I didn’t want any news. Just a hot bath. "Bad news."
"Your mother called."
"Ugh." I rolled my eyes. "What does she want now? Non-existent transcripts of conversations with my lawyer to prove I’m not plotting against her? Blood?"
I caught the briefest of expressions move across Luke’s face. There was something he wasn’t telling me. He pulled back, staying within arms’ reach, and shoved his hands into his pockets.
"What?" I asked.
"Just call her," he said.
"Why should I? You know what she’s been like since my father died—"
"I just don’t want you to regret it."
I narrowed my eyes. Yep. Definitely something he wasn’t telling. Because he didn’t want to? Or because he couldn’t?
I really wasn’t in the mood for an argument. "I’ll think about it," I conceded. "What’s the good news?"
"I have something for you."
"Are we celebrating again?" I asked.
"Maybe," he said. A playful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
I started to panic, thinking I must have forgotten an occasion. It wasn't either of our birthdays, nor the anniversary of our meeting or our first date. So what was this about? What was happening? I didn't have anything to give him in return... What was I going to do?
I stood there awkwardly with my coat in one hand and my keys in the other.
Luke noticed my panic-stricken expression. "I'm doing this all wrong," he said quickly. "You should come in first." His joy dropped as he walked backwards towards the kitchen. "Finish what you're doing there and come in. I'll get you a drink. A glass of wine?"
What was happening? "Uh—please," I answered. I shoved my coat into the closet, then put my jacket on a hanger and hung it up too before removing my boots and tossing them onto the rack. I dropped my keys into a basket on the small antique table and proceeded cautiously into the kitchen, anxious for what clues I might find.
I absently rotated the diamond ring around my finger. He'd already proposed, so it wasn't that. And yet, he'd taken time off work to run errands, including this whatever-it-is, and he seemed nervous, which meant...
I wasn't going to like this.
My nerves kicked into high gear while my mind raced to come up with possibilities.
Keeping a smile plastered to my face, I picked up my glass. The contents were pale and bubbly. I swirled the liquid, inhaling the bouquet. "Champagne again?" I asked, figuring I should start with some easy questions.
"Of course." He finished scooping the stew and passed me some in a handmade pottery bowl, part of a set we'd found last autumn when we went driving north of the city to see the changing trees. Cinnamon and spices rose up with the steam, and I recognized the Moroccan vegetable stew he liked to make, filled with healthy ingredients.
I put the bowl on the counter. "Honestly. What are we celebrating?"
He gave me a sheepish look as he stirred the pot of stew. "It's nothing, really."
It was clearly something.
Time to rip off the bandage.
I put down my glass and bowl, went over to the stove, and turned the burner off. I gently pried the wooden spoon from his hand and set it on the counter. I took him by the arms and turned him to face me.
"Please tell me what this is about," I pleaded. "You're scaring me. I don't know if I should be excited or worried."
He smiled. "You're right. I'm sorry. Let me explain. No—let me show you."
Finally.
He took my hand and lead me to the front door. "Maybe we should put something on our feet."
"Where are we going?" I noticed he put on slippers, so we couldn't be going too far. I yanked on my boots but didn't tie them up, stuffing the laces inside.
"It's a surprise," he said with a grin.
We went out to the elevator. He pressed the button for the first level of the parking garage, and as we descended, he began to explain.
"You know I don't want any of my parent's money, right?" he said. "If I accept their money, they take it as an invitation to tell me what to do and the next thing I know I'm required to attend charity balls and be paraded around as their pet. 'Oh, come meet our son, the doctor.' And then I'm expected to write cheques to their friends’ charities."
My mother had similar expectations for me once, so I understood. But where he could still have a civil dinner with his parents, my mother was another story.
"Right," I said. Five floors to go, four, three...
"Some investments matured, and I suddenly had more cash than was ever necessary—"
"So you donated it to charity, right?" I suddenly had a bad feeling.
"Of course," he said quickly. "But there was a little left over, and I had a thought..."
The elevator doors slid open and we stepped out to the parking garage with Luke leading the way. Then he suddenly stopped.
He took his hands out of his pockets and held up a key fob. He pressed a button and one of the cars started. He held out the fob to me.
My mouth fell open. "You bought me a car?"
Not just any car, but a Porsche 911.
"You need something reliable," he said quickly. "And this has all the safety features—side impact air bags, roll-over reinforcement, anti-lock braking system—"
"You bought me a car?"
I couldn't believe it. My stomach flip-flopped like a fish hauled out of water and wriggling on the line.
A black Porsche 911. Sleek and sexy. No doubt faster than hell. The perfect car for a secret agent.
How the hell was I going to tell him I couldn't accept it?
"Did—did I mention it has heated seats?" Luke's eyes pleaded with me. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets. "You need a car."
He thought he was doing something good for me. I was sure there were other people who would gladly accept such an extravagant gift; I just wasn't one of them.
"It's a luxury car," I said.
"You would have preferred something simpler? I can get you that—"
I shook my head. That wasn't the problem. How could I explain this without making him feel any worse than I'd already made him feel?
He reached up and scratched his head, his forehead creasing as he, too, struggled to find the right words. "I worry about you driving around in that thing, if you're going to make it home, or if it's going to leave you broken down on the highway—"
He saw a problem and was trying to fix it. That was how he worked. It was why he became a doctor. More often than not, he came home feeling like he'd failed his patients, carrying the weight of problems he couldn't solve. So when he saw a way to fix my car problem, he took it. He went a little overboard, but only because he was trying have fun with the situation. Like the toaster with programmable settings.
Maybe I was being too harsh. "Luke, I appreciate what you're trying to do here. I really do. Maybe we can talk about this later?"
He scratched absently at his chin, probably wondering where he went wrong. "You're right. I'm sorry. I should have discussed this with you first. I can take it back. I'll do that tomorrow."
I suddenly felt awful. He was right. I needed a reliable car. And I felt terrible that he worried about me. I tried to picture myself driving it—heated seats!—but it didn't fit right. I was Cinderella watching my pumpkin being turned into a carriage.
The last thing I wanted was for us to fight about this.
"Let me think about it?" I put my hand on his arm. "It is kind of cool."
A smile started to spread across my lips. I couldn't help it. I pictured arriving for work and pulling up next to Magnusson's car.
Luke nodded.
"I worry about you every day, you know," he said. "That tin can you drive is one pothole away from falling apart and leaving you stranded."
"You're absolutely right."
"Maybe we can go car shopping on Saturday," he suggested. "Make a day of it? Just you and me?"
"That sounds like a great idea."
&n
bsp; He drew in a breath, and as he exhaled he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head.
So much for a simple night in.
"How was your shower?" Luke had settled on the couch in front of the fire. With remote in hand, he stared up at the television mounted above the mantle, mindlessly flipping through the news channels.
After we returned to the apartment, I hit the shower, making an excuse about wanting to wash off the day's dirt, but I think we both knew I was looking for some space. I needed a moment to breathe, to process the enormity of his gift and why I couldn't accept it. I needed to figure out how I was going to explain it without hurting his feelings.
Luke never had to experience leaving home as the only means to holding onto one last shred of sanity. He never experienced having a mother who was cruel and antagonistic to him only to turn around and lie about it to his father. He never experienced having a father who struggled to determine who to believe, his wife or his adopted daughter. And Luke had never experienced the death of his father.
In a few short years, I’d lost everything: my home, my father. And I nearly lost my sanity.
I had nothing, and I'd worked hard to become the person I was today.
Luke's gift was...generous, extravagant. And while I could view the car as the reward for all my hard work, I guess when I came right down to it, I didn't feel worthy. And I didn't enjoy feeling like a charity.
As I stood for twenty minutes letting the hot water wash over me, I couldn't come up with anything that would make sense of all this to Luke.
Back in the den, I smiled. "Good. It was exactly what I needed," I said.
I'd slipped into a soft pair of jogging pants, a worn t-shirt, and thick, fuzzy socks. My hair hung loose and damp down my back. As I moved around to sit on the chesterfield, I glanced down at my phone. No results from Oshaun yet. And I hadn't heard from Magnusson about his meeting. I hastily typed a message to him.
"You're not expecting any insurance emergencies, are you?" he asked. There was a playful tone to his words, but it was undercut with a serious thread that sounded a lot like resentment.
I tucked my phone into the pocket of my jogging pants and slipped onto the couch, snuggling up beside him.
"Definitely not," I said. "And if one should come up, they can call someone else."
I hated this. Hated coming home and telling lies. But Luke couldn't know the truth. He couldn't find out faeries were real. Not that he would even believe me if I told him. Luke thought everything had a sensible answer. That he just had to find it. He had a enough of a hard time being an oncologist searching for a cure for cancer. He believed it existed.
"I'll get you some dinner."
"I'll get it," I said.
"No, no. Stay right there. I'll be right back for more snuggling. Don't move."
I grinned. "I'm not going anywhere."
In the kitchen behind me, Luke sang while he moved around, occasionally clanging pots and dishes.
Luke appeared, carrying two bowls. He set them down on the glass coffee table.
"You haven't eaten yet?" I asked, sitting upright.
"I waited for you," he said. He leaned down. His warm lips found mine and I leaned into him. "We're a team now."
I looked at him. He took my hands into his, his thumb moving over the engagement ring.
"That's what I want you to know with all your heart," he said. "That's what this gift is about. There's no more my money or your money, my bills or your bills, my worries or your worries. We're a team. We're in this together."
My body relaxed into the safety of Luke's embrace. He slipped an arm around me and deepened the kiss. We slid farther down on the couch. I wrapped my arms around him, melting into his heat, finding comfort in the reality of his solid muscles. I felt my own carefully constructed hard shell fall away with the shedding of each piece of my clothing.
It was simple, really. As soon as I wrapped up my current cases, I could quit and spend my life with Luke, having more moments like this. I wouldn't have to run after faeries anymore. I wouldn't be marked anymore.
I wouldn't have to lie to Luke anymore.
He wouldn't have to worry. We could both just be ourselves.
I had a new family, starting with Luke.
I wanted that more than anything else.
His mouth brushed against my ear. "I'll always wait for you."
Tomorrow I would start my two-fold exit strategy (arrest Flint and Hammond, then hand in my resignation letter), but for tonight, this man was all mine.
10
The next morning as I sat at my desk, sipping my coffee, the door opened and Magnusson came in with a cold gust of air. A skinny young man hurried behind him like a small puppy trying to keep up.
"Hi," I said brightly to them both. I had no idea what was going on. The public did not, under any circumstances, come into our office.
Magnusson held up an index finger either indicating he would be back in one minute or I should be quiet or both. He and the civilian disappeared into the medical exam room adjoining Oshaun's lab.
I frowned, tapping my fingers on the desk. If we needed to meet with civilians, we did it off the premises. If we needed a body identified, we did it at the coroner's office. Not here. Never here. We had secrets to protect. Civilians couldn't be trusted with our secrets.
And I'd already told him I didn't want a partner.
Never again.
I went to see what was going on.
Three burned bodies were lined up on the steel gurneys. The first three victims of the fire bug.
The civilian frowned at the charred, misshapen bodies; his face seemed paler than when he'd trekked in here, making him appear younger and more vulnerable despite his serious expression. The boss frowned while carefully eyeing the civilian.
There was something boyish and innocent about this guy with his blond bangs falling over his glasses. Now that innocence seemed swept away. He seemed more like a child finding out the Easter bunny isn't real and the recession means no candy this year. His Adam's apple bobbed when he looked up at the boss and tried to swallow down reality while putting on a professional face.
"You still think you can handle this job?" the boss asked.
"Yeah," he said gruffly. He cleared his throat. "I can do it."
Magnusson held his gaze for several heartbeats. I gaped, mouth open. He couldn't mean to be bringing in this kid to work with us?
"Good," the boss said. "You're hired. You'll find everything you need in this room." And then he turned on his heel and marched out.
Hot on his heels, I hurried down the hall after him, not believing my ears. "You just hired that kid? For what? Has he been cleared for security? Has he even finished high school??"
Magnusson stopped abruptly just outside his office, which meant we were in full view of Oshaun—safely seated behind the glass walls of her lab—and turned on me.
"You got something to say about this?" His volume was low, his tone restrained. Someone was having a bad day. It was stupid of me to question his decisions in the first place, but to do so when he was having a bad day? Suicide.
"Actually, yes." Hey, if we were all nice and compliant all the time, life would be boring, wouldn't it?
He blew out a noise of frustration, sounding like an angry dog with bagpipes stuck in its throat, and then stormed into his office. I didn't even know he could make that noise.
He slammed the door behind him, but I took that as my invitation to follow.
"Sit," he said. So of course I stood with my arms crossed.
Magnusson continued, "Oshaun is analyzing the fire damage. Charlie will be performing the autopsies."
Anger unwound from my arms and I slumped into a chair.
"Charlie. You mean the kid? He's what? Twelve?"
Magnusson set his jaw. "Nineteen."
My mouth dropped open. This was cruel even by Magnusson's standards.
His eyes went steel cold. "Were you much older whe
n you started here?"
"I was twenty-one, in fact, finished high school and attending university. And I started in the insurance business upstairs."
I'd spent six months filing reports and running errands before I was selected for field operations and told the truth about this job.
"Not that I need to explain any of my decisions to you, but he's in his last year of medical school. He's some kind of prodigy."
Prodigy or not, he was still a kid. My heart began to pound at the very thought of Charlie tagging along on some of the more dangerous cases I'd faced. I wanted to scream at Magnusson for this.
On the other hand, I also needed to keep my job—at least until I wrapped up my cases.
And bought a new car.
"And that accent?" I asked.
"Australian."
The kid was far from home. My heart went out to him. He had no idea what he was getting into, and no support system in place when he went home from this job every day.
I drew in a breath, finally getting around to asking what I really wanted to know. "Does he know what he's up against?"
Magnusson leaned back in his chair. Judging by the bags under his eyes, it looked like he hadn't slept in days. His voice softened, but a hard edge remained. "He wants to work in the coroner’s office. It's his career goal. We need evidence. Tissue. Pieces of fabric—whatever he can find that will lead us to the fire bug."
I blew out a breath of frustration. "But does he know what we do?"
I watched Magnusson squirm. I didn't think I'd ever seen him squirm before. I couldn't quite believe it. He'd brought in a nineteen-year-old to perform autopsies, but not told him about the monsters he was now exposing himself to. Charlie would need to know about faeries because you could bet they'd soon find out about him.
"He's been briefed," Magnusson said. "He won't see field work."
"You will tell him, right?" I asked.
He arched an eyebrow at me, giving me the facial expression equivalent of "Duh!"
It seemed like Magnusson had done his research, even put some thought into hiring this kid. I could continue to doubt his judgement, or I could trust him.
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