by Kat Simons
“I already told you, I’m not going to. You’re going to have to deal with that.”
She opened her mouth to object, but he pulled her close and stopped all discussion with a kiss.
Cary sank into the feel of him and ignored her uncertainties. When she came up for air, she said, “At least I know a little more about your family now.” A very little. But it was a start.
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” he said. “You just have to ask.”
She frowned. What if she didn’t know what to ask?
He ran a thumb over her brow, smoothing creases. “Donuts again tomorrow?”
Groaning, she dropped her forehead to his chest. “I shouldn’t. You’ve found my weakness.”
“I thought pizza was your weakness.”
“That too.” She raised her head. “Sally would want us to have something healthy and nutritious.”
“I’ll bring orange juice. That’s healthy.”
“So this means you weren’t too bored today?” Cary asked. “With the endless round of teenager-friendly movies and lousy computer games? And dogs? And teenage boy questions?”
“How could I possibly be bored with all that?”
He kissed her one last time, deep and hard enough to guarantee she wouldn’t sleep well again. Then he left.
As Cary headed back to the living room, her gaze strayed to the ceiling. Jaxer hadn’t sent her any news today. But she still couldn’t risk a trip to her secret battick. No doubt Jaxer would send her some information tomorrow. He’d know she couldn’t do any research on her own. He’d make sure to get her news.
But Sunday passed, another cloudy, relaxed day in the house, without any messages from him. As she went to bed that night, she assured herself he’d send word Monday. After all, this mysterious Boss was pretty elusive. Gathering useful information on him probably just took more time than normal. No reason to worry.
So long as the attacks didn’t get worse.
16
To Cary’s surprise, the attacks didn’t get worse on Monday. In fact, they stopped all together.
The beginning of the week passed without incident. Cary took Jon to school. Deacon met them after the final bell and followed them home. When the time came, Deacon drove to the hospital to shadow Sally home.
Everything went to schedule without any supernatural dangers.
Cary wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or worried about that. She leaned toward worry when they reached Wednesday without any word from Jaxer.
She did get a call from her friend Lucy on Wednesday night, though. Cary hid in the bedroom to take the call, though given Deacon’s hearing, she wasn’t sure a closed door really gave her much privacy.
“You missed training this week,” Lucy said, without preamble. “Again.”
Her soft, whispery voice was almost childlike, despite Lucy being a thirty-five year old woman. The first time Cary had heard her speak, she’d thought Lucy was purposefully affecting that tone, but it was just the way she sounded. And her voice, combined with her petite size, curly red hair, and freckles, frequently gave people who didn’t know her the wrong idea about her capabilities.
Because Lucy Evans-Nakada was also a multiple-black belt martial artist. After seeing her in a fight for the first time, kicking the ass of four full grown men with ease, Cary had never taken Lucy’s voice or her petite size as a sign that she was vulnerable.
“I know,” Cary admitted with a sigh. “I’m working.”
She normally trained in self-defense technics with Lucy on Tuesday nights. She didn’t actually have to know how to fight because her Protector powers kicked in and gave her the skills she needed when she needed them, so long as she was protecting someone. Lucy—one of the few people who knew about Cary’s real job—insisted Cary needed the training, though, because when Cary wasn’t protecting someone, she was as vulnerable to attacks as any normal human woman.
“You’re never going to get better if you don’t keep up regular training,” Lucy scolded.
“I know. I know.” They’d had this discussion before. A lot. But Cary’s job had to take precedence. “Couldn’t be helped this time. I swear.”
“Long term job?” Lucy asked, sympathy in her tone.
“Longer than I was anticipating.” Cary flopped onto her bed and stared up at the ceiling. “Looks like I’ll miss girls’ night this Friday, too.”
“Ah, we’ll miss you. Marianne, Angie, and I are dying to grill you about this Deacon fellow.”
Cary closed her eyes and groaned. “How did you hear about him?”
“So it’s true? You have a boyfriend you haven’t told us—your best friends—about yet?”
“First, not my boyfriend. Only known him for a little over a week.” Saying that out loud made Cary blink. Wow, not even two weeks yet? Scary. “Second,” she went on so Lucy wouldn’t notice the pause, “I have been working this new job since I met Deacon. I haven’t had a chance to call you guys and tell you about him yet.”
“We are going to need a girls’ night soon. You have a lot to explain.”
She winced. How the hell did she explain Deacon to her best friends when she didn’t really understand what was happening between them herself? “How did you even hear about him?”
“Jaxer.”
Cary sat up. “Wait, you’ve talked to Jaxer? When?”
“He called Angie over the weekend, checking up on something. He mentioned you had a new ‘annoying man’ in your life.”
“He called Deacon annoying?” She snorted. “That’s one way to look at it.”
“How do you look at it?”
Cary sighed. “I have no idea what to think. He’s a leopard shifter. And he claims I’m his mate.”
There was a long pause. Then in a whisper that made Lucy’s childlike voice sound even more childlike, she said, “Are you?”
“I have no idea,” Cary admitted. “It shouldn’t even be possible, right?”
“I’m not the paranormal expert. You’ll have to ask Angie and Marianne.”
“It’s not supposed to be possible,” Cary said more definitively. “Leopards only bond long term with other leopards. I thought.”
“You think he’s trying to trick you just to get into your pants.”
“He wouldn’t need to trick me for that. Wait till you see him.”
“Better looking than Jaxer?”
Cary considered that. “Different. Same unnaturally gorgeous but… I don’t know. Earthier.”
“Wow. How did you meet him?”
“I rescued him from a demented teenage sorcerer.”
“Sounds about right for you.”
Cary laughed. She did tend to meet most of the people in her life through her job. She’d gone under a bridge to “save” Lucy from her attackers when they’d first met—only to realize as she watched that Lucy didn’t need any help.
“Do you want him to be your mate?” Lucy asked, getting to the heart of the matter as only Lucy could.
Cary opened her mouth to answer with all her uncertainty, only to remember that Deacon was probably hearing all this—at least Cary’s half of the conversation. She closed her eyes. “I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “And I can’t worry about it yet. What did Jaxer need from Angie?”
“She didn’t say. Why?”
“Because I haven’t heard from Jaxer in more than a week, and I’m waiting on him for some information to do with this job.”
“I’m sure he’ll get what you need to you. Jaxer’s always good at helping you.”
“He’s also good at getting me into trouble,” Cary pointed out, thinking about Deacon again. With a sigh, she said, “I’d better go. I have a house full of people. Sorry about missing training. I promise as soon as this current job is finished I’ll make it up.”
“I’m more concerned with hearing about this mate of yours. Keep us updated.”
Cary stayed hidden in her room for a bit longer after ending the call, too many differen
t worries making her gut hurt. Where was Jaxer? Why hadn’t he sent her a message or any information yet? What had he been asking Angie about and did it even have to do with Jon and the Boss? Why hadn’t the Boss sent anyone after them yet this week? What did she feel for Deacon? Did she even want a man in her life right now? Did she have time? How long would she have to keep Jon and Sally here? How much longer would Sally stay?
Rubbing her hands over her face, she groaned into her palms. Too many questions. Too many dangerous possibilities.
And her without any real answers.
They reached Friday night still without any attacks, and Cary’s nerves were drawn tight with all the waiting. Another weekend stretched out in front of her, one that proved more of a protecting challenge because keeping a teenager tucked away in a house for two weekends in a row without video games or a collection of violent movies wasn’t easy.
Cary did have some good action films in her collection but not near enough and apparently not the right ones. Plus, he’d watched them all already. Twice. And she only had boring computer games, nothing even resembling a proper gaming console.
Thankfully, the dogs kept Jon occupied playing catch in the backyard for most of Saturday morning or the complaints would have started much earlier.
Deacon arrived with bagels and donuts, enough to feed everyone, to Jon’s enthusiasm and Sally’s scowl. Though Sally did eat two donuts, so obviously her objection was more of a moral stand against excess sugar for her teenage boy. A couple of hours later, Cary understood why.
Sugar gave already active teenage boys way too much energy. And after a very quiet week with no more attacks, fear no longer burned up all that energy. Jon managed to wear out Pickles and Buck in an hour. Fred could chase the ball for days, so there was no hope of wearing him out, but Jon eventually lost interest. The dogs curled up to take their requisite morning nap while Jon went to find the cat. Scratchy had decided to make his presence known the night before by leaving a dead bird at the back door.
Scratchy and Jon seemed to have a very animated conversation while the dogs slept peacefully a few feet away. There was so much mewing and hissing by the cat, Fred raised his head once to see what was going on. He saw the cat, dropped his little head back onto his front paws and closed his eyes.
Cary, watching all this, couldn’t help but grin. She was also very curious what that cat had to say.
That distraction only lasted another hour, though, and then Jon was in the house complaining of being bored. Again.
“Can’t I go over to Will’s house?” he said. “No one will bother me there. Will’s dad has this big Glock in the closet.”
Sally’s eyebrows rose to her hairline. “You are never going to Will’s house again.”
“Mom,” he drawled in that pained teenager way. “We know not to play with it. Mr. Borosky keeps it in a locked box anyway.”
“Mm hmm. Well, I’ll be having a little chat with Mrs. Borosky before I let you spend the day at Will’s.”
“But I’m booored.”
“Yes, yes,” Sally said with a long suffering sigh, “you’re always bored. You are also still in danger.”
She looked to Cary for confirmation, and Cary nodded.
Something was coming. Cary could feel it in her bones. It was only a matter of when.
“We could go to the park,” Deacon suggested. “Take the dogs. Maybe bring a picnic. We aren’t due any rain all day.”
“Can we play football?” Jon launched off the couch and stood staring up at Deacon. “I bet you play football.”
Jon’s change from suspicion to hero worship was nothing short of miraculous. Cary wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about the switch in attitude, but as long as they weren’t at each other’s throats, she could live with it.
“There aren’t enough of us to play much of a game,” Deacon said, “but we can toss a ball around if you like. You got a ball?”
“No.” Jonathon dropped his head. “Guess you don’t either?”
“Not yet. We’ll stop and get one.”
“Really? Cool. You’re the best, Deacon.”
“Thanks, kid. Put in a good word with Cary for me, would you?”
Jonathon laughed and swatted playfully at Deacon’s significantly thicker arm.
Seeing the two men, so different in size, playfully punching at each other made her smile. Deacon looked up and caught her grin. He winked, then turned his attention back to Jon.
So beyond being supremely sexy and having a job that involved saving animals, Deacon was also good with kids.
She was doomed.
Sally was working that afternoon and most of the night, so they packed up Deacon’s SUV with food, the dogs, and some blankets, followed Sally to the hospital—with her knowledge this time—made a quick stop at a sports store to pick up a football, and headed to a park not far from Cary’s house where the off-leash area could be used all day.
They let the dogs loose first so they could run and, hopefully, wear themselves out a little. Fred, though the smallest of the three and the only one who didn’t possess any supernatural qualities, still managed to nearly pull Deacon off his feet in his hurry to get to the other dogs. Fred was the social one in the group. Pickles liked other dogs, but she was more laid back about meeting them. Buck usually hung back by Cary, preferring to watch the antics.
Other dogs never seemed to notice that there was something different about Buck and Pickles either. Fortunately. Because she’d hate to keep Fred from all the socializing.
Jon laughed and jogged after Fred. In a matter of minutes, the teenager was surrounding by every single dog in the area, all of them vying for his attention.
“That kid’s got some talent,” Cary commented, watching a dog that looked like it could devour Fred in one gulp pushing his head into Jon’s hand for a scratch. “I wonder what they’re all talking about.”
“Food or football probably,” Deacon said. He pulled her close, his arm across her shoulders. “And speaking of food, I’m starving.”
“Yeah, I could eat. Give the dogs a few more minutes, then we’ll go out to the grass and tether them. Pickles and Buck will be ready for a nap soon.”
“And Fred?”
“After we’ve finished eating and he’s finished begging, he’ll nap.”
Cary turned her face up to the sun. It was a mild day, cold enough for a jacket, but the sky was clear and bright and the park filled with people taking advantage of the unseasonably nice weather. There was no telling how much longer it would last before full winter set in.
When they could tear Jon and the dogs away from the fun, they found a grassy spot to sit and eat their lunch of sandwiches, potato chips, egg salad, and soft drinks. Sally insisted they bring some apples, and because Deacon could eat as much as three men, he ate two. Since his hero didn’t object to the fruit, Jon ate an apple, too. Cary had a candy bar.
“Hey,” she said to Jon’s accusing frown, “just because you’re weird and don’t like sweets doesn’t mean I have to sacrifice good taste.”
After lunch, they threw the football around, and Cary proved how uncoordinated she could be when not protecting someone—despite Lucy’s best efforts. To Cary’s humiliation, both Deacon and Jon spent a half hour trying to teach her how to catch better. They gave the effort up as a lost cause sometime around three in the afternoon and let her go sit with the dogs. She was better at watching anyway.
They were on their way back to Deacon’s SUV when three large men and two equally large women blocked their path.
17
Cary immediately moved Jonathon behind her. “Five against two?” she said. “I suppose it could be worse.”
“For you or for us?” a deep voice commented from behind the wall of people.
The voice held a distinctly English accent and sounded both amused and indulgent. From between the barricade of thugs, a man stepped forward. He was medium height, medium build, with gray hair, pale eyes, and a nose that could only be c
alled distinguished. He wasn’t unattractive, though she wouldn’t call him handsome. Cary decided the word “character” best described his face. And a certain…power. He was probably in his early sixties, but he moved with the grace and ease of a young man.
At odds with standing in the middle of a public park, the man wore a dark gray suit, white shirt, and blood red tie, all covered by a long, dark coat. The outfit gave him an air of distinction. The suit was obviously well tailored and expensive, the tie made of silk, the coat heavy wool. The cufflinks winking at his wrists were diamonds.
She knew without asking who stood before her. Though the fact that he’d come in person, instead of sending more messengers, made her gut clench. She hadn’t expected him to make a personal appearance. At least, not yet.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Redmond,” the man said, his mouth tilting in the barest of smiles. “It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” He looked beyond her to Jon. “Jonathon Webber. I’ve been trying to arrange a meeting with you for the better part of two weeks now.”
“Who are you?” Cary asked mainly to pull the man’s gaze away from Jon.
“You know who I am, Ms. Redmond.”
“True. But it’s impolite not to make proper introductions. Especially when you already seem to know who we are.”
He smiled. “Holland. Oliver Holland.”
Bond. James Bond. She gave him a mental raspberry. “What can we do for you, Mr. Holland?”
“As I said, I’ve been attempting to speak with Jonathon for several weeks now. A meeting you’ve been preventing for some odd reason.”
“Yeah, I’m a little weird that way. Trying to drag a kid into a car for a ‘meeting’ is perfectly normal behavior. Why would I want to prevent that?”
“A simple misunderstanding, I assure you.”
“And the witches, the telekinetic, the leprechauns, the shifters and wizards trying to follow us? All a mistake?” She raised her brows, giving him an expectant look designed to irritate. Irritated bad guys tended to talk longer.
“Poor communication and a lack of good judgment,” he said easily. “We mean the boy no harm.”