He wasn’t what she’d expected. Even beyond what she’d seen and what she’d read.
She knew he’d been badly hurt in early spring but had healed well and quickly, as Sentinels did. She knew he’d had several skirmishes with the Core before that. She knew, most of all, that the Sentinels counted on him to solve the mystery of the silent amulets, and the Core therefore needed to find out everything they could about his progress—here, away from protected Southwest Brevis headquarters.
That was her job. To plant the spy amulet—to connect with him and absorb what she could of him in person.
“You’re staring,” he said, keeping his voice low—although Fernie had left to clatter around in the dining room, laying out silverware and dishes. He held her arm as he dipped into the herbal unguent and spread it lightly over her skin.
She shivered at the touch, bemused at her own sensitivity—at her sudden extreme awareness of his fingers against her skin. “I was thinking,” she said—but stopped, caught by his eyes—the contrast of those pale irises with the dark rims, the dark lashes and glinting silver hair, mussed with the casual authority of a bad boy model even though she doubted he paid much attention to it at all. “Your eyes—”
His brows shot up; she looked away, profoundly embarrassed. She wasn’t cut out for deception. The Core should have known better.
She’d never understood why they’d chosen her for this—she knew only that she was desperate for acceptance and that this had seemed like her chance. She decided on the truth, after all. For the moment. “They’re striking,” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Or me. Maybe I hit that wall harder than I thought.”
“Maybe,” he said, applying a transparent film bandage of a size that few households would carry as a matter of course. “Or maybe it would just be nice to see this city with a companion.” He smoothed the bandage into place, stroking her arm with a confident touch.
Maybe I should run.
She was in so far over her head.
She should plant the amulet under the counter edge, make her excuses and run. She should tell Lerche that Ian was so much more than she’d expected—much more than she could handle, a Sentinel force of nature. They expected her to fail; they’d always expected her to fail. It would come as no surprise to them if she did. She’d simply be sent back to the personal assistant work she found so very stifling.
But she hesitated there at the breakfast bar with his hand still closed over her arm, full of warmth and a very personal touch—and she noticed, to her surprise, that he stood perfectly still. He didn’t vibrate; he didn’t shift his weight or bump his knuckles against the granite counter.
He only watched her.
And she didn’t want to run from that.
He grinned, an unrepentant expression on an irrepressible face. “Georgia O’Keeffe. Tomorrow, if you’d like. Now. How about we go figure out where you’re staying?”
Ana smiled back at him. And when he turned away to toss the bandage wrappings and rinse the washcloth, she pressed the tiny silent spy amulet into place, activated it with the faintest twist of will, and told herself she was only doing what she had to do.
* * *
Ian paced the yard perimeter, rubbing a restless thumb across the sample amulet in his hand—a simple thing of rough making, and a thing with which he was already deeply familiar, even if he hadn’t cracked the secrets of its silence.
That breakthrough wasn’t likely to happen now, with his thoughts so scattered. Ana might have left the retreat the day before, but she’d definitely lingered in his thoughts.
Soft skin beneath his fingers, the gleam of honey beneath the brown of her eyes when she’d been caught staring, the faintest of blushes over cheek and neck when she’d realized it. The way she’d owned up to it, seeming surprised at herself while she was at it.
There was something about her matter-of-fact acceptance of her injuries that bothered him; he hadn’t quite put his finger on it. They weren’t serious, but they must have stung like the dickens. A little ow! wouldn’t have been out of place.
Ian glanced down the road and decided he wasn’t quite as bad as a kid with a schoolyard crush, no matter what Fernie had said. He’d dressed in the best of the casual clothes he’d brought, been glad for the lightweight hiking boots, and wandered out to the yard thirty minutes early for his meeting with Ana.
He’d figured it would take that long to settle his mind over the working he thought he’d detected that morning. Now he knew himself to have been optimistic, and he paced the yard perimeter with impatience.
Just as well that he wasn’t one of those Sentinels who could reach out to mind-tap Annorah, their brevis-wide communication hub. Or to anyone, for that matter, though he could hear well enough if someone else initiated a tap on his shoulder. No doubt he’d be driving her just as crazy as he was driving himself, checking in to see how things were going with his AmTech assistants—if they had what they needed, if they’d stumbled over any faint clue he might build on...
No doubt she’d be ignoring him by now.
The working on this crude amulet was innocuous enough—easily identified as such by the lanyard. Simple identifying knots, rough leather...nothing worth the silence that had been stamped on it. But this particular amulet had been recovered at Fabron Gausto’s evil little hideout in Tucson, where Nick Carter had almost died in the attempt to stop Core D’oíche.
The thing’s value lay not in its function but in its silent nature. Only the rare Sentinel tracker had any chance of perceiving this one.
Ian couldn’t. In spite of his expertise, his ability to find and identify amulets at a distance, it was nothing but a disk of crudely inscribed bronze. No matter how tightly he focused his attention, nor how finely he sliced the bands of his perception.
He prowled back over into the shade. This morning in the house he’d thought he’d felt something from this amulet, but he wasn’t the only one in occupancy, and that meant interruptions and noise. He shared the retreat and its half-dozen cozy little rooms with a light-blood couple from Kachina Valley, Arizona, a strong-blood courier from Senoita who quite obviously took the cheetah, a tech of some sort from Tucson Brevis and a mid-teen youth who couldn’t more obviously be in retreat from the mundane world while he grew accustomed to his burgeoning Sentinel gifts.
The accumulated effect left him far, far from the buffered and isolated conditions of his lab. Trying to pin down the subtleties of what he’d felt had only served to trigger a headache, driving him outside to wait while he ignored Fernie’s reminder that the whole point of his presence here was to take a break from such things.
The faintest sound of a footfall on sandy grit lifted his head from those inner thoughts. When Ana appeared over the wall some moments later, he was waiting, his mood lifted by an anticipation he hadn’t expected. She caught sight of him and turned to rest her elbows on the wall. “Surely I’m not that late?”
“Not late at all,” he told her, resolutely stuffing the amulet away. “But I’m not much good at sitting still.”
“I got that impression.” Her smile softened those dry words, lighting features that had seemed just a little too somber before she’d seen him. A delicately angular jaw, a sweet curve of a mouth, dark eyes that dominated her face...they lent her an air of mystery, the impression of strength and vulnerability that wasn’t the least offset by the way the breeze teased her hair—short enough to reveal the peek of earlobe and the graceful sweep of her neck, long enough to tousle and beguile.
But he’d looked too long, for the smile faltered. Not so much uncertain as just a little too serious. “You know, I never asked. I thought at first this place was your home, and Fernie your housekeeper. But as I was leaving yesterday—”
“Jack came out.” Lured by Fernie’s muffins, no doubt, given how much the kid could eat.
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“And I heard laughter from the lower level, so I gather you’re not alone. Family?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Ian told her the truth easily enough, if not the entirety of it. “This place is a retreat. Sometimes it’s a think tank, and sometimes it’s just a place our people come when they want the same thing you’re here for—a quiet vacation.”
She looked at the house a moment longer, a faint furrow between her brows. “Your people?”
“The group I work for.” It was close enough. He laced his fingers between hers over the top of the wall and his thoughts stumbled, his equilibrium lost. For an instant he knew the stunning peace of having one focus and one focus only. Ana.
“Are you all right?” She let him keep her hand, but not without concern. “You look...distracted. Something’s wrong?”
“The opposite,” he told her, and captured that hand, too—did it without second thought, as though he had every right. Even the headache had lifted. “You ready to take in some Georgia O’Keeffe? It’s a twenty-minute walk from here.”
She didn’t hide her bemusement. “Something tells me you’ll enjoy that twenty minutes of motion more than the museum itself.”
“I’ll enjoy the company,” he said, surprising himself by just how much he meant it. And she surprised him back, squeezing his hands in an unspoken response.
She might just have surprised herself, to judge by the look on her face—a little bit uncertain, a little bit amused. She glanced down the greenway path. “Would you like to just...walk?”
“I’ve got a better idea.” He looked east toward the mountains—not thinking of the trail where he’d encountered the mountain lion, but a little south of it, where the scenic byway wound upward to Vista Grande through splashes of aspen gold. “If you don’t mind a motorcycle, that is.”
Her eyes widened faintly, pleasure behind them. Ian grinned at her, for the moment, not thinking of the silent amulets at all.
“I’ve never been on one,” she warned him.
“It’s a touring bike,” he assured her, and then laughed when she only looked blankly in response. “It’s comfortable. You’ll feel secure. Though the retreat has a car—we can take that, if you’d prefer.”
She lifted a brow. “What kind of car?”
He nodded at the side of the house, where the bright blue Smart car just barely peeked out. She eyed it and then leaned over the wall to also ostentatiously eye the length of his leg. “Maybe not.”
Ian laughed. “Maybe not,” he agreed. “Come on around. We’ve got a jacket you can use. It’ll be cool up on the mountain.”
The retreat had plenty of such little extras, and if the leather jacket was a little big on her, the sleeves shoved back well enough—and the biking gloves fit perfectly. He showed her how to secure the motorcycle helmet, threading the double-D rings and snapping the trailing strap, then stowed her purse in the saddlebags. A quick primer on mounting, the foot pegs, the muffler placement and how to be a neutral passenger, and they were ready to go.
By then Fernie had emerged from the kitchen, an unusual flush to her features and her smile looking a bit determined. She proffered a packed lunch, and while Ian tucked it away and grabbed his own jacket, all black leather and zippers and snaps, Fernie leaned close to Ana as if Ian didn’t have the ears of a Sentinel to hear every word. “You hang on tight, now.”
Ana laughed—a faint uncertainty to it, but a low musical note, too, and one that tickled his ears.
Only once, after he’d mounted the bike and held it steady for her to settle in behind him, did she hesitate—and then, only just for a moment. Long enough to touch the pocket of her dark slacks, and he guessed she had her phone there—although reception on the mountain road would be touch and go at best. Then she climbed on, placing herself precisely on the seat and her feet on the passenger pegs, her legs barely brushing the outside of his hips and her hands resting loosely just above them.
“The trick is not to think too hard about it,” he told her, briefly resting a hand on the side of her lower leg. “And just nudge my shoulder if you need anything. I’ll pull over.”
“What are you waiting for?” she demanded.
He laughed and started the bike—and if she clutched tightly at him on the first turn and made him fight to keep the bike on line at the second turn, by the time they eased out of town and through the expensive foothills real estate, she’d started to relax. By the time they’d climbed through the piñon-juniper to the ponderosa, swooping gently through the curves and ever climbing upward, her hands rested around his waist as though they’d always been there, her knees snug at his hips without tension.
She shifted only slightly, never interfering with their balance, as he pointed out the things he spotted along the ride—the ferruginous hawk perched off the side of the road, the amazing tower of an ancient pine. He slowed down for the scatter of elk in the trees, giving her a good look and grinning when her hands tightened in the thrill of spotting them.
And along the way, he found himself just as relaxed as she was—just as willing to go along with the moment, without the constant nag of activity in his mind.
Huh.
Sixteen miles later he pulled over at the Vista Grande overlook, bracing the bike while she dismounted, her hands suddenly self-conscious as she steadied herself on his shoulder. He felt the distance like a cold chill, the descent of cares and the weighty awareness of...
Everything.
She fumbled at the helmet strap but managed it, pulling the helmet off to fluff up her hair. Then she got a good look at the view and faltered, her eyes widening.
“The Jemez Mountains,” he said, hooking his helmet over a handlebar as he dismounted and moving up behind her to point out the distant range, his arm over her shoulder where it felt like it belonged. “The Rio Grande Valley. Albuquerque, if you squint.” Not to mention the swatches of golden aspen against the dark green of the predominant ponderosa pines, Sangre de Cristo fall drama in all its glory.
She leaned back into him; maybe she didn’t even realize it.
Ian realized it. Boy, did he realize it. He cleared his throat. “There are a handful of trails leading out from this overlook—including one that goes into the Pecos wilderness.” He nodded eastward, and her hair tickled his chin. “If you’d like—if you have some hiking shoes—we can come again, and hike out into the aspens.”
A car drove past, slowing for the overlook...not stopping. When the sound of its motor no longer hummed among the trees, Ana pulled away from him—turning to face him, her hand touching her pocket as if it steadied her...her expression a little wary.
“Why?” she said.
He grew still inside, understanding the danger of taking this question lightly. “Because it’s beautiful, and I’d like to share it with you.”
She turned away, looking out over the sprawling vista of forest and valley and distant ranges rising anew.
Ian tapped a pattern against his thigh. “Hey,” he said, resisting the impulse to close the space between them. “If I misread the situation, no worries. We drive back down the mountain, you head off to the rest of your vacation, and we still had a good ride together in amazing country.”
He could hardly believe himself. Not when he wanted to—
Except it didn’t matter what he wanted, if she didn’t. And it wasn’t as if he didn’t have work to do, no matter his orders and Fernie looking over his shoulder. Until he cracked the secret of the silents, they were all at risk. High risk.
He hadn’t come near to convincing himself when she said it again. “Why?”
This time, he realized what she was asking—but not before she turned to look at him, searching his expression as she added, “You don’t even know me.”
He suddenly felt off balance. “That’s how it usually starts,” he said. “
By meeting. And liking. And wanting more.” Who could not? And not just because of her delicate beauty, or the natural color of her lips against the glow of her complexion, or the way she wore that ill-fitting jacket that made it perfectly clear what curves lurked beneath—although his body responded to those things readily enough.
No, it was more about the complexity waiting behind her eyes, calling out the puzzle lover in Ian. One moment laughing, the next turned inward, and always—always—a shine of vulnerability. As if she simply waited for someone who could figure her out.
It was the way she made him feel. Moments of peace and inner quiet.
She must have seen something on his face. Her expression turned suddenly fierce. “I don’t need saving from being alone, if that’s what you think.”
Ian made an impatient sound. “That’s not what this is about.” He closed the distance between them then, reaching out to cradle her head and thread his fingers through her hair—holding but not constraining, and watching her eyes go wide while her body stiffened inside the ridiculously large jacket.
But then she relaxed, those eyes still huge and not so much wary as uncertain—waiting. Learning, he would have said, as he leaned down to her. Her hands rose to brush against his forearms as if they didn’t know what else to do, but her mouth...it rose to meet his. And when he kissed her, she kissed him back—a gentle thing, as uncertain as the rest of her could be.
He wooed her with that kiss, making it light and teasing, just a touch of tongue along her lips and a touch of nibbling tooth. Keeping it light in spite of the instant fire licking along his skin and settling heavily in his groin.
Maybe he trembled faintly—maybe it was just the breeze stirring her hair. Either way, Ian knew his limits, no matter how it surprised him to hit them so soon. He stroked the fine line of her cheekbones with his thumbs and lifted his mouth from hers, unbending himself into his full height.
Sentinels: Leopard Enchanted Page 3
