by C J Matthew
In what he prayed was a subtle move, he clasped her wrist, moved her hand. Sitting back down, he brought her palm to his lips.
“Look Sak,” he said, “I apologize for the language. I can promise not to leave Japan without calling you before I go.”
Sak’s brows drew together as he appeared to mull over Devlin’s words. “Not quite the assurance I—”
“Damn it, Sergeant,” Marc grumbled. “Meet the man halfway.”
“Thank you,” Sak said, rising to his feet, “for your cooperation.” His whole body hummed with bruised pride. “We’ll return your vehicles as soon as possible.” Bowing all around, he let himself out of the library.
“Let me know if I can help,” Marc offered, then hurried after Sak.
Still holding his mate’s hand, Devlin reviewed the conversation. Had he made a mistake? Portia gave him a joking punch on the shoulder. “Got to hand it to you, Mr. Rudraige, you sure know how to clear a room.”
“What about your conduct, darling? Fondling my butt in front of the Prefecture police and the US Diplomatic Service.”
“It worked.” She grinned and kissed him. As he heated up, she pulled her mouth away. “I need some time alone, to rest, pull myself together, and get ready for the interview disguised as a family dinner. Which bathroom has the biggest spa tub?”
“I’ll show you.”
“No, thank you. Draw me a map or give me directions. I’m serious about alone time.”
“Before you go, allow me give you a small token. A good luck—”
“Devlin…” Her tone carried a warning.
“A little something from Ireland to bring you good fortune.” He strode to the coat rack outside the library door, retrieved the velvet bag from his overcoat. When he returned, his mate was still protesting.
“I don’t need presents that—”
Sitting, he placed a finger on her lips. “Shhh. Just look.” Holding her hand open, he slid the broach onto her warm skin. She gasped and the dragon roared with pure delight.
The antique broach was gold decorated with gems. An open circle of diamonds surrounded the traditional Claddagh symbol: gold hands holding a heart-shaped diamond crowned by an emerald and diamond sprinkled coronet.
“It’s lovely,” she breathed. Then, looking up to him, said, “I can’t accept this…how old is it?”
“Not sure, sorry. I want you to have it, perhaps wear it for your interview?”
Her eyes widened. “It’s a family heirloom, isn’t it? Oh Devlin.”
“It did belong to my mother.” A favorite of all the bride-hoard my sea serpent mother brought to her union.
“Ma loved wearing it.” After my dragon father instinctively included it in the chest of jewelry chosen from his hoard and presented to her on the occasion of the claiming.
“I know she’d want you to have it.” The broach twinkled in the light of the fire.
“Thank you, Devlin. It’s a breathtakingly beautiful gift. I swear I’ll take good care of it. And promise I’ll wear it often, like she did.”
Claim her now. The dragon shouted his encouragement, strutting around, his chest puffed with male pride.
Know just how you feel, buddy. But I’m handling this. Devlin gently curled Portia’s fingers over the broach. He kissed her, then led her to the library door. “Take the back elevator down one floor. Go straight down the hallway to the carved oak door. That’s my room and has the biggest tub. Have fun.”
As soon as his mate disappeared around the corner, the euphoria faded, and he began picturing bathroom accidents. The most dangerous room in the house—right? What if she fell asleep in the tub? Slipped on wet tile?
Stop. He couldn’t hope to win such a self-sufficient woman if he kept trying to smother her in protection. Did this overpowering instinct lighten up eventually? Who could he ask?
Rumor was, Murdoch had acted like a damn overbearing fool between the time he recognized his human mate and he claimed her. Should he ask Murdoch? Geez. He liked his cousin well enough, but ask that dork embarrassing questions about a highly personal matter? Not on a bet. Murdoch was the last shifter he’d go to with a serious issue that wasn’t Muirdris related.
Who then?
Ji, Muirdris’s security guru and his corporate defense mentor, was a panther shifter and someone he’d trust with any delicate matter. Problem was, Ji didn’t have a mate. Never had as far as Devlin knew. Still…on his way to the secure room, he texted the bodyguard on duty.
‘Portia is resting in my suite, I’ll be in the secure room for 30 to 45 minutes. I want you inside the condo, patrolling 1st and 2nd floors, until I personally release you.’
‘Yes, sir.’
He’d contact Ji to get some answers about Ichiban and further details about Portia’s contact, the job she wanted. Who, what, and why? If he wanted to help her—not protect, simply help—he couldn’t go in blind. He needed information.
In the secure room, he fired up the communication app and initiated a satellite call to Ji’s private line. After five rings, he glanced at the line of world clocks installed over the wall to wall screen.
Son of a bitch. For the first time in the two decades he’d been working overseas, he’d made an international call without checking or considering the time difference.
“’low?” Ji’s sleepy voice was raspy. “State your emergency.”
“Ji, I’m really sorry, I—”
“Devlin? What the fuck? This early you’d damn well better be fucking on fire.”
Chapter 12
Portia
Portia frowned down at the starkly modern, white porcelain jetted tub. Obviously, an American model and definitely built for two, it was positioned in a corner of Devlin’s ensuite bathroom. Between all the potted greenery on the tiled floor and a multitude of lush hanging plants, the tub was almost hidden in the jungle-like setting. She lifted her shoulder in a resigned shrug and turned the tap on full blast.
Nice, but it wasn’t Japanese style. She’d expected to find a square family tub built into the floor. Where first you showered clean, then submerged your body in hot water for a leisurely soak with the family.
After a few minutes, she turned off the flow of water and stepped in. Still not deep enough to activate the jets, the temperature was great—plenty hot. She slid deeper into the shallow water until her neck was wet. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on relaxing.
A few moments later she stood on the bathmat drying off with a plump bath sheet. “First the nap was a bust,” she muttered to herself, “now you can’t sit still in hot water for five minutes? What gives?”
The answer to that was a no-brainer. She was wound up about the interview. Her decision to accept Devlin’s expensive “token” marked a shift in her outlook. While she wasn’t nearly ready to declare herself “in a relationship”, she wanted more than just sex. A new job at Ichiban Shipping would keep her in proximity to Devlin; give her a chance to really get to know the real him.
Leaving her hair down, she brushed like a maniac until it shone. Slipping into her best suit, she stepped into heels. Last of all, she pinned the Claddagh broach to her suit’s lapel and patted it in place.
After a critical inspection in the full-length mirror, she gave her appearance a thumbs up. Then her fingers returned to the broach. “Thank you, Devlin’s mom…er, Mrs. Rudraige,” she whispered self-consciously to the broach in the mirror. “Great job on Devlin. I’ll happily accept any good luck you want to send my way.”
She tidied the bathroom, repacked all her cosmetics and clothes, zipped the suitcase shut, and piled it with her other bags by Devlin’s bedroom door. Not making any assumptions.
Back on the top floor, she rounded the corner to the library and spotted a broad-shouldered, shadowy man backlit at the end of the hall. Oh god. She froze. Her heart stalled in her chest. An intruder?
Digging deep for courage, she shouted, “Hands up. Stay right where you are. Any strange moves and I’ll set off the alarm.”
The man stopped, raised both hands over his head and ignored his radio when it squawked. The fact he had a radio worked to lower her terror level. Then she remembered her phone in the shoulder bag. When she reached for it, the man went into commando mode.
“Freeze. Hands where I can see them. Do not reach for anything.” Without clearly seeing his face, she felt him staring at her.
“In the trade,” he said quietly, “this is known as a standoff.”
Her mouth dry, she stammered, “I…I’ll go first…my name is Portia. I’m staying here. I was looking for Devlin. Oh lord, you work here, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m the bodyguard on duty. Devlin, Mr. Rudraige instructed me to patrol these two floors and protect you while he’s working in the secure room.”
“Sorry. You surprised me.”
“I apologize. Do you need anything?”
“Devlin.”
“Yes, ma’am. Would you like me to escort you?”
“I know where to find the secure room.”
“Then if I don’t see you again, have a nice evening.”
“Bye.”
She used the walk to the rear elevator to calm her nerves and lower her blood pressure. The door to the secure room was closed. Did having her own password mean she could use it whenever she wanted? Damn, every level of involvement in Devlin’s life presented issues.
Portia’s hand scan worked, and her password turned off the red light and illuminated the green. At that point, she chickened out and knocked on the door. The latch clicked and with a slight buzz the door opened.
She peeked inside. “Am I disturbing you?”
“Not at all.” Devlin rose from his chair at the desk—oh god, that desk—and hurried toward her. “Come meet Ji, Muirdris’s VP of security.”
“Is it okay? Don’t you want to finish your call?”
Devlin gave her a strange look, then seemed to study her face. Finally, he asked, “What happened?”
“Nothing, why?”
“I’ve never seen you this subdued, dare I say, meek. Tell us.”
“Us?”
He sat her down beside him at the desk. “Believe me, Ji is more than ready to take your side, no matter what it is.”
She told them about surprising the intruder/bodyguard and the standoff. Both men laughed. Ji spoke first, “Do you have a weapon?”
“Heck no. I was reaching for my phone.”
“And setting off the alarm?” Ji asked.
“Pure bluff,” she admitted. “I haven’t got a clue how the system works.” She turned to Devlin. “Do you have any panic buttons?”
“Well…”
“If the lady wants buttons,” Ji scolded, “you’d better get them installed.”
“I like him,” she whispered to Devlin.
Portia passed over her lined wool coat in favor a leather model which she still planned to drape over her arm for the elevator ride to the lobby and the dash to the limo. Experience had taught her Devlin’s building and his cars were kept toasty warm.
He spotted the leather and stopped her at the condo door. “You’re going to want to wear the heavier coat. Snow flurries predicted for tonight.”
“All right. I plan to carry it more than wear it.”
“And gloves, scarf, and a hat?”
“Devlin, this going to be a short evening spent inside, not an artic expedition.”
“Trust me.”
The bodyguard she’d confronted earlier opened the rear door of the limo and Portia made a dash for it with Devlin right behind her. Tumbling onto the leather seat, he shoved aside their coats and winter accessories to circle his arms around her waist. With seemingly very little effort, he lifted her onto his lap.
Breathless, she said, “When you do that I feel like a lightweight.”
“You are the perfect weight.”
Devlin crushed his mouth to hers and she opened her lips, an invitation for his tongue to revisit sensitive places.
Several long, deliciously sensual moments later, she came up for air and remembered her interview. “Wait, Devlin, stop. We need to wipe off the smeared lipstick.”
“You taste amazing.”
“You look like a circus clown. Hand me a tissue from the console.”
He pulled out a fistful of tissues, frowning as he handed them over. She looked carefully and realized he was pouting under the lip color.
“Poor baby,” she cooed as she wiped his mouth and cheeks, “I promise you a rain check. How ‘bout we eat fast, and on the ride home, you and I can have a private interlude?”
“Hell yes, that’s a deal. And now you want to talk about the break-in at Ichiban?”
“Do you think there’s a connection to the Hoffman cousins?”
“Could be. Maybe someone looking for information on the investigation?”
“My godmother is convinced the targeting of Ichiban is meant to punish someone. She’s afraid it’s her son. And now she’s worrying about what the Hoffman at sea will do when he hears someone destroyed his apartment. Plus the hit and run.”
“Hard to believe the Shinsuke’s would have anything to do with either acts.”
“Devlin, I need to do something to help my god mother. Would you consider boarding the ship Hoffman’s on and keeping an eye on his until they reach Yokohama?”
No. “Think how dangerous that would be. A stranger—”
“Or both of us.”
“Okay, worse. Two strangers joining the crew at the second-to-last port. What’s our cover story? How long before Hoffman discovers one of us shadowing his every move? Or, what if we do catch Hoffman planting a bomb, how do we apprehend him? Detain him? We don’t have weapons. It’s way too dangerous, sweetheart. If Michael asks me, I’ll recommend they retain professionals.”
She scowled at him. “You’re no help.”
Chapter 13
Devlin
Devlin played computer games on his phone while Portia had a brief interview with both Shinsuke and his mother. His lovely mate smiled as she joined him in the sitting room. Things must have gone well. Had they made her an offer?
The main topic at dinner—no surprise—swirled around Ichiban’s problems with the Hoffman cousins.
“Right before the two of you arrived,” Michael said as the entre was served, “mother and I received more bad news. The police identified the man who burglarized the Hoffman apartment. A Len Tadaka. When he was brought in for questioning, they realized he’s a member of our security team. An Ichiban employee. Tadaka confessed to breaking into the Hoffman’s property, searching for clues to link the cousins with the sabotage on our vessels. Eventually, Tadaka also confessed to the hit and run. After Hoffman’s girlfriend walked in on him while he was ransacking the living room, he was terrified she’d give his description to the authorities, so he ran her down with his car. I must take the blame for Tadaka’s actions.”
Devlin took a sip of wine, stalling. Across the table, Portia’s eyes widened at the mention of the Ichiban bodyguard. Was she familiar with the man? Did she know him? What was up?
Before the silence grew uncomfortable, Devlin said, “Shinsuke-san, the man’s criminal actions are not your responsibility, he has proven himself a rogue. You are not guilty when an employee exceeds his duties. Everyone knows you are a man of honor. You would never condone such behavior.”
“You see my son,” Madame Shinsuke added, “your friends and colleagues will know this Tadaka acted on his own.” She faced Devlin. “Thankfully, the victim, the girlfriend is recovering. So far no one has died. The charges against the bodyguard will not be homicide.”
“Small blessings,” Devlin murmured. Now if he could manage to pry Portia out of here before Shinsuke asked for any more favors.
After a quick good bye, unusual for Japanese hospitality, the limo pulled away from the Shinsuke’s townhouse and Devlin took Portia’s hands. “Before our orgy, we have one more stop. I want to have a private talk with you and there are to
o many interruptions at the condo.”
“All right, where are we going for privacy?”
“Close by where you’ll appreciate the gloves and heavy coat. The building is heated but vacant, so not exactly cozy.”
Ten minutes later the limo turned into a commercial district attached to the docks. When they rolled to a stop at one of the Muirdris warehouses, Portia peered through the tinted glass. “Looks like a fancy warehouse.”
“Put your gloves on and come with me.”
The driver and bodyguard already had their orders: take a station as lookouts near the end of the street. Hopefully, his other orders had already been followed. Unlocking the reinforced metal door, he led Portia inside, and breathed a sigh of relief.
He’d chosen one of their huge, temporarily empty metal structures. Arranged to have the electric service turned back on and two chairs and an electric heater brought in. He wanted a relatively comfortable, totally private spot to tell his mate about the dragon. Anticipating he’d need to show her, he’d chosen an indoor location big enough to accommodate the sea dragon.
Flipping on the overhead lights, he escorted her to the chairs. Someone on his staff had ad-libbed. The upholstered chairs rested in the center of a large area rug. The heater was an imitation fireplace. The small table between the chairs boasted a colorful Tiffany lamp and an arrangement of hot-house flowers. Faux-chinchilla lap-rugs were folded over the arm of each chair.
“Have a seat.” Once his mate was settled, he draped the heavy length of furry material over her legs.
She smiled up at him. “This is a lovely setting. Explain why we have to talk in a warehouse. Your secure room isn’t secure enough?”
Devlin sat. Too far away. He moved the table back, scooted his chair closer to hers. When the chair arms touched, he nodded his approval and sat. And fought back his desire to hold her hands. Instead he adopted a calm, gentle expression.
“I’m a sea dragon. Or rather, a sea dragon shifter. A shapeshifter.” His words hung in the air as he watched her. She stared back.
Wringing her hands, she made a nervous snorting sound. “Oh dear. How very specific. Not just a dragon, a sea dragon. Appropriate for a man from a sea faring family.”