Wren and the Werebear (3 page)

When they'd first started dating, Olivier had gone out with her dancing many times. Then the election had encroached, and she'd had to go by herself, but she knew he didn't like her going out on her own. Lately, she'd quit dancing altogether. So this moment was one she savored—his hand on her waist, his other hand supporting her palm. She smiled brightly up at him.

"Seriously, what are you doing here?"

"Seriously, Jessica texted me and said you had the night off. I thought I could take a moment away from the office to come down and do cocktails for a while with my girl. You look amazing. You should wear makeup more often."

"Yeah, we'll see about that," Wren said. Olivier's smile faltered a bit.

"I'm sorry, should I not have come?" he asked. "Did you want to flirt with the wealthy socialites? You know I can't resist a good charity ball."

"Spoken like a true wealthy socialite," Wren said, poking him in the side. "No, I'm just tired. I shouldn't have come. Jessica dragged me away from my work."

"It's good that you're working," Olivier said. "You'll get a raise soon, with all the overtime you put in."

"Maybe," Wren said, resting her head on Olivier's shoulder. They swayed back and forth to the sounds of the piano coming from the other room. She tried to get back into the moment, the feeling of dancing with him, pressed against him, but it wasn't working.

"Are you okay?" Olivier said. He pulled back, concern written all over his face. "You seem kind of down."

"I'm fine," Wren said. His insistence irritated her. "You know, I think that guy was right. I could use a breath of fresh air. Can we walk outside a bit?"

"Sure," Olivier said, casting a distracted look across the charity party. "Let me just say goodbye first. The head of AeroCon was telling me about their lobbyist's plans, and it's really my one chance to impress him...There he is!"

He strode away quickly, leaving her standing on the dance floor alone. Of course. That's why Olivier had shown up at the party. Not to have drinks with her, but to schmooze with the bigwigs he knew would be here. The company exec he'd been talking with shook his hand and gestured to the other men in the group. Wren slunk back to the front door to wait for him.

“Chocolate pomegranate dip?” a waiter asked, bending to offer a silver tray of fondue.

“Sure, thanks,” Wren said. She took the tray from the waiter and set it down on the table next to her, swiping a handful of bread through the chocolate dip and into her mouth in one motion. The tartness of the pomegranate pips contrasted with the bittersweet chocolate.

“Delicioush,” she said with a half-full mouth. Wide-eyed, the waiter blinked and didn’t ask for the tray back.

It took five more minutes and half a tray of the chocolate dip before Olivier extricated himself from the group of executives. He walked over with a face brighter than normal.

"Great news!" he said. "The AeroCon people want to meet up and talk about the resolution I'm writing up."

She reached to take his hand but he pressed her palm instead on his elbow to escort her out.

"No holding hands?" she half-teased. He never wanted to hold hands in public.

"Come on," he said, "No kiddish stuff here, please. When we're outside?"

"Sure," Wren said, feeling her happy expression slide off of her face. He led her out and down the stairs to the city sidewalk. It was only when they were around the corner that he let his arm drop and hold her hand. The motion felt hollow, scripted. She wished he hadn’t come, then berated herself for it. He was only doing his job. He was good at his job.

Wren tilted her head back to look up. There must have been stars above them, but the lights of D.C. were so bright that they eclipsed any hint of the night sky.

"The lobbyists have been stalled for months now," he continued without interruption. "There's one clause they keep fighting for, but I don't think they need to bargain for it."

"Hmm. How does that work?" Wren asked. She immediately wished she hadn't.

"Like I was telling him, all you have to do is rewrite the first committee bill and get it through with the clause attached there as a rider. If it's already part of the bill, the oversight agency knows that they'll have to convince two-thirds of the committee to rework it, and nobody wants to rework it, believe me."

Wren believed him. She inhaled deeply and let it out, her warm breath clouding white in front of her. Her cardigan was too thin for this weather. Even in spring, Washington was cold as ice. Her teeth began to chatter.

"Then there's no way it can be struck as a line item in debate," Olivier was saying.

"Mmm," she said. He stopped and took her by the shoulders. For a brief second she thought that he would kiss her, and she raised her chin up slightly to meet him. Then he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand and she knew he was off in some distant place in his mind.

"I was thinking about your consulting company," Olivier said. "If you would just let me talk to them, I'm sure we could figure out a government contract that you could head up."

"Olivier—"

"I know, I know, you don't want any help. But if you want to get ahead, you're going to have to let other people help you. Tell me what you need. Let me pull some strings."

"No. I don't want you to pull any strings for me," Wren said. She turned and continued walking to warm herself up, and Olivier followed at her side. His hands were in his pockets, and she wrapped her arms around herself. It was still cold.

"It's not illegal," he said. "Just let me put in a good word with the Senate committee—"

"No!" Wren said.

"Jesus, Wren, stop being so stubborn!"

"Me? I'm stubborn?"

"Wren, gosh, come on." Olivier had a hurt expression in his eyes. "I only want you to be successful."

"I am successful," Wren said, softening her tone. "I have you, don't I?"

"You're going to be the best Senate wife there is," Olivier said, laughing. "Nobody can walk over you."

"Oh, really?" Wren asked, glancing over at her boyfriend. He'd been hinting at proposing for months now, but never more than that. Honestly, she wasn't sure what she would say if he did.

She would say yes, she supposed. Olivier was a good boyfriend, if a bit too work-obsessed. And she could hardly blame him for that when she was just as obsessed with her own job. And he was always considerate, never forgetting to buy her flowers on her birthday or Valentine's. But sometimes she wished he would be a bit less considerate, and a bit more... passionate.

"I can't wait to spend this weekend with you," he said, squeezing her shoulder. She gave a wan smile. It would be nice to get away. Olivier had planned two whole days out of the city at a fancy spa retreat in Maryland. Wren had seen his credit card bill and pitched a fit, but he had convinced her that it would be worth it.

Worth it? She'd make sure it was worth it. Olivier spent so much of his time doing senate committee work that he was too exhausted to climb into bed with her when he came home after working out at the gym. After a dry spell that he promised was due entirely to overstress, Wren couldn't wait to get away... but more than that, she couldn't wait to tear Olivier's clothes off and give him a real workout.

If there was one sore spot in the relationship, it was his sex drive. Or lack thereof. Wren had never pressed him about it, although she brought it up casually now and again, hoping he would catch the hint. He never did.

They continued down the street, walking alongside the closed up storefronts.

"What are you going to do first? The mud baths or the cucumber facial?"

"I'd like a cucumber facial from you," Wren said, nudging his side with her elbow. "If you know what I mean."

Olivier groaned.

"Terrible pun," he said. "Me, I think I'm going to get a full-body massage first."

"A massage?" Wren had been offering Olivier massages every other day for a year now. And while she thought it would be a sexy lead up to foreplay, that didn't really work when Olivier fell asleep under her hands every single time.

Wren's phone buzzed with a text message. She reached into her purse to turn it off—time with Olivier was too precious to be spent checking texts— and as she did, she saw out of the corner of her eye a shadow moving in the alleyway just up ahead. Her eyes lifted, her father’s voice screaming in her mind: Surroundings! Check your surroundings!

Before she could say a word, the man had stepped out in front of them. He was young, with black stubble on his chin and a twitchy, nervous look in his eyes. He was wearing a dark jacket over raggedy jeans, and looked, if not homeless, then close to it. Olivier stopped in his tracks and held a hand up warily.

"Can I help—"

The man pulled out a gun. His hand shook as he raised the weapon and pointed it towards Olivier, then Wren. Wren's heart skipped a beat, and all of her muscles tensed under her skin.

Not like this. Not again.

She let go of her phone, preparing to jump or be jumped.

"Gimme your cash," the man said. He coughed into one hand. "Now."

Olivier stepped in front of Wren.

"It's alright," he said, his voice calm with only an edge of nervousness in it. "I'll give you my money. Just don't point the gun at her."

Stupid! If she had a clear shot of the mugger, she could take him down in a second. What was Olivier thinking?

He wasn't thinking. He didn't know what was going through her head, after all.

But no, it was her fault to begin with. She should have had better awareness of her surroundings, not been distracted by her phone. Then she would have been one step ahead of the guy. She really didn't want to try to pull her gun out from her leg holster. Not with Olivier there, anyway. He hated guns.

As it was, Olivier was digging into his pockets for cash between them, making it impossible for her to reach the mugger with any certainty that she would succeed. Worst case scenario, he would injure or kill Olivier before she could take him down. Dammit! If only Olivier would step away, out of her path—

"Here," Olivier said, holding out the cash with his fingertips at arm's length.

So frustrating! If Olivier wanted to take the gun away from the guy, all he had to do was palm the cash and make sure the mugger took a step forward. Just a single step forward, to throw him off balance. Wren rolled her eyes as the mugger snatched the cash easily and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

"Now you," he said, waving the gun at Wren. "I want whatever's in your purse."

"Sure," Wren said. She moved to step forward, but Olivier blocked her.

"Wren, don't—"

"It's okay," she said. Dammit, can't you see what I'm trying to do?

She switched the purse from one hand to the other as she took a step sideways, to move away from Olivier. The mugger's eyes tracked the purse. Easy target.

Pulling out the cash, she took another step sideways, leaving a gap between her and Olivier. The mugger began to reach out for the cash, and she made sure to keep her arm bent. He took a step forward, his hand outstretched.

There.

With a single motion, Wren grabbed the guy's arm and kicked out with her foot at his other hand, the one that held the gun. She focused the impact of her shoe on the man's wrist, hearing the bones crack as she kicked hard.

"Ahhh!"

The mugger's gun clattered to the sidewalk, but Wren still had him by the wrist. Jerking him forward, she pulled him off balance between her and Olivier. Her purse fell to the sidewalk, tripping him and sending its contents scattering across the road.

With another kick to the back of the knee, she forced him to stumble, then fall, his arm twisted behind him. She landed neatly on top of him as he fell face-first to the sidewalk, her full weight thrown forward to knock his breath out of his body. Her knee jammed down into his kidney and she wrenched the other arm behind him before he had a chance to regain his breath.

"Wren!"

Olivier stood aghast over her. She looked down. The man under her moaned. His eyebrow was cut and bleeding from the impact on the concrete.

Good, she thought. And I didn't even have to use my gun.

"Don't move or I'll take you down again the same way," Wren said to the mugger. "You got it?"

The guy seemed to get it. She pulled her purse over and unclipped the leather armstrap to wrap it around his wrists, tying it in an expert knot. The man screamed once in pain as she tied his broken wrist to his good one with the purse strap. She'd known the unsightly strap would be useful for something someday.

"Wren, get away from him," Olivier said. Now that the man was tied up, he came forward and took her by the arm protectively, helping her to stand up.

"Sure," she said.

"How on earth did you do that?" Olivier looked dumbfounded at the trussed up man on the sidewalk.

"Uh, those self-defense classes you had me take," Wren said. "They really worked, huh?"

She prayed he wouldn't check into that; she had skipped every class after the first one, in which the instructor had told them never to try to disarm an armed man. But Olivier had worried after he was elected that someone would attack her. Wren didn't want him to know just how little he had to worry. Her job was taking care of herself.

"I guess so," he said, shaking his head.

"Help me pick up my stuff?"

Her purse contents were strewn everywhere, and Olivier began to gather up her makeup. Wren looked around for her phone, keeping one eye on the mugger on the ground. Where was the dang phone?

Olivier had it. He was looking at the screen with a funny expression on his face.

"What's up?" she said.

"You have an assignment," Olivier read off of the screen. "What is this? Are you going back to school? Or is this for your dance class thing?"

Uh oh. Wren didn’t know what the message was. She was retired, after all, and the most the CSE had asked her to do in the last year had been rewriting her case study files from when she had been in the field. Why would the CSE give her another assignment?

"I gotta go." Wren grabbed the phone from his hand and stuffed it in her purse.