For the first time, Fox was outwardly discomfited. Though Oz sent the guy a reassuring nod, Brick began to wonder exactly what woman the guy had messed with. How deep of a hole was Jagger Fox in, that he was screening operatives in places like the Louvre’s main plaza?
The museum’s most famous resident, the Mona Lisa, had nothing on the mysterious glances department on this guy. It was even true in the moment he finally looked back to Brick, his irises like bronze daggers despite how he narrowed them from the impact of the sun.
“Ozias informs me that you are the proprietor of a notable kink society dungeon.”
Brick swung his bugged stare at Oz. “Well, shit. Sharing really is caring with you, mate.”
“Grab a chill, man.” The Aussie motioned to Fox with a jab of his head. “He’s good for the confidential. I’ll vouch right now.”
“He vouches,” Fox chimed in. “And I really am good for it.”
“Thanks. I feel so much better.”
A fresh scowl from Oz. “And now it’s really time you untwisted your knickers, flamin’ galah.” He pushed at the air, making it clear Brick would be next if he didn’t listen. “You think I’d openly rabbit on about you and Bastille to just anyone? For just any reason?”
“That’s rhetorical, right?” Brick riposted. “Or do you want to really know how your ‘rabbit’ can hop after you’ve had a few too many?”
“I probably deserve that,” Oz muttered. “Though not this time.”
“Because this time, he was under pressure,” Fox inserted before Brick could conceive a decent comeback. “From me.”
“He had to know you could be trusted with secrets,” Oz added.
“Huge secrets,” Fox embellished, before clenching his jaw taut enough to turn it into a right angle. “I found it hard to believe we might be able to get someone of your caliber on such short notice.”
Brick didn’t veer his gaze from Ozias. “You did give him the whole former black ops angle, right? About all those secrets?”
Oz nodded but shrugged. “Guess your discretion about all of Seattle’s kinksters means more in the long run.”
“I wish that didn’t make so much sense.” Brick wheeled his scrutiny back to Fox. “But I’m still in the bog about the rest of that. You’re ‘getting me’? For what? And on what kind of short notice?”
For a long moment, neither of the men spoke. They all stood there in the loose triangle, listening to the food vendor hum off-key to the song in his headphones. Nearby, teenagers laughed while posing for selfies, and a couple moaned while ramming their tongues down each other’s throats.
None of it seemed to matter to Oz, who stuffed his hands back into his pockets and splattered an affable grin across his lips. At once, Brick recognized what he was doing. Feigning a chat-up between two old friends, so anyone watching on the museum’s security cameras wouldn’t know anything different.
Hiding in plain sight.
“Right, then,” the guy finally murmured. “That ought to do us right for the watch cams for a while.” Without faltering his smile, at least across his lips, he nodded toward Jagger again. “You ready to do this, mate?” he asked.
“Ready to do what?” As Brick pushed out the demand through barely moving lips, Fox laughed as if he’d cracked a joke with a good zinger.
“Are you…familiar…with our royal family, Mr. Brickham?”
“Familiar?” He almost guffawed. Who in the civilized world didn’t know at least a little about Arcadia and its colorful evolution over the last three years? “Familiar enough to know the Cimarrons have helped put your little island on the world stage. King Evrest has led the way toward bringing your kingdom out of the Dark Ages. Thanks to him and his two brothers, you all are seeing great improvements in your lifestyle and external trade opportunities.” He forced himself to stop, noticing the proud uptilt of Fox’s strong smile. “Buuut you already know this, don’t you?”
“It is fun to hear others say it,” Fox assured. “I am proud to be an Arcadian under their leadership. I am even more proud to be a security lieutenant, directly reporting to Samsyn Cimarron himself.”
“A good man,” Oz inserted, garnering a new look from Brick.
“You know him?” he queried, genuinely curious.
Oz dropped a nod. “Had the honor of serving with him on a few interesting missions.” As he drew out the syllables on the last two words, more perplexity pressed Brick’s mind. “And then to visit Arcadia itself, which is where Jag and I got to know each other better. I also met the rest of the Cimarrons, including His Majesty Evrest.”
“Who’s not a king king, right?” Brick queried.
“Correct,” Oz supplied. “He’s a constitutional monarch, meaning he has no direct power, despite his sway with a lot of the people.”
The line seemed like Jagger Fox’s cue to clench his right-angle jaw again. “Just not all the people,” he murmured.
“Ah. Right,” Brick replied. “I’d heard about all that.”
Though that was the extent of what he could provide on the subject. Back on Whidbey Island, he never turned on the TV or used the internet beyond emails and digital book purchases. When going to the mainland a couple of times a week to check on the club and pick up groceries, he steered clear of any news except weather reports and local happenings.
Every once in a while, he’d stay overnight at Bastille for special parties and to catch up with the regular kinksters who’d become friends. But the gregarious front he showed to the rest of the world was just that. A convenient ruse for the mess of a human being he was on the inside.
Exactly the way he liked it to be.
Needed it to be.
Continuing to care about the world, even at the level of a tiny island kingdom with localized terror problems, wasn’t the excuse any of his triggers needed.
He’d found that out the hard way.
And was happy to put those memories aside when Oz took a turn to speak.
“Evrest hasn’t been the only Cimarron in the public eye,” his friend relayed. While the king father and queen mother, Ardent and Xaria, have remained largely private—”
“Sure,” Brick interjected. “The whole family’s involved in different aspects of things.” So he did know more than he thought he did. “There are two brothers. Samsyn oversees military and security. Shiraz is the money, logistics, and infrastructure guy.”
“And then there’s Jayd.”
“Jayd.” He ignored how Oz and Jagger smirked at his rasping repetition. To be honest, he didn’t really care. Not when he had something much better to focus on. The youngest Cimarron royal. “Ah…yeah. The princess. Didn’t remember her.”
Remarkably, he succeeded at a show of wry indifference.
“The hell you didn’t,” Oz snarked.
Or…not.
“Goddammit,” Brick groused.
“Nothing to be ashamed of,” Fox soothed. “The woman has that effect on most people.”
Brick didn’t argue. How could he? What man—for that matter, what person with a pulse—wouldn’t respond just like him to a simple thought of the woman? Those glossy black curls, tumbling against her regal, sleek cheeks. The eyes in that face, glowing like huge opals and framed by lush lashes. That was just everything above her shoulders. Brick remembered a lot about her lush, rocking curves too.