“There are still berries and whipped cream there,” Mark said. “You had better eat a tunnel through them, or your dinosaur will get lost. And maybe you’d better clear a path through that waffle, too. Those are deep craters for a T. rex to walk through.”
Bree watched, picking at her own food. She admired Mark’s firm, calm patience, fascinated by the way her son responded so naturally to his authority. At the same time, she felt oddly displaced. She had been everything to the boy. Now, however briefly, she was merely part of a team. It was good for Jonathan, but she was finding it hard to let go.
“What a well-behaved little man. He’s so quiet,” the waitress said when she came around with the coffeepot. “He sure looks like his father.”
Mark’s expression was that of a man stranded on the other side of an abyss. “He’s a good boy.” He put a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder, the touch infinitely gentle.
Bree bit her lip, but said nothing. She didn’t know Mark well enough to understand his every emotion, but she could tell he was growing attached to Jonathan. That made her trust him a little bit more.
Mark picked up a yellow crayon and started filling in the stars on Jonathan’s blueberry-spattered drawing.
Puzzle piece, she thought.
* * *
They were just finishing up when a motion outside caught Mark’s attention. A big white pickup drove in, the driver slamming the door as he swaggered in for a coffee to go.
“C’mon, Susie girl, give it to me hot and give it to me quick,” he bellowed. The words were friendly enough, but the tone was pushy.
Jonathan started to whimper and Bree went quiet as a she-wolf on the prowl. It was time to go. Mark shoved his sunglasses back on and went to pay the bill while Bree made a bathroom run with the boy.
Mark got to the counter seconds before the loud man. The waitress took Mark’s money.
“Come on, Susie,” said the loudmouth. “Move your fat backside. I’m not getting any younger!”
“Wait your turn,” Mark said evenly, accepting his change. He stuffed a healthy tip in the jar.
Loudmouth pulled up his pants. “Who the blazes are you, Daddy Knows Best?”
Mark took off his sunglasses, letting the idiot see the predator behind the human mask. Loudmouth fell instantly silent.
In that second, Mark caught a glimpse of his thoughts: Who is this guy? I wish he’d get out of my face. I need to hit the road. Ticktock. Then Mark got an image of a puppy in a box, and that box in a lonely ditch. It hadn’t happened yet, but it was on the man’s agenda. Nuisance. Problem solved. Then off to the auction to see a man about that second car.
Mark wanted to wash his brain out with soap and water. Yet, at the same time, an idea was taking shape, something he’d read in a medical journal a few months ago about animal-assisted therapy helping children who had fallen behind with speech. He was beginning to think that Jonathan had forgotten how to talk while his brain was busy doing other things—what, Mark still had to figure out, but that was a question for later. What Jonathan needed right now was motivation to relearn language—and an opportunity had just fallen into their laps.
He took Loudmouth’s arm, firmly and gently. “Take me to your truck.”
* * *
Bree took Jonathan to the little boy’s room. When they got back, Mark was waiting by the door. The pickup was pulling out of the lot.
“I half expected that guy to start a fight,” she said.
“He changed his mind.” Mark led the way back to the car, a spring in his step. He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, dropping it in the trash can on the sidewalk.
She wanted, and didn’t want, an explanation, but Jonathan suddenly started pulling at her hand. “What, sweetheart?” she asked, trotting after him.
In the parking spot next to where the pickup had been was a cardboard box, the flaps on top folded shut. Jonathan was making a direct line for it.
Bree gripped Jonathan’s hand more tightly, pulling him close to her side. The boy whined and tried to twist out of her grip. Visions of severed heads or violent explosives filled her mind. “It’s an abandoned package. Should we call the fire department or something?”
Mark’s lips twitched. “I don’t think so.”
He lifted the flaps, letting them peer inside.
Bree let curiosity draw her closer, but she didn’t let Jonathan get an inch ahead. Even with Mark there, she wasn’t taking any chances. But when she leaned forward, her heart melted. It was a doughnut of pale yellow fur.
It was too perfect, and too awful. “A puppy? That horrible man in the pickup truck left a puppy?”
“Almost.” Mark reached into the box and picked up the tiny creature. It couldn’t have been more than six or seven weeks. It whined, moving from a doughnut shape to a boneless, fuzzy sausage shape draped over his hands. “It looks like a lab cross.”
Jonathan lunged, but she held him back. “Is it sick?”
Mark shook his head. “It’s just small. It should have stayed with its mother a little longer.”
Bree relented and let Jonathan approach it. “Gently!”
How had Jonathan known what was in the box? Kids could be eerily perceptive, but this was almost superhuman. It was another strange, inexplicable thing, like the book, or her dream. Bree felt herself drowning in frustration. Nothing fit together.
Except the boy and the dog. Jonathan folded the tiny puppy into his thin arms and buried his face in the soft fur. Mark gave her a conspiratorial look. “We can’t leave it here,” he said.
“Can we seriously take it with us?” Bree made a face. “If kids are sticky, puppies are, uh, stinky.”
Mark looked pained. “At least we’re not driving the Lexus.”
“But what if something happens? If the puppy doesn’t thrive or we have to keep running and can’t keep it...” Jonathan would be hurt. She couldn’t have that. “Surely there must be an animal shelter around.”
The traitorous puppy started licking Jonathan’s face. He giggled, his cheeks turning pink with pleasure. Bree and Mark exchanged a look, two adults experiencing a moment of surrender. But the sound of Jonathan’s laughter was so infectious, she laughed, too, making Mark’s lips curve into a smile. A sweet warmth blossomed in her chest. It was good to have someone to share this moment with.
And the man had a killer smile, with more than a tinge of melancholy. He had two sons. She wanted to weep for him.
Mark ducked his head, hiding that smile away. Bree remembered he hid in his cabin in the woods, or behind a white coat. He was as unused to connecting with people as she was. She put a hand on his arm. “It’s too late. I guess we keep the critter, but don’t blame me if you end up shampooing the car seats. You had something to do with this puppy just happening to be on the sidewalk.”
A glimmer of wicked satisfaction crossed his face so fast, she wasn’t sure she’d seen it. The fact that she’d said yes meant something to him.
“We had best find someplace that sells pet supplies,” he said mildly. “We’ve had breakfast, but that little fellow hasn’t.”
Chapter 16
Now Marco Farnese, vampire assassin, not only had a human woman and her frail child under his care, but a puppy named Custard, too. Interesting to know that the world still had the capacity to surprise him.
It made him uneasy, as if things were sliding out of his control. Perhaps he had let the penitent, doctoring side of himself run the show for a little too long. Or maybe he was upset with himself because he was enjoying this insane road trip despite Ferrel and Lark’s book and everything else—and he hadn’t actually enjoyed anything in centuries. There was a simplicity to his purpose. Protect the innocent. Heal the sick. Be the hero. Very few moments in his long existence had possessed that kind of clarity, free of kings and politics and their endless shades of mor
al gray. This mission was almost a gift.
They had passed through the stately beauty of the redwoods and were nearly in San Francisco. It was past time to get in touch with Kenyon and find out where one of the Company’s choppers could pick them up. Except he didn’t want the journey to end. Every hour on the road was one more hour when he belonged to this little family.
The fact that he delayed—well, that was the reason why he didn’t deserve a family. He was selfish. That had already been proven once.
Marco Farnese had been a young man about court once upon a time, with a wife and two sons. As he was neither royal nor as rich as his cousins, he had been given as tribute to the rogue vampires secretly terrorizing the noble families of the city. It was an easy bargain, in fact the Commander General of the Knights—the Nicholas Ferrel of old—had brokered it. One son of a noble house sacrificed to the pleasure of the vampires in exchange for a year of vampire-free peace in the city. Mark was a husband and father, but that weighed little. He’d been dragged from his bed one night, and his life was over. The rest was literally history—centuries of it. Mark had spent years as his brutish sire’s pet assassin, until finally Mark had killed him, too.
But all that had come later. At first, he had tried to return home, wanting more than anything to be with his mortal family. They needed his protection. He needed their love, some reassurance that he was still Marco.
His selfishness had been their death. Harboring a vampire was, in the eyes of the slayers, a burning offense. Ferrel had carried out the sentence, and that had started Mark’s vendetta against the Knights.
And now here was another family he couldn’t bring himself to leave. Apparently, he had learned nothing. That craven need for kind words and smiles was stronger than his duty to protect the very people he cared for.
He’d thought that needy part of him had died long ago. Vampires were supposed to be beyond such desires. Yet somehow Bree and her child had stirred those embers back to life. It was up to him to stomp that fire into the dust. Do I have the courage?
A glance at the dashboard clock told him it was close to eight o’clock. He could see the lights of San Francisco straight ahead. Bree had spelled him off for a while, but he’d been driving more or less constantly for two days. He needed a rest, and he needed relief from the constant scent of warm, living humans.
“Let’s find someplace to stop,” he said.
He felt more than heard Bree’s sigh of relief. She wasn’t complaining, but he could tell she was restless. She’d read that magazine through three times. He turned into a motel twenty minutes later. The old neon sign flashed Vacancy in brilliant blue.
“Wait here.” He parked next to the door.
The clerk registered them without taking his eyes off the TV on the wall. There was a football game on, the sound turned up high enough to bother a vampire’s sensitive ears. When Mark asked to use the office phone, he got no more than a grunt. Mark picked up the cordless handset and walked as far away from the TV as he could get.
He paused for a moment before dialing, his brain scrambling to find reasons why he didn’t have to contact headquarters. But there were no excuses. If he really cared for Bree and Jonathan and, yes, little Custard—whatever happened to names like Fang and Rover?—he would do the right thing and call for backup.
Still, it was an act of will to punch the numbers and lift the phone to his ear. His stomach went cold as he listened to the familiar ring.
As always, it was answered promptly. “Faran Kenyon.”
“It’s Mark.”
“Where in the fuzzy balls have you been? Your phone went dark.”
“I took the battery out. You weren’t the only one tracking it. I’m assuming your end of the line isn’t bugged.”
“If it is, we have bigger problems.” Kenyon’s voice was tired. “Then again, you never know.”
After the vampires’ old leader had defected to the Knights—around the same time Jack had died—their safety measures had been severely compromised. The past six months had been a game of security whack-a-mole.
Was that a good enough reason to keep his location secret?
Just get it over with. “I’m calling from a motel just north of San Francisco. We need pickup.”
“All we’ve got nearby is an Mi-17.”
“A military transport?”
Kenyon sounded defensive. “Sam and some of the boys had it out in the desert for training. It’s not like we keep a vast selection of aircraft for extractions here at home. Most operatives have the wits to get their butts in a sling overseas, not in their own backyard.”
“An Mi-17 is a bit conspicuous for a motel parking lot.”
“No, really? After dark it could be fun, with the floodlights and everything.” The words oozed sarcasm.
Mark played the scene in his head. Vampires were supposed to be secret. Great big choppers were anything but, especially when they touched down in suburbia. Mark hated explaining these things to the local police. “No good. We’ll have to get out of town first. In daylight.”
“Can you wait that long?”
Mark looked around the office. The clerk was still transfixed by the game. “We’ve lost our tail for now.”
“What’s your route?”
“They’ll be expecting us to keep going straight down the coast. My plan was to cut east and loop around L.A. Come in from the south.”
“Where will you be by morning?”
“Here. We need rest.”
“Okay. What are you driving?”
“A Forester.” Mark gave him the license plate. “Give me until noon, then start looking on the 46 near Paso Robles.”
“You got it.”
Mark hung up with a feeling of relief, followed by a surge of hunger and desire. He’d been given an extra night with Bree, all the way until tomorrow afternoon.
He would make the most of it.
* * *
Bree had never had a dog, but a few hours with one curled in her lap had convinced her they were necessary for happiness—at least until Custard demonstrated a significant lack of potty training. Fortunately, he was still a small dog.
And Jonathan loved him. Her boy rolled in the grass behind the motel, romping until both boy and dog were exhausted. Jonathan tired easily, but he could keep up with the tiny puppy. In the time it took Bree to finish a shrimp salad, both were snoozing in a pile on the grass.
“They bonded so fast,” Bree commented. “They already seem to read each other’s minds.”
Mark nodded, a frown line between his brows. “I was hoping that being forced to give commands to a dog would encourage Jonathan to speak.”
“You did?” She smiled slowly.
“Animal-assisted therapy works wonders with children.”
“Clever thinking, but I wonder if he even needs words.”
Mark seemed to ponder that. “I’m not sure he does.”
Something in his tone made Bree uneasy. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’m not sure. There’s still much that puzzles me.”
She had little to say to that.
They cleaned up the remains of their take-out meal and put boy and dog into one of the two beds. The room was more like a suite, with a living area flanked by bedrooms. Bree closed the door on her sleeping son while Mark pulled out Jessica’s journal and finished removing the false pages.
“You say that’s all about a biological weapon,” Bree said. Her gaze traveled from the book to the stack of loose pages covered in Jessica’s sketches. It was hard to believe such beauty hid something so ugly.
Mark raised his head. His eyes seemed to take a moment to refocus, as if his thoughts had been far away. “Yes. A genetic ailment carried by a virus. From what I can tell, it’s not meant to be contagious unless intro
duced directly into the blood.”
“You don’t think...” Bree trailed off with a look of confusion.
Mark shrugged. “I have some background in this kind of science and I’m convinced this author was mad.”
“On the other hand, if it didn’t work, why would the Vidonese want it so badly?” She sat down opposite him at the little dining table. “I find it hard to believe these are Kyle’s people.”
He made a face. “Vidon and its royals have changed with the times, but the Knights have not. I heard that many of the Knights want to leave the service of the king. They adhere to a code from the past, and feel the Throne has grown too modern.”
“Code?” Bree asked.
Mark shrugged. “I do not know the whole story. I’m not one of them.”
“Thank heavens for that.” She reached across the table, sliding her fingers over his. They were cool, the palms calloused as from an ax or spade. Whatever else he did in his man cave in the woods, he worked hard. Her stomach fluttered at the look in his deep brown eyes. She definitely had his attention. It made her bold.
“You don’t like thanks,” she said. “So I’ll give you truth. I haven’t forgiven you for taking that book, and I think you stole the car we’re driving, but you’re a good protector.”
“I’m a beast,” he said quietly. “You’ve only seen the best part of me.”
“And I’m okay with that. For now.”
“And you think there will more than just for now? My forevers are very long.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but she heard the challenge, and a lot of bitterness. Baggage. Fair enough. She had hers, too. “There might be. Or not. We’ve only just met.”
He leaned his chin on his hand, his eyes hooded but far from sleepy. Bree’s heart was racing, her breath stolen by just how handsome he was. Tempting, like a delicious morsel she knew she shouldn’t eat.
“You have reservations?” His mouth quirked.
“I’m cautious,” she admitted. “I think you are, too. We don’t know everything there is to know about one another.”
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