by R. J. Blain
“Oh, yeah. He did, all right. I’m having dinner with him, my kidnapped friend, a SEAL, and a Brit who looks far too smug for his own good.”
Ethan laughed. “You’re an irreverent chap.”
“Good. I’m going to owe you a lot more than a favor if you can keep an eye on him.”
“That’s promising. When I’m done with you, your wallet is going to be crying tears of blood and begging for mercy. I’m also going to need a new ID. I’ll be expecting a bulletproof one. The best you’ve got, except better.”
For a long moment, I thought Bob was going to hang up on me, but then he sighed. “Got it. Career field?”
“Something interesting with good long-term options. And I want a good financial package. Also, I want a nice cabin somewhere nice and quiet, deep in the woods, where I don’t have to come out and deal with your people again for at least a few years.”
Snickers dissolved into hysterical laughter on the other end of the line. “I think I can do something about that. Hey. Do me a favor, would you?”
“No, Bob. You already called in your favor. Pay me.”
“Can you talk to my friend’s wife before she kills someone? Please? Maybe if you talk to her, she’ll relax a little.”
“There’d better be a good tip in this package. Okay.”
“Hold on a second.”
While I waited, I pointed the phone at Desmond. “This is your fault. Also, I should have charged you three times what I did.”
The man grinned at me. “Who are you talking to?”
“We’ve already been over this.”
“You’re playing coy with me.”
“You’ll survive.”
I returned the phone to my ear and waited, taking advantage of the wait to have a few more bites of my dinner.
“Hello?” The woman’s voice was sharp yet silky, and my wolf liked what he heard. I ignored his interest and wondered how I’d handle a woman who managed to intimidate men capable of negotiating with foreign nations and military officials.
“Good evening, ma’am. Bob told me you wanted to talk to someone about a certain situation?”
Laughter burst out of her. “Bob? You make this poor man call you Bob? That’s terrible.”
“That’s okay, he calls me Bob, too. He might know my real name, maybe. Probably not. Don’t ask, don’t tell. It’s worked well for us, ma’am. So, what do you want to know?”
“I want to know if you can find my father and beat the fucking shit out of him.”
It was my turn to chuckle. “Done, and as for the second, ask me again tomorrow, ma’am. It’d be rude to interrupt a man who is enjoying his bangers and mash.”
“Who is enjoying his what?”
I struggled to maintain my composure. “Sausage. He’s enjoying his sausage.”
If looks could kill, Charles Desmond would have had me in my grave the instant his glare fixed on me. I smiled at him.
Declan: 1, Charles Desmond: 0.
“He’s in the UK, isn’t he? That fucking no good piece of shit! Tell him to get his ass back to Seattle where he belongs. Does he have any idea what sort of trouble he’s causing by disappearing without telling anyone? Mom’s on a war path, and she’s gone and gotten Sara riled up.”
I had no idea who Sara was, but I had a feeling if she was anything like the woman Bob had put on the phone, she’d end up causing me a lot of trouble. “I can certainly try, ma’am, but it might be prudent to allow me and a friend to keep a very close eye on him instead. With his resources at the ready, he could be quite useful in my operation.”
“Your operation. And who, exactly, are you?”
“My name’s Major Declan McGrady, ma’am, and I’m the gentleman who stormed the castle. I’m a Marine, and my partner is a SEAL. I think between the two of us, we might be able to keep your loose cannon under containment.”
Lane preened, watching me with a satisfied expression on his face.
“I’m listening.”
“Good, ma’am. I’d like to keep him on hand for information. He can provide intel on our targets, which will help us track them easier. We’ll take good care of him and try to return him intact to you.”
“You actually want him? Fine, keep him. Toss him in the ocean when you’re done with him. Let’s talk about Richard.”
“Let’s,” I agreed, grinning over the feisty woman’s antics on the phone. “How difficult of a mark is he going to be?”
“He’s going to be trouble. I’m sorry. He’s an idiot and gets carried away, rather like my father.”
“My condolences, ma’am. I’ll do everything I can to bring him in. Have Bob give you my number. Shoot me a text. If I’m not operating under radio silence, I’ll answer as soon as I can. Let us do our job.”
“You might need my help with him.”
I closed my eyes and sighed. “What do you bring to the table, ma’am?”
“You’re not saying no?” The wariness in the woman’s voice was almost enough to draw a chuckle out of me.
“I’m not saying yes, but I’m not saying no, either. Here’s the deal. Convince me you won’t be in the way, and I’ll be open to being convinced to have you sitting in a hotel nearby to work as backup. What tricks do you have up your sleeve?”
“I’m good with a gun. I can browbeat my husband into line when he gives you trouble. What else do you want?”
“Obedience. You follow orders from me, or you’re out. Understood?”
Her hesitation pleased me; she was thinking, and I gave her all the time she needed. “Understood, sir,” she hissed.
“Text me your number, and I will give you directions.” I hung up on her and slipped my phone into my pocket. “Sorry about that, gentlemen.”
Desmond stared at me with narrowed eyes. “Who, exactly, were you on the phone with?”
“I’m going to give you the exact same deal I gave her, Mr. Desmond. This is my operation. You listen and obey my orders, or you’re out. There will be no loose cannons on this operation. That can get people killed. If your people are in trouble, chances are they’ll be the ones who get hurt as a consequence. Am I understood?”
Like his daughter, Desmond hesitated. “Understood, Major.”
“Good. There’s just one problem. How are we supposed to deal with Vice Admiral Haney?”
Ethan smiled. “We’re taking care of that, sir. He’s going to be so busy for the next week he won’t even remember you exist. Don’t worry, we’ve assured him that you’ll be enjoying the best of British hospitality during your stay. As soon as you’ve finished dinner, Mr. Desmond, Mr. Hammond, and I will leave the pub; we have matched cars. You’ll go with him. In four hours, you’ll arrive in London, where you’ll be staying for the night. From there, you’ll be headed to France. Mr. Desmond has British passports for your use.”
“Why does it feel like my life has become an elaborate game of spy versus spy?” I complained, glancing at Lane.
“Because it has,” the SEAL muttered, shaking his head before holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m not even going to ask how you have passports for us, Mr. Jones.”
“It’s the magic of British hospitality, sir. We’re glad to be of service.”
I wondered what sort of favors Charles Desmond and Dante Anderson had to call in to have the British government dancing to their tune. Maybe one day, I’d ask.
Then again, maybe I wouldn’t. Somethings were better left a mystery.
Chapter Thirteen
Most men and women serving in the military shared the uncanny ability to fall asleep anywhere instantaneously. When we left, sliding into the car Anthony was driving with Desmond in the front passenger seat, Lane paused long enough to toss our duffle in the trunk, get in, buckle up, and wait for me to climb in beside him before he passed out.
The cinnamon scent of werewolf filled my nose, put my wolf on edge, and made me hesitate to join Lane in exhausted slumber.
Desmond twisted around in his seat, his gaze sliding
over Lane before settling on me. “You going to be all right for a four-hour drive? Mr. Fredrick mentioned you’d been shot?”
“Twice. One was a graze, which has mostly healed. Other isn’t too bad. I’ll manage.”
“If there are any problems, let us know. Better not screw around with gunshot wounds.”
“They’ve had time to heal. It’s fine.”
Anthony snorted. “You could be on your death bed and wouldn’t even dream of complaining, Declan. Maybe you can fool Mr. Desmond, but you can’t fool me. How’s your head doing?”
“It could be worse. The headache is tolerable. It’s getting better by the day.”
“How the hell did you survive that fall? That was insane. I was certain you’d cracked your head open and were dead.” Anthony spat curses before sighing. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“It was touch and go for a bit, but I’ll be fine. Promise. Nothing some good sleep won’t cure.”
“And a few good meals, too. You look gaunt, Major,” Desmond said, his eyes narrowing as he looked me over. “You barely had more than a snack at the pub. You military types eat more than horses.”
I had a feeling Desmond had exchanged werewolf for military type in his statement. There was no way he didn’t know what I was. His scent, a pervasive cinnamon with a subtle, sweet undertone I couldn't quite identify, was making my wolf anxious, and he whined in my head. The scent markers went undetected by human noses, something that had spared me from discovery long ago.
While I had no substantial experience with other werewolves, I operated on the assumption if I could identify him by smell, he could identify me, too.
“Too tired to be hungry,” I admitted, glad it was the truth. The buffet on the cruise had helped, too. Buffets always helped.
I tried to hit one at least once a week to help maintain the illusion I ate a normal amount the rest of the time. When I did my buffet runs, I often went to two to hide the vast quantity I could eat.
The trick only worked in cities with buffets, although I did try to plan my travels around where I could eat my fill. If I stayed under the thumb of the military, I’d probably lose even more weight.
“Great. You’re like Richard. That’s just what I need right now.” Desmond sighed, shaking his head and turning to face forward. “If you get hungry, let us know, and we’ll stop somewhere to get you something to eat. You’ll impair your healing.”
“Mr. Desmond is used to getting his way,” Anthony warned, his tone wry. “I never want another gun pointed at my head ever again.”
“The safety was on the entire time.”
“That doesn’t comfort me at all.”
Desmond snorted. “It wasn’t even loaded, son. Stop your bellyaching. You were perfectly safe the entire time.”
“This guy might even have more issues than you do, Declan. Why do you always cause me so much trouble? At this rate, I’m going to lose my job because I’m out in fucking Europe instead of back home where I belong.”
I kneed the back of Anthony’s seat. “You can’t lose your job, you clay-brained varlet. You’re the boss.”
“My job sucks. Insufferable clients. I quit.”
I kneed the seat again, harder. “You’re not allowed to quit.”
“Why the hell not?”
“If I can’t quit, you can’t quit.”
“Boys, behave,” Desmond chided. “No crashing the car because you’re squabbling. No one is quitting, and no one is losing their job. I already told you I would provide capable men to cover your work as needed, Anthony.”
“See? He’s way too used to getting his way, which is how I ended up on a plane going to Europe. He thinks I’m just going to give access to his henchmen and let him do what he wants with my company. You owe me for this, Declan. You’re supposed to be the one who goes to insane places around the world, not me. I don’t travel. I’m the guy who does the computer things. You know, the guy with a safe desk job. Keyword: safe.”
For someone who claimed he didn’t travel and had left England as a child, Anthony handled driving on the wrong side of the road with more grace than I could have managed on a good day. He treated the traffic circles like obstacles to overcome, and I was glad traffic was light, or he wouldn’t need my help crashing the vehicle.
I was pretty sure the Brits wouldn’t be happy if we totaled one of their cars in an accident.
“So, what happened out there? How exactly did you get shot?” Desmond asked.
I grimaced, glancing at Lane. The SEAL snored, and while the noise was soft, it reassured me he was asleep. “I made them a flight plan, tailed them out, and ended up running into Count Dracula. I didn’t see them, so I assume they gave him the slip.”
“They did. Before I lost contact with them, they mentioned they’d heard a lot of gunfire.”
“I jumped off the cliff into the ocean and played a game of Marco Polo with him. Thanks to the storm and a rip tide, I won. Got shot in the process, but shit happens. Made my way to Hamburg to hop a cruise back to the United States but got nabbed by the sleeping SEAL back here. Long story short, here I am.”
“Damn it, Declan! You told me you wouldn’t be cliff diving again. What is wrong with you, man? Breaking your legs the first time wasn’t bad enough?”
“Small fractures,” I muttered.
“What did you break this time?” my friend snapped.
“Why do you always assume I broke something?”
“Because you always break something, asshole.”
“I think I came away mostly unscathed this time, believe it or not. I’m not even limping much anymore. I went in feet first and got the angle mostly right.” I shrugged and made myself more comfortable, contemplating whether or not I trusted Desmond enough to catch a few winks of sleep.
With Lane down and out for the count, however, I couldn’t quite bring myself to relax enough to rest even though I needed it. I stretched my legs, making a point of jostling Anthony’s seat again.
“How tall was this cliff?” Desmond twisted around again to face me, tilting his head down to stare at my legs and feet. “You looked a bit wobbly earlier, but I assumed that was because you weren’t eating enough and were tired.”
“I stood at attention on deck for several hours. I’m fine.”
Desmond frowned, narrowed his eyes but nodded acceptance of my words and turned to face the front again. “Get some sleep, Major. We’re going to have a long day tomorrow. You’ll want to be fresh.”
Despite knowing he was right, I couldn’t force myself to sleep. I did close my eyes, though I kept a close watch over Lane through my lashes. If the werewolf in the front of the car did decide to get aggressive, I’d be ready.
An object at rest stayed at rest, and my body wanted nothing to do with getting out of the car. I’d stayed awake the entire drive, but while I was conscious, my arms and legs weren’t thrilled with the idea of getting up and moving.
I made it to the hotel suite before I collapsed on the nearest soft surface, which proved to be the couch. When someone tried to force me to move, I snarled a few threats of dismemberment.
They left me alone.
The vibration of an incoming call woke me, and I fumbled for my phone, rolled off the couch, and hit the floor hard. I swiped my finger across the screen, hoped I answered instead of hanging up, and mumbled, “Hello?”
“Can you pick me up?”
It took me several long moments to recognize the woman’s voice as belonging to Richard’s wife. I stifled a groan, lurching upright. The sitting room was dark, and there was no sign of Lane, Anthony, or Desmond. “Where are you?”
“The airport.”
“Which one?”
“Heathrow. Did I wake you? Sorry. Stupid time zone changes. Stupid planes.” The woman’s voice wavered, and I heard her swallow. “I hate planes.”
“Rough flight?” I cradled the phone with my shoulder so I could rub my eyes and force them to focus in the dark. The duffle bag with our thin
gs was near the front door, and the promising shape of keys was on the coffee table not far away.
“A little.”
“I can come get you. I don’t know how long it’ll be. Find an in-security lounge until I reach the airport.”
“Okay. Thanks. Uh, what do you look like?”
“I’ll text you a picture,” I promised. “Sit tight and stay in secured areas until I tell you to come out.”
Without waiting for an answer, I hung up. I pressed the palm of my hand over the keys to keep them from jingling and slid them off the table. Once safe and quiet in my pocket, I hunted for a room key, which I found on the computer desk.
I hesitated for a moment at the thought of leaving Lane and Anthony alone with Desmond but considering all was quiet after I had fallen asleep on the couch, I suspected they’d be safe for however long it took me to go to the airport and return. My wolf growled at me for leaving them behind, but I shook my head and refused his desire to bring at least Lane with us.
The SEAL needed sleep almost as much as I did, and the woman in the airport was my responsibility. After a few more annoyed growls, my wolf relented and stopped harassing me. I dug my wallet out of the duffle bag and pocketed it, then tip-toed my way to the door and slipped out of the room, easing it closed behind me. I winced when the lock clicked.
A quick stop at the front desk to get directions later, I was on my way, heading to the hotel’s parking garage in search of the black car on loan from the British government. After fifteen frustrating minutes, it beeped at my pressing of the fob’s button, and I found it crammed into a spot barely big enough for it.
I cursed the vehicle, the tight space I had to ease it out of, and the convoluted directions to reach the airport. I made my way to the passenger pickup area, texted the woman a picture of my ID, the model and color of the car, and told her where I was waiting.
She either had wings on her feet or had gotten as close to escape as possible, because within two minutes, a dark-haired woman emerged from the departure doors, spotted my car, and hurried over, yanking the passenger side door open.
