not a victim—head up, shoulders back, look straight at each person.” She carried pepper spray in one hand, wore a personal safety device on her wrist, and had her phone in her pocket.
Each day, she changed her route, keeping to the more populated trails.
It worked. Although she’d spotted possible muggers in the past week, none tried to approach her.
I’m a badass.
After a long, hot shower, she did her meditation, then rewarded herself with a mocha coffee.
Settling down at the tiny balcony table, she tried to pretend she didn’t miss having Ghost across from her and didn’t miss reading the news on their devices, sharing interesting tidbits, and making their plans together for the day.
Her chest couldn’t be aching because she was sad.
It was merely a nice heart attack, right?
Rolling her eyes, she turned her thoughts to less fraught subjects…like rumors.
Dogget was Scott’s friend, and Scott was a vindictive creep. Could Scott be trying to destroy Ghost, who had tossed him out of the club and then replaced him as manager?
Gods, this was ugly. Because…Barry had always trailed after Scott like a street dog after the meat wagon. What were the odds her ex was also involved in spreading lies about Ghost?
And they were lies. Because she knew Ghost. Whatever had happened in the past, he hadn’t behaved dishonorably. She could understand he might have made a mistake in a scene, but he was nothing like the monster Dogget had described.
She tapped her fingers on her thigh and scowled because Ghost might not defend himself. Not to his accusers, not to the club members. The idiot would be all honorable—and would lose. His enemies didn’t play by the rules.
They’d lie. Manipulate. Cheat.
No, she wouldn’t have it. Not if there was something she could do.
But if she was going to act, she needed more information.
Taking a sip of coffee, she studied the puffy clouds in the sky. Someone must know what had happened in the Seattle club.
As manager, Scott would’ve had access to all the files in the Shadowlands. She’d bet it was where he’d located information about Ghost.
But…records never gave the complete story. That would come from the people themselves. From people who’d been there at the time. She needed to talk to them.
How?
At the housewarming, hadn’t someone been talking about a Seattle club named Chains? A Master had mentioned he’d known Ghost at that club and hadn’t recognized him here because he’d shaved off his beard.
Wait, wait…right.
It was the Master named Max. He was one of Zuri’s Doms.
There was her starting point. She reached for her phone.
Zuri was an excellent accomplice.
Disconnecting the phone call, Valerie grinned, then shook her head. I hope I didn’t get her into trouble.
Sitting at her kitchen island, she checked the list in her planner. Phone number: check. The rest of the list had the topics to cover—and the possible request.
All right. Time to go to work. Pulling in a breath, she reminded herself she was good at this kind of stuff. It was a shame she’d never been a Girl Scout—she could have sold the hell out of those cookies.
Especially the Thin Mints.
I really could use a cookie right now.
With a huff of exasperation, she tapped in the numbers and then touched CALL. Please, be a nice guy and answer a call from an unidentified number.
After two rings, she heard a man’s voice. “Drake.”
“Hi, um, Master Drake. You don’t know me, but—” Here she had to evade a bit, since Zuri had discovered the man’s phone number by going through Max’s hard copy of contacts. “Well, my name is Valerie, and I’m a member of the Shadowlands where Master Max Drago and Ghost are members. Ghost has run into a problem, and we—some of the submissives—would like to help him with it.”
There was a silence on the line for a moment, as if the Dom was parsing through exactly what she’d said. “Well, this is unexpected.” The voice was deep and smooth, like warm satin with a hint of a French accent. “And what exactly are you to Ghost, might I ask, Ms. Valerie?”
She choked and felt herself turning red. “I…we’re, I mean”—she firmed her voice—“we’re friends.”
He made an amused sound. “I see. In that case, how may I be of assistance?”
That afternoon, Valerie hit the pause button on her laptop. The video playing on her television screen stopped. Even though she’d already watched the recording twice, her sense of outrage lingered. “Now you have it. What do you think?”