years he’d put in, rather than going for thirty.
Life is change.
Working as a professor was interesting. So was testing different prostheses for a prosthetics company.
But he missed the sense of fulfilling his duty, of being responsible for others. Being needed. Helping change the world for the better. The military had given him that in spades.
The Shadowlands door wasn’t locked, and Ghost entered to see Ben at the reception desk, reading a book. Behind him, portable play panels created a kid-space where a toddler ruled.
Ghost grinned. “I swear each time I see him, he’s bigger.”
Wyatt’s dark brown hair and big blue-gray eyes came from his mama. The boy was a few months past his first birthday now and looked as if he’d grow to be a goliath like his father.
“Go-es!” Wyatt made it over to the panel and lifted his arms. “Go-es.”
“Go-es, now, hmm?” Ghost lifted the boy and bounced him to get a rolling toddler laugh. “I do have another name, you know.”
“Too late to change.” Ben’s New York accent was always a shock here in Florida. “Besides, I’m not sure anyone here even knows your real name. When did you get stuck with the label, anyway?”
“Mmmph. Way back around 1990. Sneaking around in Panama during the invasion.” He’d had the handle a long time.
When Wyatt waved his toy hammer in the air, Ghost held out his palm to get pounded on. “Excellent swing, lad. You’re a good carpenter. What are you working on down there?”
Letting the boy down to show off his work, Ghost turned to Ben. “I see you’re back to holding down the desk.”
“It’s like old home week, too.” Ben motioned toward the door. “Z said to swing by the bar and grab a soda or beer from the fridge if you want. Beth and Gabi sent cookies with their men. Seemed to think you’d need a good sugar high.”
Thinking of the mess, Ghost rubbed his neck. “They could be right.”
With a Coke in hand, Ghost entered Z’s office. The couch and chairs had been pushed to the perimeter, leaving room for long, modular tables to form a square with an open center. If one couldn’t have a round table, this was the next best thing.
Damned if everyone hadn’t already arrived. He checked his watch to find he was still a few minutes early.
Nearby, Z broke off from talking to Marcus. “Ghost, I’m pleased to see you.”
“Welcome home, Z.” As they shook hands, Ghost assessed him. Tall, leanly muscular, in his mid-forties with black hair silvering at the temples. “You look rested for a change. How is your mother doing?”
“Well, thank you.” Z smiled slightly. “We flew back with her and helped set her up at her home in Sarasota. Not that she appreciated what she called being mother-henned.”
Ghost laughed. He’d met the indomitable Madeline. He’d give her a general’s five stars any day of the week. “She’ll be all right?”
“She can walk with a cane, her lungs are clear, and the exhaustion is lifting,” Z said. “We arranged help for her for another couple of weeks.”
Overhearing, Raoul made a disbelieving sound. “Madeline accepted help?”
Z’s jaw set. “It was either a nurse’s aide or stay with us here in Tampa.”
“Compared to that discussion,” Cullen called, “I’m guessing today’s meeting will be a piece of cake.”
Doubtful.
Ghost sat down with Vance and his partner Galen, both retired FBI to his left. On his right was slender, brunette Anne who’d been a bounty hunter and now worked for Galen and Vance’s firm.
Jake and Saxon, the veterinarian partners, and Doc Alastair held down the right table, with Marcus, Olivia, and Sam across from Ghost.
“Ghost, try some of these.” Marcus pushed a plate of cookies across the table.
Oatmeal cookies were always welcome. “Thank you—and thank Gabi for me.”
“I will.”
Z took a seat between Cullen and Nolan, with Raoul at the end. “Dan and Max were called out on a homicide, but everyone else is here. Let’s begin.”
Conversations stopped; when Z spoke, even the Masters listened.
“First”—Z folded his hands on the table—“please accept my apology for abandoning the Shadowlands over the winter.”
Shrugs and variations on “Life happens” came from the Masters and Mistresses. They were all experienced Dominants, none of them younger than thirty.
“Z, we could have done more. Should have done more,” Nolan said.
“People, I know you all put in extra time during the first month I was gone. It’s why I hired a manager. My mistake was in not asking you to oversee him. But you all have lives—and limited time.”
“Now,