Authors: Anya Breton
Brook paused outside the door with the plastic card in hand.
The emotional signature inside belonged to Morgan. He was alone. And impatient.
Impatience was far better than what she’d feared. She drew
in a quick breath and then slipped the card into the lock. The light flipped
from red to green. The door clicked.
Impatience soon faded into anticipation. He’d heard the
click. Brook twisted the handle down, adopting a professional veneer before she
stepped inside.
Morgan reclined in a chair beside the bed. His gaze was
fixed on her despite the flickering television he’d been watching.
Brook shook the paper fast-food bag and cradled drinks at
him. She tossed the plastic bag she’d had hanging from her other wrist. It
landed atop the bed where he’d slept. He cast it a mere glance before returning
his attention to her.
Pale eyes narrowed as they scanned down her body, noting the
jeans and T-shirt she now wore. His lips twisted up at one corner.
Disappointment swallowed down his anticipation.
Good. She’d rather have his disappointment than his
anticipation.
He didn’t move as she set the food bag and cardboard drink
caddy atop the bed despite the growling they both heard from the vicinity of
his stomach—his smooth, muscular stomach. Brook stalked into the bathroom.
Hours she’d paced the damn room debating when to wake him,
fearing how he’d react to what she’d done. Hours she’d struggled with desire.
She’d tried to overcome it—to stare at his nudity and conquer her needs. Twice
she’d failed and ended in masturbation. Twice she’d discovered it hadn’t
helped.
That’s when she’d called for a cab.
But the most disturbing portion of the day had been sensing
him wake. From fifteen miles away. It was impossible for the empathic link to
report from that distance. Yet it had. Or
something
had.
Brook allowed herself to hide for two more minutes before
she returned to the room. He’d braved the bed while she’d been hiding. Morgan
sat chewing french fries in the seat he’d originally held. The extra
cheeseburger and carton of fries lay atop the crinkled bag on the bed. He’d
shown her where he wanted her to sit by leaving it there.
She dropped onto the bed beside the food, grabbing at the
burger.
“You’re not going to eat the fries first?” he queried as her
fingers peeled away the paper wrapper.
“I don’t like them when they’re hot.”
“I don’t like them when they’re cold.”
Brook gestured at her carton. “Then eat yours and mine until
they’re cold. I’ll take what’s left.”
“What if they stay hot long enough for me to finish them
all?”
She merely sent him an impatient look. He shook his head
once before hopping to his feet, retrieving the carton. Quickly he was on his
side of the room again.
Several minutes, two commercials for used car dealers and a
promo for a prime-time television show passed before he spoke again. “What kind
of car did you get?”
“A Rolls-Royce,” she said.
It was his turn to shoot her an impatient look.
Brook gave the true answer once she’d reveled in his
irritation for a half-dozen seconds. “I got a luxury sedan. One you wouldn’t
scoff at if you were forced to get inside.”
“I’m not a snob, Brook.”
She let her lips curve in a mocking smile.
“I’m
not
,” he said.
“Most people wouldn’t care what kind of rental car their
Ranger got.”
“I was making small talk.”
Yes, the car was a safe topic. Not much else was safe these
days.
If he wanted a discussion, she’d give him one. A safe one
even. A
professional
one.
“Master Destan phoned earlier,
”
she said.
“
Your covens believe you
’
re dead.”
Morgan choked on his next bite of potato.
Brook went on, “We agreed it would be best to allow the
flood of misinformation.”
“How could that possibly be
best
?”
“Someone will step up to take your place. They’ll be the
prime suspect.”
“Irvin will step up.”
She nodded. Her teeth broke through a particularly tough
piece of lettuce. She slowly chewed the bite.
“Because he’s my uncle and closest confidant.” Morgan’s
pitch lifted in indignation. “The covens would look to him for answers. Him
stepping up does
not
make him guilty.”
“Guilty, no,” Brook said behind her napkin. “But a suspect
nonetheless. He gains the most from your death.”
“Irvin wouldn’t try to kill me. He’s not a suspect.”
“We’ll agree to disagree.”
Morgan slapped his fries onto the table. “You haven’t
changed a bit.”
Brook let her brows drift north though she kept her lips
clamped tight. She wouldn’t remind him of the parts of her that had changed
drastically
since they were kids. The parts he’d
sucked
last night.
“You still think the worst of everyone.”
She didn’t think the worst of
him
. Even though he
popped to the edge of his seat and gave her his most disappointed of
expressions, Brook knew Morgan had changed. His lack of a female and a family
were the proof of that.
She drew in a stealthy breath that enabled her calm retort.
“And you still enjoy pointing out my every fault.”
“I don’t understand it. Your life wasn’t that different from
mine.”
Her father hadn’t accepted her as his had him. But his
father had also taken him from his mother. She supposed in that aspect they
were a little alike.
“We both had single parents,” he said. “We vacationed by the
ocean but lived inland. We didn’t have any siblings. Yet you’re suspicious of
everyone. And guarded.”
And he was an open book, sharing everything with everyone
regardless of whether they wanted it. She didn’t speak the words. Morgan knew
what he was just as she knew what she was and didn’t need him to speak her
perceived faults aloud.
“You could be happy if you’d just let someone in,” he said.
“I am happy.”
“You can’t even look me in the eyes when you say it.”
She couldn’t look him in the eyes because seeing them
reminded her of how they’d been heavy with desire in the limo less than
twenty-four hours earlier.
Brook forced her attention in his direction. She defiantly
held his pale gaze. “I’ll be happier when I’m finally a master-level Ranger. To
do that, I need to solve your predicament. And that involves keeping your
covens in the dark until I can find who did this to you. Meanwhile the
investigators are checking the lake house for clues.”
“
Human
investigators?”
Brook tilted her head. “
Cleaners.
” She knew what he
was going to ask before his teeth unclenched. “They’re looking for spellweaves.
Once they’ve determined the place is clean of magic, they’ll let the fire
inspector do his job.”
“You think it’s a witch.”
“Of course I think it’s a witch.”
“Even though it’s been guns in my face and explosions,”
Morgan said as if she hadn’t spoken.
“Not only do I think it’s a witch, I also think it’s a witch
who knows your schedule.”
His mouth froze in the act of forming a syllable.
“Think about it,” she said. “Someone rigged your place to
blow on a night they knew you’d be out. That narrows it down to the individuals
who knew you’d be attending the charity function. If we further narrow down the
pool to only witches, we come up with a handful of names.”
“It wasn’t Irvin!”
“Mira then?” Brook let her pitch rise in mocking sweetness.
“You’d rather her jealousy have sent her from the party to rig your lake house
so you’d blow up when you returned home, exhausted from dancing?”
“She wouldn’t.” His insistence wasn’t nearly as emphatic
this time.
“We never really know people.” Brook dropped the remaining
bits of her burger into the paper bag. Her appetite had fled. “I’m going for
ice.”
She left before he had a chance to give his standard
response about her pessimism.
We never really know people.
Morgan’s first thought hadn’t been to wonder if Brook was
right about Mira or Irvin. Instead, he’d contemplated whether he really knew
her
.
And next had been to wish he did.
They’d not spent more than a few weeks in each other’s
company since he was a child yet he felt as though he’d known Brook his entire
life. When all was said and done, he didn’t truly know a thing about her. For
high tide’s sake, he hadn’t even known if she’d been married. Or what would
possess her to change her name after her father’s death.
Morgan knew one thing. He wanted to change that. He wanted
to learn the ins and the outs of the beautiful and prickly Ranger. Before the
investigation finished and she escaped for good.
Brook was her usual thorny self when she returned with the
bucket of ice several minutes later. She set her parcel beside the television
and then retreated to the bathroom. Again.
“I bought you a change of clothes,” she called from around the
wall. “In that bag. You should change before we leave.”
“Leave?”
“We can’t stay here. We need to get out of the city.”
Morgan opened his mouth to argue they were already on the
outskirts of the city. But she was the Ranger, supposedly the best they had.
She knew what to do in this situation.
“It will only be for a day or two,” she said. “You won’t
have to live in squalor for long.”
His felt his forehead scrunch tight in irritation. She
certainly made it difficult for a man to be obliging.
“Just until someone steps up, we track funds from the source
and we lay a trap for the perp.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. But then he didn’t like
guns in his face and his home exploding either. Morgan got to his feet and
fetched the bag. He took his time removing his shirt, hoping she’d catch him
undressing. It was foolish, but he couldn’t stop.
She rummaged about in the bathroom throughout his leisurely
undressing and redressing as if she’d known exactly what he’d been up to. After
her timely phone call earlier, maybe she had. Brook appeared moments after he’d
finally zipped up the new jeans.
They fit. Perfectly. Had she undressed him simply to check
his size? He wanted to ask but wasn’t prepared for the answer.
Brook stopped inside the main space, regarding him with a
steady gaze that told him nothing of her mood. “I’m going to bring the ice down
to the cooler and then check us out of here. Will you make sure we have
everything packed?”
She was asking for help?
No, she was delegating. Morgan nodded for her. And then he
was alone again.
Packing was easy given they’d arrived with no luggage. He
spent several minutes scouring beneath the furniture for the gown she’d worn
last night. It was nowhere to be found. Morgan’s mood plummeted at the thought
of her burning it in some waste bin on the side of the road simply to cleanse
herself of the memory of his hands on her.
Perhaps Brook hadn
’
t
needed to do anything so drastic. Perhaps Morgan was the only one suffering
from the memory. She’d certainly been back to normal.
Apart from his waking nude.
Morgan shouldn’t have experienced exhilaration upon
recalling his state of undress. But he’d never disrobed in his sleep before.
Brook had done something to him. And that meant she might have
looked
.
His lungs deflated when he recalled the contract. Brook
wasn’t here because she wanted to be. This was a job. He had to remember that.
Brook focused on the road ahead with every sense open. Road
rage brushed across her subconscious here and there—nowhere near the level of a
weeknight during rush hour. She doubted they’d be attacked on the road,
especially considering the covens believed Morgan was dead. But the culprit
need only check with the police to learn the truth. She still had to be on her
guard.
Her passenger was surprisingly quiet in the seat beside her.
The wobbly press of his emotion implied uncertainty. Brook stifled the urge to
ask him what was wrong. Too many answers could be given. Few she wanted to
hear.
No doubt Morgan worried about the possibility someone close
to him wanted him dead. Then again, he probably stubbornly clung to his good
faith. It wouldn’t surprise her if he steadfastly believed neither Irvin nor
Mira capable of this level of betrayal.
Brook knew better. She simply didn’t know
which
of
the two was responsible. For Morgan’s benefit, she hoped it was Mira. The hurt
he’d experience from Mira’s betrayal would be far less than if his own flesh
and blood had plotted to have him offed.
But what did she care? Morgan needed a wake-up call. He needed
to understand the world wasn’t waterslides and summer bubbles. There was a dark
underbelly he must face if he was going to be a good regional priest.
“Where are we going?” he asked minutes later.
She didn’t know. But she’d know it when she saw it. Telling
him that wouldn’t improve the situation. Instead, she slanted an impatient look
his way.
“You know, you could try being civil once in a while,” he
said. “It would improve relations with your clients.”
The image of
relations
with
this
client formed
in her mind. Brook battled it down with frantic force, hoping against all odds
the powerful witch wouldn’t note her sudden spike of arousal.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
Damn it.
“I shouldn’t be so critical,” he said. “You’re trying to
help.”
Was that what the apology referenced? Or had he indeed noted
her slide into Naughtyville? Either way, Brook would take advantage of it.
“I’m trying to do a job,” she said with a clipped delivery.
“I know.”
The slight sigh he released as he spoke the words echoed the
deflating sensation squeezing her consciousness.
Dismay.
The man
broadcast much he
’
d probably
rather she not experience. So why hadn’t he locked out the empathic link?
An image of Morgan nude, sprawled on the hotel bed, flared
in her mind. Brook’s teeth clamped tightly behind thinning lips.
Why had she pictured
that
now? He’d not said
anything. There’d been no questionable words to take out of context. What was
wrong with her?
Brook needed to focus on the job. “Tell me about Irvin.”
Morgan’s gaze snapped toward the driver’s seat. “So you can
pick apart his every decision, looking for the evil?”
Her temper threatened to flare.
Indifference
, she
silently chanted in the hope of softening her mood before she ripped him a new
hole.
Fortunately, ignoring the man’s accusatory question worked
better than allowing him to see he’d angered her.
He offered up a quiet apology and then relayed Irvin’s
history. “He’s six years younger than my father was. They were close. Right up
until his death.”
“How did your father die?”
Sharp pressure jabbed at her consciousness from his
direction.
Anger.
Let him be angry. This was her job. And she only had to do
it because he was too trusting to believe the worst of anyone…apart from her.
“Car accident,” Morgan said at last. He adopted a slow,
condescending tone she longed to smack out of his throat. “A perfectly
normal
accident on the freeway with a pair of 18-wheelers. Irvin had nothing to do
with it.”
Brook ignored her rising frustration, again calling on
indifference to stamp out everything else. She was proud of the neutrality
infused in her voice. “Where was Irvin during this?”
“He didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Then you won’t mind answering the question.”
Several silent moments stretched on in the rental car’s
cabin during which the only noise was the occasional bump beneath the chassis
and Morgan’s breath. Was he still awake? The flutter of lashes in her
peripheral vision implied he was. But she’d seen witches check out for a few
minutes.
“He was in the car,” Morgan said.
His monotone response made Brook catalog every emotion he
broadcast. Wobbles, zings, collapses, jabs and sinking—he was all over the
place.
Had Irvin been in the
same
car as his elder brother
during the accident? Was that why Morgan was extra worked up?
The silence continued. Was he finally questioning his
perception?
The more worrisome question was why Brook had the strange
urge to
console
him now that he had. She needed to solve this mystery
before she discovered that answer
.
Vehicles shifted and passed ahead but Morgan was hardly
aware of them. He’d finally discovered something to take his mind off how badly
he wanted to kiss Brook bloody Lochlan. But Morgan would prefer to fight lust
than experience
this
.
“What car was Irvin in?”
Brook’s colorless delivery sent his teeth into a grind.
She’d made her point. The empathic link she had lassoed
around him would notify her of his shifting emotions. Why did she have to force
him to
speak
them too?
Several times since she’d arrived in Northern Indiana she’d
ignored his questions as if he were beneath the effort it took to form
syllables. She could have a taste of her own medicine. He focused on his drawn
reflection in the side mirror instead of speaking.
Road signs flitted past the window at a rapid pace. At least
three intersections faded into the landscape beyond before she spoke.
“I know you don’t want to talk about this. I wouldn’t make
you if I didn’t need to know the answer.” Brook paused a beat, perhaps giving
him a chance to speak up on his own. “Was Irvin in the car with your father?”
“Yes.” His answer had been barely audible and yet she’d
heard it. She must have because her shoulders slumped.
Slumped.
As if she gave a shit. As if she wasn’t
secretly gleeful his world was crashing down around him.
Irvin had been in the car that night. He’d walked away with
minor injuries. Ryan Seaton had had to be removed in pieces.
Was his uncle responsible for the death of Morgan’s father?
Could Irvin have magically manipulated the truck drivers into generating the
pileup around them without harming him? Or was it merely a case of luck that
Irvin had walked away from that horrible event?
The raw emotions flowing through him—turning his stomach and
clenching his organs—needed an outlet before they manifested in genuine somatic
pain. Trapped in a speeding car with none of his element to draw on for
serenity, Morgan released them the only way he knew how.
“You’re just fucking loving this,” he snarled across the
cabin at the beautiful woman focused on the windshield. “You can’t wait to say
I told you so. This time when you fix my problem, you’re not going to leave me
with angry children’s parents and a broken fishing pole. You’re going to
destroy my life and break my heart.”
Though she made no outward move at the slip of his tongue,
emotion rammed against his consciousness. He forged on with more complaints in
the hope she’d forget his most recent words.
“And this time you’re going to get
paid
to screw up
everything. More than that, you might get a
promotion
! You really found
your calling—making a living proving to trusting people how stupid you think
they are. I’m no longer surprised you’re one of the best. This is the life you
were born to. I’m only surprised you weren’t a Master level Ranger already. How
many lives have you destroyed since you started working for them? Have you been
keeping count? Do you keep a scrapbook of your triumphs or trophies like a
serial killer?”
Morgan’s jaw hung open upon hearing the words emit from his
lips.
He’d gone too far. She was a respected member of the
Underground, someone his people had engaged to help, and he’d treated her as
though she’d forced her services on him. No one deserved the accusations he’d
hurled. Least of all the woman who had saved his life less than twenty-four
hours ago.
Before he could open his mouth and beg her forgiveness,
Brook applied the brake and flipped the car’s signal and spoke in her colorless
voice. “Feel better, Priest Seaton?”
He didn’t feel better. But his emotion had shifted. No longer
was he fighting the roller coaster of depression, fear and disillusionment.
Regret and shame had tunneled out his insides now.
Worse yet was when he noted why she’d slowed the car. Brook
turned into a familiar restaurant’s parking lot. One of his
favorite
restaurants. His body stilled as she pulled into the drive-thru he utilized far
too often.
“You still like strawberry shakes, don’t you?”
Morgan’s stomach seized at the seemingly innocuous question.
He
loved
strawberry shakes. They were his stress food
item of choice.
Clients often shouted at their Ranger. This wasn’t a new
situation for Brook to be in. She’d learned early on not to take what they said
in the heat of the moment to heart. Still, Brook had been hard-pressed not to
shout back at
this
client.
Morgan had needed to get it off his chest. Now that he
silently brooded in the passenger seat while she handed cash over for shakes,
she sensed the shift in his emotions. He wasn
’
t
furious with uncertainty any longer. The dominant thread was now remorse.
Driving aimlessly wasn’t working. She pulled into one of the
nearby parking spots to send Judy, Master Destan’s assistant, a text message.
Judy would research the area and find them a better place to hide out for the
next day or so. Brook put in a request with her ideal specs. And then they were
on the road again.
“Brook, I’m sorry,” Morgan said two miles from the
restaurant.
He’d not touched his shake yet. She’d be miffed if he let it
go to waste in his moodiness.
Brook made a dismissive gesture. “Don’t worry about it. Drink
your shake.”
“I shouldn’t have said any of that. It was uncalled for.
You’re only trying to help.”
“I’m trying to do a job.”
After their uncomfortable evening, they both needed the
reminder.
“Why don’t you rest a bit,” Brook said in the hope he’d snooze
and leave her be. “I’m not sure how long we’ll be driving.”
“I slept through the night.” His accusatory tone implied he
wasn’t pleased with how she’d magically manipulated him. “Did you sleep?”
“Yes.” At least she’d slept as much as she ever did.
“Somehow I don’t believe you.”
“Maybe you don’t want to believe me.”
“I can drive for a bit if you’ll tell me where we’re going.”
“South. And no you can’t.”
He huffed and then went quiet. Several minutes and much
sucking on his straw later, Morgan broke the silence. “Thank you for my shake.”
She nodded.
“How did you remember?”
“You don’t want to know.”
It had been easy to recall Morgan enjoyed pink strawberry
milkshakes because it fit with his sugary-sweet outlook on life. Explaining
this to him wouldn’t win her any points.
Another huff kept him quiet until Judy texted her with an
address. Brook plugged the information into her navigation software and then
began driving in earnest. The sooner they were off the roads and to a secure
location the better.
* * * * *
Her lips thinned, matching the narrow line of her gaze as it
scanned the interior. Brook’s agitation thumped against his consciousness like
the bass at a dance club. She dug her phone out of the pocket of her indecently
skinny jeans, bashed a button and then paced several feet away.
“Judy, this isn’t a
safe
house. I gave specific requirements.
This doesn’t meet any of them except that it’s
south
. This…this…is like
a
honeymoon
resort!”
Morgan swung away before she noted the humor in his eyes.
And then he realized she was right. This log cabin on a hidden lake
did
feel like a lovers’ retreat.
His humor faded. He shoved a hand into his hair, tugging
until pain burst in his scalp. But it didn’t wipe away the images of carrying
Brook over the threshold.
“Master Destan, my weapons never arrived,
”
she said as if the phone had changed
hands on the other end.
“
Someone
must have intercepted them, because the tracking information claims they were
delivered. So I have nothing to protect my client with and now your assistant
has booked us into what looks like the location of the next American orgy
movie. I’d have to clean out the local hardware store to fortify this place.
It’s all glass! Judy assures me she checked with you before booking the rental.
I find that hard to—” Brook halted both her speech and her pacing as though
she’d been interrupted.
“Yes,” she said warily. “I understand they think he’s dead
but that doesn’t mean we weren’t followed. I—” Brook’s fingers clenched into a
fist. “Of course. I did everything in my power to ensure we weren’t tracked but
I’m not an Earth witch.” She puffed in irritation. “My unbeaten score for the
anti-tracking training course doesn’t mean I can compete with those who make it
their job to—”