Esperance: (New Adult Paranormal Romance) (Heart Lines Series Book 3)

by Heather Hildenbrand

I made it as far as the bottom step of the porch and stopped, staring at my truck parked at the curb. The last time I’d seen it had been in the early dawn of an Alaska morning as Breck had driven me to the airport. I’d left it parked in his driveway, opting to fly back to save time. And to avoid digging it out of the snowbank it had been buried under.

  “What the…?” I stared at the powder blue paint job carefully, checking for damage from the road or the weather, but it was spotless. Not that I cared. And that was clearly the case at this point. In fact, my lack of response at the sight of this truck was the nail in the coffin. The final test. I was emotionally broken. If this truck couldn’t move me, I was pretty damn sure nothing could.

  “You’re a sight,” I called out.

  Breck stepped out from around the other side and came forward, looking up and down the street thoughtfully. “Figured you could use the wheels. Save you a rental fee or a trip back.” He ran his hand lightly over the hood and then tossed the keys across the space between us.

  I caught them and held them up, jingling them in my hand. “Thanks, man. Now, how big of a favor do I owe you for something like this?”

  His brows rose in a rebellious sort of anticipation. “How about a drink?”

  “You know it’s like nine in the morning.”

  “You judging me?”

  “Not at all. Come on.” I turned and led us back inside, heading for the cheap whiskey in the kitchen cupboard. He probably deserved the good stuff for driving my truck all the way back here but I’d drank it all and hadn’t replaced it yet.

  I poured us each a glass straight up and held mine between us as a toast. “To whoever let you out to play,” I said.

  “Here, here.” Breck raised his glass with a grin, tapped it to mine, and knocked back the amber liquid. He made a face and then set the glass down for another.

  I obliged, half-curious now what had him in such a drinking mood. And what had brought him to my doorstep. He clearly had no idea about my current predicament. We each took another shot and then I waited for him to talk.

  Silence dragged and I rolled my eyes. This guy was more of a clam than I was. But curiosity was eating at me. I needed to know what he knew. “You going to tell me what made you decide to leave the frozen tundra and spend your sunny California vacation with me? Or do I have to guess?”

  “Things just weren’t the same without your bare ass to share a fire with at night,” he said, smirking as he poured himself another shot.

  My smile died as I studied him. His jeans were worn and his shirt was wrinkled. He smelled like he hadn’t showered in a few days and there were dark circles under his eyes. This wasn’t the version of Breck I’d seen in Alaska; not even close. Even without any emotion driving me, I wanted to know what had happened.

  Morbid curiosity had me asking, “What happened, man?”

  He took the shot and then cleared his throat and looked up, pinning me with blue eyes that were sharp despite exhaustion. And pissed from the looks of it. Whoa. This guy was on a fucking war path. How had I missed it before?

  And in another flash it was gone. Replaced by casual indifference.

  Damn, he was good.

  Wariness took over. My movements and answers more careful and measured now that I knew he was playing with me.

  “I decided to take the job with CHAS. Met with Tara Godfrey in San Fran last night and decided to bring your truck as a bonus. Thought we could catch up.”

  Liar.

  But I left it.

  “Two birds, yeah, thanks,” I said, on edge at his neutral tone. I took stock of the way he was perched lazily on the bar stool across the countertop from me. Like he might fall over and pass out. Or he might come across the granite and try to kill me. “What’s the job?”

  “This whiskey sucks. You have any beer?” he asked and without waiting for an answer, went to the fridge.

  I watched, struck silent by his behavior. Breck was a lot of things but a lush wasn’t one of them. “Help yourself,” I muttered as he came away with a bottle and popped the top using the ring on his right hand. He eyed me as he took a swig, and I realized there was no more countertop separating us.

  Judging by the look on Breck’s face, he knew it too.

  “So, the job…” I began again, and a small part of me wondered if it would do me any good to throw down with Breck. Maybe it would help relieve some of the tension and temper I was carrying around for no good reason.

  But something about the look in his eye stopped me.

  “The job isn’t what I expected, that’s for damned sure,” he said, swigging the beer again and not once taking his hard gaze from mine. The five o-clock shadow along his jawline didn’t hide the scar he sported. In fact, it only added to the dangerous edge in his expression. But his words were deceptively casual as he said, “I mean, I drove down thinking I’d be briefed on local intelligence and any progress made against this werewolf disease going around. Figured they’d send me right back out to some far-flung corner of the Earth to gather intelligence.

  “Imagine my surprise when I learn the chick you were so worried about protecting is actually the descendant of the fucking moon goddess herself and might as well be a magnet for those fuckers. They can’t stay away to the tune of a dozen a day right now.”

  I blanched. “A dozen? I—”

  “At least. Clearly, I was assuming all wrong. The action is here.” He swigged from his bottle again and then said, “And imagine my shock to learn you went and got yourself healed and then walked right out on this girl leaving her exposed and unprotected against the assholes sniffing around trying to eat her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

  “Hold the fuck up. How did you know I was sick?” I asked.

  His eyes narrowed. Apparently, that was not the right answer. Or question. “I was fully briefed when you came to town to work with me, Channing.”

  “I wasn’t aware—”

  “I didn’t mention it because I could see you didn’t want to talk about it, but I knew. I don’t operate on half-ass info and CHAS knows it.”

  Huh. Edie had sold me out. That was new.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yeah, I was healed, and then they sat me out while I went through exams. I’m still waiting to be cleared,” I said, not even sure why I was defending myself now. None of this was any of his business. “So I can’t really protect anyone anyway.”

  “Of course. Officially, you’re sidelined. Protocol. Got it.” He raised his beer and tapped it as if in an invisible toast and drank deeply. “What I don’t get,” he said when he’d downed half the bottle, “Is why you went MIA on a personal level. I saw the way you talked about this girl. Could have sworn you had a thing. But you’re sitting around here doing push-ups and jerking off in your pillow and she’s out there getting attacked in her own home.

  “What the hell did you just say?” Anger, hot and heavy, roared behind my eyelids, painting everything red.

  My temper wanted out. I wasn’t going to stop it.

  “Needless to say, I finally learned her name,” Breck went on, ignoring my rage. “And of course I took the position with an assignment protecting her from all threats—foreign and domestic.” He took three steps, closing the distance between us until we stood eye to eye, and glared at me. “And that includes you, buddy. So, now I’ll make it official and easy for you. Stay away from Samantha. Got it?”

  “This is why you brought me my truck? To threaten me? What the hell, man?” My heart thudded too loud and hard in my chest. My hands were fisted at my sides and everything in me wanted to use them. To release the tension.

  But the glint in Breck’s eye was a clear dare. He wanted me to start something—he wanted it a hell of a lot more than I did—and I wasn’t sure he’d be satisfied with a clean fight.

  “I brought you the truck because I thought you were a decent guy.” He shrugged. “We all make mistakes.”

  “The hell does that even mean? Why do you care so much about wh
ether Sam and I see each other? Why do you care who protects her as long as it gets done?”

  “Because Samantha is my sister, and I intend to protect my family. Even from you.”

  “Wait, what?” I was completely and utterly confused. “You’re Sam’s brother?” I shook my head to try and make sense of what he was saying. I vaguely recalled Sam telling me about her older brother but this was impossible. Sam was human. “You can’t be,” I said. “Her brother joined the human military. You’re a hunter.”

  “Half-hunter. And what my family thinks of me is only for their protection. The details don’t concern you.”

  “She doesn’t know you’re—” I began but Breck cut me off, looking even more violent; something I hadn’t thought possible before.

  “What Sam thinks is none of your business,” he grumbled, feet still planted before me, eyes still sharp as a razor. “All you need to know is that I’m here now so I’ve got this. And from what I’ve heard and read in all the reports, you clearly don’t want the job anymore so it shouldn’t be a problem to take my advice.”

  I opened my mouth, ready to blast him with questions or accusations or I wasn’t even sure anymore. I was definitely shocked. And I knew Sam would be too if she knew about Breck’s presence. Not to mention his mixed heritage. But he had a point. I wasn’t supposed to care anymore—right?

  “Channing, are you listening?” Breck demanded. I blinked and refocused on where he still stood planted in front of me; a brick wall that promised to stop me where I stood if I said the wrong thing right now. He pinned me with a steel-blue gaze and jabbed his finger against my chest so hard I rocked back on my heels. “Stay the fuck away from Samantha,” he repeated. “Or I’ll kill you.”

  He upended his beer, drained it, and slammed it down on the counter. Then he stalked out.

  Chapter Eight

  Sam

  I stared up at the marble sculpture that was at least seven stories tall and took up almost the entire central atrium of the building. Pedestrians filed past me, moving aside as if I were a rock in a stream as they wound their way around the curved corridors toward offices and escalators. Sunlight filtered in from skylights above, the surface of the white marble glinting and shimmering like diamonds in the brilliant light.

  “Pretty fancy, huh?” Brittany asked from beside me.

  She had actually surprised me today and wore something other than name brand sweats or her cheerleading sweatshirt and fur boots. She looked almost professional in her black pants and fitted button-down shirt. But then, this meeting felt very professional too. I’d worn a similar outfit: black dress pants, conservative heels, and a blouse with a blazer. We fit right in with the working crowd streaming in and out on lunch breaks.

  “It’s… kind of obvious, don’t you think?” I asked, finally looking away from the sculpture and falling into step beside her as she led us through the crowded lobby.

  “What? The warrior statue?” she asked, following my gaze.

  “It looks like a hunter about to stake a werewolf,” I said in a lowered voice as pedestrians passed us on their way out.

  She waved her hand. “That’s not a hunter. It’s some Greek warrior guy. This building has the corporate offices of the city arts program or something. We just rent space on the third floor.”

  “Rent space,” I repeated as we made our way to the back and Brittany pressed the button for the elevator. From everything I’d seen so far, CHAS didn’t seem like the type to “rent space.” Not when Tara and Edie had told me they owned multiple government buildings in downtown DC.

  “Yeah. We can’t own buildings everywhere. We have to keep a low profile.”

  This made me chuckle because not a single hunter I’d met so far was doing that. Not Edie with her tricked out Hummer and not Alex with his antique truck and clearly tactical wardrobe choices. And Brittany couldn’t keep a low profile if her life depended on it.

  “Right. Because this isn’t conspicuous.” I shook my head imagining the world’s fiercest and most dangerous killers coming and going from an upscale office building that housed the San Francisco arts program. It was funny in a weird ironic kind of way. Clearly, the joke was lost on Britt.

  “We use an assumed name,” she said as if that solved everything.

  The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Two men got off, both carrying briefcases, and we got on. Just before the doors slid closed, someone else darted inside.

  RJ slumped against the wall out of breath. His black eye now a nice shade of purple. “You made it,” I said.

  “We were beginning to wonder,” Brittany added, bemused as she watched him doubled over and panting.

  “Parking… in this city… is a bitch,” he managed.

  “Worse than killing a werewolf?” Brittany asked.

  He straightened and his expression was dead serious as he said, “Worse than the last month of kills combined. Next time, we’re asking for a company car to pick us up.”

  My eyes widened. “Can we do that?”

  Brittany turned to me, her face lit with the idea. “You can. And as your bodyguard and automatic plus-one on any CHAS summons, I highly suggest you ask for something roomy with a stocked bar.”

  “What about me?” RJ demanded.

  “Plus two,” Brittany corrected.

  “I’m not that important,” I said, scoffing.

  Brittany and RJ both just looked at me. I fidgeted with the ends of my hair as it finally began to dawn on me how serious they were. “Why do you think we’ve been summoned to Chase?” RJ asked as if the question where the answer.

  “Chase?” I echoed, brows knitting in confusion.

  The elevator finished its climb and the doors slid open revealing a large office and its double-glass doors directly across from the elevator car. I followed RJ and Brittany out and spotted the discreet yet well-placed sign beside the glass entryway to the offices ahead.

  It read: Chase Services, Inc.

  “Chase as in the credit card company?” I joked.

  “We have company holdings in a variety of markets,” RJ said. “Not a bad retirement plan either.”

  I stopped short, trying to pick my jaw up off the floor as I looked back and forth between RJ and Brittany. “Wait. You’re serious?” RJ nodded. Brittany shrugged.

  “It’s not a bad retirement,” RJ said.

  I could only continue to gawk. “You guys get a piece of it as employees?”

  Brittany nodded, eyes gleaming. “Hell, yeah, we do.” She held up two fingers added, “Two words: Profit. Share.”

  RJ frowned. “Isn’t that one word?”

  “Guys,” I said sharply. They both fell silent. “Shall we?” I asked.

  RJ held open the door and I followed Brittany inside. The carpet here was the same rich navy blue as the hall and trimmed in gold lines that seemed to point the way. We followed them a short distance to a reception desk that seemed to be the central hub for an outer ring of offices and conference rooms.

  Everything was muted. Our footsteps, ring tones, voices. Even the décor in its neutral colors and tasteful accents. This place was money. Nothing like the nondescript and purely functional medical facility. Why had they summoned me here, anyway? Up until now, all of my “meetings” had been done on a front porch or inside Edie’s Hummer.

  This felt… official.

  And I felt underqualified.

  In the two months that I’d been working or consulting for CHAS, I’d done absolutely zero to help find a cure for the werewolves. I hadn’t told them anything they didn’t already know and I’d managed to help send one of them into a deep coma—from which he still showed no signs from waking.

  The only reason I could think for them to bring me down here was to fire me. I mean, I couldn’t blame them. They were a global organization and even if they were operating under the radar of human government, their reach was extensive. Obviously, there was no shortage of funds. They could hire the best in the world. The best agents, the best
analysts, scientists, even witches… I wasn’t convinced they needed me at all.

  But it was too late now. We’d come too far.

  I listened as Brittany told the receptionist our name and then we were herded into an empty conference room and left alone. A few minutes ticked by and my stress level grew. Pretty soon, my pulse was tripping over itself and my palms were itching to the point of molting.

  “Calm down, Sam,” Brittany said, worry lines creasing her forehead. “It’s just a meeting.”

  “It is never just a meeting,” I said irritably.

  Brittany pressed her lips together and looked at RJ. “We need a distraction.”

  RJ got up and went to the white board. Quickly, he sketched out what could have been a house or a giraffe. “Guess what it is,” he prompted when neither of us spoke up.

  “Uh, a sweatshop?” Brittany said uncertainly.

  RJ gaped at her. “Seriously?” She shrugged and he erased it and tried again.

  “A train?” Brittany guessed this time.

  RJ snorted and erased again without bothering to wait for me to weigh in, trying a third time.

  “That is not what I think it is,” Brittany said.

  I looked up from where I was twisting my fingers around the ends of my hair and stared at RJ’s doodle. “What do you think it is?” RJ asked.

  Brittany giggled and looked at me. I pinned RJ with a look. “You cannot draw that here. Erase it,” I said.

  “Why do I have to erase it? It’s a perfectly legit doodle—” he began.

  The door to the conference room opened and a man in a dark suit entered. He shoved his glasses up his nose before looking up to scan the room. He spotted me and nodded before sweeping right and glancing at Brittany then RJ. He stopped when he caught sight of the white board.

  My cheeks heated as he studied the drawing. No more than three seconds but still. It wasn’t hard to see that he’d made the same guess as Brittany. He cleared his throat and RJ ducked his head, setting the dry-erase marker back on the ledge.

  Smooth.

  I sighed.

  This was not going the way I’d hoped.