Hope's Wish

by Lexxie Couper

  And yet, right now…

  “Tell me about the men.” He narrowed those green eyes at her. “What exactly have you gotten yourself into, Hope?”

  “This is…” She let out a ragged breath. “Can’t I just… I don’t know, buy a gun? I know how to shoot one. I completed a gun-use course for an article I wrote, and I can get one from a Kmart or a Walmart, or some other kind of mart, yes?”

  “Hope.” James reached out and closed his fingers around hers, and her heart skipped a beat. Damn it. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  She looked down at their hands. Studied the way they fit together, remembered how many times they’d held hands at the movies, or walking through Green Park, or doing the grocery shopping together at the Waitrose on the corner near their flat in Wimbledon.

  Withdrawing her fingers from his, she lifted her head and met his worried eyes.

  You don’t get to be worried about me anymore, James Hastin.

  Pain flickered over his face, as if he’d heard her angry thought.

  “Hope…” he murmured, searching her eyes.

  She pressed a hand to her face, and let out a sigh. “I wish…”

  He pulled in a sharp breath.

  So did Kade and Kitt.

  Dropping her hand, she reached for her pendant again, remembered she wasn’t wearing it, and sat back in her seat, plucking at the fraying strands of denim at the knees of her favorite jeans instead. “Okay, fine. I’m here in LA on a holiday.”

  “Translation,” James regarded her, a small grin playing with his lips, “Hope has her nose on a story and followed it here to LA.”

  Bastard. He knew her so well.

  Too well?

  There’d be no point fudging the truth. Not with James in the room. Sure, she’d been able to dance around the real reason for trip to LA with the cops and Kade, but James always had a way of knowing when she was being truthful. It was incredible. Freeing, even. A week after meeting him in a pub in Piccadilly, she’d given up on the notion of treating him like she treated everyone else—as if they were the enemy, not to be trusted—and opened up to him in ways she never had with anyone else. It had been exhilarating and wonderful and even empowering.

  And three years later, he left. Without a word or reason.

  “Yes, I have my nose on a story.” She twisted her lips at him, and then returned her attention to Kade. “One about a UK politician.” A corrupt UK politician. The likely future Prime Minister of the UK. “So as a consequence, I snuck into the gala fundraiser at the Getty Museum tonight… or should that be last night? I don’t even know what time it is… 12:47 am? Wow. Anyway, I snuck into the fundraiser where he was a guest speaker and surreptitiously followed his advisor around for a little while until, somehow, I found myself in the men’s toilet.”

  James laughed.

  Tahlee smiled. She couldn’t help it. Whenever James laughed, it made her smile.

  Stop it. You’re angry with him. Furious, in fact.

  Pulling a slow breath, she tuned out the bastard and met Kade’s unwavering gaze. “I suspected I’d been spotted by the event’s security, so I hurried through the closest unlocked door.”

  Kade’s expression didn’t change. “Which happened to be the men’s bathroom?”

  James chuckled again.

  She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from beaming at him with pride. “I went into a cubicle, climbed up onto the toilet seat, and was preparing to either wait it out there for a few minutes or get busted. That’s when two men walked in, talking to each other.”

  “Rourke’s aide and the unknown man,” Kade said.

  “Rourke’s aide and an unknown man,” Tahlee confirmed.

  “Rourke? As in Maximillian Rourke?” Kitt spoke up.

  Tahlee started. She’d actually forgotten he was there. Which was unnerving, given she’d made a living out of being aware of people constantly.

  “Who the hell’s Maximillian Rourke?” James asked.

  Kitt frowned at him. “Really? Well, that clears up a question I’ve had about the man for a while.”

  James frowned in return. “What question’s that?”

  “Whether you had anything to do with his meteoric rise or not.”

  Tahlee blinked. Why would anyone think a dog groomer from London had something to do with the infamous American businessman’s ascent in politics?

  Confusion crossed James’s face. No man had any right looking that sexy when confused. “I have no clue who Rourke is, so it’s definitely a not. Who is he?”

  “Maximillian Rourke,” Kade said, sliding his attention to James, “is an importer/exporter, billionaire, and currently on the fast track to becoming a future Presidential nominee.”

  Tahlee grunted. That barely scratched the surface of the rumors and conjecture surrounding Maximillian Rourke. He was painted as a golden-boy hero by some media outlets, and a narcissistic and unscrupulous villain by others. If Tahlee lived in the US, Rourke would be a prime target for her journalistic instincts, which itched like crazy whenever he popped up in the news back home.

  But her sights were fixed on Glenn Simmons, the corrupt British minister seemingly hellbent on destroying the UK’s relationship with Europe… and damn near the rest of the free world.

  James shook his head. “Nope. I had nothing to do with Rourke’s rise. Some other gen—” He flicked Tahlee a glance. “Genius. Not me. I wasn’t the genius responsible.”

  Kitt chuckled. “In that case, Christen owes me a hundred bucks. He bet you did.”

  James laughed. “Clearly the Norseman and I need to have a chat.”

  Kitt grinned. “Hey, we all know about your part in William Shatner’s—”

  “Enough,” Kade said again.

  Kitt closed his mouth and settled back in his chair, amber eyes turned back to Tahlee. James locked his lips—twitching with that sheepish grin that always did stuff to Tahlee she never really understood but loved all the same—and flicked away the invisible key.

  “I apologize for my colleagues,” Kade said, sliding them both unreadable looks before returning his attention to her. “They were at a karaoke bar when I called them in and…” He shrugged, leaving the rest of his sentence dangling.

  Tahlee narrowed her eyes at Kade. Met his unblinking gaze. The mention of the karaoke bar was designed to distract. Of that she had little doubt, but from what? And why? Something was going on here. James at a karaoke bar? James couldn’t sing to save himself. And referring to himself as a genius? He was glib and mischievous and funny, but he was rarely boastful.

  And just what the flipping hell did William Shatner have to do with anything?

  It was all very peculiar. Maybe she needed to look into it a little—

  “What did you overhear Rourke’s aide say, Ms. Hope?” Kade asked. Still calm radiated from him, as if he had all of eternity to wait for her response.

  The detective she’d given her statement to had freaked out at what she’d overheard. Not visibly, but she’d interviewed enough people in her time to recognize the signs—eyes widening, swift intake of breath, reflex balling of a hand into a fist, minute stiffening of his muscles and straightening of his spine. Would the owner of Guarded Souls do the same?

  And what about James? How’s he going to react, learning what you overheard?

  How James reacted didn’t matter.

  Remember the time that guy felt you up in the pub in Covent Gardens? Remember what he did when James appeared? Remember how the guy took one look at him, just one, and burst into apologetic tears, damn near dropping to his knees, groveling for mercy…

  “What did you overhear, Hope?”

  She sighed at James’s low question. The concern in his voice played merry-hell with her resolve to ignore him.

  Huh, you haven’t been able to ignore James Hastin from the first second you saw him. It’s as if he’s the light and you’re the hungry, thirsty moth.

  “Tahlee?”

  Her heart thumped into
her throat at the sound of him saying her name. Her first name. Damn him.

  Letting out another sigh, she tilted her chin. Forced her focus to stay on Kade and Kitt, even as she remembered the glimpses of the short bald man she’d seen through the tiny gap around the toilet cubicle door. “He said ‘make sure she stays gone. For good. If Rourke sees her face on television again it won’t just be her tongue torn out, do you understand?’”

  Rourke’s aide had said more, but it had been so low and mumbled, Tahlee couldn’t hear it correctly. It sounded like gibberish. But whatever he had muttered, it made her flesh crawl. For the brief second Rourke’s aide uttered those indistinct, possibly foreign words, inexplicable terror ripped through her, unlike any she’d ever experienced before. As if her very soul understood them and feared them. As if every horror in the world, every horror in every world, had somehow been condensed into a single moment, and was now slithering up her spine, into her ears, her mouth, her nose, her eyes.

  She’d pressed her hand to her mouth, silencing the scream tearing its way up from her soul before it could burst free.

  That infinitesimal movement, though…

  She’d crouched on the toilet seat, staring at the closed cubicle door, staring at its unlocked latch. Waiting for the door to swing open. For Rourke’s aide to reach in and grab her, tear her tongue—

  “Well, that’s not good.”

  James’s calm voice jerked her back to the room. Heart racing, she met his gaze.

  Just hug him. Press your body to his, your cheek to his chest, and hug him. He’ll take the fear away. You know he will. He’ll—

  “No,” she said, her own voice husky. “It isn’t. I don’t know who the she is, otherwise I would have warned her. Whoever she is, she needs to be protected. Not me.”

  An unreadable light flickered in James’s green eyes and he straightened from his chair. “I’ll be back.”

  He walked from the room. Just like that.

  Tahlee blinked.

  “Kitt,” Kade said.

  “On it.” Kitt jolted to his feet and followed James.

  Tahlee blinked. Again. “What…” She frowned at Kade. “Okay, something weird is going on here. What is it?”

  Kade studied her, expression as calm and enigmatic as his eyes. “Your insistence you aren’t in danger, Ms. Hope.”

  “Really?” She crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. “You’re very good at misdirection, Mr. Just Kade, but I’m not buying it anymore.”

  Eyes holding hers, he smiled—and the world erupted in a gush of joy and light and wonder. Just like that, she felt better.

  Wow.

  “Would you like a cup of tea?” He straightened to his feet, buttoning his suit jacket. “I’ve got Lady Grey, Earl Grey, and English breakfast.” He made his way toward the room’s small but state-of-the-art kitchenette. “Chai, jasmine, Darjeeling.”

  “Where’s James gone?”

  He paused, hand poised at the handle of an electric kettle.

  “And why did you send—”

  “Nothing.”

  Tahlee gasped as James strode back into the room, Kitt following. A scowl darkened James’s face. Exasperation did the same to Kitt’s.

  “Can’t find a bloody thing.” James’s British accent wavered, and for a moment, Tahlee couldn’t place where he sounded like he came from. “Whatever’s going on with this Rourke dude’s aide, I can’t detect—” He stopped, his eyes touching hers for a second. “I can’t find anything on Google.”

  Kitt grunted, dumping himself into one of the chairs in the room. “Google needs to calm the hell down and take a breath, before Google slips up big time.”

  “Bite me, Rover.”

  Kitt bared his teeth at James.

  The base of Tahlee’s spine itched. When the base of her spine itched, it usually meant something unexpected and nefarious was happening. Something she could sink her journalist’s teeth into. But what exactly would be stirring those instincts now?

  The fact James is here? And seems to exude some kind of mesmerizing power and strength you’ve never noticed in him before?

  James—the James she’d fallen in love with—had never seemed so flustered and agitated and… and… dangerous.

  James? Dangerous?

  Her heart thumped faster in her chest. She needed to get her arse back to London ASAP. Or sooner.

  No one back in the UK, save for her editor, knew she’d flown to the US, and there was no one waiting for her, but still… she had a story to write, damn it.

  Clearing his throat, Kade lifted the kettle and filled it from the tap. “I’m making Ms. Hope a cup of tea.”

  “Darjeeling,” James said. “Black. Strong. Two sugars.”

  Of course he remembers how you like your tea. She ground her teeth, reaching for her absent necklace again. Damn him.

  Kade regarded him. “I’ve had a thought.”

  “Watch out. That can be painful.”

  Leaning his hip against the bench, Kade folded his arms, a smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “I was going to assign you and Kitt to this job, Jimmy Boy, but I’ve changed my mind.”

  James narrowed his eyes, even as Kitt raised his dark eyebrows. “What do you mean, ‘changed your mind’?”

  “My gut tells me,” Kade went on, his unblinking gaze moving to Tahlee for a heartbeat before returning to James, “that Ms. Hope doesn’t need two of my crew protecting her. Not when there’s no hope in hell you’ll ever let anything happen to her. Am I right, Hastin?”

  James’s Adam’s apple slid up and down his smooth throat. “What are you saying, boss?”

  Kade smiled, his stare locked on James. “I’m saying I’m assigning you, James, to the job of looking after Guarded Souls’ newest client, Tahlee Hope. Only you. Until I deem it necessary, you will be her constant companion. Twenty-four seven. Do I make myself clear?”

  James pulled in a deep, shaky breath.

  Tahlee did the same. Flipping hell.

  Chapter 2

  Philips inspected the nails of his right hand. He always appreciated a good manicure. Made the times he needed to really look closely at his hands far more palatable. “What do you mean, you can’t find her?”

  “She’s… just gone, sir. There’s no sign of her.”

  Lowering his hand to his desk, Philips drummed his nails—short and buffed to a low shine—on the rich mahogany. “How did you let this happen?”

  “I… I…”

  He exhaled, lifting his hand again. Silence filled the room, the sudden loss of the rapid tattoo of his nails deafening. He moved his focus to the simpering grunt in front of his desk. “I? I?”

  The grunt trembled. As he should. With the news he’d just delivered, he knew what was about to happen.

  As William Shakespeare had been fond of saying—loudly and drunkenly, sometimes—there was a time and place for shooting the messenger.

  “Wherever she’s gone, she’s no longer detectable,” the grunt said.

  “Shielded, you mean?” A cold fist twisted in Philips’s gut. “Warded?”

  “Maybe. I think so. I tracked her to the cop station. Watched her leave with a tall man. I hooked into her, like you taught me, but when she climbed into a car with him, she…” The grunt shuffled his feet and rubbed at the back of his burly neck.

  “What?” The cold fist twisted some more. A chilly dread seeped into Philips’s bones. This is what he got for trusting something as important as this to a wannabe with only a trickle of ability. “She what?”

  The grunt swallowed. “It’s like she just disappeared. From existence. I followed the car as long as I could, but lost it in traffic.”

  “In traffic. At almost one am, there was traffic? Enough traffic to lose sight of a car you were following?”

  “Y-yes. The tall guy drove fast.”

  Raising his eyebrows, Philips sat back in his seat. “Is that so? Describe him.”

  “Tall. Dark hair. Black suit, black shirt. Maybe a blac
k waistcoat.”

  “The car?”

  “Black. Some kind of German sedan. The one with four rings on the grill.”

  “So, the woman who overheard me discussing tearing the tongue from another woman’s mouth went to the police, left with an unknown man driving one of probably thousands of Audis in this town, and now cannot be located via any… means you’ve tried?”

  The grunt’s head jiggled on his neck like a goddamn bobblehead on crack.

  “Did you think to speak to the detective she talked to? Maybe ask for her name? Or the name of the man she left with?”

  “Umm…”

  Holding up his hand again, Philips reached for the phone on his desk. “What police station did she leave from?”

  “West LA Community Police Station, on Butler Avenue.”

  Stabbing out a number, Philips held the grunt’s gaze. Refused to release it.

  Refused to let the imbecile blink.

  “Hello,” he said when the connection was made. “I need to know the name of all the detectives on shift at the West LA Community Police Station in the last twelve hours.”

  Returning the phone to its cradle, he raised his eyebrows at the grunt. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Philips. Sometimes I forget about doing things that way.”

  Philips pulled open the top drawer of his desk, withdrew the Kimber 1911 pistol inside and shot the grunt in the middle of the forehead.

  An uncouth way of dealing with a problem, to be sure, but sometimes it just wasn’t worth the spell to do the job.

  * * * *

  She was going to kill him.

  Well, not literally. It was tricky to kill a djinn, the act required a certain procedure and spell, and she didn’t have the skillset, or the knowledge he was a djinn, but still…

  At the soft click of the door closing behind Kade and Kitt, James turned back to Tahlee.

  She arched an eyebrow at him, crossed her arms and slung her leg over her knee. “You bastard.”

  “I can explain.” He couldn’t. Not even close. How could he possibly explain why he’d vanished from her life mere minutes after she’d professed the most profound, significant, powerful feeling a human could have for another?