by Zoe Chant
Beside him, Irina sniffed. “Is it really dry in here, or is it just me?”
Grant tasted the air. “You’re right. Dry and hot. There’s something…”
Wait. Beige, hot, and dry? A light glinted at the edge of Grant’s vision. He paused halfway through helping Irina out of the winter coat she had borrowed from him, which was completely wrong for the climate-controlled room. “What did Lance call this place, again?”
“The Manor,” Irina replied at once. She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you—are you, um, sensing something? With your… you know.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.” Grant folded Irina’s coat over one arm and reclaimed her waist with the other. “Tell me—are you a big fan of wildlife documentaries?”
Irina’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”
Another movement across the room caught Grant’s attention. He winked at Irina, murmured, “I’ll tell you in a minute,” and then waved at the man who had just appeared through a door at the far end of the foyer.
“Mr. and Mrs. Diaz?”
The young man was neatly turned out in khakis, matching shirt and tie, and matching dusty-blond hair. He also clearly wasn’t expecting his greeting to have the effect it did. He jumped backwards as Irina and Grant both tried to correct him at once.
Grant caught Irina’s eye and shut his mouth.
“I’m Miss Mathers,” she explained to the man who looked like he could blend in with the desert so fast you wouldn’t see him disappear. Her dark eyes flicked up to meet Grant’s again. “At the moment, at least.”
Grant’s heart swelled as he looked down at her. His Irina. Was it too early to ask her…?
“My apologies. Mr. Diaz, Miss Mathers. Your group is waiting upstairs.”
Arm in arm with his mate, Grant followed the young man through a series of corridors and open-plan rooms. Everywhere they went, heads popped around doors or up over cubicles to check their progress.
Grant chuckled. The desert atmosphere, the name—he knew what his panther had picked up on, now. And he was going to tease the hell out of Lance for it.
“Here you are.” The desert-colored man handed them through to a meeting room and then promptly disappeared. Grant blinked after him, held the door for Irina, and nodded to the other men in the room.
“Lance, Harley. Is that all of us?” Somehow, from Lance’s communications, he’d expected more.
“Hi, boss. Irina. I’m glad to see you’re all right.” Lance pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled at both of them. “I don’t believe either of you have met my aunt.”
He motioned to a screen on the wall, which Grant had assumed was turned off. When he stepped in front of it, though, a video feed appeared. A privacy filter, he thought.
The woman on the other end of the video call gave him a thin smile. She was in her early sixties, he guessed, and had Lance’s dark skin and startling eyes.
Lance made the introductions. “Auntie, this is Grant Diaz, and his mate, Irina Mathers. Grant, Irina—my aunt, General MacInnis.”
The General nodded at them both. “Thank you for joining us today. Miss Mathers, first let me extend my apologies for the situation you found yourself in yesterday. I hope it is some consolation that the discoveries made during the event may help us prevent such things in future.”
“Discoveries?” Irina asked, sitting down at the table. Grant followed her.
“The shielding equipment used by your attackers,” General MacInnis explained. “Lance?”
Lance held out the palm-sized object he’d shown Grant the day before. “We found these on all of Francine’s ‘hired help’. They shield whoever’s holding them from being scented or heard by shifters. Thankfully, they don’t make the bearer invisible, but that’s a thin silver lining when we don’t know where they come from, or what they are.”
“Francine Delacourt is being very helpful in that regard,” the General cut in. “Unfortunately, her own contacts appear to have been a smokescreen. Whoever is behind this didn’t want to risk creating a witness who could easily identify them.”
“Is she okay?” Irina said suddenly. Grant turned to her. Irina was frowning down at the table. “Was she badly hurt? That man knocked her out…”
Irina kept her eyes on the table, as though she was unwilling to look up and meet anyone else’s gaze. Grant reached across and took her hand.
On the other side of the table, Lance cleared his throat. “If that’s a roundabout way of asking exactly how we’re getting this information, then yes, we have her in custody. She’ll be released to her pride as soon as our people have cleared her properties and finished taking statements.”
“Oh,” Irina said quietly. “And—literally—her head wound…? Grant told me about the healing abilities, but how far does that go?”
“Far enough that she’s physically fine,” Lance reassured her.
“And what happens after she’s released?” Grant asked, tightening his grip on Irina’s hand. “I’m not exactly comfortable with the thought of running into her on the street after this. Or at galleries, again. With Irina’s work…”
“It’s not that important,” said Irina quickly. “My paintings, I mean. I don’t have to—”
“It is important,” Grant insisted. He took her face in his hands and stared into her eyes. “I want you to feel safe. You shouldn’t have to give up something that brings you pleasure. I’ll talk to the Delacourt pride—”
“Already done.” Harley shifted uncomfortably in his chair as everyone’s eyes turned to him. He looked like he’d rather still be up in the air instead of being here and having to deal with the fallout of his friend’s actions. “I spoke to her parents, the Delacourt alphas. They’re going to send her to live with another pack.” His mouth twisted. “Sorry, that probably didn’t sound bad enough, did it? They’re going to exile her. From the country.”
General MacInnis’ lips thinned. “For a lion pride, that is… particularly harsh. But then, I imagine they think it warranted.” She shuffled some papers off-screen. “Regardless, I am confident we will be able to trace your attackers in good time, Miss Mathers, and prevent this from happening to anyone else.”
The General’s hand moved off-screen, and Grant got the impression their conversation was over.
“Wait,” said Irina beside him. “What about us? What can we do?”
“Do, Miss Mathers?”
Irina sat back, frowning. “Yes. Do. I don’t want to just sit here and wait to hear what you’ve been up to. What about Silverstream, in the Adirondacks? I can talk to people there. Ask if they’ve heard anything about strange people passing through.” She glanced at Grant. “Or if they’ve seen Mathis. Francine seemed to think that was where he was headed before he disappeared, after all.”
“It would be useful to have a local on the ground,” Lance said slowly. “But as for Mathis…”
He exchanged a glance with Harley, who sighed and gritted his teeth.
“I said I talked to Mr. and Mrs. Delacourt,” Harley said. “Look at this. Arrived this morning.” He handed Grant a postcard with a cheery Wish-you-were-here! image on the front.
Grant turned the card over and read it, Irina peeking over his shoulder.
“Oh, hell,” he said at last.
“Yep,” Irina agreed.
Grant looked up at Lance. “Well, you called it,” he said. “Didn’t you say he would just be cooling his feet somewhere after his latest girl dumped him?”
He dropped the postcard on the table with a groan of frustration. Mathis’ short message was clear enough. He was sorry he hadn’t contacted his parents earlier. Girl problems. Needed some time off-grid to get his head straight. Etc.
“Where is it postmarked?” asked Lance’s aunt.
“Silverstream.”
“Goddammit.”
Grant knuckled his forehead, not sure if he was more relieved or irritated.
“Silverstream?” murmured Irina beside him, and then to his s
urprise, she started to laugh. “She—hahaha—Francine was right, after all. With my paintings… the Adirondacks… he was there!”
She leaned her head on Grant’s shoulder, her shoulders still jumping with stifled giggles. Grant put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.
“I don’t know why I’m laughing,” she whispered, so only he could hear. “It’s just—I’m so glad your friend is okay. That this whole stupid experience really wasn’t about him being dead.”
Grant’s heart twisted. “I’m glad, too,” he said, his voice muffled in her hair.
“I’m sure we can agree, this is the best possible outcome,” said the General crisply. “In fact, it couldn’t have gone better if we planned it ourselves. No deaths and minimal injuries and expense. As an added bonus, we’ve uncovered a secret anti-shifter ring.”
“You make it sound like we should be thanking Frankie for going off the deep end,” Harley grumbled under his breath.
“I wouldn’t go that far. But she’s certainly given us a lot to work with. Now, unless there’s anything else…?” General MacInnis nodded to the room, and the screen went blank.
There wasn’t much else to talk about. Grant introduced Irina properly to Harley, and she thanked him for flying her out of the mountains. Harley avoided her eyes as he mumbled that it was nothing. Grant knew he was still feeling guilty that he’d been the one who prepped Frankie’s helicopter, the one that took Irina out to the Adirondacks in the first place.
Not that he could have known anything was going on, Grant told himself.
“What time is it?” he said out loud. “One? Two? Time to go beat down Moss’ door and make him give us lunch?”
“All of the above,” said Lance. “I’ll just check in with my friends here and catch up with you.”
Another member of staff, in sand-colored slacks and button-down, arrived to show Grant and Irina out. Grant watched Irina take in every detail of the rooms they passed through, and the people they saw working there. When they were back outside in the crisp winter air, she turned to him, a smile twitching the corners of her mouth.
“Wildlife documentaries, huh?” she said, pushing her hands deep into her coat pockets. “I’m thinking… Meerkat Manor?”
Grant laughed with her. “I can’t believe Lance actually called it the Manor!” he crowed.
“So… are they?” Irina jerked her head back towards the building. “Meerkats, I mean?”
“I think so. Most of them, at least. Did you see how they all kept watch on us as we moved through? I could feel it the moment we went inside. Through the security cameras, I think.”
“That’s incredible.” Irina’s smile lit up the cold street.
“There’s a lot of incredible hanging around if you know how to look for it,” Grant said.
Irina nudged him. “And you’ll help me look?”
“Of course. Wherever you like. Rome, Edinburgh… now that things are back to normal, we’ll be able to go wherever we want.”
Irina’s eyes were sparkling. “Shall we start with Silverstream? It might not have any underground cities, but your friend might still be there. And,” she added, leaning in close, “I don’t think that anything in my life is going to be normal anymore. Let’s make it an adventure, instead.”
EPILOGUE
GRANT
“They’re all gone?” Grant glared at his cellphone, and then switched it to his other ear. “But the exhibition doesn’t open until tonight!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Diaz.” The voice on the other end of the phone was tinged with professional regret. “All of Ms. Mathers’ paintings were spoken for within days of the exhibition being announced.”
“Dammit!” Grant leaned back, his fingers beating a tattoo on the living room wall. The empty wall. “But we only delivered the canvases yesterday!”
“Ye-es,” said the woman on the other end of the phone. “Remember, though, we chose the paintings for the show a few weeks ago, for the advance catalogue. I don’t suppose you’ve considered asking her to do you a custom piece?”
“Dammit, Clare,” Grant growled. “Stop talking sense.”
Clare’s laughter echoed in his ear. “Hey, I’ve got a great idea. Take her somewhere nice on vacation—I’d love to see what she’d do with glaciers. Or, ooh, fjords.”
“You mean, you love what your commission would look like.” Grant grumbled as Irina’s friend cackled back at him. “I suppose I’d come back from the trip to discover you’d pre-sold any paintings she made on it, anyway.”
“You read my mind,” said Clare triumphantly.
Grant thumped his head against the wall. He’d thought he had it all figured out. The three paintings from Irina’s first exhibition had been snapped up within a fortnight, by a mystery buyer. That was bad enough. He had thought he was being smart, contacting the gallery that was hosting her second show before the exhibition even opened.
But not smart enough, it turned out.
“I wanted to surprise her,” he explained. “She’s always so anxious about people not liking her paintings, and she’s been so stressed about her first solo show. I wanted to show her she has nothing to worry about.”
And I wanted to have her artwork here, he added to himself. Her stamp on our home, a celebration of how amazing she is.
“Well, she’ll have to make do with the love and admiration of her adoring public,” said Clare dryly. “Sorry, Grant, I’ve got to run. See you in—oh—forty-five minutes, assuming you’re planning on being on time?”
Grant told her he’d see her before jamming his phone into a pocket, fuming.
“Sweetheart?”
He turned around. Irina was limping towards him one foot thrust into a high-heeled shoe, the other bare.
God, she was so beautiful. Her hair was tied back in a complicated braid, and she’d done something with her make-up that made her eyes look even more sultry than usual. Her midnight-navy dress glittered with tiny gemstones like stars, and she—
“Sweetheart? Can you help me find my other shoe?” Irina said patiently.
“Oh. Sorry. Yes,” Grant said quickly, hoping she hadn’t had to repeat the question before he heard it. “Which ones?”
She stuck out her foot, and Grant frowned at the silver pump. “When did you last wear them?”
“Tuesday,” she said after a moment’s thought. “You remember—after the theater…”
Grant thought. He did remember. It was a very nice memory. “Have you checked under the sideboard in the dining room?” he suggested innocently.
“Ohh…” Irina disappeared back through the door. “Yes!”
She marched back in triumphantly, both feet glittering, and planted a lingering kiss on Grant’s cheek.
“Are you ready to go? Who was that on the phone?”
“Ready when you are. I was just talking to Clare…” He trailed off, not wanting to tell his beloved about his failed plan.
“Was she telling you to keep an eye on me?” Irina grumbled with a wry smile. “Making sure I don’t run off before the show begins?”
“Something like that,” Grant lied.
“Well, she doesn’t have anything to worry about. I’m looking forward to my first exhibition with a full house of friends and family there to support me.”
Grant kissed her. “Let’s go.”
He ushered her out in front of him, enjoying the view as she sashayed to the elevators.
***
“We’re coming,” Irina said firmly. “Honestly—we’re right outside the doors—I’m literally waving to you right now…”
Grant stifled his laughter as Irina waved both hands madly through the plate-glass doors. Her engagement ring glittered in the light from the streetlamps. On the other side of the door, Clare gaped.
“You’re here!” she yelped as the doors swung open. Her voice echoed through Irina’s cellphone before she turned it off, laughing. “You’re here! You’re engaged! Oh my God! We open in five minutes!”
Grant looked around. He didn’t want to say it, but the street outside the gallery was distinctly un-crowded. Clare caught his glance.
“Everyone else is already inside,” she wailed. “The people on your guest list turned up early and insisted on going in, and everyone else just flooded in after them! They’ve been there for an hour already! I had to send out for more canapes!”
Grant exchanged a look with Irina. “That’ll be Harley. Or Mr. Delacourt. Or one of Moss’s girls. Or… let’s be honest. It’s all of them.”
“Well, let’s hope we have enough sales to make the extra expense worth your while,” Irina said nervously.
Grant sighed. “I have a feeling that won’t be a problem,” he said with a glare at Clare, and they made their way up to the gallery on the fifth floor.
The gallery was just as Grant remembered it, except this time, he was starting the evening with the most beautiful woman in the room already at his side. And her paintings filled every wall.
“Oh, geez,” groaned Irina into his shoulder as they walked in. “Clare put that one in? I told her to grab whatever she wanted from my pile of canvases, but—and it’s sold?” She looked around, her jaw dropping. “They’ve all sold?”
“Unfortunately.”
Irina looked up at him, her eyebrows drawing together.
“What do you mean?”
Grant sighed. “Time to come clean. I called Clare before I came over here, to see if I could nab one for myself, but it was too late.”
Irina’s look of astonishment blossomed into a wide smile. “You—oh, you are too sweet,” she said, blushing.
“But too slow!” caroled a stout, middle-aged woman with dark blonde hair as she hurried towards them. “Grant, dear, it’s lovely to see you. And you must be Irina! My Harley has already told me so much about you. We’re all so pleased that Grant found such a wonderful girl.” She squeezed Grant’s cheek, and then, to his relief, gave Irina a quick peck on her cheek.
“Mrs. Ames?” Irina’s eyes slid sideways at Grant. “I knew Harley and the other guys were going to be here, but not that anyone’s parents would be.”