Miranda's Mate (15 page)

“When you sent me out by myself yesterday without instructions.”
Awk. I sound like a whiny ten-year-old.

“You’re not thinking. I couldn’t tell you I didn’t trust Ted. You needed to assess the situation on your own and make your own decisions. What if I’d been wrong about him? I’d have smeared an agent’s reputation for nothing and made it impossible for any of the rest of you to work with him.” Garen hesitated. “It’s sort of like going from enlisted man to officer in the service. The main difference is you need to think for yourself and bear the consequences for your decisions.”

“I understand. At least I think I do.”

He cocked his head to one side. “You’re still here, Miranda, so it appears I judged your capabilities well. Hold out your hand.” His voice was stern; he brandished the small blade and made a shallow cut in the meaty part of her thumb, then did the same thing to his own hand.

Once their blood mingled, he handed her a gauze square and some tape. “Go home and get some sleep,” he growled.

“What about San Ysidro?”

“Be back here at seventeen hundred. We’ll complete the final assignments then. The team pulls out tomorrow, and you’ll need to be sharper than you are at the moment.”

Garen balled his hands into fists to keep from pulling Miranda against him. He wanted to hold her and comfort her and tell her he was sorry, but there hadn’t been a better way to test both her and Ted at the same time. He’d given Ted an assignment, but the target had been bogus. He’d been nearly certain Ted would try to convince Miranda to provide the bite that would save his bacon at The Company. He’d been equally certain Miranda wouldn’t rise to the bait.

She staggered from weariness as she walked out of his office. “You’re sure I can’t send a car and a driver to see you home?” he called after her.

“Nah.” She didn’t even turn around. “I’ll be fine.”

He sank into a soft chair and shut his eyes. He shouldn’t have shown himself as a wolf the previous night. He’d been banking on the muting that meant they didn’t reason well in their wolf forms.
Yeah, I tossed the dice and won, but I’m a fucking fool.

Not only had he trotted out of the woods, big as you please, he’d let his lust run wild and mated with her. All he’d meant to do was watch from a distance to make certain she was all right.

Even though it was obvious she had things well in hand, he couldn’t leave well enough alone. No, he had to march right up to her, lick her snout, and…Once he’d allowed her to see him, desperation took over. He wanted her more intensely than he’d ever wanted another lycan, but he also needed to divert her so she wouldn’t recognize his scent from their brief moments together as lycans in Index. The best diversion he knew met his other objective. He pumped out pheromones, obliterating every other scent in the air with his hunger for her.

A tongue of jealousy intruded. Miranda didn’t realize he and Lucifer were one and the same. She’d ceded to Lucifer’s lust without so much as an eye bat. “What the hell was she supposed to do?” he muttered. “Tell the lycan leader no?” Female wolves didn’t tell him no at gatherings. It had been one of the sideline benefits of being their alpha until he’d become so besotted with Miranda he didn’t want another female—human or shifter—within fifty paces of him.

He pushed out of the chair and settled at his desk. Maybe if he worked on details for San Ysidro, he’d be able to thrust Miranda to a back burner for a while. He was breaking yet another of his rules and going with the team to the ISL compound. Normally, Garen stayed behind at headquarters. That way, he could deploy more troops or oversee extractions if things went to shit.

I don’t have to go.

Yes, I do. There’s no way I’m turning Miranda loose that far from me in a dangerous situation.

He stared at the flat-screen monitor, seeing the intricate flow pattern of their attack, but unable to concentrate on it. Instead, he saw Miranda’s face, cheeks flushed with passion, eyes gleaming warmly at him in her high-cheekboned face.

I’ve got to talk with someone. I’m about as worthless as a caged monkey.
Garen tugged his cell phone out of a pocket and punched the series of numbers that would connect him to Lars, his oldest friend and the only one who knew about his alter ego, Lucifer.

The phone only rang a couple of times. “Greetings, my friend. I did not expect to hear from you so soon.”

“Is your connection secure?”

“Of course.” Lars sounded hurt. “I am not into taking unnecessary chances. What do you need?”

“An ear.”

Lars’ breath whistled through the cellular system. “That bad, eh?”

“Worse.” Garen sketched out what had transpired since Lars left Index, omitting some of the gritty details of his inability to do anything but lust after Miranda. When he couldn’t think of any more to say, he fell silent.

“So.” The single word held a universe of meaning. “You have had sex with her in human form and shifted form. Have you truly forgotten the significance of that?”

Garen’s eyes widened. Not only had he forgotten, it never crossed his mind when he’d taken the fateful step and sunk his wolf cock inside her wolf vulva. He opened his mouth to say something, but it was so dry words wouldn’t come. He took a sip of cold coffee, sloshed it around in his mouth before swallowing it, and tried again. “I, uh…Let’s just say it was far from front and center in my mind. The main thing I was worried about was her connecting Lucifer to me. Ach, Christ! I truly have screwed myself.”

Lars chuckled, but the sound lacked mirth. “Selfish to the core, as always. It is one of the reasons we get along so well. What about Miranda? She deserves to know. She will be experiencing the same longing and hopelessness since she does not expect the two of you will ever be a couple.”

“She’s right. We can’t be.”

“Why not?” Lars asked with characteristic Teutonic pragmatism.

“She works for The Company.”

“Easily fixed. She could work for us. Or she could not work at all. It is not as if you could not provide for her.”

“She’d never accede to being taken care of.”

“Old friend. If I were next to you, I would slap you. You have no idea what she will do with the information, but you must tell her. It is a breach in the covenant that governs our kind if you do not.”

Garen squeezed his eyes shut. He had to think about something else or his brain would explode. “Are you in the middle of something, or are you free to help with a project?”

Lars snorted. “What a rapid shift of topics. I might be able to provide assistance. It would depend when you needed me—and for what.”

“I will scramble the details and get them to you electronically. How soon could you get to southern California?”

Silence. Then, “Forty-eight hours. I believe I will fly commercial this time.”

“Final briefing is at seventeen hundred hours PDT today. I’ll funnel you in via webcam.”

Lars rattled off an Internet address. Garen jotted it down and said, “Thank you,” only to find Lars had disconnected. It had been kind of him not to chastise Garen. As it was, his conscience writhed in agony—yet if he were honest, Garen knew he’d make the same choice again. Miranda was damn near irresistible. Even if she ran to the ends of the world to get away from him, he’d always cherish the little time they’d had together.

He laid his phone aside. His mouth curved into a soft smile. By making love with Miranda in both their forms, he’d sealed the mate bond. She was his—and he hers—forever. Of course, normally shifters discussed these things before taking such a drastic step. Hundreds of years ago, before shifters had been driven underground, he’d taken care who he screwed to avoid making an ineradicable mistake. Beyond that, he’d been lucky. He’d known the odd lycan who’d been snared in a mate bond without their permission, which was why there were prohibitions against such things.

The repercussions of what he’d done sank in. Torn between delight he’d actually bound them together and fear she wouldn’t want either him or the bond, he knew he had to talk with her—explain everything—and let the chips fall where they would. It was worse not to tell her than for her to know he was Lucifer.

His jaw clenched. San Ysidro. Miranda had to have her wits about her to carry out her delicate part in the operation. In many ways, it was her undertaking. She’d unearthed the location and planned the maneuver to infiltrate it. She couldn’t be distracted by mate bonds and justifiable anger at him. “I’ll tell her just as soon as it’s over with,” he muttered to his empty office. “I’ll make reservations out on one of the islands so we’ll have privacy, and I’ll fess up and take my lumps.”

He shut his eyes for a moment. If she rejected him—and she could easily be angry enough to do so—the mate bond would still be there. It would mean she could never love another.
I can’t believe I was that stupid.
He clenched his hands into fists until his nails dug into his palms.
Just because I was so taken with her, she was all I could think about, it was deucedly unfair of me not to tell her the truth and offer her a choice.

Yeah, right. How could I have done that? I didn’t even realize it myself until Lars threw it in my face.

He gritted his teeth together so hard he thought they might shatter. Love for Miranda coursed through him, along with a savage desire to protect her from the consequences of his poor choices.

He picked up his phone again and dialed an out-of-the-way bed-and-breakfast inn on Bainbridge Island. He’d stayed there before when he needed to get away from everything. The proprietors were shifters who knew how to keep their mouths shut. It was the perfect place to take Miranda—if she’d agree to go. He glanced at a calendar. Ten days should just about wrap up San Ysidro.

“Belle Maison Inn. How may I help you?”

“Lore? Garen here. I’d like to make reservations for your honeymoon cabin starting…”

* * * *

Miranda glanced around the large oval conference room table at Company headquarters. She’d slept like a dead thing from mid-morning until her phone alarm woke her at three-thirty. Nine agents ranged round the table. Lars had joined them via web link. Garen sat at the head of the table. She made a concerted effort not to look at him. Though she’d struggled with her feelings for him before, those tussles were nothing compared with the drive she felt to jump from her chair and throw herself into his arms.

San Ysidro will be a good break. At least I’ll get away for a few days, and I can try to put everything into perspective.

“So.” Miranda stood, arms crossed over her chest, at the opposite end of the table from Garen. “Once I’m in, I’ll do what I can to marshal the women—and men, if there are any.”

An older agent named Jordan said, “There will be. ISL traffics in candy for the gay boys too. Be particularly careful. Watch out for Stockholm Syndrome. Some of those human slaves may well have bonded with their captors.” He pushed thick, gray hair back from his face. His brown eyes didn’t miss much.

“Yes,” Nadine seconded. She ran slender fingers through her close-cropped red hair and scowled. “They’d turn you into ISL’s thugs in a second if they saw you as a threat. No matter how bad things seem to you, the merchandise has adapted to it.”

Jordan grunted. “It’s human nature to cling to the status quo.”

“Good advice. Thanks.” Miranda tried to smile, but all she managed was a grimace. She’d pushed for this operation, but now it was getting close, she was scared. “I’ll do what I can to disable the locks and alarms. Once that’s done, I’ll alert the team.”

“And we’ll storm the fortress.” Garen’s arms were crossed over his chest too.

“It will take me a few days. Maybe as much as a week,” Miranda said. “When I first get inside—assuming I’m successful—I’m going to aim for invisibility. The last thing I want to do is make waves so they’ll notice the new acquisition.”

“What will you do if the men want to fuck you?” Jordan asked bluntly.

“I thought I’d tell them I just finished treatment for gonorrhea. They’ll need to have a doctor clear me.”

“That won’t slow them down,” Garen muttered, looking like he wanted to kill something. “They’ll use condoms.”

“Maybe I can tell them I just had an abortion, and I can’t have sex for two weeks.”

“Better.” He nodded. Something intense flared behind his eyes; he hooded them before she got a close enough look to identify it.

“Go over your story again,” Nadine said. “I want to look for holes.”

Miranda nodded. “I’m going to make the rounds of the border strip clubs looking for work. Each place, I’ll tell anyone who seems even peripherally interested about my Mexican in-laws dumping their gringo daughter-in-law north of the border after they fleeced me for my car and bank account.” She sucked in a breath. “All I have left is my passport and driver’s license. I’m hungry, and I really need to work. My own family’s all dead.”

“Work on your language,” Garen snapped. “You won’t be using words like
peripherally
.”

“I know that.” Irritation scoured her nerves. She pressed her tongue against her teeth. “I’m gonna tell ’em I done dropped out of school in Tombstone. Needin’ to lay a bit by so’s I kin git back there.”

“If you do not talk very much, you can probably pull it off.” Lars, who’d been so silent she’d forgotten about him, spoke through the web link’s mic. “I am used to listening for subtle nuance in language. Your fake accent is broken, uneven, but it is unlikely any of the ISL people will have my level of sophistication.”

“Have you firmed up when you’ll arrive?” Garen turned toward the wall screen and faced Lars.

“Affirmative. Three a.m. Thursday morning. I leave immediately after this conference. I would already be en route, but I needed secure conference capabilities.”

“All right. It’s Tuesday. We will move into position Thursday midday. Lars will meet us in San Ysidro. No point in him coming to Seattle first.”

“Are the rest of us still traveling by private jet?” one of the other agents asked.

Garen nodded. “We leave tomorrow at eleven hundred hours from Boeing field. I have agents packing the plane as we speak with what we’ll need.” He nailed her with his intense blue gaze. “Miranda.”