Renegade

by Nancy Northcott

  “Both, thanks. My mom loved to cook. So did my dad. Zara and Gene, not so much.” Thinking of her guardians, remembering Gene’s disapproval, made her throat tighten. Maybe he would relent if she could show the ambush wasn’t her fault. “So I cooked a lot. It made me feel closer to my folks.”

  “It paid off for you.”

  Smiling her thanks, she accepted a wet plate from him and rubbed a dish towel over it. Gran had installed a dishwasher, but using it for such a small load seemed like a waste.

  The economy of movement in Dare’s fighting style translated to this task, too. His large, tanned hands scrubbed a pot and ran water over it as efficiently as his hold on his quarterstaff had shifted during the battle. As smoothly as his touch had glided over her body a little while ago.

  She yanked her gaze back to the now dry plate in her hand. Putting it in the cabinet, she felt his gaze on her. She cut her eyes at him in time to see one corner of his mouth crook upward.

  “What?” she asked. Maybe he wouldn’t notice, in the fading light from the kitchen window, the color rising in her face.

  “Nothing.” He shook water off the pot in his hand and reached for the towel she’d set aside. “I like looking at you. Working with you.”

  “We work well together.” No way he could miss her blush now, not when her cheeks felt so warm. She held out her hand. “I’ll do that. I’m drying.”

  “It’s the last.” He gave the pot a final wipe and passed it over.

  Their fingers brushed on the handle. Desire sparked in his eyes, turning them a rich azure, and her breathing stopped.

  Griffin abruptly turned away from her. “Let’s work with your whiteboard. Map things out.”

  “All right.” She stooped to put away the pot. He was respecting her boundaries. She should appreciate that, not wish he wouldn’t. Not think of dropping them herself.

  Yes, he attracted her, as he would any breathing woman. But baggage didn’t begin to describe what he came with, and getting involved with him would destroy her last shreds of credibility with the Council.

  Wineglass in hand, he studied the whiteboard on its easel by the bookcase. His position gave her an excellent view of the chambray draping his broad shoulders and the denim hugging his taut, lean butt.

  Geez, Val. Grow the hell up. She grabbed her own glass of sauvignon blanc and joined him. “See anything?”

  “Nothing new.” He rubbed his free hand over his chin. “Any chance there’ll be a follow-up strike?”

  As he always had required. “I didn’t order one, though I don’t know what my replacement will do. To be honest, we don’t have the trained manpower for that.” Again, guilt stabbed into her heart.

  “We lost the people I’d have chosen—the best—” Their faces flashed across her mind’s eye. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t finish.

  “Sometimes,” he said quietly, “being in charge sucks.”

  “Yeah.” No one had ever shared that particular pain of loss with her, but he had losses of his own. His matter-of-fact sympathy eased the jagged edges in her soul.

  Gene had claimed to care but hadn’t offered comfort, yet this renegade’s mere presence bolstered her.

  “We’ll solve this. I swear we will.” Griffin gave Val’s shoulder a quick squeeze.

  Desire ignited in her core, but Val only nodded. She had to think, not dissolve into hormonal goo, so she kept her eyes on the board. “We have to figure this out. I owe my fallen comrades that.”

  Yet he’d been working alone for six years without ending the problem. Could the two of them succeed where he’d failed?

  “Griffin, did you ever think that maybe working in the system would’ve been a better choice?”

  His body tensed. “Not if I wanted Alden to pay for what he’d done.” He glanced down at her with hard eyes. “Do I regret the mages who died? Damned straight. But I can’t change what happened.”

  Whoa. Big NO TRESPASSING sign there. Maybe that was best since, as he said, he couldn’t undo anything. Still, working within the system might ultimately be his best hope of vindication. She would have to raise that carefully.

  “Okay.” She shrugged. “Just asking.”

  The tension in his body eased. He glanced at the diagram of the attack and then at her. “Was there something special about this nest, a reason you didn’t take it out two years ago?”

  “I didn’t know about it.” She frowned at the board.

  “I leaked you that information,” he said, the words crisp with impatience, “via Tina Wallace.”

  Stunned, she stared at him. “The pot dealer near Scottsboro?” Just a couple of miles from Milledgeville and the nest. “Tina’s a reliable snitch. Or was.” Until she disappeared. “She…Griffin, are you sure?”

  He raised an eyebrow. Of course he was sure.

  “When did you send the tip?” she asked. Dread of his answer twisted in her heart.

  “Mid-April, year before last.” His eyes narrowed, concerned. “Valeria, what is it?”

  She took a shaky breath. “Tina disappeared about that time. I figured she just moved on, maybe because the Mundane sheriff was getting suspicious.”

  “But maybe not,” he said softly. “You think not.”

  “If she’d come in with a tip like that, and someone didn’t want me to know…”

  “Too much of a coincidence,” he said.

  “Yes. I didn’t look for her. God, I wish I had. You had several nests listed that were new to me, and now you tell me this. Another witness recently disappeared. Seems there’re even bigger problems in intel and recon than I suspected.”

  Fighting for control, she turned away from him. A kick in the face would’ve shocked her less than this kind of betrayal. Her chest felt tight, and her stomach roiled.

  He stepped closer to grip her shoulder, but he didn’t use magic, only warm, solid, steadying contact. She covered his hand with hers. For just a moment, she let herself lean against him.

  “Treachery is never easy to believe,” he said. “Or to understand.” He drew her close with an arm around her waist and rested his cheek against her hair. “Take a minute.”

  There spoke the voice of experience. He’d lived with treachery for years now, had lost those he cared for to it. Maybe her stomach would settle if she didn’t think. Relaxing against him, she closed her eyes and took deep, slow breaths. In, out. In, out. No thinking.

  The churning in her stomach lessened, and her breathing steadied. Now she noticed the warmth of his muscular frame, remembered the feel of it under her hands, the feel of his hands on her.

  She also sensed the desire he held in check. Heat sparked low in her belly. Letting him hold her felt so good.

  As though he caught her reaction in the magic, and he likely did, his fingers caressed her waist. He rubbed his face lightly against her hair.

  If she kissed him now, when she was hurting so much, she probably wouldn’t be able to stop. And that would be a mistake.

  She jerked away from him. “I need water.” The words emerged low and smoky. She didn’t dare look at him. Instead, she stalked into the kitchen.

  He didn’t follow. In the corner of her eye, she saw a muscle work in his tight jaw. He took a big gulp of wine. She turned her back and headed for the fridge. Putting ice in a glass, running the water, taking a swallow steadied her.

  When she returned to the living room, he gestured at the board with his wineglass. “Why are mages protecting ghoul nests? And why would the ghouls suddenly think to plant mines on their perimeter?”

  “I’d love to know. Of course, they could’ve gotten the idea from any number of movies and TV shows.”

  “Those kinds of shows have been around for years. So, again, why now?”

  “Could there be something special about that nest? Something they don’t want anyone to find?” She rubbed a finger along the cool rim of her glass. “The ghouls who captured me had an amulet that blocked my power. If I hadn’t gotten it off before the car stopped,
I wouldn’t have lived to call for help.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “How did you remove it if you were bound?”

  Val grimaced, pushing away the shadow of remembered fear. “Rolled to my knees, bent over, and let gravity do its work.”

  He captured her arm, ran his hand lightly down it, just for a moment, and her blood seemed to sizzle. Thank God, he’d looked back at the diagram.

  She ached to touch him, to draw his strong body close again, but how pointless was that? Most likely, common troubles and isolation drew them together, a bond that wouldn’t last.

  But the comfort of having someone believe her, believe in her, could seduce her so easily. Was it the same for him?

  “And where,” he muttered softly, “did they come up with such an amulet?” His brows knitted together. “I’ve suspected they’ve been working up to something big for quite a while. Something involving dark magic.”

  “Well, that’s never good.”

  They stared at the board in brooding silence.

  “Anything special about that kid,” he asked slowly, “the one you went to rescue? Besides his grand poobah mom?”

  “Not so far as I know. Why?”

  He frowned. “Have you ever felt a tingle like that before?”

  The look on his face as he set his glass on the bookcase made her want to run. Instead, she clenched her fingers on the stem of her goblet. “No, I haven’t. Have you?”

  “Yes, when I led my team into a trap.” He gripped Val’s shoulders, as though to brace her, and the hardening of his face sent dread rippling through her. “What you felt,” he said, “that tingle, came from the mixing of mage magic with ghoul.”

  “Well, of course.” Val frowned. “Ours and theirs hit—”

  “No, honey.” Regret darkened his eyes, but his expression was grim. “I mean mage magic joined with ghoul against you.”

  She stared up at him. He couldn’t have said what she thought he had.

  “I had the figures on that nest right,” he continued, his eyes level on hers. “The number might’ve fluctuated a little, but not that much. Mages and ghouls reinforced it. Together they trumped your team’s power, pierced your screen, and hid the ghoul defenses. No matter how little you want to believe it, mages helped the ghouls kill your team.”

  Chapter 9

  The only good thing about emergency surgery was that it kept a man’s mind off idiocy like politics. This afternoon’s Council meeting had been one prolonged irritant, like a boil on the butt.

  Scowling, Stefan flopped onto the couch and pulled out his recorder to dictate the surgical notes. At least he wasn’t writing another death certificate. Deputy Reeve Selena Vale had suffered multiple gunshot wounds at Milledgeville but had responded to on-scene treatment. She’d been stable until the sudden drop in blood pressure today.

  That bleeding artery was fixed for good this time, but he felt tired down to his bones, ready to turn in even if it was only ten fifty. But surgery always left him too wired to sleep. At least living at the Collegium meant he didn’t have to get in a car and drive after a long procedure.

  He clicked the recorder off and stared at the blinking message light on his desk phone across the room. Whatever it signaled could wait. Anything urgent would’ve come over his pager. Or been relayed to him after surgery.

  Email could wait, too. He’d far rather look at the screen saver slide show of his sister, Annie, and her husband and kids than read a bunch of carping about the Council choosing Joe Healey as acting shire reeve, or whatever else lurked in his inbox.

  Someone knocked at the door. This late, it could only be a friend or, God forbid, a councilor. Pulling himself off the couch, he extended his magical senses and recognized Will.

  When Stefan opened the door, Will stood in the hall with a folder in one hand.

  “Dr. Harper, I know it’s late, but I thought you’d want the preliminary research on the use of ancient herbal magic for internal injuries right away.”

  “Yes, come in. Thanks.”

  With cover for their meeting thus established, Stefan locked the door behind Will. No one in Griff’s circle socialized without a business excuse, especially since they both had links to Griff. Stefan had worked with him when he was reeve, and Will had stayed with the Dare family as a kid when his parents were on archaeological digs.

  “Have a seat,” Stefan said. “Beer? Or something else?”

  “Anything but coffee, thanks. I’ve had enough of that for one day.” Will handed over the folder.

  Stefan tossed it on the coffee table en route to the fridge. He grabbed a beer for Will and one for himself.

  After passing Will his bottle, Stefan spread the papers from the folder on the coffee table. Handling them while he and Will talked would give the appearance the conversation was about the papers. Since scrying didn’t carry audio, no one would know what he and Will really discussed.

  “So,” Will said, “Joe Healey? I couldn’t believe the Council chose him as acting reeve at the meeting this afternoon. He doesn’t have Banning’s ability to think creatively. Or anything near her drive. Never distinguished himself in any way.”

  “Except his knack for kissing the right political asses.” Stefan dropped into the easy chair at a right angle to the sofa.

  Will took a long pull on his beer. “Yeah. Gerry’s pissed. He wanted Sybil Harrison or, if she’s considered too close to Banning, Deke Jones.”

  “So did I.” Stefan and Gerry Armitage, Will’s boss, often saw eye to eye. “But Otto Larkin pushed hard for Healey.” Stefan pulled papers out of the folder and leafed through them as though reading. “I thought Teresa would come across the table at him for a minute, there.”

  “I would’ve liked to see that.” Will grinned. Teresa DiMaggio, the stocky, middle-aged weaponsmistress, had definite opinions and little patience for bullshit.

  “I was hoping.” The print on the pages blurred. Stefan rubbed his weary eyes. “Anything on that stuff Griff sent you?”

  “Not much. I got a line on a guy in Finland who may be able to help. He owns a lot of old books, he says. Even some papyrus scrolls.” Will sighed. “Ever think about where we’d be if the ancient library at Alexandria hadn’t burned?”

  “No. I’m not a geek.” Stefan grinned over his beer. “Knock yourself out, though.”

  Will not only loved mage lore but could name every development in the history of Superman since Action Comics No. 1 in 1930-whatever. He could also rattle off a list of which Jedi carried which color lightsabers in the Star Wars movies.

  Will smirked at him. “Want to hit the gym, see how it feels when a geek kicks your ass into next week?”

  “Nah. Can’t stand to hear you scream like a little girl.” If only. Stefan could hold his own in magical combat, but Will was better. And had a second-degree black belt in jeet kune do.

  “Dream on, Doc.”

  Before Stefan could respond, someone knocked at the door. Stefan glanced at Will in shared concern and went to answer the knock.

  Gerry Armitage stood in the hallway. Judging by the grim look on his face, the news wasn’t good.

  “We could’ve used your level head in Council just now,” Gerry said. “You won’t believe the crap that’s coming down.”

  Hell. Now what? “Come in, Gerry. Have a seat. What Council meeting?”

  “It was called suddenly.” Settling on the couch, Gerry glanced at the blinking message light on the phone. “Guess you didn’t hear about it.”

  “I was in surgery.” Foreboding gnawed at Stefan’s throat.

  “I would’ve gone with you, Gerry,” Will said.

  Gerry shrugged. “You were deep in medical research. That’s more important. Besides, you don’t have a vote.”

  “What happened?” Stefan demanded.

  Gerry blew out a hard breath. “I could use a beer if you can spare it.”

  “Sure. Will, do you mind?”

  “In Blake’s defense,” Gerry said as Will headed for th
e kitchen, “he’s very worried about our former shire reeve, about her evasiveness.”

  “We all are.”

  With a nod of thanks, Gerry accepted his beer from Will, who sat beside him. “The long and short of it is, Blake authorized Healey to spy on Banning. Gave her some sort of necklace that penetrates shielding, lets them scry.”

  “That’s outrageous,” Will said as Stefan snapped, “What?”

  “Several of us objected, but they did the scrying again so we could all see. Damn it, I thought Banning had a brain between her ears.” Gerry took a long, slow drink.

  “What has she done?” Stefan managed not to look at Will. He couldn’t give the game away. Had she given Griff up? Set the Council on Marc and the shelter?

  “She was with some guy. Tall, dark haired,” Gerry said as Stefan’s blood chilled. “His face was blurred, but for just a second—while they were, ah, heavily engaged—it blinked clear. I’d swear the son of a bitch looked just like Griffin Dare.”

  “That’s not much to go on,” Will said.

  “It was enough for Blake and Healey. They’ve sent two squads to her place at the lake to arrest them both.”

  Oh, fuck us all sideways. Stefan couldn’t help looking at Will. They had to get Gerry out of there so they could warn Griff before it was too late.

  “This is like something out of a nightmare.” Val stared at the councilors’ names and the list of ghoul nests Griffin had written on the whiteboard. They’d been talking about this for over an hour, and it still didn’t seem any more real to her. “Mages working against their own kind to help ghouls!”

  “I know how you feel.” Staring out the window, he shook his head. “Just as you know we can’t duck this. We have to stop it. What you said about disappearing witnesses means the corruption spreads farther than we knew.”

  He turned, anger evident in the taut lines of his body. “One of our kind has sent our people to their deaths, not once but several times. And almost killed you. I want the bastard.”

  He tipped up her chin, and the gentleness of his touch contrasted with the steely resolve in his eyes. His fury for Val warmed her, made her pulse quicken. Awareness of his touch rippled through her body. So tempting.