“No.” Her answer sounded cold and final.
No doting grandma and grandpa, then. Mark pondered that, and the frown that suddenly darkened her face. Bad memories?
Jonathan bounced on his toes and pointed to a tray of buns thick with nuts and frosting.
Bree huffed a sigh. “I shouldn’t be feeding him that stuff. At least at a drive-through I could get something with eggs.”
“Forgive yourself, and make the best choice from the available options.”
“You sound like a self-help book.”
“Does that mean I’m quotable?”
“Only when I’m feeding my child his own weight in sugar. Remember we’ll be trapped with him for miles and miles while he burns it off.”
Mark grunted in acknowledgment. “I’m sure I have duct tape in the trunk.”
“Hey,” said the young man who took their order. He was looking at Bree closely. “Are you somebody famous? I know you from somewhere.”
She laughed easily. “My kid thinks I’m a rock star, but that’s it, I’m afraid.”
Mark shouldered his way forward to pay, blocking the young man’s view of her. Bree picked up their tray and claimed a table for the three of them. As Mark waited for change, he watched Bree with fresh interest as she arranged food and drink and boy, every gesture quick and graceful. Jonathan sat down, grabbed a sticky bun as big as his head and tried to eat it all in one bite. Bree moved in for the rescue, napkin in hand.
Mark chose the chair closest to the shadows and sat down. He took a swallow of thick, strong coffee, feeling the caffeine hit his finely tuned vampire metabolism. Jonathan wasn’t going to be the only one climbing the walls, but Mark needed to be on full alert.
Bree heard Jessica Lark die. How many people knew? Was there more to her sudden appearance on his island than met the eye? “The man named Bob. Your boat driver.”
Bree looked up from cutting Jonathan’s bun into socially acceptable chunks. “What about him?”
Mark waited while a man in coveralls shuffled past their table, bag of pastries in hand, before he answered. “I wonder if he knew Larson.”
“He knew everyone. He knew every inch of every island.”
Which meant he probably knew Mark’s cabin. “I think he meant for me to find you.”
“I found you, remember?”
“Whatever. The fact that we met drew both of us into the open. A sweet package deal. I think the reason he dropped you where he did, and the reason I was motivated by a letter I received to leave the cabin—well, it made somebody’s work a lot easier. Now they get a two-for-one.”
Bree frowned. “What are you saying?”
“We might both be targets. I knew Jessica Lark. We worked together. Not on fashion, but on other things.”
Her eyes grew wider. “What kind of things?”
“Things that interest men with guns. We, uh, did a bit of freelance undercover work.” It wasn’t information he ever shared, but Bree’s life, and Jonathan’s, depended on getting out of this mess. The least he could do was sketch in a few details to help her. As a vampire, he could always erase her memory later.
“You mean you two were like spies?”
“Sort of.”
Before Mark had joined the Horsemen’s team, he and Lark had done a fair number of assignments together—a fey and a vampire posing as a beautiful couple, infiltrating the rich and famous. It had been easy for Mark, who had spent his youth as a courtier. Lark had been fun, vibrant, beautiful and very unpredictable. Not an ideal operative, but a fascinating female.
Bree leaned across the table, lowering her voice. “What else are you besides a doctor?”
“I have varied interests.” He leaned forward, as well. It put her face only inches away, the blue-green of her eyes so clear that he could see the subtle shading of the irises. She smelled of warmth and life.
“You could have killed me when I pulled a gun on you.”
“Yes.”
Her lids lowered, her lashes sweeping the dusting of freckles that crept over her cheeks. He’d meant to reassure her, but it wasn’t working. Tension pulled at the corners of her mouth. She was so afraid.
“Bree.”
Those thick lashes lifted. Mark was aware of the chatter of other customers, the hiss of the coffeemaker, but that was all distant backdrop. He kept telling himself that he didn’t want to become tangled in her story, but here he was—tangled. She seemed to step right over the circle he drew around himself. “I can protect you.”
The hunger in Mark welled, reminding him that he wasn’t just a human, and he wasn’t just a healer. There was a flip side to him, a darkness that destroyed. That was his natural state, what lay beneath when the surface was scratched. He was appetite without end.
He never let that creature loose anymore. But now it battered against its iron cage, yearning to take the woman whose mouth was right there, so close he could already taste her. Her lips were wide and generous, giving her face an oddly vulnerable cast. Loneliness rose from her like a scent. Any predator could see she was cut off from the herd, alone and unprotected.
The temptation was too much. He let his mouth brush hers, a bare graze that mingled breaths more than flesh. His fangs ached, ready to spring free, but he held on with sheer will. This was not the time to feed, but only to sample.
He brushed her mouth again, this time catching that ripe lower lip in a playful tug. The sweetness of icing burst on his tongue, and beneath that the lush taste of woman. His whole body quickened with need, every cell urging him to savor her however he could.
As if catching his urgency, Bree turned the moment into a real kiss, moving her mouth under his. It was shy, almost chaste for a woman who had dominated every scandal rag on every continent. It was almost—Mark searched for the right word—innocent.
He clamped down on his hunger, forcing it away like an unruly cur dragged back to its kennel. He broke the kiss, suddenly light-headed, as if he had been starving for months and just been denied another meal.
Her blue-green eyes were watchful, as if considering what that kiss might have cost her. Not so innocent, then. Mark gripped his coffee cup, unable to drag his gaze from her face.
“That was unexpected,” she said softly.
“I’m sorry.” His voice sounded rough in his own ears.
Those lips quirked. “No apology necessary, but I’m not on the market.”
“Neither am I. Just consider it a close call.”
She laughed at that, not understanding the truth of his words.
Mark’s cell phone rang and he nearly bolted out of his chair. He pulled it out and saw the caller ID. Kenyon. “I have to take this.”
The cool air outside struck his face. Vampires rarely felt the cold, but this time it was almost soothing. He thumbed his cell to life. “What’s up?”
“Where in the inky blackness of hell are you?”
“Gleeford.”
“And you are not on Raphael’s plane because?”
“I’m taking Bree and the kid to the safe house in Seattle. It’ll be easier for them to hide there.” But even as he said it, he knew that wasn’t enough. It wasn’t as though he could drop them off and wish them a nice life—especially not after that kiss. “She’s in trouble. More than just because the Knights are after the kid.”
Kenyon made a disgusted sound. “More than that? It must be bad. Those guys are like silverfish. They get everywhere.”
“She was Lark’s assistant.”
There was a moment of silence before the werewolf replied. “Say that again. The assistant? The one who disappeared?”
A wave of impatience sharpened Mark’s tone. “I thought you were running her profile. You didn’t see anything that shows her involvement with Lark?”
“N
ot so much. From what I can see, she stayed pretty much off the grid after the break with Kyle. In fact, it looks like she more or less vanished.”
So that much of what she said was true. “Bree claims she was on the phone with Jessica Lark when she was murdered.”
The silence on the line was profound.
“I haven’t been able to get more out of her than that,” Mark added.
Kenyon cleared his throat. It sounded odd over the phone. “You have to bring them in.”
“I’m taking them to the safe house. We should be there in a few hours.”
“Good. I’ll make sure they’re ready for you. Whatever’s going on, we’re Bree’s best chance.”
Mark knew Kenyon was right. Still, he was beginning to realize the situation had risks—and he was the danger. He was too powerfully drawn to Bree. She wasn’t just any woman—he could resist most with no problem. But she had inspired something deeper than ordinary lust or hunger, and that was treacherous for them both. He should walk away—leave before he took her, body and blood. Head back to his island.
He paced along the sidewalk beside the little row of shops. Awnings shaded a scatter of molded plastic chairs. Water dishes sat out for dogs, and flags fluttered in the steady cold breeze from the sound. It was all so normal, so human. So unlike the fractured creature he was—half demon, half hermit.
“Mark?” Kenyon’s voice prodded.
He stood at the corner, watching the street. A silver Escalade was crawling down the road toward the ferry dock. Moving like the eyes behind the tinted glass were searching the streets. Instinctively, Mark stepped farther into the shadows. “I need you to run a license plate for me.”
He rattled it off, waiting as keys tapped at the other end of the line. Kenyon gave a low whistle. “It’s a 2011 Cadillac Escalade registered to Pyrrhus Enterprises. That’s owned by Nicholas Ferrel.”
Mark said nothing, letting his mind race.
“What are you going to do?” Kenyon asked.
Mark hung up before he thought of an answer.
Chapter 8
Mark dashed through the doorway of the café, nearly crashing into a couple carrying their lattes to go. Bree looked up, her face changing as she saw his expression.
“They’re here.” He didn’t need to offer more explanation than that. She nodded once.
“Time to go,” she said to Jonathan.
She reached for his arm, but the boy jerked away, not willing to leave the rest of his sticky bun behind. His glass of milk went tumbling.
But the boy caught it before more than a drop spilled. Mark stopped in his tracks, frozen by what he’d just seen. The boy had moved faster than even his vampire sight could follow. Intent on getting Jonathan into his jacket, Bree seemed not to have noticed. Mark shoved it from his mind. There were more immediate problems. As Bree was gathering up the last of their things, he herded them out of the coffee shop.
It wasn’t fast enough. The Escalade had parked, and four men were emerging from the silver vehicle. They were fanning out, looking around for their quarry. Although he had never seen the man at the head of the group, Mark recognized Nicholas Ferrel at once. He was the exact image of his ancestor.
Ferrel was tall and fair, a hard expression making his face older than his years. The breeze ruffled his hair as he strode across the street on long legs. With an experienced eye, Mark spotted a holster beneath Ferrel’s jacket and another at his ankle. In another time and place, Ferrel’s ancestor had swaggered just so, his sword swinging from his hip. He looked just like that before he took Anna and the boys. I mocked him that day, but he had his vengeance in the end.
A stew of emotions flooded Mark, rage, weariness and dread for Bree and Jonathan. Mark stepped in front of them, using his body as a shield. I will bleed them all before that happens again.
“Go,” he said to Bree. “Get Jonathan out of here. I’ll keep them busy.”
She gave him a startled look, but thankfully didn’t argue. She was already in motion, throwing their coats over one arm and taking Jonathan’s hand in hers. Smart woman. She was used to improvising. Wordlessly, she turned and vanished down the narrow alley between the café and the quilt shop, Jonathan in tow.
Mark turned to face the threat.
* * *
Bree’s heart galloped with anxiety. Sweat trickled behind her ears even though the air was cool. And she wasn’t moving quickly. There was no running fast with a four-year-old. Jonathan was too big to carry for long and too little to keep up with even a brisk walk. And he ran out of breath so fast these days.
She cast a glance over her shoulder. Through the narrow gap of the alley, she could see Mark, his tall, broad-shouldered stance radiating thinly repressed violence. He was squaring off with a tall blond man she thought she recognized—one of the men who had pursued her before—but Mark wasn’t letting him pass.
Prickles of alarm ran up her back, a primitive response that held both fear and gratitude. She hurried faster. Why was he helping her? It made no sense. And yet, Jessica had been the same way, looking after her and her baby in a way no boss really needed to. Mark and Jessica seemed cut from the same cloth—a little too good-looking, a touch too perceptive and much too involved in a world of trouble. Things that interest men with guns.
She swore under her breath. I can’t help him. I’m not like that. She would have to run off and leave him behind. That was clearly what he had in mind.
But that rankled even worse. If Mark was putting himself on the line for her, she could do no less. But then what about Jonathan?
She turned left at the end of the alley. Jonathan turned, tugging at her hand and pointing back at Mark.
Bree shook her head. “We have to go. He wants us to run away.”
Jonathan frowned.
“He’ll catch up.”
The boy shook his head, curls flopping. Bree bit her lip. She didn’t want to leave Mark, either, but there weren’t a lot of options. Besides, she worked alone. If she’d stuck to her solo act, Mark would still be safe in his cabin. Of course, she and Jonathan would be dead of exposure or kidnapped by their enemies.
She crouched in front of Jonathan, groping for a plan. “We have to get to the car, but to do that we’ll need to be very quiet and sneaky. Can we do that?”
Jonathan nodded, squeezing her hand in both of his. Bree felt a catch in her throat. Sometimes it was as if he’d lost his ability to speak only to grow more expressive. She pulled Jonathan close and hurried onward.
Bree turned the corner. This side of the street had mostly businesses, but there was a souvenir shop on the corner. She ducked inside, buying a baseball cap with a ferry on it. Then she stopped outside the store, letting everything she was carrying slip to the ground while she organized her thoughts. She pulled the cap on, stuffing her hair inside. Then she slid Mark’s leather jacket over her fuzzy pink fleece one. If anyone was looking for a woman in pink with long blond hair, that at least was changed. Mark’s sunglasses were in the pocket of his jacket. They were too big, but they hid her face well enough. Finally, she pulled out her cell phone.
“Okay, kiddo, let’s go.” She took Jonathan’s hand again, ambling slowly toward the parking lot where the cars waited for the ferry. She could see the boat now, pulling up to the dock. Passengers were coming from every direction, finding their cars and preparing to leave. She didn’t have a lot of time.
The Escalade was parked beside the entrance to the lot. One man was still inside, watching the road. Bree held her phone to her ear, blocking her face and carrying on a pretend conversation. She kept Jonathan on the other side of her, away from the lookout.
“Don’t hurry,” she said to the phone. “Don’t rush, don’t look around. Pretend you don’t care what’s happening around you. You have no cares in the world. None at all. Nope.”
<
br /> Jonathan pressed close, his little body almost a weight against her side. She slid an arm around him, taking comfort from his warmth. Sometimes she wasn’t sure who looked after whom.
They were getting close to the Escalade. The sight of it made breathing hard, as if its sinister presence froze her lungs. She tried to force her mind to other things—the gulls in the sky, the splash of red in the sumac. Bathed in autumn sun, the town could have been a postcard come to life. But Bree only saw the silver car with its dark windows, and the shadow of the man inside.
She sauntered by, forcing herself to keep her pace relaxed as she talked nonsense into the phone. Her fingers were cold enough to chill her where they touched her cheek. Steady, steady. At any other time, she would have put some distance between her and the car by walking on the road, not on the sidewalk. But now, she dare not arouse their suspicion and forced herself to stay on the path. She half expected a hand to reach out and drag her inside the SUV. Every tug of the wind made her nerves skitter. The Escalade was so close, her sleeve brushed the mirror as she passed. Jonathan’s short steps faltered. She stroked his hair, letting him know she understood.
They had gone halfway down the row of cars when she got up the nerve to glance over her shoulder. The Escalade door was open, the man standing behind it, watching her. She turned back, checking her location. Mark’s vehicle was five cars ahead.
She pretended to end her call and started walking faster. Mark’s car was three ahead now. Another glance told her the man was headed her way, with two more on his heels. She suddenly realized the Escalade had an extra row of seats. If she was counting right, they’d stuffed seven villains inside. Just her luck to get the bonus pack of baddies on her tail.
Bree was jogging now, dragging Jonathan behind her. They were at the Lexus, and she grabbed the door handle. Locked. Mark had locked the car. She needed the keys. She looked around, realizing how tightly packed the rows of cars were. They were locked out and blocked in.
Jonathan started to whimper. Bree looked up and realized their pursuers were bearing down in long, purposeful strides. They must have been watching the car, waiting for her to return. Her disguise had only bought them a few moments. Bree cursed her stupidity, stuffing her phone into the pocket of Mark’s coat.
Possessed by An Immortal Page 7
