“How do you know about that?” I shook my head. “Let me guess. Aiden.”
“What did you expect us to do when you didn’t call us like you were supposed to and then didn’t check into the hotel you had reserved?”
Buddy pinched his fingers in front of his mouth, a sign he wanted me to shut it. Fine. I didn’t have anything to say that wouldn’t make me sound like the petulant child my mother already thought I was.
“Ma’am, there was a problem with the hotel in Chicago, yes. But there was nothing to indicate that David was the target. This trip is important to David, so we took some extra precautions. We should have checked in with you yesterday, and for that oversight I apologize. My only excuse is that we were trying to lie low until the threat had been neutralized or the trip was over.”
Wow, Buddy could be effective with his words when he wanted to be. He should go into PR with a spin like that.
“How sure are you that the Chicago incident is not related to the Moreau Initiative?”
Buddy worried his lower lip for a second before answering. “As sure as we can be without the culprit being caught. Nothing was taken, though, and nothing damaged that might indicate they were looking for someone or something in particular.”
“Fine. Be sure to find a way to contact me each day. I don’t want to go through this again. You could have saved Aiden and me a lot of time if you’d done as agreed.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“David, I expect you to stay out of trouble.”
I scowled at the phone.
Then, before I could utter the snarky comment sitting on the tip of my tongue, Mom said, “Good luck on your interviews tomorrow.”
I had to swallow past the knot in my throat. “Ah, thanks.”
“Be safe.” She hung up the phone.
Buddy reached over me to set the handset into the cradle, somehow managing not to touch me at all. The click of plastic on plastic hung ominously in the air, like a judge’s gavel marking a harsh sentence on the end of whatever we’d been building between us. Buddy stared at the phone, lips firm with resolve.
“Theo?” I laid my hand on his arm.
He flinched away, almost tumbling off the bed to avoid my touch.
My gut clenched, and pain stabbed through my constricting chest. I crossed my arms around my middle, tucking my fingers under my arms. I turned away from him, trying to regain my composure. He’d shied away from my touch like I had some revolting disease. I haven’t felt that kind of personal rejection in years. Not since I’d begged my father to stay with me, with us, only to have him say “sorry, kid” and walk away. I’d only known Buddy for days; he shouldn’t have that kind of impact on my psyche.
“David.”
The pang in my chest intensified at the regret I heard in Buddy’s voice. I couldn’t handle that on top of everything else. Not when I didn’t know what exactly he regretted. Sleeping with me? Hurting me? Listening to me instead of following directions like a good little soldier? I wasn’t being fair, and I knew it.
“Not now.” I moved off the bed, joints stiff and aching. Who knew a breaking heart could have a physiological reaction like that?
I escaped to the bathroom and locked the door behind me. It wouldn’t be enough to deter a midsized human, let alone someone Buddy’s size with his bear-shifter-enhanced strength. But no matter how much I hurt, I knew Buddy would respect the closed door and my need for privacy.
And, damn, did I need privacy.
I needed to get control of myself. Hell, I needed to figure out why I was overreacting to begin with. Neither Buddy nor I had made any kind of promises, any pledges. We hadn’t defined our relationship in any way that went beyond bodyguard and client. Maybe I’d have called us friendly, if not friends.
Last night had felt like more than an assignment, more than friendship. It had felt important. Vital.
Which was fricking ridiculous. It had been sex. Awesome, bed-rattling, life-altering sex, but sex nonetheless. Maybe Buddy had been scratching an itch and I’d been handy? Proximity and all that. The minute the thought crossed my mind, I dismissed it. I knew better. The admiration in his eyes last night, and the passion in his kiss, proved it had been more than scratching an itch.
So why the sudden change this morning?
I braced my hand on the sink and examined my reflection in the mirror. Interestingly, the turmoil in my brain didn’t show on my face. The evidence of my night with Buddy did. My hair stuck up in odd places, and I could remember Buddy’s fingers carding through the red strands. Beard burn pinkened a few patches of my skin, especially near my chin.
I reached back, grazing my fingers along the back of my neck. Chills arced through me when I ran across the place where he’d bitten me.
No, that had all the earmarks of a claiming, not convenience.
“David?” Buddy tapped gently on the door.
I closed my eyes, letting the hurt feelings ease. Buddy was pushing me away, but not out of disinterest or callousness. As long as he wanted me, we could work through almost anything else.
I opened the door but didn’t leave the bathroom. “You can’t go back to treating me like a job, not while my marks are still on your ass and you smell like me.”
“I have to, otherwise I’ll want something with you I can’t have.”
“What can’t you have?” I asked, honestly bewildered.
“There’s not a future for us. Not with me in Cody and you in some big city chasing your dreams. It’s not fair to either of us to build something together now, knowing it would have a deadline.”
My heart stuttered at the realization he’d actually thought about—wanted—a future with me. “I won’t be leaving Cody for nine months or so. A lot can happen in that amount of time. I’ve never had a relationship last more than three months. You’ll get tired of me sooner or later, so why not enjoy it while we can?”
His eyes were serious when he answered. “Because you deserve more than a good time for a few months.” He reached over and grabbed my hand. “And, David, I’m afraid I won’t get tired of you. I’ll want to keep you forever, and then where will I be when you leave? Better to leave it as it is for now: friendly, professional.”
I nodded because the thought of Buddy wanting to keep me forever sounded like the most amazing thing in the world. What wouldn’t I give up to have that? Which, I realized a second later, was a problem. I’d worked too long and too hard to make a future I could be proud of. If I gave it up for a guy? Would I end up resenting the decision? Resenting him? That was too much to bear.
“Fine. You’re right. But you should know, at this moment, I hate you a little bit for being right.”
He sighed, pushing away from the doorframe. “Yeah, me too. Me too.”
Chapter Fifteen
THE cab dropped us off in front of the Craig Newmark Graduate School of Journalism building. During the ride I’d been ignoring the sights. Even knowing we were spitting distance from Times Square wasn’t enough to bring my attention outward. I’d discovered on the trip from the parking garage where we’d stored my Mini to the hotel that the sheer number of people and buildings crawling past made me nauseated. Keeping my distance—even mentally—was necessary to keep me from losing my shit like I had in Chicago.
Stepping out of the car and nearly getting run down by a bike messenger startled me enough that the mental shields I’d constructed fell under the bombardment of hundreds of unfamiliar sounds and scents. There was just so much. Too much.
Buddy’s hand settled on my shoulder. “You’ve got this.”
Absorbing his warmth and strength, I straightened my spine. “You’re right. This is too important to wimp out now.”
The front entrance opened into a lobby. A security guard manned a desk where visitors were required to sign in. Thankfully, the area was quiet and nearly deserted. The whole room smelled pleasantly of lemon wax and the potted ferns along one wall. It was a drastic difference from what the outside was like.
>
I passed my ID to the guard, who made a note on his computer. He printed out a visitor’s badge for me. Buddy handed his driver’s license to the man, who verified something on his screen and looked up. “Did you have an appointment?”
“I’m with him.” Buddy indicated me with a tilt of his head.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you up unless you’re on the list.”
“Give us a minute.” Buddy pulled me aside. Lowering his voice, he said, “You’re not going up there without me.”
“I’ll be safe enough in the building. There’s a café next door. Grab a seat there, and I’ll meet you when I’m done.”
“You’re not going up there without me. Call the person doing your interview. See if they’ll add me to the list for security.”
“I can’t do that. What do I tell them? We’ve been through this. I can’t tell them to authorize another guest because I need a bodyguard. It was one thing at the other schools because we didn’t actually have to explain your presence. Here they’d need to know. I’ll be safe enough here. If you’re not comfortable waiting at the café until I get done, why don’t you hang out in the lobby?” There were a couple of low leather couches set among the ferns.
His mulish expression told me he did not want to give in. I could practically see the wheels turning in his brain as he surveyed the space, no doubt doing some kind of risk assessment.
“No one can get in or out without signing in at the desk. And though you’re probably tired of hearing it, it is seriously unlikely I’m in any kind of danger.”
“Let me talk to the guard.” He stalked to the desk, where the guard waited, eyeing us suspiciously. I hurried after him.
Buddy quizzed the guard on the building’s security protocols and response times. The guard answered the questions but looked completely unimpressed during the interrogation. Probably not the first time someone came in with an overprotective… what would we call it? Overprotective friend? Overprotective lover? Personal security?
The clock at the front of the display indicated I only had a couple minutes before my appointment. This was not the kind of thing one was fashionably late for. “Buddy, I’ve got to go up now.”
He pursed his lips but, with a lingering look at the elevator, nodded. “I’ll be down here when you’re done.”
“It’ll be fine,” I said, patting his arm before dashing to the elevator.
GERALD Swann reminded me of the actor John Corbett—tall, thin, dark-haired, about my mom’s age. Most importantly, he was a shifter. Something in a feline.
“Now this is a surprise.” He prowled around his desk to shake my hand. “I was not expecting this. Though I suppose I should have. You are attending Cody College, right? The one they call Shifter U?”
Something about his tone grated on my nerves a bit. A disdain that I wasn’t used to hearing when it came to my school. Most shifters appreciated that there was a good school with enough staff and resources to handle the special needs of the occasionally furry.
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s a good enough school, I suppose, but they definitely coddle the shifters there. Shifters don’t need a special school. They need to learn to keep control and play human or stay out of the human world altogether.”
I bit my tongue to hold back my instinctive response. As one of those students who benefited from the extra support provided by Cody College, I felt personally attacked by his comment.
“I don’t suppose it matters.” He waved a hand to the chair, and I took my seat. Once he’d settled back behind his desk, he pulled a file out, tapping the cover. “You’ve got an impressive application, especially considering your school.”
“With all due respect, sir, Cody College is a nationally accredited institution, with an award-winning faculty and curriculum.”
“Yes, but the opportunities for the journalism program are a little lacking, wouldn’t you agree?”
“There aren’t as many big stories,” I acknowledged. “But it’s fascinating to compare a smaller local system of journalism to a larger platform. Being able to plan and target news coverage to keep some of the more remote populations up-to-date on regional, national, and international issues, while also providing the local content they look for is a complex logistical puzzle.”
He flipped open the file, eyes flicking over the text. “I understand you completed an internship at K2TV recently. Tell me about that.”
We spent the next several minutes going over my experiences at the news station and my portfolio. After the interviews in Madison and Chicago, I’d gotten used to the rhythm of the questions, but every now and then Mr. Swann would give me a long look from under dark lashes.
Nearly an hour passed before he closed the folder and leaned back in his chair.
“Your mother is Gloria Sherman, correct? The head of the Western Division Shifter Council?”
“Yes,” I said reluctantly. Who my mother was should have had no relevance to this conversation.
“I went to school with her fiancé, Darren.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I’m happy to see he settled in well. He seemed to have a rough time of it when I first met him. Struggled to fit in among the humans and avoided other shifters. It’s always great to see someone overcome such obstacles and succeed despite them. I’m happy for him. Please convey my congratulations for their marriage. It’s happening soon, right?”
I shifted in my seat. “Yeah. In December.”
“Excellent.” He stood and held out his hand. “It was nice meeting you, David. We’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you, Mr. Swann.” I tugged my hand free and left his office.
When I reached the elevator, I pressed the Down button and waited. With a bing, the doors slid open, and I stepped in. I had just selected Lobby when someone shouted, “Hold the door!”
I shot my hand out to keep the doors from closing. A bland-looking man in a beige uniform darted in next to me. The patch on his chest indicated he worked for a local HVAC repair company, and that his name was Bob. Black motorcycle boots seemed like an odd choice with the uniform. His dishwater-blond hair and brown eyes were completely generic. He was the kind of guy who would blend seamlessly into the background. But something about him rang a bell….
“Thanks, man.”
“No problem.”
As the elevator started its descent, a few things stood out about the man. First, didn’t repair people usually have tools or at least paperwork with them? Second, he wore pale vinyl gloves. Third, he smelled of gun oil and garlic. The garlic I could have handled. The gun oil worried me.
I took half a step away from him, mentally running through the list of possible weapons I had on my person that I could use to protect myself if it became necessary. I had a grand total of zero. I didn’t even have my keys with me; they were with Buddy. I could maybe strangle somebody with my tie, but that was hardly a defensive weapon.
I couldn’t look away from the gloves.
Vinyl gloves in public seemed like a bad sign.
I swallowed and took another half step away from the man.
He reached forward and hit the Emergency Stop button.
My heart lodged in my throat as the elevator stopped between floors.
“What are you doing?”
“Give me the data. No one has to get hurt.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Data?”
“Don’t mess with me. I’m tired of chasing your ass across the country.”
“Holy shit. You’re the guy from the rest stop.” My brain superimposed the picture of the man with the denim jacket and motorcycle boots over this bland uniform. Perfect match. He reached behind himself and I’d have bet money he was about to pull out an old-school Glock. He didn’t. He pulled out… his phone?
He tilted the screen to me. It displayed a video of Buddy standing in the lobby, his back to the building’s front window. I’d recognize that broad form anywhere.
“I
t’s a live feed,” he assured me.
From the angle, whoever was recording him was across the street. A muffled voice came through the video. “I’ve got eyes on the target.”
A red dot, like from a laser, glowed on the back of Buddy’s head.
“No!”
“If you cooperate, nothing will happen to your friend. If you don’t play nice, his brains will end up splattered across that lovely marble floor.”
“Don’t hurt him. I’ll cooperate. I swear. But I don’t know what you want.”
“The data.”
“What data?” I screeched. My brain scrambled for information. “I promise you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Fourth of July.”
Fourth of July? “Are you… are you the one who hacked me?”
Any second now the alarm would ring on the elevator, right? I mean, someone would have to notice that it was stalled between floors. Or did the alarm only ring when the door was open too long? Every second that red dot danced in Buddy’s hair exacerbated my panic. Did this guy have a gun too? Why wasn’t he threatening me instead of Buddy? Could I fight him?
He snorted. “No. That’s a bit outside my area of expertise. Let’s say I work for an interested party.”
“I don’t understand.” My brain scrambled to keep up, even as panic slowed my thinking.
“Are you going to cooperate, or do I call my associate?”
Tingling began at my fingertips, spreading up my arms. My gums prickled. Everything around me looked washed in violet. No, no, no. This was not good. Stress and fright were the two strong emotions most likely to push my fox to the forefront. When it came to fight or flight, my body said shift and flee. Shifting now would be a very, very bad idea.
I needed to calm down so I could think. I needed to protect myself. To protect Buddy.
Buddy.
I imagined his soothing voice urging me to inhale, hold, and exhale. I inhaled, held it for the count of three. Exhaled. Every passing second cleared my head a little more. The animalistic side of me withdrew just enough to let my calmer intellectual side peek through. Little details about the man became clearer. The bead of sweat at his hairline. The tremble of vinyl-covered fingers. The shallow breathing.
Fox Hunt Page 14