She ignored his dig and strove for a mild tone, trying not to annoy him further. “I’m going now.” She had to step forward to open her car door. Her shoulder grazed his chest and her breath escaped in a hiss. She tossed her bags onto the passenger seat, her movements slow, measured, as if she didn’t want to startle the strange animal beside her. “Good-bye.” She forced a ring of finality into the farewell.
“Think about what I told you. Time off would be smart. You need to—”
She closed her car door, signaling her disinterest in his words. As discreetly as possible, she pressed the lock button.
He smiled grimly and leaned back against his Jeep, arms crossed over his chest like a man completely relaxed and content with himself and all his paranoid delusions.
Rubbing her stinging wrist, she eyed the lean length of him with admiring disgust. The guy could be a Calvin Klein model. What a waste. Shaking her head, she put both hands on the steering wheel and backed out. Facing forward again, she caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror, the sight startling. The sleek image of herself with the severe ponytail and pewter gaze filled her with unease.
At the first stoplight, she flipped on her overhead light to glare in consternation at her stinging wrist. The skin beneath the silver bracelet was an angry red, almost like it had been burned. She undid the clasp and tossed the bracelet into the cup holder. The light turned green. Stepping on the accelerator, she proceeded, rubbing the inflamed skin absently as she concentrated on putting Gideon March out of her mind.
Gideon groaned when he spotted the familiar Tahoe in his driveway. Its shiny chrome finish glinted in the afternoon sun. He parked alongside the curb in front of his house to make sure he wouldn’t block the vehicle from departing.
“It’s my damned driveway,” he muttered, shifting into park with an angry jerk and killing the engine. “Why doesn’t he park in the street?”
He wasn’t in the mood for this particular visitor. Especially since it called for pretending that everything was normal, business as usual, that his thoughts weren’t tangled up in her.
Easier said than done. Claire Morgan was one stubborn, aggravating woman. He had said everything he could to convince her, done everything he could. Well, almost everything. Gideon grimaced. He hoped it didn’t come to that. He’d spare her that if he could. But how could he help her if she wouldn’t cooperate? She either jumped onboard to save her ass or it was over.
Dragging a hand through his hair, he reminded himself that it shouldn’t matter, that she shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t be so complicated. He shouldn’t think about his attraction to her, shouldn’t think about stripping her naked and entering her in one slick thrust.
The blare of the television greeted him as he stepped onto his porch. Someone had made himself right at home. Gideon unlocked the door and strolled into his living room, eyeing the man relaxing in his overstuffed La-Z-Boy, beer in one hand, remote control in the other.
His voice carried over the din of the television. “It’s a comfort to know the local police break in to people’s homes these days.”
“Not everyone’s home. Just yours,” Cooper corrected, his eyes never leaving the television.
“What brings you here?” Gideon noted the bag of Cheetos in Cooper’s lap—the bag taken from the top of his refrigerator. “Besides my food and television.”
“Can you believe this guy?” Cooper pointed a Cheeto at the screen, where a young man wearing pants that rode dangerously low stormed off the Jerry Springer set. “He just got the DNA test proving the kid is his, and he still refuses to believe it.”
Denial was a sore subject right now. It reminded Gideon of a particular woman and her own penchant for denying the truth. And she was the last thing he should be thinking about around this man. Cooper McPherson was no fool. He hadn’t risen to board director of the Greater Houston Area division of NODEAL by being dense. Even if he did like watching Jerry Springer, the man was sharp, suspicious by nature, and one hell of an agent. And he knew Gideon. Damned well. Well enough to know when something was bothering him, but not—Gideon hoped—to know when he lied. Because in the case of Claire Morgan, he was going to have to lie through his teeth.
Gideon eased down on the couch and tossed his keys on the coffee table, uncomfortable and doing his best to hide it. Until now, Gideon had never kept anything from Cooper. They had no secrets. Never had. Cooper was like a big brother. Always around to bully and kick him in the ass when he needed it. Sometimes even when he didn’t.
“How can you watch this crap?” Gideon grunted as he yanked a pillow from behind his back to lounge more comfortably. He had to rely on the image of relaxation since his gut was knotted with tension.
“Ah, it’s not crap. It’s life, my friend.” For all of Cooper’s jovial air, his eyes were hard and shrewd as they turned on Gideon. “You can learn a lot from watching these shows. They show humanity at its worst. See that fella there ignoring his responsibility?” He waved a hand in the direction of the television. “That’s too often the case. Men just don’t come through and fulfill their obligations.”
Funny, Cooper wasn’t looking at the screen as he said this. He looked straight at Gideon. Clearly, he wasn’t talking about society. Gideon had to force himself not to fidget. Slow, even breaths.
A long moment passed. They stared at one another. Cooper finally cut to the point of his visit. “Where you been? I haven’t heard from you since Friday night’s call.”
“Busy.”
“Yeah? Doing what? ’Cause it sure as hell isn’t what you’re supposed to be doing. I called all weekend. I had some tips on a new joint I needed you to check out. Where’ve ya been?”
Gideon averted his eyes from Cooper’s piercing gaze. Damn. He shouldn’t have looked away.
Gideon covered the slip by snagging the remote and clicking on the channel guide. “Just busy.”
Cooper shook his head from side to side. “You wanted this, remember? I warned you. About the demands, always being on call, always available. But you wanted in—”
“Hell, I’ve been at it for almost fifteen years. I’m no rookie,” he snapped. No. Not a rookie. Maybe just burned out? What other explanation could there be for why he wanted to protect Claire Morgan when it was his job to destroy her? He shook off the thought and continued, “I had some deliveries for my grandmother. Not to mention a few orders to finish up,” he lied smoothly, nodding toward the door leading to the garage where he did his carpentry work.
Cooper snorted and tossed a handful of Cheetos in his mouth, his jaw flexing as he chewed. “What? Slaying lycans doesn’t pay the bills?”
“I need something legit to show the IRS.” Thinking the interrogation over, Gideon clicked the channel to ESPN.
“Saw the Dodge parked out back,” Cooper commented mildly, referring to the old pickup Gideon used to haul furniture. “I didn’t think you could cart armoires, chairs, and the like in the back of that Jeep. Guess you weren’t running deliveries today, huh?”
Gideon smiled easily despite being caught in his own lie. A mistake he wouldn’t make again. He might owe Cooper a lot, even his life, but that didn’t include a play by play of his every move.
“Fine,” Cooper grunted. “Keep your secrets. Just hope you’re not getting involved with some chick. You know this lifestyle isn’t conducive to that sort of thing. Told you when you got in you could never lead a normal life. No wife. No kids.” He leaned forward in the La-Z-Boy as if shortening the distance between them could better convey his next words. He stabbed the palm of his hand several times with his finger. “NODEAL is your life.”
Gideon understood perfectly. He always had. “I know.” He smiled without humor. “Love ’em and leave ’em. I learned the code from you. You drilled it into me. How could I forget?”
“That’s right.” Cooper nodded, still looking unconvinced as he settled back in the chair. “Let’s talk shop. The body you called in the other night has been identified as one L
eonardo Alvarez. Age seventeen. Born in Houston and birth certificate looks legit. Of course, no record of him in the files,” he said.
NODEAL’s confidential database was used by agents throughout the world for the cataloging of all known lycans, living and deceased. It was no surprise to Gideon that the kid wasn’t documented. Gideon already knew he was newly infected.
Leonardo Alvarez. Lenny, Gideon silently mused, experiencing a strange flickering of sorrow for the kid whose last thoughts had been not for himself but his teacher. “He’s probably too new to have made it into the database,” Gideon murmured.
“What happened Friday? Anything unusual?” Cooper eyed him speculatively. “I sent Foster to run detail and he said everything looked clean. Aside from it being such a young kid. Easy kill?”
“Yeah,” Gideon muttered. “No sweat.”
Nodding, Cooper asked, “Any leads?”
He hesitated before sealing his act of deception with an indisputable lie. “No.” There. He’d done it. Without even a stutter. No going back now. “He operated alone.”
“What?” Cooper’s brows dipped into a frown. “No buddies?”
Lycans operated in packs—at least two or more. Never, or rarely, individually. That’s what made hunting them so dangerous and why inexperienced agents were assigned to a team until deemed fit to hunt alone. Gideon had completed his team training quickly. In fact, he held the record for quickest promotion to IAS—individual agent status. But then, he had something other trainees didn’t. A grudge.
“That’s right. Solo.”
“Unusual.”
“I know,” Gideon retorted. He wasn’t some grunt, new to the ranks. He didn’t need Cooper questioning his every answer. Even if they were lies.
Cooper rubbed his bristly chin. “What’s your take on it?” he quizzed in his best mentor voice.
“He could have been accidentally infected,” Gideon offered, one possibility that couldn’t be overlooked, even if unlikely. Lycans didn’t run around accidentally infecting people. They fed. And when they fed, they gorged until their victims were dead. Recruitment into their packs was very deliberate, and they didn’t abandon their inductees.
“Or…” Gideon’s voice hung in the air for a long moment.
“Or?” Cooper prodded.
“Or there’s a new player in town,” Gideon finished. “One who doesn’t follow pack tradition.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
The two men exchanged grim looks. That was NODEAL’s worst nightmare. A lycan that infected indiscriminately could be a plague on the city. Or the world. Both men turned and stared unseeing at the television, each absorbing the implication of such a possibility.
Sighing, Cooper stood and brushed orange Cheeto dust from his hands. “I expect you to be available this weekend and taking calls.”
Gideon nodded, rolling his eyes. Who needed a wife when you had a NODEAL director breathing down your neck?
For a split second, the by-the-book agent in him considered coming clean and telling Cooper about the teacher, but he quickly squashed that idea. Hell, Cooper would probably put him on suspension. Then he’d track Claire down and destroy her himself. Gideon’s personal history with Cooper wouldn’t get in the way. Neither would sentimentality. Nor Gideon’s vague instinct that Claire Morgan was worth saving. Cooper was hard as nails. From that first meeting in his parents’ hallway, his mother’s corpse at their feet, that much had been clear. And only became clearer in the following years as Cooper took him under his wing and taught him the trade. Gideon had done his best to model himself after Cooper. A hard man driven by one purpose: to hunt and destroy lycans.
Apparently, Gideon wasn’t as tough as he thought.
He owed Cooper his life—his and his sister’s. No argument there. He also owed him the truth about Claire.
Unfortunately, it was the one thing he couldn’t give him. Not yet.
“You look…different.”
Claire couldn’t help smiling at Maggie’s pause as they exited the school together. By the time their conference period rolled around, they desperately needed a little adult R & R. The bagel shop around the corner provided the perfect escape.
Only eleven in the morning and heat already cloaked the city. The smell of baked asphalt, thick and pungent, clogged her pores.
“Different good or different bad?”
“Oh, good! Different good,” Maggie assured, a hint of devilry in her smile. “I never knew you had breasts.”
Claire chuckled, allowing the tension to ebb from her shoulders. The run-in with Gideon had left her in a foul mood. As a result she lacked her usual patience and had decided to assign book work for her afternoon classes in order to spare them. To top it off, Jill Tanners, Lenny’s counselor, was too busy to see her. Claire knew when she was being avoided, but she had no intention of letting Tanners off the hook. It was her job to follow up on Lenny, and Claire intended to pester her until she did.
Her laughter died an abrupt death in her throat the instant she saw him. The tension returned, stiffening every muscle as her feet dragged to a stop.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” she muttered under her breath, her heart lurching wildly against her chest.
Maggie pulled up beside her. Claire felt her curious stare scanning the side of her face.
“What is it?” she asked.
Claire couldn’t speak. Her attention focused on the maroon CJ-7 Jeep parked in the principal’s spot—on the man inside. The Jeep was a far cry from Principal Henderson’s Volvo. As was the stone-faced, hard-bodied man behind the wheel.
In the midmorning sunlight, Gideon March sat there like he had every right to park in the reserved space. Big as day and hardly inconspicuous in a vehicle that lacked doors and a roof. Not that his six-feet-plus frame was easy to conceal. A long, lean, denim-clad leg protruded from the Jeep, his Red Wing boot propped on the door frame as he watched her.
What if he got out of the Jeep?
What if he started spouting that ridiculous werewolf nonsense again?
What if—
“Who is that?” Maggie whispered in hushed, reverent tones.
Claire shook her head dumbly, her stare never wavering from him. A pair of sunglasses obscured his eyes, but she could feel them burning into her.
“Do you know him?” Maggie pressed.
Claire tore her gaze free, focusing on her car and the prospect of escape. Refuge.
“No.” Claire resumed walking, forcing herself not to panic and run.
“Well, honey, I think he knows you. Or the way he’s looking, he wants to.”
Claire’s gaze skittered back to him. Sunlight glinted off his dark blond hair. The nerves along her spine tingled. And not entirely in fear.
“We don’t know each other,” she insisted, her voice firm.
“Uh-huh. Sure.” Maggie smirked at her from over the roof of the car as Claire fumbled for the right key. “Forget about Cyril. You got a hunka hunka burning man over there ogling you.”
Claire slid inside the sanctuary of her car, feeling slightly safer now that she could no longer see him or feel his intense gaze. Once Maggie shut her door, Claire hit the lock button. A hysterical laugh bubbled up from the back of her throat. That wouldn’t stop him. Not if he wanted to get to her. He had no problem getting into her apartment, after all.
“Now it makes sense.” Maggie gave a small, knowing laugh.
Claire started the car and backed out, trying not to notice how her hands shook on the steering wheel. “What does?”
A car horn blared and she slammed on the brakes. Both women lurched against their seat belts.
“Claire!” Maggie shouted, hands slapping the dashboard.
Heart hammering, Claire’s gaze flew to the rearview mirror at the car she had almost hit. She waved apologetically at the woman glaring at her through the windshield.
“Jesus,” Maggie muttered as the other car drove off in an angry zip. “Now it really makes sense.”
>
Once Claire’s heart had resumed a steady beat and they had escaped the parking lot, she was calm enough to ask, “What makes sense?”
“The clothes, the contacts, the makeup, your asking for the name of my hairdresser.” She counted off on her fingers. “Oh, and the two-car collision we nearly had because you’ve got your head up your ass.”
Claire sniffed, not appreciating Maggie’s description. “What are you talking about?”
Maggie nodded thoughtfully, looking so world-wise as she flipped down the visor and checked her heavily applied makeup. “You’re gettin’ some.”
Claire could only shoot a puzzled sideways glance at her friend, expecting her to finish the rest of her sentence.
Getting some of what?
Maggie must have sensed her confusion. “God, you’re dense. You know.” She slapped Claire’s arm good-naturedly. “Some,” she emphasized in heavy, exaggerated tones, waving her hands widely in front of her.
Understanding dawned, and Claire choked, “I am not!”
She hadn’t gotten “some” in years. Eight years, actually. Not since Brian—the guy she had thought was her one—dumped her for a forty-eight-year-old waitress, who, according to him, made him feel like a real man.
“Well, then.” Maggie fluttered her hand as if it were a small distinction. “You’re planning on getting some.”
Claire shook her head, at a loss for words. It occurred to her that Maggie was exactly the type of girl her mother had kept her from hanging out with in school.
“Hey, I’m not judging. I’m a firm believer in sex. Just ask any of my ex-husbands. Abstinence is unnatural.”
Face hot, Claire argued, “Maggie, I’m not—”
“And if that fine specimen back there in the Jeep is a candidate, I say go for it.”
Claire was not planning on getting anything with anyone. Especially not with that lunatic.
But as she pulled up in front of the bagel shop, she couldn’t help wondering.
And that was totally unlike her. She simply didn’t wonder about those things. Never had.
Marked by Moonlight Page 5
