The whole time he’d been in the reception room, Faran had felt his strength fading, his vision going dark. He’d been bleeding out, but every instinct had refused to let him show weakness. Not in front of the enemy.
Not in front of Lexie.
“You drove like that?” Sam asked, changing the subject abruptly.
“I turned human first. Easier to reach the gas pedal.”
The vampire gave him a look. “I’m surprised you managed without passing out.”
Faran grunted. “Not a big deal.”
“Right. You could have asked for help.”
“Whatever.” Being the token werewolf in the group wasn’t easy. As tough as he was, keeping up with vampires demanded his best game. There’d been a few bad moments in the locker room when he’d struggled into his shirt. There were so many tiny movements that went unnoticed until a person had a hole ripped through his gut. And the walk to the parking garage a few streets away from the palace had been no treat, either. But he’d rather shave off his fur than admit it.
“Did anyone see you?”
“Chloe,” he answered automatically, but then he hesitated. “She was with Lexie.”
Sam cocked an eyebrow. “Any problems there?”
“No.” Not in the way Sam meant. Lexie would never betray the fact that he was a werewolf. She’d been true to her word about keeping his nature and the Company a secret. By Company law, she should have had her memories wiped, but he hadn’t been able to ask that of her. Lexie clung fiercely to her independence, and obviously that included control over her memory. That bargain—her silence for his trust—was the one unbroken promise between them.
Faran leaned his head against the chair back, closing his eyes. “Lexie and I talked for a few minutes and then I left.”
Her voice—always low, always a little throaty—had resonated through him, stirring up the memory of so many midnight conversations. A hopeless, empty feeling yawned inside him, reminding him that she’d recoiled from the very core of what he was. Faran pressed his hand against the wound in his side, as if that would keep his soul, as well as blood, from leaking away.
He opened his eyes. Sam was watching him. Faran was used to the undead, but there was something about that motionless, storm-gray gaze that put him on the alert, predator to predator. “You’re giving me the vampire stink-eye.”
“I remember the mess you were in when you two broke it off before. Right now, we need your head in the game.”
Faran didn’t argue. “Not an issue. We’re barely on speaking terms.”
“She faced down men with guns for you. That took a lot of courage.”
“She didn’t mean anything by it.” He’d learned his lesson the first time. “Our love life was filled with sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
Sam didn’t look convinced, but he let it drop. “Shall we move on to the hounds and bullets part of the entertainment?”
“Why not?”
“We need to talk about what happened tonight.”
“I’ve heard that one before, but the girl was half-naked and holding a bottle of Veuve Clicquot.”
“Don’t joke. Not now.” Sam’s worried expression sobered Faran.
Faran tried to sit straight and regretted it. “What’s up? Give me the quick and dirty version first.”
“The Vidonese insist on using their own security for the wedding. In fact, they’re insisting that the entire capital be patrolled by their own guard.”
“So where do we fit in that picture?”
“We don’t. No nonhumans allowed.”
Faran’s anxiety burst into full bloom. “That doesn’t sound like Prince Kyle. He likes us.”
“It’s not Kyle, it’s his father.” Sam pushed his dark hair out of his eyes. “Now that the prince and princess are uniting the two kingdoms, there has to be a compromise about the Company and the Knights of Vidon.”
“What does that mean?”
“The Company is banned from the palace. From the city itself.” Sam was expressionless, which usually meant he was about to explode.
“Since when?” Faran growled. “How come this is the first I’m hearing about it?”
“No one knew. The kings signed the agreement earlier tonight, but their negotiations have been kept under wraps. No one could afford a leak, especially with all the international media around for the wedding. Both sides agree that the supernatural should remain a secret from the general population.”
“And this agreement is why the knights suddenly started shooting at us?”
“The Vidonese expected our resistance. Their orders were to clear us out, at gunpoint if necessary.”
And of course—knowing nothing about any agreement—the Company had fought back. Anger hunched Faran’s shoulders. “Did anyone plan on informing us we weren’t welcome anymore?”
“The king wanted to speak to us, and to Princess Amelie, himself. The Vidonese representatives agreed that would be best.”
“That’s not what happened. Amelie and Kyle looked as surprised as anyone else.”
“His Majesty was going to tell us tomorrow. But the order to treat the Company as hostile went out tonight. Vidon is claiming an administrative error.”
Faran swore. “Yeah, right.”
Sam’s mouth was a tight line. “Marcari’s human guards will stay at the palace, but no members of the Company. None of them except you.”
Faran looked up in surprise. “Why me?”
“The Vidonese don’t know your human face. Werewolves don’t show up on the Knights’s security sensors the way vampires do. You can still walk freely though the palace and the city.”
It was true that Faran hadn’t worked at the palace very often. His comings and goings involved a lot of sneaking around, posing as a tourist, and once showing up with Sam holding his leash. They’d both been the butt of jokes after that one.
“You’re saying I’m to be the Company’s eyes and ears?” Faran said, a mix of apprehension and excitement stirring inside him. “Who knows about this?”
“Company HQ, the king, Amelie and Kyle. That’s it.”
“Even though Kyle is from Vidon?”
“He knows you, and he loves Amelie. He wants her to be safe.”
Faran narrowed his eyes. “Why wouldn’t she be?”
“Vidon just forced Marcari to give up its greatest protection. The two nations have been at war forever. You have to admit, it looks suspicious. There are even whispers of Vidon’s collusion with outside forces. King Renault is willing to go along with the agreement up to a point. He wants the marriage and alliance to work, but he wants a hotline to the Company if things go wrong. That’s you.”
“I see.” Faran shifted uneasily. He was ideally suited for the task, but was—at least compared to the centuries-old vampires—a junior agent.
Sam ducked his dark head. “Tell Chloe all this, will you? With the wedding so near, she’s sleeping in the palace. She needs to know why I cannot come to see her.”
“Of course,” Faran agreed, wishing he had someone expecting him.
He dismissed the thought, even if the emotion behind it snagged in his soul like a barb. Wanting Lexie—a woman who saw him as a slavering beast—was no way to keep his head in the game.
* * *
Pounding woke Lexie out of a fitful doze. She cracked open her eyes, squinting into the darkness. For a long, foggy moment she couldn’t figure out what had dragged her to consciousness, but then she heard it again. A fist thumping on the heavy wood door to her guest suite in the palace.
Foreboding brought her fully awake. She groped for her phone and checked the time—five o’clock. Her anxiety deepened, making her clench her fingers around the phone.
The pounding started afresh.
; No one pounded on a door before dawn for a happy reason. She shoved the covers aside and got up, pulling on a robe. Her feet found slippers somewhere between the bedroom and the tiny sitting room.
“Who is it?” she called.
“Open the door, Ms. Haven,” a male voice demanded. “It is Captain Valois of the Marcari Police Department. We would like to ask you some questions.”
Lexie hesitated, her fingers on the door handle. The officer was speaking English even though the country’s official language was French. It was a courtesy she’d encountered everywhere in the tiny kingdom, but for once it seemed sinister. Whatever questions the captain had to ask, he wanted to be clearly understood. With a hard swallow, she opened the door.
Valois didn’t so much as blink at her disheveled appearance. “May I come in?”
Lexie stepped aside. The captain was somewhere in his forties, with nondescript brown hair and worry lines. But his uniform was neatly pressed, as were those of the guards who stood to either side of him. All three marched into the tiny front room, immediately overcrowding the small space.
“What can I do for you, Captain?” she asked. Her voice was thick with sleep, but firm.
“Please remain here with me while we search your quarters,” he said evenly.
“Search my things?” Lexie exclaimed. “What for?”
Valois gave a nod to his henchmen. One started for her bedroom, the other picked up her bag of camera equipment. Lexie darted forward protectively, but the captain grabbed her arm. “Let my men do their work, Ms. Haven. I promise you they will not be unnecessarily destructive.”
Lexie pulled away, feeling utterly ambushed. She ran her hands through the rough tangle of her unbrushed hair. “What’s going on?”
Valois clasped his hands behind his back. “A distressing circumstance has emerged. We are questioning everyone who was in the reception hall last night.”
She suddenly noticed the dark circles under his eyes. Valois appeared to have been up all night. “Distressing circumstance? You mean the shooting?”
He gave a slight shake of his head. “Not that. You were photographing the wedding band.” It wasn’t a question.
She winced as something clattered inside her equipment bag, and the man searching it swore under his breath. “Yes, I was.”
Lexie pictured the heavy gold band set with the magnificent fire rubies of Vidon. The stones were part of Vidon’s crown jewels—and some of the finest specimens in the world. Kyle had ordered them reset for Amelie as a symbol of unity between the two kingdoms. The sight of them in the swirling gold band had dazzled the guests at the reception. “I was about halfway through when everything happened.”
“As I understand it, the security detail had disabled the alarms and opened the case to make the process easier.”
“Sure. They were standing right there. The ring was perfectly safe.” Lexie stopped short, realizing what she was saying. Her irritation at the intruders faded beneath a mounting dismay. “But they left the ring unguarded when they went to protect the princess.”
“Exactement,” he said grimly. “The ring is missing. We can only assume that it has been stolen.”
Lexie’s mouth dropped open. “Surely there were security cameras on the display case!”
“Indeed there were, but it seems that they malfunctioned at exactly the right moment. There were a number of incidents last night that had unusually bad timing. The chaos caused by a pack of hunting dogs, for instance, that just happened to be available right when Sam Ralston’s pet wolf ran by. Or the fact that an order to dismiss the Company guards was given to the Vidonese at a time when it was guaranteed to cause a riot.”
Bewildered, Lexie struggled to take in everything Valois was telling her. A sick feeling spiraled through her, especially when she knew how unusual it was for someone like Valois to reveal so many details to a civilian. There was only one reason he would do so—which was confirmed in his next words.
“But you know all of this already, don’t you, Ms. Haven?” the captain asked with an icy glint in his eyes. “Once we established that the ring hadn’t simply been knocked aside during the chaos, we put our heads together and thought about that familiar threesome: means, motive and opportunity. You were the one closest to the unguarded ring, and you had a perfect excuse for being there.”
Lexie felt the blood drain from her face. “What are you saying?”
Relentlessly, Valois continued. “It would have been nothing to take it when everyone’s attention was riveted by breaking glass and howling dogs. There are your means and opportunity, and motive isn’t hard to figure out. The ring is priceless. With your connections in the fashion and art worlds, it wouldn’t be hard to find an unscrupulous buyer for such treasure.”
A suffocating sense of injustice howled through her. She wanted to rage at him, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she fell into one of the overstuffed chairs, her skin prickling with rising panic. His theory was too perfect. There wasn’t even video evidence to prove she hadn’t done it.
“I think you had better get dressed, Ms. Haven. I’d like to take you to a more secure location for the rest of our tête-à-tête.”
Chapter 4
“Stop right there,” ordered the green-coated guard at the gate to the palace grounds. His scowling glare traveled from Faran’s shaggy blond head to his well-worn boots.
Faran stopped, suddenly wary. It was barely noon the next day, but already the palace guard had been replaced by soldiers from Vidon.
“Step back here, please,” said the guard.
He moved slowly, hiding the stiffness from his wound. According to Sam, he should still be in bed. Whatever. Faran needed to sort out his shiny new position as palace spy, and he was counting on Chloe to help him develop a cover. He’d left a message on her cell phone he hoped wasn’t cryptic to the point of nonsense.
“Identification?”
Wordlessly, Faran handed over his passport and waited patiently in the pale January sunlight, the distant rumble of midday traffic competing with the splash of the courtyard fountains. The formal gardens separated the Palace of Marcari from the street. The building itself rose in the middle distance, a confection of pointed turrets and carved stone balconies. It crossed his mind that Lexie would be there as well, but it was a big place. He’d just have to put on his big boy fur and keep to himself.
Never mind that his inner idiot yearned for another glimpse of her. Last night she’d been even more beautiful than he remembered, with that flame of hair tumbling down her back. He longed to bury his face in it and smell the perfume of her skin. Like that’s ever going to happen again.
The guard looked up, jerking him back to reality. “American. From California.”
Tourists wandered past, cameras clicking.
“Yes,” Faran replied, watching the man scrutinize his passport. Ironically, this was his real one. Faran had plenty of fakes he could have used, but he’d decided a simple approach would be the best.
“Hmm.” The man nervously brushed the double row of gold braid on his uniform. Despite himself, apprehension pooled in Faran’s stomach. Cops of any kind made him feel guilty—no doubt a knee-jerk reaction from his misspent youth.
“What is your business at the palace? There are no tours today.”
“I’m here to see Chloe Anderson.”
“Step over there while I confirm,” the guard said, pointing. Obediently, Faran moved to a spot beside the black iron fence that surrounded the palace grounds. There were three more Vidonese soldiers waiting there, weapons already drawn. Faran tensed, last night still fresh in his memory. The guards saw him flinch and gave an unpleasant laugh.
The gate guard said something that Faran didn’t quite catch. Whatever it was, it made the one with the gun step closer, shoving the barrel inches away from
Faran’s ear. “You’re not on the schedule.”
Faran laughed. “You’re going to shoot me for that? Seriously?”
Mocking wasn’t the best idea. The closest soldier spun Faran around and pushed him against the fence. Pain burned through Faran as the stitches pulled over his wound. The pat-down began, professional but thorough. Fury rose like an incoming tide, knotting Faran’s shoulders. He clenched his teeth against it, willing himself to be silent.
“I think you had better come with us,” said the guard who had frisked him. He took one of Faran’s arms, the other soldier grabbed the other, and they began walking toward the palace. “Captain Valois has a special place ready for unexpected visitors.”
Oh, goody, Faran thought as they led him away.
As it turned out, the Vidonese didn’t take Faran to the cells built into the—thankfully modernized—palace dungeon. Instead, they took him to a room that looked vaguely like an old-fashioned kitchen, complete with huge enamel sinks and a massive table in the middle. Benches ran along either wall, and they were full of other people. Faran glared around him. The wolf in him wanted freedom, dominance and revenge—not necessarily in that order—but the rest of him knew smart strategy was going to make or break his cover.
The benches were already full of people awaiting questioning. Faran sat in the one empty spot.
“The cells are already packed,” said a tall, thin man next to him. He spoke English with a cultured British accent that belonged on a polo field and not at all with his wardrobe. He had ink-black hair to his shoulders and was wearing a black T-shirt stenciled with Old Goths don’t die, they’re just Nevermore.
“Why are you here?” Faran asked, but he thought he knew. If the man wasn’t immortal, he should have been. No one but a vampire had the right to rock that much eyeliner.
“I am suspect because I am Maurice.” The man stretched out his arms as if addressing the entire world. His fingernails sparkled an electric blue.
“Is that so?”
The man shrugged. “They’re idiots. The captain isn’t—he’s real police—but he’s working with those green-coated fools. Eventually they’ll figure out my most criminal act was a diminished seventh chord during the final moments of my last concert. It was at the end of the tastiest riff, just hanging there with buckets of unresolved longing. Mwah.” He kissed his painted fingers like a satisfied chef. “Stole the hearts of my audience. Every single one.”
Harlequin Nocturne May 2015 Box Set: Wolf HunterPossessed by a Wolf Page 30
