“Anne.” Z’s smooth voice was unhurried. “Is there a problem?”
“Actually, yes. Have you seen Ben today?”
“No, I haven’t been down to the club yet.”
As she explained, she kept an eye on Ben. When he forced a smile for the entering members, her heart simply ached.
“I see,” Z said.
“Let me have him. However, be aware that if I push him too deep, I’ll take him home and he won’t return to the desk.”
“Understood.”
“Can you give me some ideas of what this problem might be?” she asked. “He told me he’d seen you professionally.”
“I am sorry, Anne, but…no. Anything he says to me is confidential.”
“Of course.” She shifted her stance as she tried to figure out how to attack from the flank. “I know you’re a veteran. Perhaps you could share what kind of problems soldiers tend to have?”
She heard his chuckle of approval.
“Excellent question, Mistress Anne. PTSD is common, but the symptoms are fairly noticeable if you spend any time with a vet.”
In other words, probably not Ben’s problem.
“Some feel guilty remaining alive when teammates die. Others feel ashamed about leaving the service, as if they’ve betrayed their friends. The Special Ops community forges strong friendships as well as a sense of duty.”
Guilt. That might be it. Her worry increased as the pieces fell into place.
Ben had left the Rangers and then his teammates and best friend had died. He was still alive.
What if her brother Travis took her place on the recovery team one night and was killed picking up a fugitive? Just the thought was a stab through the heart. She’d believe that if she’d been where she belonged, Travis’s death wouldn’t have happened—or, at least, she’d be there to die with him. She’d feel as if she shouldn’t be alive.
Yes, that’s what a man like Ben would feel, no matter how crazy.
Logic wasn’t a factor in a guilt equation.
“Thank you, Z. I appreciate the quick psychology lesson.” Mourning had to run its course, but irrational emotions…well, maybe she could derail him from the it’s-my-fault track he was on.
“You may take him with you now. I’ll guard the desk myself until I can call in Ghost,” Z said. “He’s lucky to have you, Anne.”
Have me? “He doesn’t—”
But Z had already disconnected.
By the time Ben finished checking people in, Z had arrived. He must have started down the minute she called. “You’re relieved, Benjamin.”
Ben frowned at him. “But—”
“Let’s go, subbie,” Anne said. As objections rose in the guard dog’s eyes, she pushed her energy outward, bringing her dominance to bear like an invisible battering ram. She held her hand out, pleased when he let her draw him to his feet.
She led him into the main room and toward the back. “As long as I respect your limits, I can do what I want to you. Is that right?”
“What?” The question pulled his gaze away from the passing scenes—the glass cups on a submissive’s chest and cock, an exquisite pattern of needles being shaped across a wide back, a Dom using the two-flogger Florentine style.
After a second of processing her question, Ben nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.”
A trace of life showed in his face. Not many people could walk through the super-charged ambiance of the Shadowlands and not wake up.
The subtle threat she’d just delivered added to the effect.
She started up the circular staircase leading to the second floor.
He stopped. “Where are you going?”
“We’re going to play upstairs in one of the private rooms.” Although she’d occasionally used a slave’s penis as a leash, today, she only gathered the front of his jeans, belt and all, and pulled him behind her up the stairs.
“I’ve never been up here.” He looked down the long hallway. If a room was in use, a red light glowed above the door.
“After all these years? I’d say it was about time.” She glanced in each unoccupied room as they passed. She rejected the ornate Victorian, which would make Ben ill at ease, and then a depressing Goth-styled room. One with a harem decor had potential, but not today. Barbarian—no.
The one she was looking for wasn’t where it had been last time. Z’s tendency to rearrange and redecorate rooms annoyed the hell out of her.
And there it was.
She led him into the room she’d titled: Cowboy Central—although Z called it the Texas room.
Dour Nolan had actually laughed when he saw it.