Gray Bishop (9 page)

“Negotiable. I’m hoping for something week to week, as we’re unsure how long Mr. Bishop’s work will take.”

“I see. If you’ll give me a moment?” Wolfe shook his mouse, then typed at his computer for a few minutes.

Jillian remained still, perfectly calm while lying to the man’s face. Bishop looked bored, and he continued to impress her by not speaking a word. Mr. Wolfe was probably intimidated as hell by the six-foot-four, muscle-bound businessman glaring at odd points around his office. And Jillian was drawing on her own angular features to give her performance intensity and urgency. She had no use for flirting her way into what she wanted.

“I may have a property available for lease that suits your needs,” Mr. Wolfe said. “It’s a two-bedroom, two-baths rancher. No fence, but there are exterior cameras and a motion sensor system the current owner installed about a year ago. It does have a lovely backyard patio area and a pool, which may not be of use as the weather cools.”

“What’s the neighborhood like?” Jillian asked.

“Medium-high-income area. You will have neighbors on three sides. The home’s lot is half an acre, but at this moment there are few rental properties with no neighbors and perimeter fencing. At least not within twenty miles of Reading.”

Jillian angled to face Bishop, her eyebrows raised in silent question. He met her gaze briefly. This was probably their best option. She didn’t like the idea of neighbors, in case the triplets did get it into their heads to attack. But they could go with it, or cross their fingers and hope the next realtor knew more than Mr. Wolfe.

Bishop tilted his head ever so slightly. A nod.

“The property sounds acceptable,” Jillian said. “And the owner has no qualms about a last-minute lease?”

“None at all, provided your references and financials are in order.”

“They are.”

“Excellent. Are you certain you wouldn’t like a walk-through before you make your final decision?”

“Do you have photos?”

Wolfe turned his computer monitor around. Jillian glanced at the red-brick ranch home, probably built around the nineteen sixties. The lawn was trimmed, the hedges immaculate.

“No walk-through,” Jillian said. “We’ll take it.”

“Good, good. I’ll get your paperwork in order.”

***

Darren Wolfe insisted on leading them to the rental, which meant Bishop had to keep up with the man’s somewhat erratic road skills for a good twenty minutes. He hated driving around unfamiliar towns. He didn’t know the roads or the speed limits, or even when he could make proper left-handed turns. At least Jillian had programmed the address into her GPS in the event he lost Wolfe.

Bishop suppressed another snort at the man’s last name. Who said the universe didn’t have a sense of humor?

He’d texted Father before leaving the realty office, updating him on their status. He replied that all was quiet in and around town, and Bishop counted that as a blessing. Quiet was good. He liked quiet. His life had been the definition of quiet a month ago. Now his entire town was under siege, and a simple smile from the woman sitting next to him made his dick sit up and beg for attention.

“You did well back there,” he said. Women liked to be complimented, didn’t they? And she had done a good job in cowing Wolfe into doing their bidding, no questions asked.

“Thank you.” Jillian was watching the town go by with wide eyes. “I wonder how many people live here.”

“Less than a hundred thousand, including the suburbs, I think.”

“It’s incredible when you think about how few live in our towns.”

Barely eleven hundred loup between Cornerstone and Springwell. “We’re both used to very small towns. Even a city like Reading seems huge comparatively.”

“Have you ever traveled to one of the major cities? Philadelphia? New York?”

Bishop hung a fast left onto a residential street. “I’ve been to Philly a handful of times. It was . . . intimidating.” He’d chosen a small college in a small community for exactly that reason. Large crowds of humans unnerved him.

“I’ve never been. Wilmington is the farthest I’d ever traveled until Stonehill.”

He resisted a larger show of surprise. “Really?”

Jillian exhaled a long, deep breath. “You know what it’s like to be the child of the Alpha. The heart of our town is the market, and it takes so much time to maintain. I loved my life and my role in Springwell, so I never saw the need to go far from home.”

Bishop tried to imagine Jillian dressed up, strolling through the Morris Arboretum, or Independence Hall. Walking along South Street in the spring. She would enjoy the visit, he thought, but she wouldn’t want to live there. Like him, she belonged with her people. Maybe once their lives settled down, they could—no. No trips. No vacations. No future after this mess with the triplets was over.

He hit the brakes a bit aggressively when he pulled into a driveway as indicated by Wolfe, who’d parked on the street. The house in front of them looked exactly like the photo, right down to the tidy lawn. Bishop got out, immediately scenting the area. Florals and pine and earthy scents. Nothing dangerous. No enemies that he could detect.

“This is the place,” Wolfe said. He used a special key to remove a black lock from the front door, which he pocketed. He handed a pair of silver keys to Bishop. “Welcome, Mr. Bishop.”

Bishop screwed on an appropriately bored look as he followed Wolfe inside. The front door opened into a joint living and dining room space. Not terribly modern with a lot of brick and polished wood surfaces. The furniture was clean and somewhat contemporary which seemed a contrast to the home’s features. Past the dining room was a kitchen, and through there a door to a finished basement.

“A possible office space for you, Mr. Bishop,” Wolfe said during their tour.

Bishop grunted.

The bedrooms were clustered together at one end of the living room. Not an overabundance of windows. Wolfe showed them the small alcove in the kitchen where the home’s security features could be controlled. Cameras. Alarms. Motion sensors. Bishop paid attention, impressed by the paranoia of whomever had lived here before.

“Well, I do hope this home will suit your needs,” Wolfe said after they’d seen everything and more. Bishop wanted the guy gone.

“It will do just fine,” Jillian said. “Thank you again for accommodating us on such short notice, Mr. Wolfe.”

“You are quite welcome, Ms. Reynolds. If there’s anything else I can do, please call my office.” He handed a business card to Jillian, his hand brushing hers a little too deliberately for Bishop’s liking, and he very nearly growled.

He’d probably make Wolfe piss his pants, since he’d yet to say a word in the little man’s presence.

Jillian walked Wolfe to the door, then shut and locked it behind him.

Bishop called his father, who answered on the first ring. “We’re inside.”

“How does it look?” Father replied. This was the conversation they wanted the triplets to hear, and Bishop hoped this whole ruse was worth it.

“Layout is good. Not a lot of corners, a lot of open space. We did luck out with a finished basement. All we have to do is seal the one exterior window, reinforce the door, and we have a safe room.”

“Excellent. Other security?”

Bishop laid out the system as Wolfe had shown him. “We’ll know they’re coming as soon as they cross the perimeter, even if they are damned fast.”

“Good to know. Neighbors?”

“It’s quiet so far. I guess Rockland Street isn’t the most happening part of Reading.” Deliberate hints. Conversational. “Jillian and I are heading out to the store so we can stock up on supplies. I’m thinking a week’s worth of food for three people to start.”

“That sounds about right. Make sure you pick up a few pints of mint chip. He won’t like being moved, so we might as well try to bribe him.”

Bishop didn’t fake his snort. If only a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream could bribe Knight into being happy again. “I’ll add it to the list.”

“Call me again once you’ve both settled in for the evening.”

“I will.” He pocketed his phone, then turned. Jillian was sprawled on the floral print sofa, ankles crossed. “Time to go shopping.”

“Do we have to?” The grouse was so perfectly whiny that it made Bishop smile.

“Are you telling me I’ve found a woman who doesn’t like shopping?”

“Yes, you have.”

“Tough luck, Reynolds. We need to keep up the act, which means stocking up on crap we’ll probably not need for this particular exercise.”

“Guh.” She hauled her slim frame off the couch and smoothed down her dress. “Can I at least take this costume off first?”

“By all means.”

Jillian snickered. “You are such a man.”

“I hope so.” He pitched his voice low, just so, growly and promising.

Her eyes flashed wide for a split second. “My bag’s in the car. I’ll be right back.”

Bishop spent the time she needed to change on reexamining the basement. It only had a couch and a flat-screen TV, plus the second bathroom, but that was okay. As a safe room, it would actually be ideal if they had any real plans to bring Knight here. Which they wouldn’t. That’s not what this was about.

Jillian met him at the front door, back in her familiar jeans and t-shirt combo. She found a supercenter on her phone, and the GPS got them there with little fuss. Bishop glared at the entrance to the store, which was teeming with people coming and going. So many of them, all oblivious to who walked among them. The overwhelming pungency of human body odor, perfumes, and deodorants made his nose twitch.

This whole experience was going to give him a headache.

Jillian grabbed a shopping cart, and they went at it, working their way from one end of the store to the other. Paper plates and utensils. Toilet paper. Cups and bottled water. First aid. Hand soap. Trash bags. Once they got to the food aisles, Bishop was ready to toss whatever they saw on the shelves into the cart and go.

Too many conversations to block from his sensitive ears. Too many overwhelming smells. Too many people staring like they knew what he was, even though it was only his height and looks that attracted the attention. He imagined it was ten times worse for Knight, who was the undisputed best-looking of the three. Knight was self-conscious about his image, playing it up for the auction audiences, and downplaying it for his own people. He didn’t like the attention that gravitated toward him from all directions, male and female, loup or other.

***

“Hey, Bishop?” Jillian touched his forearm. “I don’t think we need all that.”

“Huh?” He glanced down at the cart, where he’d piled in about thirty boxes of pasta without even realizing. “Shit.”

“Where were you just now?”

“In the past, where I have no business being right now.” He hauled twenty of those boxes back out and replaced them on the shelf. The others would put up a good show of them intending to stay a while.

Jillian didn’t push him on his wandering mind, and they finished shopping in relative peace, considering the crowded store. Bishop winced at the checkout total as he swiped a credit card. They loaded up the back of the Explorer with their purchases, then returned to the safe house.

They wouldn’t be using it as such, but Bishop didn’t know what else to call it. Prison for one night? The daylight was waning, and he had at least twelve hours to spend inside with Jillian. Alone. He knew as well as she did that his tease about no promises after midnight had been just that. A tease. He’d had a taste of her. One more and he would be addicted completely, unable to give her up.

Somehow they had to make it through the night without succumbing to their intense attraction.

It was going to be a long damned night.

***

Knight’s nose identified the owner of the footsteps that had intruded upon his peace in the library. He’d retreated there to be alone, even though Winston had shown up a few minutes ago and declared himself Knight’s personal assistant for the next eight to ten hours. He’d shooed Winston into the kitchen for a piece of Mrs. Troost’s pecan pie, because Knight was safe inside of his own house. And he wanted to think.

Rook closed the library door, then approached the big leather armchair Knight sprawled on. He sat on the corner of the adjacent sofa, as hesitant as Knight had ever seen him. Rook didn’t wear the look well.

“I’m impressed,” Knight said. “You gave me three whole hours after that vision reveal.”

“Don’t be too impressed, big brother. I didn’t come sooner because I was a coward.”

Knight frowned. “You’re one of the bravest men I know.”

“Except when it comes to stuff like this. Personal stuff.” Rook pulled something out of his pocket and plunked it down on the table between them.

His skin crawled at the sight of that chess piece. “Why do you still have that?”

“Bishop asked me to talk to you about it.”

“And I’ll say the same thing to you as I said to him—”

“Stop.”

He did, because Rook never used that tone with him. The Black Wolf, “I’m in charge here so shut the hell up and listen” tone.

“Brynn had a vision of you holding an infant with black hair. Black hair like those crazypants triplets. And I know there could be any number of explanations for her vision, but I’m going to ask you a question. And I am telling you, Knight, that you need to be honest with me.”

Knight’s gut rolled. “Fine.”

“Is there any chance whatsoever that the baby you’re holding in that vision is yours and Victoria’s?”

The conscious side of his brain that he’d convinced nothing happened demanded he say it was impossible. The unconscious side, the part he’d buried deep down with the worst of his memories of those hours in the trailer, screamed to be heard. To finally share the darkness with the one person who’d been there, and who didn’t actually buy the story Knight had spun for his father’s benefit.

He couldn’t get his mouth to work while he was looking at Rook, so Knight told the floor. “Yes. It’s possible.”

The growl Rook released was so primal, so angry that it startled Knight into looking up. Into a vision of rage and hate, and none of it directed at Knight. Rook’s skin rippled as his beast roared up, emotion getting the best of both of them. Knight opened himself to his brother, taking some of the edge off of his temper, soothing his beast. He needed Rook focused, not force-shifting from emotional stimuli.