Harlequin Nocturne May 2015 Box Set: Wolf Hunter\Possessed by a Wolf (43 page)

Chapter 21

T
oo much sex definitely impacted productivity.

Lexie's phone chimed, dragging her back from sleep just as her eyes drifted shut. “Go away.”

The nubby fabric of the couch pillow dug into her cheek, making her itch. Last night had caught up with her and she'd stretched out on the couch for just a moment, but she guessed more time than that had passed. Faran had left to show Prince Kyle what they'd found in the photos after Lexie had uploaded a slide show of evidence to his phone.

She sat up with a groggy yawn, her phone chiming again. She picked it up see a text had come in. She swiped the screen, thinking it might be from Faran.

Hi, Lexie. It's been a while since you hugged your brother. XXOO.

“That's a three out of ten.” She threw the phone down on the couch in disgust and slid back into a sleeping position. She might have said it a bit too loudly but, seriously, that wasn't her persecutors' best work. As intimidation tactics went, the skewer was way better.

She leaned her head back against the cushions, but now her eyes were wide open. She fervently wished Faran was back. The room was quiet, the only noise the rattle of the palace's ancient water pipes. But her mind was hooked like a fish on a line, unable to shake free of the text message. Surely Valois's people could figure out where the message had come from? No, catching her stalker—for that's what this was—couldn't be that easy. Poitier had supposedly delivered a message from Justin, so she already knew his masters were in on it. It was all the same bunch of bad guys, out to drive her crazy so Faran wasted too much time looking after her.

She was beginning to think that last bit of her theory might need a bit more work. It seemed like an awful lot of effort just to distract one agent, even if Faran was the only Company man at the palace.

Gradually, Lexie became aware of the sound of breathing. At first she thought it was her own, but she silenced herself and listened. The sound continued. Someone was there with her. Her scalp prickled with alarm.

Although by now she was fully awake, she didn't move. She didn't want to tip her hand. Instead, she tried to guess where her visitor was standing. The noise seemed to be all around her, growing steadily louder.
This is where the kick-ass heroine would have a gun. Why don't I have a gun?

Because she had always been a runner, not a fighter. Inwardly, Lexie swore. Stone-still and cramped with tension, she was growing colder and colder as she listened. She had to move. She had to do
something
. But she had never really learned how to fight. Not like Faran.

Lexie looked from side to side as far as she could without moving her head. There was no one in front of her. Whoever it was had to be in the bedroom—standing there, watching her and planning who knew what. The sheer creepiness of it made her stomach lurch.

She was supposed to be safe. Faran had put some sort of super locking gizmo on the window sash so it couldn't be jimmied open, and yet somehow her stalker had gotten in. This was far, far too much like the endless nights of her childhood, when she'd huddled in bed, frozen and trembling. Her neck was starting to cramp—there was no way she wanted to remain like this until Faran returned. Maybe she could make it to the door. They'd posted more security guards in the corridor—several of them this time.

Inch by inch, Lexie sat up and looked around. There was no one. Stiff with tension, she stumbled off the couch, her shoulders hunching as she looked around. It was only then that she realized the sound of the breathing was coming from her phone. It had landed right behind the cushion she was using for a pillow. She snatched it up. The phone wheezed at her like Darth Vader in miniature. “Oh, come on.”

Embarrassed, she flipped the phone over and popped out the battery. The noise instantly stopped. Frustration hummed along every nerve, making her squeeze the phone until her fingers ached.
What makes you think you can do this to me?
Worse, she'd fallen for it. Lexie dropped the phone to the cushions as if it had burned her, but then her fingers curled into fists.

A knock came at the door. Lexie stiffened. “Who is it?”

“It's Maurice, love,” came the familiar voice.

Maurice?
She'd met him a few times, but there was no reason he would be seeking her out. She hurried to open the door. Sure enough, the tall musician stood in the hallway, wearing what appeared to be an electric-blue leisure suit from the '70s. She hadn't seen lapels that wide in her lifetime.

“Come in,” she said, still slightly mystified.

“What do you think?” He gave a feline smile and twirled as he followed her inside her rooms. “Resplendent?”

She nodded. “It, um, well, the color pops.”

“Yes, I know. I'm a lounge lizard waiting for the right sunny rock.”

They exchanged a few pleasantries while he strolled aimlessly about the room like an exotic butterfly unwilling to settle.

“What's the occasion for the fashion statement?” she asked.

“Rehearsal. Then a concert in town for the right kind of charity donors. Invitation only. Amelie is all about the children's hospital.” He gave another sly smile. “I don't mind. I've been very fortunate and don't mind spreading a bit of that luck around. After the concert, I'll be doing the fireworks event at the palace, not to mention the celebrity croquet tournament for those of us who can't manage polo.”

“That's quite the schedule.”

“Let's just say I'll be earning my keep the next few days.” Maurice raised an eyebrow. “I don't get to be idle rich, just look like it. Anyhow, I was hoping to find the inestimable Mr. Kenyon. I have a tidbit of news to share before I head off to town. He seems to be a man in need of the right gossip.”

“Okay,” she said, part of her mind still on the invasion of her phone. “Faran's out for a few minutes.”

Maurice looked at the huge cartoon character wristwatch he wore. “Too bad. I need to toddle. I may be mad, bad and dangerous to know, but the contract says I must also be punctual.”

But he didn't stir, instead studied Lexie intently. “Are you all right, love?”

There was so much she could have said, but she didn't know Maurice well enough. “It's been a strange few days, with the bad fish and everything.”

He gave her an assessing look that said he probably knew more than he was letting on. “Point taken.”

She was spared a reply. Just then Faran walked in, clearly surprised to see Maurice there. “Hi.”

“Is Leopold still missing?” Maurice asked unexpectedly.

Faran frowned. “Yeah, why?”

“Gossip has it that yesterday our younger prince was seen madly hunting for a dropped
something
on the lawn—apparently lost after he tripped over a wicket and fell.”

“Really?” Faran said slowly. “He didn't happen to say what?”

“No, but I have it on good authority from one of the part-time gardeners that this afternoon some tourists found a ring in the bushes. Honesty would compel most to return it to the lost and found but, alas, not everyone is so high-minded. My trusty garden gnome believes they came on the shuttle bus from the Hôtel de la Plage.”

The ring
. Lexie wanted to blurt it out, but she wasn't sure how far Maurice was in Faran's confidence. But the words rang like an insistent chime in her head as they said goodbye and Maurice strode off in a swirl of electric blue.

“Is he your informant?” Lexie asked.

“No, although in this instance, he seems to have appointed himself one.”

“I don't get why he's involved,” said Lexie. “He's insanely rich and famous and some kind of relation to the Vidonese royal family. He probably played with Kyle and Leopold when they were kids.” Then Lexie stopped herself. She'd just answered her own question. Maurice was sticking his nose into Faran's investigation because Kyle and Leo were family. One way or the other, he cared about the outcome.

“At the moment he's being useful. I was there when Leo tripped,” Faran said. “It never crossed my mind that he would have been carrying the ring.”

“Well, giving it to a flunky didn't work out so well.”

“And now he's lost it and is on the run.” Faran rubbed the bridge of his nose, as if a headache threatened. “Does that seem odd to you? Wouldn't he stick around and try to find it?”

Lexie went to the couch, pushed her laptop and camera into her leather backpack and zipped it up. “I think if he hears someone found the ring, he'll go after it. Or send someone. Those people might be in danger.”

“What are you doing?” Faran asked.

“Aren't you going to go after them? To the hotel?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I'm going, too.”

“It could be dangerous.”

She stuck her chin out mutinously. “What are you saying? Weren't you glad I was there to beat up Gillon with a tire iron? Besides, it's just a hotel.”

Faran held up both hands. “Okay. I get that you need to go. This is about you and your right to control your destiny, and I'm all about making sure you get what you need. But if I say duck, you do it. No arguments.”

“Agreed,” she said. “But we're taking your car. We broke mine already.”

He held up a set of keys. “Prince Kyle gave us a loaner Jaguar.”

“Nice.”

“Not bad. But I'm serious—if you want to bail at any point, just say so.”

“I won't bail.”

“You don't have anything to prove,” he said.

“I know. But I mean it. I'm really tired of these nut jobs getting their Norman Bates on.”
You, my heavy-breathing friend, just made my ass-kicking bucket list.

It wasn't how she was used to thinking, but getting to know Faran's wolf last night had taught her a thing or two. The wolf had shown its strength to challenge and dominate, because that was in its nature. But so was a fiercely protective love. Strength, even force, didn't have to be abusive. Intent was everything. Fighting back didn't mean joining the dark side.

She intercepted Faran on the way to the door and caught an arm around his waist, pulling him closer for a kiss. He responded instantly, deepening it until she rose up on her toes to get more, and more. She wasn't going to be left behind, and she wasn't going to let anyone get between them.

Faran was right. Lexie had to be the person she was born to become.

Chapter 22

T
he Hôtel de la Plage was the kind of place married couples went when they wanted a vacation but were still paying for their kids' tuition. Decent, but no one was calling Condé Nast.

Faran pulled the Jaguar into the parking lot, which had a view of some scruffy palms and a collection of concrete pillars meant to imitate a Roman ruin. Kitsch, apparently, was an international phenomenon. The hotel was long and low, set around an apathetic garden with a swimming pool.

Lexie pulled a camera from her backpack and slid out of the car, the wind catching her long, fiery hair. She pulled it back, knotting it with graceful hands and sticking it with her pencil.

Despite his speech back at the palace, Faran was apprehensive about her presence. He'd seen enough of these innocent-seeming excursions turn bad. Then again, the past few days had been dire enough he didn't want to let her out of arm's reach. He needed to pick one anxiety and stick with it, but where Lexie was concerned all he wanted to do was put her in his cave and guard the door. A natural urge for his kind but not very useful, and she'd probably kick him in the fuzzy dice if he tried it.

“Stick close,” he said, heading for the administration office.

She matched her stride to his. “What makes you think the manager will tell us anything? We're not police.”

“We could lie. That's kind of what undercover agents do. Or, we could use this.” Faran pulled out a laminated identification card. “Prince Kyle gave me a palace security card. It's the keys to the kingdom, at least for this kind of job.”

“I want one,” she said plaintively.

“I'm in charge.”

“That's not fair. You're supposed to be
my
assistant.”

“No way,” Faran said, falling into the spirit of the argument. “We have to take turns.”

“I'm telling Chloe.”

When they got to the manager's office, it didn't take long to figure out which room their targets had rented. It was the one that had been burgled just an hour ago when the unlucky couple had gone to the lobby for an early drink.

“A crime like that's to be expected,” said the hotel manager, wearing a golf shirt at least one size too small. “The royal wedding is announced, and every pickpocket and petty thief in the land descends to prey on the crowds of idiot tourists.”

“Did they report anything stolen?”

“Jewelry and electronics. They've gone to the police station to fill out a report. So why are you here?”

“Your guests were at the palace today. The royal guard is interested in thieves targeting visitors to the palace precinct.” Faran flashed the security card and the manager let them into the room without argument.

“What are we looking for?” Lexie asked once the manager had left them alone.

She was doing a methodical sweep of the room, snapping photos while Faran looked around. He didn't interfere, because it was exactly what he would have done. But when he tried to concentrate, she acted on him like a magnet, pulling his attention with her as she moved. The lingering heat of desire flared as she drew near, scattering his thoughts.

His gaze drifted to the bed—big and comfy-looking, with fresh sheets judging by the scent of laundry soap in the air. He could see Lexie reclining on a stack of snowy pillows, her flame-colored hair spread out like a banner against the white. The mere thought threatened to short-circuit his reason. Unfortunately, there was the chance the couple might come back from the police station and turn his fantasy into a nightmare. Maybe there was an empty room somewhere nearby?

Get your head in the game
. If he was going to romance Lexie, he'd pick somewhere nicer than this. He sniffed the air again, detecting the usual mix of industrial deodorizer and mildew, as well as the parasitic wildlife that settled in urban settings. “I'd keep an eye out for rats, but I don't think anyone we know has been here lately.”

She tapped the tip of her nose. “You were hoping for an ID?”

“Yeah, or maybe Prince Leo tied to a chair with a note addressed to the mayor of Gotham City.”

Lexie picked up a flyer from the dresser. “This is for Maurice's concert tonight.”

“And?”

“Maurice said it was invitation only. Why pass out flyers to something most people can't get into?”

Faran gave her a sharp look. Good thing someone was using their head. “Because most people wouldn't catch a detail like that. But passing those around would give someone a chance to try a few doors.”

She dropped it back on the dresser. “Should we fingerprint it? Did I smudge something?”

“Probably not, but it's best not to touch stuff even if we are wearing gloves.” He picked up the flyer with tweezers. “And everyone treats you with more respect if you're holding an evidence bag. It just looks better.”

They finished searching the room and went back to the office to find out if the manager had approved the flyers for posting. He had, but he didn't have a working security camera covering the desk, or anywhere else for that matter.

“I approve everything,” the manager declared. “No one wanders around here without my permission.”

“Did you get a look at the guy?” Faran asked.

“He was shorter than you. Wearing sunglasses and a cap. Oh, and he had a red windbreaker stenciled with a logo. Other than that he looked like all the young men, like we owe them something.”

Faran couldn't exactly put out an APB on
Entitled Young Dude, approach with caution
. The guy had, however, left the plate number of his van on the clipboard at the desk so that his ride wouldn't get towed.

As Faran and Lexie walked back to their own car, he phoned Valois to run the plates. Valois checked while Faran was still on the phone. The plates turned out to belong to a stolen vehicle belonging to a beachfront florist's shop. Valois gave him the address. Faran hung up, despondent. “I think it's a dead end.”

“Should we visit the flower shop?” she asked, getting into the Jaguar.

“What for?”

“Don't criminals work in a comfort zone?” she asked, twisting in her seat to face him. “They stick to areas they know, right?”

“Yeah,” he said, “depending on the kind of criminals, that is.”

His old gang had gone where the goods were, but not every thief was so specialized. It was hard to tell with this bunch. Nevertheless, Lexie might be on to something. He reread the address. “That florist is near the site of Maurice's concert. The thief printed flyers for the concert. I'd bet you anything the copy shop where the flyers came from is in the same neighborhood. Maybe they used a credit.”

“Okay, now we're talking.” Lexie was getting excited, talking with her hands. “That neighborhood is away from the palace but not so far that it would be hard to get there in a hurry. That's got to be their home base. See, it's not a dead end.”

Faran was more cautious. He'd had his fair share of disappointments during an investigation. “Maybe. We can go look around,” he said, and started the Jaguar.

The waterfront area was a mixed bag. One end was big casinos, high-end hotels and glitter. This was the beating heart of Marcari's economy. The other end, where Faran and Lexie got out and started down the cobbled paths, was small-scale and in his opinion far more interesting. If you wanted handmade glass, authentic cuisine or a rare book, this was where you went. Lots of other people must have thought so, too, because it was crowded.

The afternoon was fading and the tall, ornate streetlights were coming on. Street vendors lined the main walkway, many of them with open-air grills. He smelled lamb, rubbed with the unique spice blends he'd never found anywhere else. Faran's mouth started to water. He hadn't eaten for hours. “Hungry?”

Lexie gave him a smile, mouth quirked. She knew all about his frequent feeding times. “I could eat.”

He bought two of the lamb concoctions, the spiced meat wrapped in greens and served on flatbread drizzled in spicy cream. Traditional Marcari cuisine was in the same family as French, but had elements of Moroccan and Greek, as well. They sat on a bench under olive trees and ate. It was messy and Lexie was soon licking her fingers.

“Sticky, but food always tastes better outside. Even the burgers from the fair back home,” Faran said.

It was out of his mouth before he thought about it. He didn't have a lot of memories of his pack, but he did remember the traveling fair that visited a nearby town once every summer. His home was no more than a hamlet way up in the mountains where a few dozen werewolf households kept themselves to themselves, but they came down for the fair.

“What was your home like?” she asked, wiping juice from her chin.

It was all he could do not to lick her clean himself. “Small. Insular. It was a logging settlement and really cold in winter. We only got two TV channels and then only if the weather was right.”

“Sounds very back to the land.”

“It was, but it was a great place to be a kid. Lots of room to run around. We played in the woods all the time.”

He'd belonged, and been loved. He'd come across other packs as an adult, but by then he would only ever be the outsider looking in. It was easier to go it alone. Except now he wanted a pack of his own, starting with a mate.
Slow down. Don't screw it up this time
.

“Do you ever go back home?” she asked.

“It's not there anymore. People started building out that way and it wasn't a good place for wolves.” He looked away, unable to keep his thoughts off his face.

“Everyone moved?”

“Not exactly.” More humans in the area had meant more incentive to get rid of the wolves. Hunters called it wildlife management. For him, it had meant walking out of the mountains with his entire pack dead in the snow behind him. He'd been the only survivor because he'd been too young to go roaming with his parents.

Unnerved by the memory, he picked up their garbage, looking around for a recycling bin. “It's a long story.”

She touched his arm. “I want to hear it someday.”

He stopped, letting her hand keep him in place. He wasn't sure he could tell it. Not all at once. He tried to smile. “Maybe a bit at a time. That was my first deposit.”

“It's a deal.” And then Lexie let him go.

He took a steadying breath. If they'd been any other couple, all this would have been part of the getting-to-know-you phase when they'd first met. But they weren't average, and even the little he'd just said hadn't been possible before now.

She helped him clean up and they started looking for the florist. “I don't remember fairs, outside of one,” she said. “My stepdad took us. It was the only time I remember us doing anything as a family.”

“What about your real dad?” Faran asked. He couldn't imagine having a family and not doing things with them. They weren't something to take for granted.

“I don't remember him all that well,” she said, her voice filled with regret.

It was almost full dark, and shop windows glowed like beacons up and down the waterfront. They'd reached the front of the flower shop. Faran regretted letting the threads of the conversation slip, but his eye caught the sign before a large building in the next block. “There's the concert hall. The flower shop is almost next door.”

The hall was where the action was. A knot of people milled on the front steps—concertgoers, security and fans wearing pale imitations of Maurice's outlandish outfits. No doubt the guy kept the world stocks in eyeliner afloat. A couple of random blasts of fuzzy guitar stabbed the air. Inside, the band was doing a sound check.

Faran considered the options. Usually once the sound check was over, the venue would open the doors and start letting people in. And wouldn't the dark, crowded crush of a rock concert, dazzled by flashing light, explosions and Maurice himself, be the perfect place to hand off a stolen ring? Absolutely no one would notice.

Then again, there were a hundred other ways the thief could connect with his employer. This could be a complete waste of time. But Lexie was watching him expectantly, waiting for direction. “Let's look around,” he said. “Maybe one of the fetches from the photographs will show up.”

They went to the left, toward the back of the concert hall. The surrounding area was set out like a plaza, with benches and trees lit by strings of sparkling lights. The whole place was packed.

Lexie grabbed his arm, turning as if to murmur in his ear. “Is that our guy from the hotel over by the stage door?”

The figure was standing at the edge of the light and wearing a red windbreaker and a baseball cap pulled low over his dark hair. Just like the hotel manager said, the figure was unremarkable, his posture sullen. He was talking to a tall man with close-cropped hair, possibly in his late fifties. It looked like the older guy was chewing him out about something.

Faran steered Lexie along the plaza, passing them downwind. The tall man smelled like French cigarettes, the young man like nothing at all. It was the most damning evidence possible. No scent was why he'd never noticed it in the hotel room. Fetches—until they were self-destructing into stinking slime puddles—were invisible to his nose.

The man took off his hat just long enough to brush his hair back. It was the anti-Kyle.

Inside, Faran howled with triumph.

Faster than Lexie's eyes could follow, Faran pulled out his gun. The move drew exclamations from bystanders. Someone screamed.

“Freeze!” he ordered. Everyone within earshot obeyed, except the anti-Kyle. He took off at a sprint.

Faran whirled to Lexie. He was in full-on Company mode, his teasing smile vanished into hard lines. “Go to the concert security desk and stay there till I come get you.”

Lexie barely had time to nod before Faran bolted after the fetch, leaping a wrought-iron bench in a long-legged bound before they disappeared into the darkness.