The Wanderer's Children

by L. G. O'Connor

  She sighed and put her arms around his neck. “Fine. I forgive you for being a big lug.” Her lips met his in a make-up kiss.

  Michael cleared his throat. “Can we get started, or do you two want to take this into the locker room?”

  She blushed and released Simon. “Sorry, Michael. I don’t know how you put up with us sometimes.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “It’s because I have the patience of a saint.”

  “My apologies, Michael. I have again made an ill-advised male decision that has caused discord with the woman I love.”

  Michael sniffed. “What would I do without you to show me what not to do in a relationship?”

  “Gentlemen, enough banter.” Cara stepped away. “Let’s get to work. Who’s sparring with me first?”

  “Simon and I will show you the routine that we worked on earlier, and then it’s you and me, cupcake,” said Michael, winking at her. Sounded like a somewhat safer option than facing the Morning Star.

  Cara smirked. “Thanks. I’ve always wanted to be reduced to a pastry.”

  It wasn’t until later that Cara remembered she had forgotten to tell them she owed Jonas a soul… she hoped he hadn’t meant it literally.

  Chapter 22

  CARA

  New York City. Beacon Theatre. Friday, May 24, 1:30 PM ET

  “IT’S HOT AS FUCK UP HERE!” Brett yelled through the wireless microphone. “Can you turn off half the lights?”

  The stage lights dimmed.

  Cara closed the door behind her and walked deeper into the darkened theater. Brett had arranged to have an all-access pass waiting for her at the box office so she could go backstage freely. She worked her way up to the front of the theater where Paco was seated and joined him with a quiet “hello.”

  A few minutes later, a Goth-looking woman with short spiky hair sat down in their row next to the aisle.

  On stage, Brett stood shirtless in front of the band, his smooth, muscled arms and torso glistening with a film of perspiration. The top section of his hair was gathered into a ponytail, leaving the rest to touch his shoulders; the effect magnified his high cheekbones and intensified the look of annoyance in his eyes.

  Gah! Even annoyed, he fit the bill for any girl’s rock star fantasy.

  Cara smiled. Peeking out above the waistband of his low-cut jeans was the top half of a large tattoo—a pair of angel wings flanking four script letters in the center. She recognized the markings from Angel’s motorcycle jacket; it was the logo for the Avenging Angel’s Biker Club. Glad Brett wasn’t opposed to ink. Chances were good he’d be adding more in the form of a red Messenger tattoo over his heart during his visit to the Angelorum next week.

  Brett touched his ear and pointed to the guys sitting in the wings next to some equipment lit by tiny lights. “Back off the drums and turn up the string bass. It’s got the counter melody on this one.” Then he reached for the acoustic guitar on one of the three guitar stands and turned to the band. “Let’s try it from the top in G.” Positioning himself on a stool in the middle of the stage, he started to play, bathing the theater in sound. Brett strummed the strings of his guitar, joined by the bass and keyboard players. He played the opening verse, his tenor voice full of soul.

  I look at you, lying next to me

  And I think I don’t know you at all

  But it’s not only you, it’s me, I don’t recognize who I am any more

  I need to go, and you need to find what you’re looking for

  I’m not the man you think I am

  I’m no longer the man I want to be

  Rescue me,

  I need someone to rescue me

  Take me home, and rescue me

  I need you to rescue me

  I’m lost, I was so lost

  I didn’t know how to be found

  And then I saw your face

  And it was you who I wanted to rescue me

  Then I knew who I was supposed to be

  Someone I want to be

  Rescue me,

  I need someone to rescue me

  Take me home, and rescue me

  I need you to rescue me

  It’s you, you’re the only that can rescue me

  Make love and rescue me

  The song ended to silence as they paused before starting the next one. Cara stood up and clapped.

  Brett shielded his eyes and scanned the darkness. His face lit up when he spotted her. “Hey, Cara,” he said and turned to the band. “Give me ten?”

  He put the guitar back on the stand and removed his wireless mic, leaving it on the stool. Picking up a towel, he wiped his face and chest before leaping off the stage.

  She broke into a smile and made her way toward the aisle to meet him. The Goth woman at the end of the row stood and moved into the aisle between them. Petite with intense blue eyes, she gave Cara an appraising look.

  “Hey, Rox. I want to introduce you to Cara,” he said as he reached them. He leaned in from a distance and gave Cara a kiss on the cheek. “Sorry, I wouldn’t get too close if I were you, I’m melting.”

  Roxy’s eyebrows shot up. “Let me guess, new squeeze?”

  Brett hesitated and gave Cara an apologetic, dimpled smile, then clamped his hand on Roxy’s shoulder and pressed—hard. “Nope. Friend. Cara, this is Roxy. My publicist, style guru, and bigmouthed best friend.”

  Roxy twisted away from his grasp and shot him a nasty look before extending her hand to Cara. “Good to meet you.”

  Cara shook it. “Brett hired my fiancé’s security firm. I’m his liaison.”

  “Huh. How long have you two known each other?” she asked with a shrewd look in her eye.

  “Enough, Rox. Cara, don’t answer that or you may see yourself on TMZ tonight,” Brett said, maneuvering Roxy out of their path.

  “King, stop manhandling me,” Roxy snapped.

  He gently grabbed Cara’s arm and said to Roxy in a hushed whisper, “She saved my life, Rox. That’s all you need to know. And that stays out of the rags like we discussed.”

  “Fine,” Roxy said begrudgingly, and then glanced at Cara. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for… you know… keeping my boy safe.”

  Cara nodded, warmed by Roxy’s genuine concern.

  Brett led Cara away toward the side stairs under the ornate golden archway. He opened the heavy door and she followed him into the hallway next to the stage away from prying eyes.

  “Sorry about that. Roxy and I go way back. She tends to be over protective,” Brett said.

  Cara chuckled. Kind of like her with Kai. “I like her. Doesn’t mince words, does she.”

  “You have no idea.” He smirked and shook his head.

  “She cares. It’s nice.” Cara shrugged. “That said, you were great up there! I can’t wait to hear more.”

  He blushed and gave her a disarming smile. “Yeah? You’re my new favorite fan,” he said, his eyes finding hers. He stepped closer. His look turned to longing, and he pushed a stray piece of hair back behind her ear. Catching himself, his smile faltered and his hand dropped away. “Sorry.”

  The chemistry between them flared, going way beyond her wanting to protect him.

  God help me, she thought. Unable to stop herself, she grabbed his hand and held it firmly. “Don’t apologize, okay?”

  He entwined his fingers in hers and squeezed, his eyes filled with want. His body was coiled, ready to take her into his arms if she’d only say the word.

  Her heart beat wildly. The look in his eyes ignited something within her. She recognized him on some level, a familiarity distinguishing him from the near stranger he was to her. Giving herself a mental shake, she found her way back to rational thought.

  “Sorry, but I know you feel it, too,” he whispered, tugging her closer. “Roxy may be overprotective, but she’s also perceptive.” His gaze captured hers, refusing to let go.

  His words were like a stake through her heart. Her reckless reaction tore at her insides. Only when they were alone did h
is pull on her grow this strong. Swallowing hard, her voice came out as a soft whisper.

  “Brett… I do feel it. But it’s not what you think. I love Simon. He was meant for me, and there’s someone else meant for you. Trust me. I never want you to think I don’t care. But all we’re destined to be is friends. Can we make that work?” she pled.

  He nodded. His hand still in hers, he pulled her into him and hugged her tight to his body.

  Startled, she gasped and then relaxed in his arms. She felt comfortable there. Leaning her head into his neck, she inhaled. She could smell the underlying sweetness of his skin, musky from his performance. His scent filled her nostrils, sparking a deep physical desire for him.

  He leaned his face against her hair. “I can make that work,” he whispered. “I feel like if I’d done something different when we met…”

  Cara shook her head. “No. By then it was already too late. Whatever’s driving this pull between us, it’s not because you and I are destined to be together. I can’t be the one who makes love to you,” she said softly, referencing the lyrics of his song.

  He chuckled and slowly let her out of his embrace. “A guy can fantasize, can’t he?”

  She gave him a crooked smile. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  He stepped away, locking his arms across his chest. “Simon’s a lucky guy, Cara. Seriously.”

  A blush filled her cheeks, accompanying the love for Simon burning in her heart. “Thanks.” The tension eased and the tantalizing pull receded, releasing her. “How are you today? After yesterday…”

  His smile slipped away. “Better. Still freaked out, but better.”

  “Think of me as your personal 911, okay? I know how screwed up this can get.”

  He bent in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks, I appreciate that. I’ve got to get back on stage. I’ll walk you to your seat. You gonna stay for a while?”

  “Yup, at least for the next hour,” she said, her cheek tingling where his lips had touched her. He hit the release bar and she walked through the door ahead of him.

  Barely through the doorway, he pulled her to a gentle stop. “I feel better now that we’ve talked. It’s all good. Really. I’m cool.”

  He dropped her off with Paco and hopped back on stage. Roxy was nowhere in sight.

  Cara eased back into her seat as the band started their next song.

  Mission accomplished. A pang of relief hit her to be off of Brett’s romance radar. She hoped, now, that she could get back to discovering exactly how he fit in as one of the Twelve.

  A few minutes later, Roxy slipped into the seat next to her. Leaning over, she whispered in Cara’s ear. “He’s one of the good ones. Don’t hurt him. Got me?”

  Cara whispered back, staring at Brett as he sang. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Better yet, I promise to protect him with my life.”

  These were the only words she’d spoken to Roxy that were one hundred percent true.

  Chapter 23

  IRENE

  Amtrak Acela, Washington–New York. Friday, May 24, 6:30 PM ET

  IRENE STARED OUT THE WINDOW of the Acela as it blazed a blurry trail to Manhattan. Her meeting with Creep and Creepier at the NSA had taken a toll on her mood. Bile rose in her throat at the thought of being forced to spy on one of her closest friends. She could picture it now; what should’ve been a joyous reunion and a great weekend would turn into a series of rummaging through personal effects, eavesdropping, and covert cell phone calls with the mother ship.

  As the daughter of a diplomat, she had made her father proud with her career in government. Somehow, though, she didn’t think this is what he’d had in mind. Especially after her false start with the CIA. What a disaster. Had he not emptied his basket of chits bailing her out after it all went pear-shaped, she might’ve been tempted to call him. For now, better to let him think everything was copacetic, and that she was safely ensconced in the State Department.

  If it wasn’t for the fact the NSA dangled his career over her head, she would’ve told them to take a hike. One thing she’d learned in the CIA was that two could play at this game. Rather than look for evidence to prove the NSA was right, she intended to prove that Cara was innocent. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. Who better than she to exonerate Cara? If she did this right, she could protect her father’s career and extricate Cara from this potential mess.

  She eyed her purse. The instrument of her betrayal sat inside of it next to her cell phone. Yesterday’s care package had also included state-of-the-art bugs and tracking devices, which she packed in her suitcase. Caswell had already bugged her, requesting that she text him as soon as she reached Cara’s.

  According to the train schedule, she’d arrive in Penn Station at seven-thirty. Originally, she didn’t find it odd when Cara explained that she’d secured a new job working for her fiancé’s private security firm and that their penthouse had a private underground entrance. Although Irene was on Cara’s side, her CIA training instinctively kicked in. Filtering Cara’s story through a lens of suspicion, Irene wondered if there was another reason for the heightened security.

  God help them all if there was, she thought, taking a deep breath. No two ways about it, this weekend would be difficult.

  On the upside, she looked forward to meeting Simon, the man who’d captured Cara’s heart and broken Kai’s iron hold over it. Cara had wallowed in unrequited love for Kai for almost a decade. Irene owed Simon a big fat kiss for saving Cara from herself.

  Irene was dying to get a peek at him since Cara had yet to share a picture. Rumor had it he was amazing in the kitchen. For that alone Irene would have considered marrying him. According to Cara, tonight was intended to be a low-key affair with Simon making dinner at the penthouse in honor of her and Jessa’s visit.

  Another bright spot in this whole mess would be seeing Jessamine, who’d returned home to California after graduation and now owned a spa in Marin County. Irene hadn’t seen Jessa in almost three years. She gleefully wondered if Jessa would have any psychic tidbits to share this time around.

  Jessa reserved readings for only her closest friends, but most of her visions came unprompted. A psychic in a long line of psychics, Jessa was truly gifted, and her predictions were unerringly accurate—albeit cryptic. What Irene really wanted to know was if her dateless existence would be changing anytime soon. Fortunately, Jessa wasn’t under any suspicion based on the information she’d been provided.

  Then again… Jessa did live close enough to both San Francisco and where that warehouse had been located.

  Damn. Irene shook her head to clear it, and removed her CIA hat. This is ridiculous. Her friends were innocent and that’s what she would focus on. Guilt washed over her as she thought about the rest of the events: the spa day tomorrow with all the girls, the party at Simon’s SoHo loft, the brunch with Cara’s parents. The last thing she ever wanted to do was hurt the people she loved. This situation required her to walk a very fine line between protection and betrayal.

  She sighed. Wine. She’d need wine, and lots of it, to get her through this weekend.

  The driver let Irene off in the underground parking garage. Her stomach clenched into a ball of nerves as the elevator whisked her up to the penthouse. The doors opened to a large, opulent foyer with a marble floor, crystal chandelier, and dark wood paneling. Very Upper East Side. With only two apartments on the top floor, it wasn’t difficult to find Cara’s place.

  Irene rang the bell.

  Moments later, Cara flung open the door and threw her arms around Irene, hugging her in an iron embrace.

  Boy is she strong! Irene thought.

  “Eye! I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Irene smiled at the nickname Cara and Jessa had given her. Cara’s bouncy, auburn hair smelled like honeysuckle, filling Irene’s senses. “I love your shampoo. It smells fantastic.”

  Cara had always been Irene’s source for recommending the best beauty products. Ironic, since Jessa was the one
who owned a spa. Jessa’s mom, a well-known rock musician, died unexpectedly five years ago, right after graduation, leaving Jessa a healthy inheritance—enough to pursue her dream of opening her own business.

  “I think you might be crushing me.” Irene’s ribs ached.

  Cara blushed and released her. “Oops, sorry about that. I’m glad you like the shampoo. I have some in your guest bathroom.”

  Irene grabbed a soft lock of Cara’s hair and gave it a quick sniff. “I thought you were allergic to flowers.”

  “Long story,” Cara said with a small shake of her head.

  “Hey, save some of those hugs for me.” Jessa’s voice came from behind Cara.

  “Jessa!” Irene gushed as Cara stepped aside to reveal their willowy friend with the long, strawberry-blonde corkscrew curls. Jessa always reminded Irene of one of Raphael’s angels with her pale skin, wide, hazel eyes, and those magnificent curls. Irene had envied those curls since college. Her own short cap of red hair grew out limp and boring, a good reason to keep the Pixie cut she sported. “Come here and give me a squeeze, girlfriend!”

  She clutched Jessa’s thin frame and gave her a peck on the cheek. “You look great. I hate you.” Seeing them both, Irene realized how much she had missed their girl time.

  Jessa chuckled. “I’m flattered… I think.”

  “When did you get here?”

  “Couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes ago.”

  Chloe started to whine at Irene’s feet, her patience exhausted on waiting her turn for a greeting. “Hello, honey,” said Irene, kneeling down, kissing the dog on top of her narrow head, and submitting to a couple of face licks.

  Cara grabbed Irene’s suitcase and closed the door behind them. “Come on in. Simon’s in the kitchen making us a fabulous dinner.”

  Irene drew in a breath as she looked around the interior foyer with the large center table and three-foot-high floral arrangement. Her steps echoed on the marble floor. Straight ahead was a large living room area and hallways to either side led to other sections of the apartment.