Mission_Improper

by Bec McMaster

  man said under his breath. "Like we don't already

  have enough in here."

  "Kincaid," Gemma warned.

  Ava stiffened, and Byrnes strolled toward the

  window, hands clasped behind him. "By the scent

  of oil and the whir of clockwork, I presume you're

  a mech."

  The word had once been an insult, before the

  Uprising of 1880. Humans had been considered

  cattle, useful only for their blood, and mechs—

  those with mechanical limbs or clockwork organs

  —even less. Once, there had been a line in the

  sand: blue bloods versus humans and mechs. Taxes

  to be paid in blood. Mechs to be imprisoned in the

  enclaves, where they worked metal to repay the

  gift of their clockwork organs or mechanical limbs.

  Times had changed, or at least, they were

  changing. Old hatreds, however, still lingered.

  "Aye, I'm a mech. What of it?" Kincaid asked,

  in a low, threatening tone as he found his feet.

  Byrnes had an inch on the bastard, but Kincaid

  more than made up for that in breadth. Muscle

  rippled beneath his coat and bulged as the brute

  flexed his forearms.

  Byrnes simply clasped his hands behind him

  and stared back. Ava would no doubt tell him later

  that he was causing trouble, but sometimes he

  simply couldn't help himself. "Nothing really. It

  explains a great deal." Then he turned away and

  ran his fingertips over the shelves, as though

  dismissing the man.

  "Aye, well—"

  "Mr. Kincaid," Gemma mocked. "Pray don't

  tell me that blue bloods make you uneasy."

  Kincaid's voice flattened. "Not really. They

  tend to bleed just as well as any other, only takes a

  bit more sticking to finish the job."

  "Gentlemen," Ava said firmly. When he

  looked at her, she arched a brow behind her steel-

  rimmed spectacles. "Byrnes." This was said

  somewhat more warmly, with just a touch of

  exasperation.

  He held his arms out, as if to say, what?

  "Well, don't you all wonder why we're here?"

  Ava asked, including them all in her look. "I don't

  think picking fights with each other is conducive to

  anyone's cause."

  "But hardly unexpected," Gemma declared,

  with a faint snort of amusement. "After all, what

  happens when you put four blue bloods and a mech

  in a room together?"

  "That sounds like the beginning of a good

  joke," Charlie Todd declared.

  "I just hope it's not on us." Ava sounded

  nervous.

  "Only thing is, we're missing one particular

  species, if we want it to have a truly decent punch

  line," Gemma replied.

  "A verwulfen?" Charlie said with a grin.

  The only one who didn't find that thought

  amusing was Byrnes. His gut dropped through his

  boots at the word. No.

  "Let us hope not," Gemma said. "We already

  have one hothead."

  It continued, but Byrnes's attention had been

  caught by something else. He could hear footsteps

  padding behind the closed doors at the far corner

  of the room, and a slither of shadow darkened the

  door briefly, softening the air with scent.

  Lilies.

  And something else... something that was

  becoming clearer as the day continued, as if the

  overpowering scent of perfume was wearing away,

  leaving a musky hint of something else.

  Something... all woman.

  No. Hell, no.

  Every nerve in his body grew tight. Byrnes

  stalked toward the door on silent feet, pressing his

  fingertips against the paneling.

  "Fuck me," Kincaid muttered.

  From Ava, "Well, it stands to reason.

  Verwulfen were cleared by the treaty too, you

  know—"

  "And what would we need one of them for?

  It's not like this is a frigging alliance of any sort—"

  Every one of Byrnes’s hunting senses was

  alight. His mystery was beginning to clear up, and

  it was drawing a conclusion that he didn't

  particularly like. Not at all.

  A light, husky laugh mocked him through the

  door, and then movement danced in the room

  beyond. Going. His prey was going.

  Byrnes slipped through the doors before he

  could think about it.

  There was no one there. Only another door,

  swinging shut slowly, and her scent, becoming

  obnoxiously clearer the closer he got to her. He

  knew that scent hiding beneath the perfume. It had

  driven him crazy a year ago, when someone—the

  Nighthawks’ guild master—had this smashing idea

  about pairing him with an outside bounty hunter on

  a case nobody could seem to solve. His bloody

  case. The case he couldn't solve.

  "Just work with her, Byrnes. She's good at

  what she does, and she's an even better tracker

  than you are." Garrett's voice echoed in his

  memory.

  Byrnes grit his teeth. Garrett had known he

  worked better alone. He always had, and it got on

  every one of his last nerves to know that not only

  could he not find the answer in this particular case,

  but that they expected that she would.

  They’d lasted an entire day working together.

  And then it became a competition.

  "Bet I catch the killer first," that husky voice

  whispered in his mind.

  "I bet you I do," he'd shot back, and stepped

  toward her, into her space. "And when I do, you're

  going to get down on your knees and—"

  "And?" she'd drawled, straightening a little,

  her eyes lighting with a challenging fire.

  It changed what he'd meant to say. “And kiss

  my boots” had been his intention. That was not

  what had come out. The instant he'd stated his

  intentions she'd taken a step toward him, closing

  that last inch between them, and reached up to

  whisper in his ear.

  "Be careful what you wish for, Byrnes." A

  mocking finger traced over his shirt so lightly he

  barely felt it, yet the not-quite touch sent a shiver

  through him, and their eyes had met then, as

  something more than words had been exchanged. "I

  don't think you'll want my teeth anywhere near your

  balls." A smile that gripped his cock like a vise.

  "Not that that will ever happen, but it does add a

  certain little incentive toward the case. When I

  bring this bastard in, I have my own terms, and

  you'll meet them."

  "Name them." The shock of his sudden

  interest had flared through him, and he'd caught her

  wrist, stopping her hand just above the waistband

  of his leather breeches.

  "If I solve the case, then I get to tie you to my

  bed, and do anything I desire to you. Anything at

  all."

  A mistake. He should have made her be more

  specific, but just at that moment she'd flexed her

  wrist in his grasp and raked her fingernail over the

  leather protecting his cock.
<
br />   "Done," he'd said. After all, he'd never lost

  before.

  If there was one person who could get into his

  room at the guild and leave that taunting note,

  knowing just knowing how much it would get his

  itch going, it was her.

  The devil in disguise.

  Pushing open the doors to the next room, he

  came to a halt. It too was empty.

  And then someone spoke. Someone he knew

  all too well.

  "Looking for something? Or is it someone?"

  said an amused voice from the side.

  Her.

  Byrnes met a pair of eyes that were lit from

  within with a bronze glow. She hadn't changed one

  inch from that debacle last year, where he'd been

  left tied to his bed, naked, with a lovely little

  message written across his chest in ink, which all

  of his fellow Nighthawks had found absolutely

  hilarious.

  "Ingrid," he said.

  "Did you miss me?"

  TWO

  "MISS YOU?" Byrnes stated flatly, though the

  gleam in his blue eyes wasn't cold. Not at all. He

  took a menacing step toward her before pausing,

  his lean form falling into absolute stillness.

  Ingrid Miller smiled. She'd worked with

  Byrnes for only two weeks—or worked against

  him, perhaps, when he'd declared that he didn't

  need her and could find the suspect before she

  could—but in that time she'd come to know him

  well enough to predict him.

  He hated emotional displays, especially in

  himself. His control was absolute. And she'd just

  caused him to break both of those self-governed

  rules.

  Call it the devil on her shoulder, but when it

  came to Byrnes, she absolutely could not help

  herself.

  "Miss you?" he repeated. "Why yes... I

  believe I did. I have a little debt to repay."

  "A little debt?" Ingrid glanced at him from

  beneath her lashes in a most un-Ingrid-like way.

  "What a curious choice of words."

  Instantly his gaze flattened, and she laughed.

  "I searched for you," he said stiffly.

  "Did you?"

  "I spent months looking for you."

  "You wouldn't have found me, no matter how

  much time you spent looking for me." You wouldn't

  have found me, because I wasn't here. Not that her

  quest to Norway had been successful, even with all

  of the lovely bounty money she'd earned by

  bringing in the so-called Vampire of Drury Lane all

  by herself. The humor drained out of her, but she

  managed to keep her smile on her face.

  Some mysteries took time.

  She certainly wasn't giving up on this one.

  And now Ingrid had received this offer, with more

  money on the table, should her work prove

  satisfactory to the Duke of Malloryn. More money

  meant more informants she could pay, more

  searchers she could employ. She'd find the family

  she'd been stolen from all those years ago. One

  day.

  She just had to be patient.

  "Where did you go after the Drury Lane case?

  You weren't in London. You weren't in any of the

  towns nearby. You weren't even in bloody

  Scotland!"

  "That's not really any of your business."

  "Oh, I think it is." Byrnes was in her space.

  They were of a height, especially with her in her

  heeled boots, but she never felt unfeminine around

  him, the way she sometimes felt with other men.

  Byrnes always challenged her to be an equal, and

  that look in his eye had always made her feel

  distinctly feminine.

  "You left me naked and bound to my bed. I've

  been thinking about what I'd do to you to repay the

  debt for the last year." His voice dropped. "Oh,

  and Ingrid, I've had time to get very creative about

  it."

  "Poor Caleb. It sounds like I got to you."

  He hated it when she called him Caleb. His

  teeth ground together, and he reached out to cup her

  cheek. One thumb brushed against her cheek, then

  lower, to her mouth, sinking into her plush lower

  lip and pressing just firmly enough to rouse a fire

  in her blood. Byrnes leaned closer. "That happens

  when a woman makes certain promises, and then

  reneges upon them."

  "I promised to get you naked," she whispered

  around the press of his thumb. "You were naked, if

  I recall. We never agreed upon anything else."

  "You wrote on me."

  "It was a lovely little poem. 'There was a

  young Nighthawk from Matlock; Who had a fairly

  significant—"

  "I remember," he growled under his breath,

  blue eyes alighting with fury and desire.

  Ingrid's smile deepened. "I'm certain you do."

  I am going to repay this debt tenfold, his

  eyes seemed to say.

  You can certainly try, replied her smile.

  That made his eyes narrow.

  "Miss me, Byrnes?" she murmured, her voice

  dropping to a whisper as her body softened toward

  his. The devil always had this effect upon her. "It

  certainly sounds like it."

  "Only because I mean revenge, Miller."

  Miller. God knew she'd missed that, strangely

  enough. Ingrid's smile softened and she bit the

  thumb that still lingered on her lip. The heat in his

  gaze turned intense, and he sucked in a sharp

  breath.

  "Admit it," she said, sucking his thumb gently.

  One of her hands curled in the lapel of his coat as

  she drew free of his hand. "It was more than

  revenge."

  The look on his face told her everything.

  Everything.

  A part of her wanted to grab a fistful of his

  hair and yank his mouth down to hers. The second

  she did, they'd be upon each other, Byrnes

  slamming her back into the wall, and Ingrid lifting

  her legs to wrap around his lean waist.

  She knew it, because that's precisely what had

  happened the one time she'd dared to kiss him. The

  vision sent a shiver of need straight through her, as

  if she could remember every second of that

  moment, every self-destructive instinct that had

  driven her to throw herself into the abyss of desire.

  No, their interest in each other had never been

  the problem. It was the fact that she couldn't trust

  him.

  Ingrid stepped back, crossing her arms over

  her chest. Sometimes she was tempted to reach out

  and touch, but the warier part of her knew it would

  get burned when it came to Byrnes. Far easier to

  keep him at arm’s length and pretend this was

  merely desire between them.

  "One day, Miller," he said, noting the way in

  which she'd disengaged, "One day you're going to

  pay your dues—"

  "But until then," a male voice said behind

  them, "would it be at all possible for the pair of

  you to join us?"

  They staggered apart with a start of surprise.

  The Duke of Malloryn stood in the doorway, both

  han
ds holding the doors wide open, and from the

  look on Byrnes's face she hadn't been the only one

  taken unawares.

  Which was almost unforgivable, considering

  the two of them had the greatest hunting senses of

  anyone in the house.

  "Of course." Ingrid recovered smoothly.

  "After you, your Grace."

  Malloryn's icy gaze raked over the pair of

  them, “This had better not become a problem.”

  “Of course not,” Ingrid replied.

  “Because if it does….” Malloryn didn’t need

  to add anything else as he turned to head back to

  the library.

  And she needed this job too much to disobey.

  "Revenge is going to be very sweet," Byrnes

  whispered in her ear as he brushed past.

  She followed him, feeling that little thrill

  tingling through her blood, unable to stop herself

  from whispering, "Just remember: two can play at

  that game."

  Malloryn shot them both a cool glance as they

  entered the library, but Ingrid merely smiled and

  took a seat next to a young woman with blond

  curls, who looked at Byrnes, and then at her with a

  slightly shocked expression.

  "Ladies," Malloryn called, taking the center

  of the room. "Gentlemen. May we begin?"

  "AS YOU ALL KNOW," Malloryn said, standing

  with easy authority by the wall, "three years ago

  the prince consort was overthrown by his queen

  and society went through quite an upheaval.

  Humans and mechs had their rights restored"—this

  with a tip of the head to the burly Kincaid—"and

  Echelon society was changed forever."

  "Aye," said Kincaid. "Bluebirds fuckin' sang,

  and everybody lived happily ever after. 'Til the

  Packenham Riots, and the burnings in Manchester,

  and the disappearances in Begby Square."

  Malloryn smiled. It wasn't friendly at all.

  "Like I said, everything has changed. Some

  changes have been well received. Some have not.

  The queen and the ruling Council of Dukes would

  like to think that Britain is on its way to greatness

  but others seem not to hold that same opinion.

  That's why this team has been called together.

  "Someone in particular means to cause

  trouble for the monarchy and they're using the

  populace to do so. The Packenham Riots weren't

  just circumstance. Someone murdered that poor

  young mech and before her blood had even cooled,

  there were pamphlets being circulated in the

  streets, which makes me think it was planned. I

  want to get to the bottom of who is stirring trouble

  before another riot breaks loose. And that's where