by Lynn Graeme
Isobel knew only too well what it was like growing up under constantly vigilant eyes. Her father had prized discipline above all else, first in his profession as a military officer, then later in his role as a foreign diplomat. He’d demanded the same sort of discipline from his family.
Surrounded by all manners of entourage and security personnel, Isobel and Kaya hadn’t escaped scrutiny, no matter where the family had been stationed. Word never failed to reach Alexandre and Marin Saba if their daughters ever engaged in questionable behavior.
Isobel had adapted pretty well. She’d seen the pride in which her father carried himself, and strove to emulate him. Kaya, mocking her sister for being a daddy’s girl, had been impatient to leave the nest. Once Kaya had escaped the clutches of home, she’d let loose her free spirit and never looked back.
One of the results of her worldly adventures had been Naley. Kaya, far too young and rounded with child, knew who the father was, but apparently both of them had agreed he shouldn’t stick around. For one thing, he wasn’t fatherhood material. For another, neither of them could stand each other.
“It’s better if we keep our distance,” Kaya had confided to Isobel.
Later, after Isobel had joined the Council, she’d used Naley’s DNA to look up the father’s identity. She kept that information in case Naley ever asked for Isobel’s help in finding her birth father. Fourteen years on, Naley showed no interest in him either.
Still, whatever life choices Kaya made or continued to make, Isobel could never regret the circumstances that had brought Naley into her life. Isobel adored the girl like no other.
So she knew she couldn’t have harassed Naley’s coach or done anything to cause her embarrassment, at least not without good reason. The only interaction Isobel could recall having with Coach Raleigh was a casual chat while waiting for Naley to say goodbye to her friends after practice.
She frowned. “I only suggested a couple of strategies he could use to better utilize his players.”
Naley gave her a dry look. “I don’t think he took it as a suggestion.”
“Well, that’s his prerogative. I can’t help it if a grown man can’t handle simple feedback.”
Naley scraped the mish-mash of an omelet onto a waiting plate. “His left eye still twitches whenever I mention your name.”
“Not the first time I’ve heard that.”
“It’s his good eye.”
Isobel reached for the plate and divided the portion in half with a fork. “You don’t need that many eggs.”
“You mean you haven’t had breakfast yet.” But Naley looked pleased to be able to proffer food, and she fetched another plate on which Isobel could slide her half of the omelet. “You shouldn’t skip meals. Coach says breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“Does he now?” Isobel smiled. “I should stop by the school for a chat. He seems like a very intelligent man.”
“Aunt Iz… .”
“Just to express my support. That’s all. So I can let him know how much I appreciate his motivating his students.”
Naley looked unamused. Isobel winked. They ate their breakfast in silence.
Then, in a too-casual tone, Naley asked, “Do you want me to go to Gran and Opa’s?”
Damn. Isobel set down her fork.
Naley kept her head lowered as she poked at her food. “I heard you talking to Mom.”
Isobel strove to keep her tone light. “And to think I thought the glass doors to the deck were soundproof.”
“I might have slid them open an inch while the two of you were talking. Just for a couple of seconds.”
“And I didn’t pick up on that? Some Council agent I am.”
Naley surreptitiously peeked at her aunt. “You were too busy yelling.”
Isobel winced. “Oh, cub.”
Naley looked away and took a bite of her eggs.
“Your mother loves you, cub.”
Not a word of acknowledgment.
“Do you want to talk about i—”
“No.” The word was a vicious stab.
Isobel studied her niece. “Do you want to visit Gran and Opa?”
She knew her parents loved Naley. She was their only grandchild. They showered her with gifts every chance they got. In person, however, they didn’t always know how to display their affection.
Naley shrugged, trying so hard to look nonchalant. “I get it. You’re busy. I just dropped in outta nowhere. You don’t need one more thing on your plate to worry about.”
“Naley.” Isobel left her seat and stepped around the kitchen island. She stopped beside the girl, who had hunched over as if mentally bracing herself.
How could this smart, talented, beautiful young girl whose laugh brought so much joy into Isobel’s life—and who killed so ferociously on the soccer field while feeding so generously in the kitchen—doubt herself this much?
Isobel gently placed her hand on Naley’s shoulder. Naley didn’t move. “Cub. I love you. You know that. I want you on my plate to worry about.”
“I screw up your schedule every time I visit.”
“I’m the one who wants to adjust my schedule so that I can spend more time with you. If the Council doesn’t like it, it can suck balls.”
Naley sent her a startled look, then quickly ducked her head, but not before Isobel saw her smile.
“Don’t tell your Opa I said that.”
“How about Gran?”
“Her you can tell.” Isobel imagined the expression on her mother’s face and grinned. Then she wrapped her arms completely around Naley and squeezed. “I like having you around, cub. You know that. The question is, do you want to stay? Or do you want to go to Paris? Every girl does.”
“Not every,” Naley said viciously.
Isobel turned Naley around to face her. The girl slowly looked up to meet her eyes, her expression guarded.
“Your grandparents would love to see you again.”
“No, they wouldn’t.”
“Yes, they would.”
“They want me to behave.”
“Did they tell you that?”
“No, but I can feel it.”
Isobel’s lips twitched. “Cub, you are aware that whenever they see you, they let you do whatever you want? When your mother and I were your age, we had to be perfect ladies at every function. Your Gran would deck us out in pearls and organza. Just picture me in pearls and organza. Your Opa, meanwhile, made sure we exited the womb possessing the self-control of an army general. Meanwhile, they let you run as wild as a hyena. Believe me, they’re spoiling you.”
“Blech,” Naley grumbled, but her cheek dimpled.
Isobel smiled. “Your mom chafed under their rules too.”
Naley made a face. She clearly didn’t appreciate the comparison to her mother.
Then she drew in a deep breath and tilted her head, examining Isobel closely. “Do you want me to go?” She paused, then rephrased, “Do you want me to stay?”
Isobel squeezed her tight. “Always.”
Naley returned the hug. They stayed in that hold for a few seconds before Naley spoke, voice muffled: “Your boobs’re smothering me.”
“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” Isobel replied, pulling back. She placed her hands on both Naley’s shoulders and bent down for a sober eye-to-eye. “Promise me you won’t ever do anything as foolhardy as what you did yesterday.”
“I’m sorry,” Naley mumbled.
“I’m serious, cub. New rule in the house: no taking off like that. Ever. No running away without telling anyone where you’re going. What if you’d been hit on the road? Attacked? I wouldn’t have known for weeks.” The very idea chilled Isobel to the bone. “If something happens, you call me. Understand? I don’t care what time it is or where you are, you call me.”
Naley nodded, trying not to sniffle. She kept her chin up, face stoic, not making any excuses.
She really was a Saba. Isobel felt proud of her.
She chu
cked Naley under the chin. “I’ll pick you up after school today. We’ll stop at your home so you can pack whatever you need to bring over.”
“Okay. There’s not much.” Naley quickly swiped her eye with a knuckle, pretending it was just an itch. “You’re not working this afternoon?”
“I’m going to ask them to shift my schedule around. Might not take effect immediately, though, so since I’m picking you up, I might have to go back to HQ later this evening to wrap some things up.” Like bothersome reports.
“That’s okay.” Naley looked more cheered now. Sitting up straighter, eyes brighter. “I can hang out with Liam whenever you’re not around.”
Isobel paused. “Or you can call your friends and chat.”
Naley shrugged. “Yeah.” She eyed Isobel suspiciously. “Don’t you like Liam?”
“I like Liam just fine. But you know how he is. He doesn’t like … people … that much.”
“That’s not true. He likes you.”
Isobel almost laughed. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“The tips of his ears go red whenever I mention your name.”
“Cub, you sprung yourself on him all of a sudden and he had to frantically chuck clothes in your direction. You can’t blame the man for blushing.”
“No, not just yesterday. I’ve noticed it before, last time I was over. And then he acted all stiff and awkward and stuff when you got home last night. Didn’t wanna look at you.”
Isobel shook her head. Who would’ve guessed Naley was such a romantic?
Naley looked impatient. “The boys at school do that too, y’ know. Pretend like they’re not looking while they’re secretly checking you out.”
“Is a boy at school checking you out?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
Isobel hid a smile. It was so easy to tease Naley.
“Liam likes his space,” she told the girl. “I just don’t want you getting hurt.”
Indignant dark ringlets bobbed in the air as Naley shook her head. “Liam wouldn’t hurt me!”
“I meant he might like some alone time once in a while, so don’t take it personally if he growls. Or snaps.”
Naley grinned. “Or barks.”
Isobel grinned back. “Or scratches the back of his head with his foot.”
Naley giggled. The sound made Isobel’s heart turn over.
“Speaking of which, I entered him into the security system, but you know he’s only allowed to enter if one of us is in here as well.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s okay if I make him food, though, right? He’s got nothing to eat, Aunt Iz.” Her tone reflected all the scandalized horror a teenage girl could possibly dredge up.
“Hmm… . I don’t suppose it’ll do much harm. Men do turn a notch more agreeable once they’re fed.” Isobel stepped away. “That reminds me. I’m going to go look in on Liam. Be ready for school when I get back, and I’ll drop you off on my way to work.”
Chapter Four
The sun lingered cautiously just above the horizon, still making its reluctant debut into the day. The early morning air was crisp—sharp enough to cut—but Liam had been at work for hours now, and had long shed his sweat-dampened T-shirt.
Working with his hands always helped. During the day, when he sawed and sanded and carved at his workbench, or when he patrolled the grounds and cut down relentlessly overreaching brambles, he could focus on what was directly in front of him. He didn’t have to worry about the voices or demons in his head.
He could just breathe.
He wiped his forehead with the back of his forearm, then ran a light hand over the beveled edge of the long-overdue cabinet door. He’d finished its twin half an hour ago. The completed wardrobe itself should be ready for Evelyn Hooper within a couple of days.
The fierce, formidable woman had run Hooper’s Fine Furnishings for the last fifty years. It catered mainly to Bloodhaven’s upper class, and consequently Evelyn was very particular about the items she chose to curate in her shop.
Hers had been the third store Liam had visited when he’d first shopped his work around in Bloodhaven. Managers from the first two had admired the samples he’d shown them, but tsked at the price he quoted. Evelyn had taken one look at his samples and snapped them up immediately. She’d also proceeded to commission a six-person dining table set. Liam had used Hooper’s to sell his work ever since.
He propped both cabinet doors up against his truck, which was parked behind his work area. It was an ancient truck, barely two points away from being illegal on the road. It wasn’t even equipped with print sensors that most vehicles now possessed. It’d come by dirt-cheap and cash-only, however, and that had worked for Liam. He’d long traveled on foot, but now that he was living here and had returned to his previous woodworking profession, he needed something to make deliveries and haul back supplies.
He was reaching for his coffee when the scent wrapped itself around him. Winter smoke, reminiscent of the mountains of his youth.
Cursing silently, he looked around for his T-shirt. He’d tossed it somewhere on the ground a couple of hours ago. It was nowhere to be found.
Dammit.
Arms shaking, fists clenching, he backed into the shade as Isobel came into view.
She knew he was there. He couldn’t run off, tail between his legs like the coward he was.
She strode through the grass toward him. With her hair slicked back into its thick braid, it was obvious she was stopping by on her way to work. This morning, instead of her preferred leather—tough and sultry, just like her—she wore regulation trousers, part of her Council uniform that allowed the wearer to shift quickly without having to disrobe first. Shifting while fully clothed was a painful, hindering process, and the uniform held special authorized snaps that came apart and joined together before and after shifts. Her uniform jacket was missing, but the fitted tank she wore showed off the richness of her honey-brown skin. Not to mention it also clung to the soft, full swells of her chest.
Liam stared, trying not to imagine pulling her tank down to expose more of those perfect round breasts. Tried not to imagine the color of her nipples, or tasting the salt of them when slick with the sweat of passion.
Get it together, Whelan.
It was all he needed, to get caught staring at her breasts with a visible hard-on tenting his jeans. He shifted his stance, skin itching ferociously.
He didn’t want her to see him like this. Yes, she’d seen the scars on his face and around his wrists. She’d never mentioned them. But this was different. He had no armor now, lacked the protection of even a simple cotton shirt.
He was used to covering himself up in the presence of others. It was a lesson he’d had no choice but to learn, after he kept receiving stares and shudders and speculation about the state of his body whenever he’d removed his clothes.
At first, it’d been because he’d been gaunt with his ribs sticking out. Being a prisoner of war did that to you, chiseled away at your muscle mass and anything else needed for the sake of survival. The recovery period had been treacherously slow.
But even after he’d regained weight, the morbid curiosity had remained. Questions persisted unabashedly about his captivity, hounding him incessantly. They invariably wanted to know what he’d gone through, what the whole experience was like. They wanted all the juicy details.
What do you think it was like? It was bloody fucking war.
He had no magnificent stories of heroism to tell. None that he wanted to share.
And then when he’d hit the road and his sheer ferocity was enough to keep random strangers at bay, he heard their unspoken questions anyway.
What did they do to you?
How did you get that?
Can’t you do something about it?
Can you get rid of this one?
Why do you keep them at all?
He’d have to go in for cosmetic surgery in order to remedy the thick and angry scar tissues, and Liam had sworn never to go unde
r the knife—any knife—again.
He felt exposed as Isobel neared. He’d never let himself go shirtless in her presence before. Wouldn’t permit himself. Hadn’t wanted her to remember him that way.
It was so easy, Liam thought, to look at Isobel and forget to breathe.
The first time he’d come face-to-face with her, his pulse had kicked into high gear. When he’d stepped forward to introduce himself, it wasn’t enough that he’d had to bring his hoarse, long-unused vocal cords under control. He’d had to mentally brace himself for the full impact of her.
Sometimes looking at Isobel was like looking at the sun: stare too long and he’d begin to hurt.
He could’ve kept on moving.
Could have.
But the dreams, though still vicious, didn’t invade as often while he was here. Here, he could finally tread water, instead of be consumed by the never-ending drowning sensation that had been sucking him under for the past several years.
Maybe when the drowning sensation returned, he’d pack his bag and go.
Maybe.
Isobel raised a hand in greeting as she walked up to the clearing. A freshly laundered scent followed her, and Liam saw that she carried the T-shirt and boxers he’d lent Naley yesterday.
“I came to return your clothes.” Her full lips twisted wryly.
Liam had no choice but to step out in the morning light to retrieve them. Of course, it wasn’t as if her sharp eyes could’ve failed to take in every inch of him from a distance anyway. He didn’t meet her gaze as he took the clothes from her. He waited for her to leave.
She didn’t move.
Liam forced himself to lift his head. He looked up to see Isobel staring at his bare chest.
Shame coursed through him. It was quickly followed by the red-hot flash of anger. She had no right to be here, not without giving plenty of notice. She had no right to invade his sanctuary. She had no right to see him exposed so cruelly.