carajo!” Master R caught her and scooped her up, his arm like iron against her back, and she whimpered at the sear of pain from the welts.
“Shhh, chiquita.” His smooth voice, velvety and warm, wrapped around her and eased her way into the blackness.
Raoul sat down on the couch in the great room, not wanting to release the little slave in his arms, the need to comfort stronger than anything he’d known before. She’d survived horrors, and the aftereffects were going to be with her for a long, long time.
As the color returned to her face, she blinked up at him, her eyes huge. Before she panicked, he eased her down beside him, close enough she could lean against him. If she chose to. He hurt to know she wouldn’t.
Gabi sat on her other side and took her hands. Did the women even realize they were both silently crying ?
Marcus came from the kitchen with some juice. He squeezed Gabi’s shoulder comfortingly as he handed Raoul the glass.
“I want you to drink this, Kimberly,” Raoul said, holding the glass to her lips.
After taking a dutiful sip, she looked at him through drenched eyelashes. “Really? I’m free?”
“Really.” He frowned. “But there might be a few problems.”
“That is a definite understatement. What the hell did you do?” Buchanan walked into the house and slammed the door before stalking across the room. The big man had played defensive tackle in college and hadn’t shrunk any in the intervening years. The Fed’s Scottish complexion was turning an ominous dark red.
Well, he hadn’t expected the FBI to be pleased, and at least he only had to deal with one of the pair. Raoul smiled. “Buchanan. Meet Gabi’s friend, Kimberly. She was up for sale last night.”
“And you just had to save her?” The agent sounded as if his teeth were grinding together. Then he frowned. “Really? This is Kimberly Moore?” He muttered something under his breath— probably as well that Raoul couldn’t hear it—and eased back. “Sorry, Sandoval. You were the one in the field. Hell, I’d probably have done the same thing.” He squatted in front of Kimberly. “I’m Special Agent Vance Buchanan with the FBI. Raoul is helping with our investigation. Last night, he was supposed to leave without any slaves, but”—he gave Gabi a smile—“he knew how long Gabi’s been trying to find you.”
Gabi smiled through her tears and rubbed her shoulder against Kimberly’s.
The little slave stared at Buchanan, Raoul, then Buchanan again. He could almost hear her brain kick into gear. “An FBI operation? What does that mean?”
“Good question.” Buchanan frowned at Raoul. “How badly is this operation blown? And how the hell did you get her out, let alone home?”
Raoul smiled. “Nothing is blown…very much. I bought her, and the hired help brought us back.”
“Sandoval, you don’t have that kind of money.”
“Z set up an offshore account in case I happened to run across her.”
Marcus snorted and dropped down in a chair, saying in his soft Southern voice, “That man is frightening.”
“So you bought her.” Buchanan rose to pace across the room. “This wasn’t remotely in any of our contingency plans.”
“No. But there’s time to decide what to do. I told the Overseer I planned to use my mountain cabin to…break her in.” Raoul looked down at Kimberly. Her blue eyes were like a rain-drenched sky. He used a finger to wipe the tears from her face, unaccountably relieved when she didn’t flinch away from his touch. “I have a bridge construction in Mexico needing my attention. Gabi can take Kimberly home with her.”
Buchanan nodded. “That’ll work. But we want a full report before you leave.”
“Of course.” Raoul frowned at Marcus. “Make sure she stays out of sight until we figure out how much danger she’ll be in.”
Marcus nodded. Considering the hell the lawyer had suffered when the slavers had kidnapped Gabi, Raoul knew his friend wouldn’t be careless with either woman’s safety.
Raoul turned back to Kimberly, his heart aching. In volunteering after an earthquake, he’d seen survivors with the same shocked expression that showed they’d discovered how unsafe the world could be. Every dominant gene in his body said she needed to be cared for, protected, helped—and that he should be the one to do it. But a master was the last thing she wanted. “Give me your wrist.”
She hesitated a long moment, then held one arm out. After taking his keys from his pocket, he unlocked and removed her ankle and wrist cuffs. Finally the collar.
When he pulled it away, the relief on her face almost broke his heart.
A second later, her expression changed to fury. She plucked it from his fingers and threw it across the room, then cringed. “I’m sorry.” Her shoulders stiffened as she braced for him to hit her.
“Relax. I understand.” He glanced at the collar, lying like a dead thing on the floor, remembering the first time he’d collared a woman. She’d had tears of joy, of gratitude in her eyes. She’d kissed the leather and then his hands as he’d buckled it around her neck. He’d been humbled by her trust, determined to never let her down, to love and cherish her. The collar he’d given his first slave had been padded on the inside, gentle on her skin.
He traced a finger over a scar and raw marks left on Kimberly’s neck from the rough leather, before realizing she was forcing herself to hold still. No, he wouldn’t go get his healing ointment. Not mine to care for. “Will you be all right, chiquita?”
She looked at him uncertainly, as if waiting for his anger, but all he had to offer was sorrow. She touched her bare neck, and determination filled her face. “I’ll be fine.” As she looked past him at the ocean, the storm in her eyes settled. “I will.”
Chapter Three
Gabi had invited over two friends, and Kim had hidden in the bathroom. Hoping to stall for another minute, she stared into the mirror. The blue sleeveless top Gabi had lent her fit fairly well since she hadn’t regained all the weight yet. Eyes clear, nose and cheeks a little sunburned. Almost healthy looking, at least on the outside.
Faith, the psychologist, kept insisting self-assessment was a necessary part of recovering. Easy for her to say.
The past week had been…bad. Real bad. But—she nodded at herself—now she no longer cried so violently she’d end up in the bathroom puking, although the tears still hit without warning. Her bouts of terror had lessoned, and hey, sometimes she even managed to talk herself out of one. The feeling something horrible would happen had gone from every second to oh…every few hours. Little victories. Of course, she had help from everyone, including a counselor.
Thank you, Master R. Even though he’d never visited, she felt he was watching over her. Maybe it was the way a doctor had shown up soon after she’d arrived at Gabi’s house, then Faith that evening and daily after that. Gabi and Marcus had been surprised; Master R—Raoul—had arranged it without any consultation.