Harlequin Nocturne May 2015 Box Set: Wolf Hunter\Possessed by a Wolf (29 page)

Lexie made a strangled sound.

“What's your name, sir?” Valois asked.

“Faran Kenyon.”

“What's your business in the palace?”

There was an uncomfortable silence as Faran's brain froze. He'd lied his way in and out of hostage takings, terrorist cells and crime dens, but Lexie had flash-frozen his brain. “I had to see
her
,” he said with asperity.

“They work together, too,” Chloe volunteered. “He's her assistant
and
her husband. Always a bad combination.”

Faran's eyes met Lexie's. For the first time in years, they were in complete accord: Chloe was out of her mind.

Valois gave a slow nod. “You should leave, Mr. Kenyon, and I suggest you do it quickly.”

Faran barely stifled a growl.

“But don't go far,” Valois added. “I'll need to speak with you later.”

Faran took a last look at Lexie. “I won't be far. I'll come if you need me.”

“Go,” she said. “Just go.”

Even now, she didn't want him. Especially now, when he'd let the wolf get the better of him. With a curse, Faran pushed his way from the room.

Chapter 5

“T
he ring isn't in your chamber,” said Valois. “It is not in your belongings. So where did you put it?”

Lexie was exhausted, but sat with her spine straight and her don't-mess-with-me face intact. Her watch said it was just after two o'clock, but it felt as if she'd been in that tiny, windowless room for days. She was bored with the grimy walls, the scarred tabletop and the gritty floor. She'd never thought it was possible to be bored and scared at once. Added to that was guilt. Faran had pushed her buttons and she'd lashed out. He'd been trying to help and deserved better than that. If Valois ever let her go, she'd try to apologize.

“I don't have the ring,” she said. “I never took it. I don't know who did.”

“Is that right?” Valois tapped his chin with his forefinger. “And yet I wonder about a woman such as you, one who grew up in what might be considered luxury, and now lives more or less out of a suitcase. With all those advantages in childhood, why is it that you work and live like a nomad, when you don't truly need to work at all?”

Lexie stiffened. “I choose to work. I earn my own living in my own way. I don't need to live off anyone else.”

“What does your family think of that?”

“I've never asked. They don't control me anymore.”

His eyes narrowed at that. “You don't miss them?”

“No.” She tried to say it without venom. Her brother had been the golden child, as vicious as he was perfect. They had both been restless, intense children, but he'd channeled his unsettled energy in dark ways. Her mother had doted on him, even after his death. “We're not close.”

Valois didn't waver, although he sat back with a weary air. His fingers twitched against the tabletop, though his expression was exactly the same as it had been when he'd knocked on her door early that morning. “Tell me about your husband. When we checked your background in preparation for your employment here, your marriage was not mentioned.”

Lexie's mouth felt sticky with stress and bad coffee, as if she'd been drinking glue. He'd grilled her over and over about every minute detail of the evening, but he hadn't touched this topic yet. Did that mean he had a fresh layer of hell in store for Mr. and Mrs. Werewolf? What the blazes had Chloe been thinking, coming up with this story? And why?

She sighed. “What about him?”

For a moment Valois almost looked amused. “He seems very protective.”

“He is.” That much at least was true.

“The front gate scanned his passport. I asked them to do a little digging just now.” Valois examined his nails. “There wasn't much to find at first glance. No mansions or art schools like you had.”

“No.”

“In fact, there is little information about his early years. It is almost as if he had no childhood. Can you explain that?”

“He doesn't talk about his childhood much.”
And that would be the first clue he's different
. His secrecy should have rung an alarm. “I don't think he had a happy youth. Not that it's any of your business.”

For the first time, a flicker of interest crossed the policeman's eyes. “From your tone it seems you are just as protective of him.”

“So?”

“You're not exactly inseparable. No evidence of a common address. No common name.”

“I'm a fashion photographer. My work keeps me on the move.” The room felt as if it was growing smaller. Sweat trickled down the small of her back.

Valois flicked his fingers dismissively, as if suddenly changing his mind. “Perhaps you are telling the truth. There was an application for a marriage license in Paris some years ago. There is every chance that none of this is relevant.”

Marriage license?
Lexie's limbs numbed with shock. She blinked stupidly, trying to mask her surprise. Valois was regarding her coolly, studying her response.

Her hands rested in her lap, but they felt clumsy and cold, as if they belonged to someone else.
Faran was going to propose back then? Was that why he told me his secret?
Her heart jerked painfully at the memory, but she gave a careless shrug. “We have a unique relationship. It works for us.”

“Is he violent?”

“No!” She looked away.
Not to me
.

Valois caught her hesitation. “Interesting.”

Lexie didn't reply, but rubbed a scar along the back of her hand. A gift from Justin, her golden brother. It was far from the only one. She forced herself to turn her gaze back to Valois. He was still regarding her intently, searching for something to expose.

There was plenty there. The earlier scene with Faran had been achingly familiar, a replay of their last days together. Him burning with intensity and her wanting to duck and run. They were lucky all that broke this time was a lock.

“What has any of this to do with the ring?” she asked coldly.

“Your Mr. Kenyon has known associates in the jewelry business.”

“Oh?” Lexie strained to keep the curiosity out of her voice.

“It makes for interesting reading.” Valois stroked his lip. “But as his wife, I'm sure you know all that.”

She didn't. Faran had kept so much from her. Tiny flames of anger licked along her bones. At the same time, she saw the yawning pit opening up beneath her feet. Faran's history—whatever it was—made him vulnerable. No doubt Valois would invite her to save herself by selling Faran out.

Her stomach turned sour at the thought.
The secrets I know aren't the ones Valois expects. He's looking for a thief, but I could hand him a monster.

Valois watched her reactions the way a cat studied an aquarium. “You know, I can't put my finger on you two. You are either master criminals or helpless fools. Should I arrest Mr. Kenyon?”

“We don't have the ring. You're not going to find it by talking to me. Or him.”

“Are you so sure about that?”

“Yes.” Refusing to budge, Lexie dragged her fingers through her hair, but turned the nervous gesture into a leisurely stretch. She wasn't giving Valois the satisfaction of seeing how much he'd rattled her.

And she'd keep the act up as long as she had to. Faran was innocent. Last night he had been in wolf form and thieves generally required opposable thumbs.

“How do I know you're not lying?”

“That's up to you. I have no idea how I can prove our innocence to you.”

Valois removed a roll of antacids from his jacket pocket and began peeling away the paper wrapper. “I'm forced to agree with you there. Guilt is a far easier thing to prove, Ms. Haven. Or should I call you Mrs. Kenyon?”

* * *

Faran sat outside the corner bistro three blocks away from the palace. After leaving Lexie—and after Chloe had told him to go cool his jets—he'd slipped into the guardhouse and cleaned out his locker. Now he wore a light trench coat and had the local newspaper folded in front of him on the small glass-topped table, looking like any other young professional caught between appointments.

He was trying not to brood, but it was far from a complete success. It was as if he had an idiot button, and Lexie pushed it every time they met. But some instincts were more than human society could handle—and that was the whole problem.

Back in Paris he'd gotten himself on the bad side of bad men—a hazard of working undercover. Stupidly, one of them had tried to get to Faran by hurting Lexie. That was a very bad choice. There were some lines no one got to cross—and hurting Faran's mate was one of them.

But that night Lexie saw what a rage-filled werewolf could do. She was gone by the next day, leaving no more than a note. His need to protect—as much a part of him as his head or hands—had driven her from his side.

And now Chloe had saddled him with a cover identity as Lexie's husband and assistant. Chloe had meant to give him a plausible excuse to be in the palace, but that meant Lexie would be close to whatever trouble Faran might stir up.
This is going to be no end of fun
.

Regret stewed with anger in his gut. It was true what they said about love and hate being one step apart. He'd never hate Lexie, but his love had edged to that painful point where it was hard to tell the difference. He was a lone wolf, orphaned and raised up rough. Self-worth had come hard, and trust even harder. Lexie hadn't destroyed him, but she'd left a hole that still hadn't healed.

Disgusted with everything, Faran took another swallow of coffee, feeling the sugar and caffeine already buzzing along his nerves. The wound in his side was a steady ache.

Instinctively, he watched the street. Crowds walked by, some locals and some clearly visitors. No one seemed to notice the green-coated Vidonese guards everywhere, replacing the usual patrols like a spreading stain.

They were, however, looking at the red-haired woman striding down the street like the hounds of hell were at her heels. Faran set down his coffee. He knew that set of her mouth. She was swallowing back tears. He had to go to her. Now.

Or not. Hadn't he tried the whole rescue thing once already today? And yet, he had to know what Valois had said about the ring. There was every chance its theft was connected to the scene last night. He had to talk to her, whether he liked it or not.

Faran abandoned the coffee and strode after her. He caught up in seconds.

“Lexie!” he cried, grabbing her arm. “What happened after I left?”

She turned, her hair whipping around her face. In the thin sunlight, the long waves were the color of turning leaves—not one shade of orange or red, but all of them—like a riot of flame. He dropped his hand as if the hue alone could scorch.

To his utter surprise, she fell against him with a strangled noise, her arms around his neck. Not sure what else to do, he held her. The way her tall, slender frame fit against his was all too familiar. They'd stood like this a thousand times, her cheek against his shoulder, the curve of her back under his hand. He tensed, afraid to remember too much—even if his body knew her soft skin and sweet, womanly scent.

It was just as well he held back, because the next instant Lexie pulled away, her eyes wide as if she couldn't believe what she'd just done. “I'm sorry.”

“No problem,” he replied.

She scanned his face, her expression cautious. It rankled.

“What happened in there, Lexie?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral. “How come they let you out?”

She didn't answer, just studied the pavement.

“What happened?” he asked again in a flat tone.

She heaved a slight sigh. “Valois can't prove anything right now, but I think we're still in trouble. More trouble. I was actually— I was actually going to find Chloe and see if she knew where you were. But I kept getting her voice mail.”

“Okay,” he said, his voice careful. This was a complete reversal from telling him to get lost. “Now you've found me.”

With jerky movements, she looked around. “We need to go somewhere private.”

“How private?”

Lexie angled away, her shoulders tight. “Away from the palace. I feel like there are eyes everywhere.”

She was probably right. Besides, staying put wasn't in Lexie's nature. She didn't even like going to the same restaurant twice. Faran nodded, but not too eagerly. He'd learned his lesson about overenthusiasm that morning. “Let's go for a drive. That always makes me feel like I'm getting somewhere, even if I'm not.”

They could be alone in a car. Lexie gave him a look just shy of apprehensive, but nodded. They went to the garage at the far end of the palace grounds where her rented Peugeot was parked. Since it was her car, Faran was content to let her drive. Sort of. Lexie was an excellent driver, but she'd never met an accelerator she didn't like.

Soon she was tearing down the service road that wound behind the myriad stables, garages, work sheds and other utilitarian buildings that kept the Palace of Marcari functioning. At the bottom of a sloping hill, she turned right onto the scenic coastal highway.

“So tell me what wasn't safe to say on the street,” Faran ventured.

Lexie ran through the interview blow-by-blow. “Valois is suspicious. He pulled a lot off the computer about both of us. I think that's why he kept leaving the room. He wanted to check on the progress of his computer minions.”

“Minions?” Faran echoed.

Lexie frowned. The expression looked dangerous with all that red hair. “Men like Valois have minions. He hinted about your associates in the jewelry business. What was that about?”

“That file was supposed to be buried deep.” The Company had pulled him out of a bad life and given him choices. Part of that had been wiping the official slate clean. Faran looked out the window. “I was a kid. It was stupid kid stuff.”

“Something illegal?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“You could call it that.” Some were still doing time for their last score, but Lexie didn't need to know the details. “I was on my own. Some people had uses for a small kid with exceptional agility. I could get around obstacles they couldn't.”

“You were a cat burglar.”

“I don't like cats.”

But the label was accurate. He'd received an education in thievery, especially precious stones. It had been a crack team, going after the best pieces. With Amelie's ring missing, no wonder Valois was interested.

“Why didn't you ever tell me?” Lexie asked.

Because you already had one foot out the door
. “I'm not proud of it. There's never a good time to start a discussion about your juvenile arrest record.”

She shifted gears to take a hairpin curve. “Before we moved in together would have been good.”

But by then he was too far gone in love to risk losing her. “I didn't plan to screw everything up.”

“We never do,” she said quietly. “I'm sorry for all the ways I hurt you.”