Mission_Improper

by Bec McMaster

  sucked in an enormous lungful of air, surrendering

  herself into Byrnes's grasp as he began to tow her

  toward the shore. Behind her, fire burned in

  patches on the river, and people were yelling and

  shouting as they streamed from buildings on both

  edges of the Thames.

  "Guess that takes care of the workers strikes,"

  Ingrid murmured, then rested her head on Byrnes's

  shoulder. So tired.

  Lifting her in his arms, he waded ashore, and

  she didn't want to think about the stink of the river.

  All she could see were his eyes, wide and no

  longer icy, but very, very blue.

  "The vampire?" she rasped, finally looking

  over his shoulder.

  Most of the bridge was gone. Just gone.

  Sheared off like an enormous hand had reached out

  of the sky and torn away iron beams and rivets,

  leaving behind only the two stone towers in the

  center of the river.

  "Apparently there is only one easy way to kill

  a vampire," Byrnes finally said, turning with her in

  his arms to stare at the remains of the bridge. "I

  wouldn't recommend it, however, and I'm fairly

  certain Malloryn's not going to be entirely pleased.

  He said to keep our heads down."

  Ingrid simply stared. "Half of London

  probably saw that."

  "Indeed."

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  MALLORYN WAS not pleased.

  Fortunately, he had other matters on his mind

  and only gave them one snarled comment— “could

  you possibly have found a bigger monument to

  destroy”— before sending them off to tend to

  themselves. The fact that someone had tried to

  blow up the queen whilst she was at his

  engagement party seemed to be the bigger affront.

  Ingrid found herself settled into a steam

  carriage driven by a member of the Nighthawks,

  who were now combing the garden at Malloryn's.

  She didn't care anymore. She'd done her bit, and

  now the loupe was demanding payment. The

  carriage rocked as Byrnes shouldered his way

  through the door, and then he was settling on the

  seat beside her.

  "Zero was here," he told her, lifting up a note.

  "She had this delivered ten minutes ago by some

  street lad. It's to me."

  Ingrid had just enough strength to lift her head

  to read. "Congratulations, Master Byrnes. You do

  prove resourceful—and somewhat vexing—though

  I do not care for the company you keep. Never

  mind, I'm enjoying this game far too much, and

  people die—verwulfen die—such is life. We will

  meet again. Zero." She looked up, blinking through

  the heavy lassitude of the loupe. "She does seem

  particularly taken with you. Are you certain you

  didn't get up to anything I should know about?"

  Byrnes looked affronted. "I've barely even

  met the woman!"

  "Well, something made an impression. I'm not

  sure it's your charm."

  "She's insane!" Byrnes screwed the piece of

  paper in his fist. "And she just threatened you."

  With a laugh, Ingrid rested her head on his

  shoulder. "Don't get your drawers in a twist. She's

  not coming after me yet. Wake me when we get to

  Baker Street."

  And then she stopped fighting the heaviness.

  AS EVENING DRENCHED THE SKIES, a swift

  knock came at Ingrid’s door. Even before Byrnes

  opened it, he knew who was there. He'd recognize

  that scent anywhere.

  "Rosa," he murmured, keeping his voice low.

  Rosa peered past him. "Is she all right?"

  "Apart from a few scratches, she's fine." He

  was not, however. Ingrid was going to be the death

  of him. Watching her on that beam, with the

  vampire at her heels.... "She's just tired. Hasn't

  woken up yet."

  Rosa slid onto the bed, curling Ingrid's hand

  in her own. "She does that when she exerts herself

  immensely.”

  "Let's hope she doesn't fall asleep somewhere

  when she's not yet made it to safety then."

  "She won't," Rosa said. "The fact that she's

  allowed herself to surrender to it means that she

  trusts you. Byrnes... thank you. For looking after

  her, and guarding her back."

  "You sound surprised."

  Fabric rustled as the duchess smoothed

  Ingrid's hair off her head. "I'm not surprised you

  protected her. You're a Nighthawk, after all. I might

  be a little shocked to find you sitting here at her

  bedside, however. The Caleb Byrnes that I know is

  not the sort of man to hover at a woman's bedside."

  There was a question in that.

  "She asked me to stay the other night when

  she was injured. I don't think she likes to wake up

  alone in the middle of the night. I think—" He

  stopped in his tracks. Why the hell was he

  explaining himself to Rosa?

  And the truth was, he was lying. He was here

  because he wanted to be here, and because he

  didn't want Ingrid to wake up alone in the dark and

  not know where she was.

  Rosa saw it all, judging from her expression.

  "I thought we had an agreement?"

  To hell with that. "I'm not giving her up,

  Rosa."

  The duchess's lips thinned.

  "I'm not," he told her firmly, standing and

  retrieving his coat. "Whether you like it or not." He

  slung his coat over his shoulders. "As Ingrid's

  friend, I respect your concern about our

  relationship, but this is between Ingrid and me, and

  I'll thank you to stay out of it."

  Those dark brown eyes watched him as he

  headed for the door. Then she smiled, very faintly.

  "As you wish."

  It was the smile that unnerved him. Far from

  looking like she was about to leap between them

  with pistols raised, Rosa seemed to be dwelling on

  some secret thought that amused her.

  "I'll give you a moment alone with her," he

  murmured, slinking through the door and finding

  Lynch in the hallway beyond.

  "You've just cost me one of my finest bottles

  of blud-wein," Lynch sighed.

  It wasn't what he'd expected the duke to say.

  "What?"

  "Garrett," the duke replied, sliding his hands

  into his pockets. "I should have known better than

  to bet against that bastard. Come. Walk with me."

  Together they strolled into the garden at the

  back of the house. Fog lingered in the corners, and

  a single gaslight lit the yard.

  “Should I be worried about Rosa coming after

  me?” Byrnes muttered, leaning against the wall.

  “I think she’s reconciling herself to the idea of

  welcoming you into the family.”

  That disconcerted him a little. Rosa as a

  sister-in-law. Jesus. Byrnes shifted. “Let’s not get

  ahead of ourselves. Nothing’s been decided, and…

  there are still some problems for Ingrid and me to

  work through, as soon as we get a chance to

  breathe.”


  “Oh?”

  His first instinct was to clam up, but to hell

  with it. He couldn’t do this alone any more. "She

  wants children. I've never— I didn't—" It was

  uncomfortable terrain for him to stare into a future

  he'd never examined before, never dreamed of.

  "I'm not good with children, and I've never wanted

  to be a father. I've never wanted to be a husband."

  Not until she'd walked into his life and turned it

  upside down. "But I cannot stay away from her."

  "Mmm. This doesn't have anything to do with

  your father, does it?"

  Byrnes shot him a shocked look.

  "You've always been the one I worried about

  the most," Lynch admitted. "Emotion frightens you.

  It's never been a problem until now, but it always

  used to worry me that one day you wouldn't be

  able to control everything you felt, and... you'd do

  something stupid."

  Byrnes swallowed hard as he rested his hands

  on the wall. “I’m not going to do anything foolish.

  It’s just—”

  “You see too much of your father in yourself

  when you get angry?”

  Byrnes shoved away from the wall, pacing.

  “Christ. How do you do that?”

  “I’ve made human nature a study of mine,”

  Lynch replied dryly. “It’s what made me a good

  Nighthawk.”

  “An

  excellent

  one,”

  Byrnes

  replied

  grudgingly. Neither he nor Garrett would ever

  compare. Lynch could see right through a man,

  right through his motivations. Scrubbing a hand

  through his hair, he swallowed hard. Memories

  were starting to surface at the turn of the

  conversation: his father’s swarthy face as he turned

  and spied a young Caleb Byrnes watching from the

  shadows as he took his rage out on Byrnes’s

  mother….

  "Is it the thought of being a father that

  concerns you? Or the intimacy implied in such a

  position?” Lynch asked. “Or does it have

  something to do with losing everyone you cared for

  at young age, and being afraid to be vulnerable

  again?"

  A little bit of each. Anger throbbed through

  him. "If you think that losing my father bothered

  me, then you'd be wrong."

  "I'm not speaking of losing your father." Lynch

  paused, a hesitation very much unlike him. "You do

  realize that I was the one in charge of his murder

  case?"

  Byrnes froze. He couldn't help himself.

  Instead he saw it flash before his eyes again, the

  knife in his hands plunging into that bastard's chest

  again and again, until it was a wet pulp.

  Lynch had never said anything. Instead he'd

  asked his questions about the incident, declared the

  case cold, and after the funeral had pulled Byrnes

  aside to offer him a position in the Nighthawks.

  "I know you hated him. No, I was speaking of

  your mother's loss. Of young Debney." Lynch

  rested his hip on the window ledge, merely

  watching him come to the conclusion the duke had

  already reached. "Not the father you killed."

  Byrnes pinched the bridge of his nose. "You

  knew.”

  "A crime of such passion? It was either you or

  your brother, or perhaps even the viscountess.

  Someone who hated him. The second I laid eyes

  upon you, wary and mistrustful, with your emotions

  so tightly locked away, I knew who'd done it. And

  then there was the fact that you were newly

  infected with the craving virus. You didn’t come by

  that by accident."

  "Then why did you let me join the

  Nighthawks? You should have executed me." The

  Echelon would have been baying for blood for the

  murder of one of their own.

  "You were thirteen, Byrnes. And I considered

  it. The coldness you displayed unnerved me, but

  then there was the funeral and the way that you

  helped your mother hobble up to his grave to throw

  her flower on top of the casket, despite the fact you

  looked like you wanted to spit on it. You loved her.

  You were kind to her, and she was clearly a

  woman who'd seen the rough side of life. In that

  moment I realized that you weren't hiding some

  sadistic monster inside you. You were an injured

  wolf cub, lashing out, trying to protect the one thing

  that you cared for. You could have become worse,"

  Lynch admitted, "without someone to guide your

  choices, and your control of the craving virus. You

  could have followed a dark path had I not taken the

  chance to help you. When I adopted Garrett into the

  Nighthawks—well, he was always easy to love,

  but you... you're the one I'm proudest of. The one

  who stood in the shadows and slowly hauled

  himself out of them."

  Byrnes's back hit the wall and he half slid

  down it. He didn't know what to say. That young

  blood-soaked boy inside him, terrified, hurting,

  furious, and wild with emotion.... He'd spent so

  many years trying to bury him. And he'd succeeded

  in many ways. Succeeded in bottling it all up,

  locking it all away. Emotion and passion frightened

  him, because he knew what he was capable of.

  He'd seen the blood all across his hands as he

  slowly came back to himself that night and realized

  what had happened.

  “I’ve spent so many years trying not to

  become him,” he admitted in a hoarse whisper

  before meeting Lynch’s eyes. “How could I be a

  father? Or a husband? I’m a good hunter, Lynch.

  I’m not afraid of the dark. I’m not afraid of the

  monsters, or of tracking them down, because I

  recognize that darkness inside me. How do I

  become something else?”

  “No, it’s not the shadows you’re afraid of,”

  Lynch said with a sigh. “But the light. And you’re

  not seeing the situation clearly. I’ve seen you take

  care of Ingrid, Byrnes. I’ve seen you protect your

  mother. You’re so gentle with her. There’s another

  side to you that perhaps you need to explore.”

  Lynch sighed. "Fatherhood scared me too, did you

  know? When Rosa was carrying Phillip… it was

  absolutely terrifying, for I’ve never been around

  children much. And then he was born, and it all

  became very simple.” A faint smile quirked at his

  lips. “All of that worry for nothing. The second I

  held him in my arms, I knew I would shift heaven

  and earth to protect him.”

  It was easy for the duke to say.

  “Did Ingrid tell you this?” Lynch asked. “That

  she wants children?"

  "It was fairly obvious at your dinner. And

  your wife made some pointed remarks when she

  tracked me down."

  "But Ingrid never specifically said it? Rosa's

  not always right. Though she's having a difficult

  time admitting it to herself. Why don't you ask

  Ingrid what she wants? She�
��s passionate and rash,

  and living on the very edge of her emotions—in

  some ways she's your exact opposite. But I think

  that if there was anyone that could match the

  darkness inside you, anyone who could handle it...

  it would be her, Byrnes. The only problem is that

  in order to get what you want, you're going to have

  to expose yourself and risk the chance of losing

  her. You must face your own demons head-on if

  you want this."

  Byrnes sank his head back against the wall.

  This felt like old times, the pair of them coolly

  analyzing a case. "Has anyone ever told you that

  your omniscience is annoying?"

  Lynch smiled. "Rosa. And frequently."

  The pair of them both relaxed, however, as if

  that one statement had defused the tension between

  them.

  He would... deal with Lynch's assessment

  later. When he had time to pick it apart in his brain.

  "So now that we've assessed your progress

  with Ingrid, tell me what else is bothering you."

  There had never been any point in fooling the

  guild master. "You've heard?"

  "About the assassination attempt?" Lynch

  arched a brow. "Malloryn held an emergency

  meeting of the Council two hours ago. We're aware

  of what's happened."

  Taking the note from his pocket, Byrnes

  smoothed it out, then handed it silently to the duke.

  "The woman behind the explosion left this letter

  for me."

  Once he'd read it, Lynch met Byrnes's gaze.

  "She's formed some sort of connection with you."

  "It's the threat that concerns me. If she thinks

  that Ingrid stands between us...." He didn't bother

  to add more. They both knew that even verwulfen

  were no match for a dhampir. Not alone.

  Lynch tapped the letter against his thigh.

  "Ingrid will be protected. I'll involve myself if

  need be, so set that from your mind. You're thinking

  like a newly mated male. Not an investigator. What

  else does this letter represent?"

  That was the first time he'd ever been accused

  of sentimentality. Byrnes twisted the problem

  around in his mind, looking at it from another

  angle. "A chance," he said slowly. "If she's formed

  some sort of attachment or interest, or whatever the

  bloody hell she thinks it is, then I can use that to

  find her."

  "She wants you to find her.”

  "And if I can find her, then I can cut the head

  off the snake before it becomes a problem. We can

  find the missing people, kill her vampires, and stop