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  “Rental cars?”

  “They were both recovered in a parking lot close to the hotel. Apparently, they had flat tires, and someone called the rental car company to retrieve them. I could do some more digging to see if there is any video surveillance, if you wish, but we might want to be very…discreet. If they have been taken and killed, we wouldn’t want to alert the parties who did it that we are aware of them. Otherwise, there appears to be no sign of them. None of them have left the United States, according to my sources. Their trail just…vanishes.”

  He nodded. “That is a pity. I really liked Carl and Mateo. What about their apartment here?”

  “Undisturbed. No one’s been there. Mail is piling up inside the door. Food spoiled in the fridge. I went by today and paid the manager to let me in. Claimed I had to get something for them and send it to them.”

  “So they didn’t sneak back and pack?”

  “No. There doesn’t appear to be much missing. Some clothes, which I’d guess they have with them.”

  “And Mateo’s sister? What was her name, Arianna?”

  “Brianna. I know she’s at college. I looked her up on Facebook, but apparently she either posts very little, or only posts to friends. I could send her a message through there, if you wish me to. I don’t know where she’s at, though. I never asked Carl or Mateo about her school.”

  “What about the other men? Do they know anything about her?”

  “Carl and Mateo told no one where she was going to school, just that she wasn’t in the area.”

  “So we don’t know if she even knows they’re missing or not?”

  “No.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps we shouldn’t disturb that rock, then.”

  “To be honest, Father, I agree with that. We can claim they gave us notice and said they were going on vacation. Or I can backdate their final checks and go into our database to adjust the date issued. I have an account I can use for that purpose. Miscellaneous expenses. Should anyone ask, I can claim we issued them paper checks because they requested them. told us they were changing banks.”

  “What about the apartment manager?”

  She smiled. “I went to school with him. I paid him. He won’t talk.”

  “Excellent.” He sat back. “I suppose we should check in on Marciella, and your Aunt Lucia.”

  “Grandaunt Lucia is still holding on, according to my sources. I could arrange to stop by and see her next week, when I attend meetings nearby. I was in the area. Perhaps drop by to visit Aunt Marciella and Uncle Manuel then? You know, as a courtesy?” She smiled.

  “Yes, that sounds…innocent enough, I suppose. If Manuel is back, then you’d know we’d have to send someone to bring him in and question him about Carl and Mateo. If he’s not back…well, then perhaps we shouldn’t ask too many questions.”

  “I can do that, Father.”

  “Excellent. Please give my regards to Lucia when you go. Purchase a beautiful bouquet for her. Or, if they don’t allow that at the hospital, take it to Marciella’s. You know what I mean.”

  She made a note on her phone. “I will do that. Anything else?”

  “No.” He sighed. “I wish there were some way to know what happened, and to adequately ensure no questions will come back to us. I hate losing Carl and Mateo, but they weren’t family.”

  “Do you wish me to hire someone?”

  He tipped his head back to stare up at the ceiling. He remembered how much time and work had gone into the ornate trim used in there. As a boy, he’d sat there, fascinated, watching the skilled craftsmen his father had hired to create the perfect space from which to rule his kingdom.

  “Let me think about that. While I am curious, I do not wish to stir up more questions from people we may not want knowing about our existence.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Also, double the security team here at the house for the next few weeks. And at the office. Extra men for the drive to work and back, too. We should hire extras.”

  She noted that, too. “I’ll take care of it, Father.”

  He had a thought. “What about women? Did either man have a girlfriend? I find it odd no one is taking care of their apartment for them.”

  “Well…” He looked at her again when she hesitated, and he was amused to see she was actually blushing.

  “Yes?”

  “I might have approached Carl once, years ago, and he told me that he had an ex. Apparently, he sustained an injury while in the Navy that made it impossible for him to…” She coughed. “You know. Perform.”

  It amused him that this was what could make his hardened daughter blush.

  “Go on.”

  “I do know he doesn’t have any family. He was close to Mateo’s aunt, and took over Brianna’s care after she was murdered, while Mateo was still in the service. I guess their parents knew each other from college, or something.”

  “So you’re saying you don’t think they were gay, and that they’ve disappeared together?”

  From the confused frown on her face, he could see that idea hadn’t crossed her mind. “For starters, I don’t believe they were gay. There were two bedrooms at the apartment, both in use, as far as I could tell. Two beds. And why would they need to disappear?”

  He shrugged. “No reason. Have we conducted a full financial audit lately?”

  “Just finished three weeks ago. Nothing out of sorts. Why? You don’t think they were up to something, do you?”

  “No reason.” He thought about it. “Any way to check their bank accounts?”

  “Their bank accounts?”

  “To see if they’re still there, or if they’ve suddenly…grown.”

  “You think they might have accepted money from these people in Idaho to hand over Manuel?”

  That was what he loved about Miranda, that she didn’t waste time and was very insightful. “It is something to consider.”

  “So…you do want me to pursue this, then?”

  “Not much. Only if you can do so without arousing suspicions. Manuel being gone works to our advantage up to a certain point. While I don’t wish to draw attention to us from the people who wanted him dead, I also don’t want anyone thinking we had anything to do with his disappearance. It’s a delicate balancing act. They could attempt to tie us to the missing men. Plus, Carl and Mateo were my two closest security agents. That looks unsettling at best, if their involvement is discovered.”

  “Ah, yes.” She slowly nodded. “I’ll do some research and present you with options.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  She stood and rounded the desk to kiss his cheek before leaving him alone.

  Once she left, he tipped his head back again to stare at the ceiling. Yes, he preferred a law-abiding life, in theory. It’d made his life easier overall.

  It was also…boring.

  Very, very boring.

  And if his nephew’s crazy idea that there was some sort of super-race of wolf creatures living among humans was true…

  Well, he knew there would absolutely be people willing to pay a premium price for that information.

  First, however, he needed proof.

  Besides, if Carl and Mateo had been lying to him over the years, and had not been what they claimed, or, worse, stole money from him, or sold out his nephew for their own profit?

  That kind of disloyalty he always punished with death.

  Even if it took him a while to get around to it.

  The End

  www.LesliRichardson.com

  Coming in 2019:

  A Bleacke Christmas (Bleacke Shifters 5) by Lesli Richardson.

  http://tymberdalton.com/books/series-info/bleacke-shifters/

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  Keep reading for the first chapter to Governor (Governor Trilogy 1) by Lesli Richardson.

  Description

  I kneel for only one man—Carter Wilson, my best friend, chief of staff, and bastard extraordinaire.

  It’s a price I willingly pay to
be owned by Her.

  His wife.

  Who is also, as of when we were sworn in this morning, my lieutenant governor.

  I am Owen Taylor, governor of the great state of Florida.

  * * * *

  Chapter One

  Now

  It’s hard not to shiver when the AC kicks on as I kneel, naked, on the floor of my new office, the carpet doing little to cushion my knees. My hands remain clasped behind my head, back straight, elbows out.

  This is how he’s trained me, and what he expects of me.

  My knees are spread as wide as I can manage and still keep my heels tucked under my ass.

  He circles me, inspecting me as he smiles and tugs on his shirt cuffs, adjusting the lay of the cufflinks. I know he wants to strip off that suit he’s wearing and fuck me right here, spread over my new desk, but he’s holding himself back.

  Waiting.

  I keep my gaze fixed straight ahead, even though my hard cock has a will of its own and is probably dribbling a puddle all over the towel Carter thought to put down before ordering me to kneel.

  He might be a bastard extraordinaire, but he’s also very practical.

  He looks pleased with himself, and he has every right to be. He’s the only man I kneel for and he damn well knows it.

  It’s a price I willingly pay to be owned by Her.

  His wife.

  Who is also, as of when we were sworn in at one o’clock this very afternoon, my lieutenant governor for the great state of Florida.

  * * * *

  Carter Wilson, bastard extraordinaire, is eight years older than me, a decorated Army veteran, my best friend, college roommate, one of my two closest confidants, my chief of staff…

  And he’s the Master and husband of Susannah Evans.

  Susa owns me—mind, heart, soul, and body—and has ever since I first met her in college.

  Since she owns me, that means I belong to Carter by default. It was the deal I willingly accepted all those years ago.

  Susa grew up the daughter of a lawyer, a progressive Republican who pretty much ran the state GOP for decades. Still does, unofficially now. Benchley Evans was a county administrator, then a county commissioner, followed by four terms as a state rep, and two more as a state senator. The only reason he didn’t run for the big G or a national office was a massive heart attack that made his wife put her foot down and demand he choose his family over party and politics for once in his damn life.

  He also hailed from a family that first made their fortune in citrus and cattle. As freezes and canker and greening took down the citrus industry, and the exploding housing market chipped away at cattle lands, he’d already moved on to land development, jumping in early when acreage was still cheap.

  That meant he could easily afford to send his only daughter to any college she chose, for any degree she wanted.

  It was my luck—good or bad, you decide—that we ended up in Tampa together, selecting majors and minors that would help us with law degrees.

  But she’s also smarter than me in many ways. Far more ruthless politically. That’s why, when Carter decided we could change our home state in good ways, Susa insisted it should be me who ran for governor on a third-party ticket.

  This time.

  After eight years—if I win re-election, that is—she’ll be perfectly positioned for her own gubernatorial bid.

  I’ll do my best to get her elected. Once I’m out of office, I’ll return to the private sector while still championing a few key causes that are near and dear to my heart.

  But what I’ll be looking forward to most by then is time out of the public eye.

  For at least the next four years, my official residence is the Florida Governor’s Mansion in Tallahassee. I can’t simply choose to not live there, because it’d be a logistics nightmare for my security detail, as well as an unnecessary expense for taxpayers.

  Considering two of the key planks in the platform we ran on were better budgeting and smarter spending, I can’t do something that would so blatantly fly in the face of those ideals.

  I especially can’t cite wanting to be with Susa and Carter whenever I choose as the reason.

  I still own my house just outside Tampa, next door to Carter and Susa’s house and sharing the same backyard fence. But for the most part, I won’t be staying there during my term. Besides, there’s already a calendar full of official state functions, and many of them will be held at the mansion that is now my home.

  My only consolation is that Carter, as my chief of staff, is expected to either be with me or be on call for me twenty-four/seven. No one will suspect anything untoward if he’s spotted coming and going at odd hours. Susa’s presence, both as Carter’s wife and my lieutenant governor, will not raise many eyebrows, unless she regularly shows up at the mansion at an unusually late hour without Carter or staff of her own. One of the trade-offs we’d already talked about and figured into our plans was that by embarking on this path we’d lose privacy.

  Carter is more than ready and willing to give me what I need and crave when Susannah is unable to. He’s also ready and willing to be a warm body in my bed so I won’t feel so alone every night.

  Because before the whirlwind that was my campaign to become governor, the three of us shared a bed nearly every night.

  * * * *

  Where I’m kneeling about three feet from the far end of my desk, I can’t be seen when Carter answers the knock on my office door after unlocking it and cracking it open to see who it is. He moves aside just enough to allow someone else to step in, and my breath catches, my pulse races.

  Her.

  “I only have a few minutes,” Susa says in her usual clipped, all-business tone.

  Carter closes and locks the door behind her and, moving faster than it seems possible for a human to manage, grabs a handful of hair, tipping her head back.

  “What was that, pet?” he softly growls.

  She’s never allowed to use that tone on Carter and she damn well knows it.

  Her entire posture and voice change, needy and soft, even as my own body responds to Carter’s tone. “I only have a few minutes, Sir.”

  I struggle not to smile, not to laugh. With today’s craziness, she likely forgot herself.

  I only wish I could be there later tonight to watch when Carter reminds her who she belongs to.

  He marches her around behind my desk and I allow my gaze to follow them. He bends her forward over the desk, making her put her hands flat on it, and hikes up her skirt. Since she’s also wearing three-inch heels, it means her gorgeous ass sticks out nicely.

  “Who said you could wear panties today, pet?” I hear the fabric rip and a quiet meep from her.

  “Sorry, Sir. I thought—”

  “You thought wrong.”

  Another violation.

  She’s going to have fun sitting tomorrow.

  She’s lucky we already did a sound check one evening last week, before I took office, and we discovered Carter can’t spank us in here if someone’s in the outer office.

  Like Julia, my administrative assistant.

  Who, right now, is sitting out there at her desk, along with a trooper from my security detail.

  Holding out the offending material, Carter walks over to me with a playful smile on his face. “Do you believe this shit? Looks like a certain pet has forgotten her place.”

  “I see that, Sir.”

  He turns from me, stuffing her ruined panties into his left front slacks pocket. I have a feeling they’ll probably end up in my mouth later.

  Not the first time he’s gagged me with her panties.

  Not saying I mind it, either.

  “Loyalty.”

  I immediately relax into the position, knees still wide, but my back now rounded, my left hand on my thigh, my right flat on the floor, my gaze focused down.

  It’s a Carter thing.

  It works—that’s all that matters. Countless times he’s put me into this position during t
he day behind a locked office door, but with my clothes on. Especially if it’s been a rough day and I need a quick reset.

  I can think about Him, about what we have together.

  It’s not a one-way street. Carter is loyal to us, always putting us first no matter what. That might sound odd to someone who doesn’t know the three of us. There’s a lot of bullshit out there about what people “should” or “shouldn’t” do.

  Carter sets his own path, trims his sails, and we follow.

  Loyalty.

  When I first idly floated what at the time I thought was a ridiculous proposition—running for governor—it was Carter, and then Susannah, who had my back and were my most vocal and vicious supporters.

  Loyalty.

  She is my queen, my heart and soul, my sun and my moon, all rolled into one. My muse, my reason for living. I would kill or die for her if it came down to it. I would—and have—embarrassed the hell out of myself just to make her smile.

  Loyalty.

  All of these things I think of as I slow my breathing and my back muscles loosen, enjoying a break from the more formal Primed position.

  Primed is always performed naked. Frequently for long stretches of time. The bastard extraordinaire takes great pride in sometimes torturing me while in that position, expecting me to maintain it.

  Or expecting me to fail to maintain it, which brings punishment.

  Win-win.

  But that’s life with Carter.

  I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it.

  * * * *

  In Loyalty, I can hear what’s going on but, because of where I’m kneeling and with my head bowed, I can’t see.

  But I can imagine, based on the sounds.

  Her low, pained grunts as she struggles to stay quiet probably means he’s pinching or maybe even biting the insides of her thighs.