A Wolf In Wolf's Clothing (19 page)

“Here you go.” The waitress placed several sacks beside the register. “I’m putting the condiments and salt packets in the smaller one. I double bagged the colas for you.”

Raven took her wallet from her small purse, removed several five-pound notes and handed them to the
woman, who seemed familiar. “You’re Jilly’s cousin Annalee, aren’t you?”

“Yes—newly divorced and come home,” the woman admitted. “I’m working here until I get a better job offer. Not too much in this town, but I prefer my two daughters to be raised around here. City life is too crazy for me. Drugs, crime…it’s scary. I remember growing up here and always feeling safe. I want my kids to know that, want me not have to worry about them every minute they’re out of my sight.”

“You were a legal secretary, weren’t you?” When Annalee nodded, Raven took a business card from the holder at the register and picked up the pen next to it. She quickly scratched Cian’s name and phone number on the back. “Give my brother a call. I bet he can to help you.” Maybe he’d even fire that bitch Melissa if Annalee was qualified enough.

“Thanks, I really appreciate it! This job is giving us enough to get by, but I’d like something a little more stable, if you get my drift.” Annalee gave Raven a winsome smile and stuffed the card into her blouse pocket.

Raven picked up the food. Turning to check the booth once more, she saw it was empty.

“Cut and run did you, Alec, before I saw who she was?” she muttered. It was really none of her business—and unsurprising. Alec had cheated on her; she supposed he wouldn’t be any more faithful to his second pregnant wife. Raven suddenly felt empathy for Ellen.

About to leave, she suddenly caught sight of a blonde going down a corridor at the back. The sign on the wall said Ladies Lounge. Okay, she was being a snoop, but something about the woman set off an alarm, as if Raven knew her. She likely had Melissa on the brain at the moment, but this pale blonde hair was the same shade. And if Melissa was playing footsy with Alec, Cian would want to know. “Just call me Samantha Spade.”

Raven set off down the dimly lit corridor. The swinging door to the ladies’ loo was unmoving, but she pushed through anyway. A quick inspection of the two-stall bathroom showed the room was empty.

As Raven came back out, a busboy was pushing a cart down the hallway. She stopped him and asked, “Tell me, is there another exit through here?”

The busboy nodded, wiping his hands on his apron. “Yes, around the corner. It’s a back door. We use it for a fire exit.”

“Can I go out that way?”

“Sure. It’s kept open. No alarms go off or anything.”

Raven nodded. “Thanks.” She hurried to the end of the hall and turned left, coming out the door at the same instant a gray Beemer peeled out of the paved parking lot. Following, she tried to get a look at the license numbers.

Something hit her shoulder, slamming her up against the building. She nearly lost her grip on her bags of food, and did lose it on the drinks, which fell to the pavement. The soda soaked the sack and spilled onto the concrete. Raven looked up into the cold eyes of her ex-husband.

“Well, well, little Raven is stooping to play super-snoop.” Alec held her pinned against the wall, pressing hard on her shoulder. “So pedestrian—so beneath the high and mighty Montgomeries.”

Raven swallowed her fear and gave him a smile. “Let go, Alec, or you will be sorry.”

“Sorry? More sorry than about Cian and Mac Montgomerie ruining every business opportunity for me? Every place I turn, I get doors slammed in my face. Why? Because Cian and Mac are pulling strings to ruin me. They’re fighting your battles, Raven. You’re such a little coward. Always were. How utterly pathetic you are.”

“If you’re having business problems, perhaps you should consider relocating to a more suitable clime,” she suggested, trying not to allow him to see her fear. If he
saw, he would only become worse. Alec was a bully, and like all bullies fed on fear.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

She gave a small laugh. “Not to see your face ever again? Yeah, you bet. I’d love it. Go away, Alec. We were a mistake. Our marriage was doomed from the start. I just wasn’t smart enough to see it. Let’s both cut our losses and move on.”

“Well, the loss columns don’t balance, Raven. You owe me. Your brother owes me—”

Alec’s face suddenly contorted with pain. She looked over his shoulder to see Trevelyn had hold of his neck in an odd pinch, and clearly had her ex-husband’s free arm twisted up behind his back.

“Let go of me, you bastard,” Alec snarled.

“Seems to me that we’ve danced this dance before—even had the same discussion on my lineage. Bit tiresome, don’t you think? Isn’t it odd, how a bully loves to shove someone weaker around but becomes a sniveling whiner when the tables are turned?” Trev asked, maintaining his grip. “Let her go and step back. One step, mind.”

Alec failed to comply, so Trevelyn increased the pressure, which eventually had Alec whimpering. “You’ll be sorry, Sinclair!”

“Doubtful. But I did warn you about my pinkie finger, how dangerous it was. Now, here is the drill: You let go of Raven, then I’ll escort you to your car.” He nodded toward the Audi just a few steps away. “Finally, if you ever come near her again, you won’t like the repercussions. I might be forced to use
both
index fingers. Right now, I want three little words from you: ‘Yes, I will.’” Trev twisted his arm a little higher.

“Screw you,” Alec snarled.

Trevelyn sighed. “It has to be the hard way then.” He swung Alec away from Raven and gave him a small shove toward his car.

Instead of leaving, Alec spun around. “You damn gorilla!” he snarled, and took a wild swing.

Trev easily dodged, and then laughed as he dodged a second punch, too. He said to Raven, “I won’t even soil my knuckles on him. My pinkie finger is too good for the likes of this scum. Instead, I’ll introduce the jerk to my big toe.”

Not learning, Alec came at Trevelyn a third time. “You’re crazy. That explains why you want
her.
Only a loon would put up with that bitch.”

Trev lashed out with his leg, and his foot caught Alec square in the solar plexus. All the air was knocked from Raven’s ex in a whoosh. Alec flew backward into the side of a Dumpster, and then, like a bizarre marionette whose strings had been cut, slid to the ground.

In a leisurely fashion, Trevelyn bent over and picked up his cane. “My last warning, Beechcroft,” he growled. “Stay the hell away from Raven. Don’t come lurking around her house anymore. If you see her out and about, you shall cross to the other side of the street. Because, next time, I won’t be so kind.”

He walked to Alec and reached inside the pocket of the other man’s suit jacket. Comically, Alec tried to slap Trev’s hand away, but Trev slapped back. Pulling out the man’s wallet, he ruffled through the bills until he found a couple of five-pound notes. He tossed the rest against the slumped man’s chest. “For the drinks you ruined. My lawyer will be in touch with a bill for my tires and the ruined paint job on the Lamborghini.”

He walked back and touched Raven’s shoulder. “Come on, love. Let’s replace the colas and go have lunch. Forget about the idiot. That creep won’t bother you anymore.”

Raven was shaking. She hated that she was, and tried to cover it by saying, “Big toe, huh?”

“Yep, the toe is mightier than the fist.” Trev opened the door for her, and then glanced back at Alec, who was still sitting against the Dumpster. “Just think what it could have done if I didn’t have stitches in my foot!”

“Was that some sort of kung fu?” she asked as they went inside.

“Savate. It’s French kickboxing. Julian Starkadder taught me. It’s a martial art that evolved from street fighting.”

“I think I may have to kiss Julian when we are introduced.”

Trev gave a big grin. “You kiss him? Over his dead body.”

“Oh, Brishen will be ticked, but I don’t care.” Paganne laughed with glee as she jerked the tailgate down on the Colford Hall truck. “This stuff was sitting in the attic, gathering dust.”

Raven frowned as her sister climbed up into the truck-bed and struggled to drag a heavy desk to the rear of the vehicle. “Paganne, let the men do that. It’s one of the things they’re good for.”

Trev walked up behind her and placed his hand at the small of her spine. “And here I thought you kept me around because I gave good back rubs.”

Raven felt a blush crawl over her skin, recalling how Trevelyn had given her a full body massage with almond oil last night. The whole time, she wasn’t permitted to move or to touch him in return, while he soothed, stroked and tormented her body with devious fingers. She was so wrung out by the hour-long emotional roller coaster that she’d climaxed the instant he entered her, and kept hitting that shimmering pinnacle over a dozen times before Trevelyn finally reached his release. Hunger for him roared through her blood, twisting her insides into knots of need. Wicked man, he’d made mention of it simply to provoke the reaction!

She smiled up at him, feeling love growing in her heart for her wolf. For the past two days, they’d poured all their energies into turning the neglected building into a studio for Brishen. Like a master wizard, Trev had set wheels in motion. Whatever they needed to put the place to rights, it was done or supplied in a snap.

And the nights were theirs. Those endless hours of
unimaginable pleasure were a contrast to the gentle times of lying in the darkness, talking and getting to know each other. Her heart ached with the need to tell him how much she was falling under his spell, but something within her psyche warned it was too early. She held the secret close, waiting for the perfect time.

“Julian is sending over a roofer this afternoon to make sure everything is solid, and to give an estimate for repairs if needed,” Trev informed her. “Perhaps you might like him to swing by your cottage and have a look?”

Ignoring his pointed question, she teased, “Hmm…the mysterious Mr. Starkadder again. I truly don’t think he exists outside of a bottle. You make a wish, rub the side, and everything magically happens.”

Trev laughed. “Other than the bottle, the opinion isn’t far from right. Julian is a very resourceful man.”

“So, when do I get to meet him? I admit to being curious about this genie without a bottle.”

Trev offered her an inscrutable half smile. “Oh, soon, I should think. But I warn you, he’s no jinn. He’s closer to a bloody pirate.”

“A pirate?” Paganne’s face lit up with interest and she called down, “You mean like Johnny D?”

Trev chuckled. “Think of Capt’n Jack on steroids, then you’d be getting close. He even has a small gold hoop in his ear.”

“Which ear?” Paganne asked.

Trev’s body vibrated with his chuckle. “Do you think if it was the wrong ear I’d be leery of him meeting Raven? Julian attracts women in droves.”

Paganne sighed in exaggerated disappointment. “Ah, well, no matter how magnetic the personality, I never buy overly popular merchandise. You never know who’s handled it.”

Two of Brishen’s cousins—György and Luca—came out to help Paganne unload the furniture. Brishen was right behind. “What’s all this?” he demanded.

Paganne wiped her hands on her jeans. “I raided the attic at Colford. It’s full of centuries-old furniture doing nothing there but suffering dry rot and being a magnet for dust. A lot of lemon oil and some elbow grease is called for, but they’ll be an impressive showcase for your office.”

“Office? I don’t have a bloody office.”

Paganne took Brishen’s hand and hopped down from the truck bed. “You will—shortly.”

Brishen shook his head and glared at Trevelyn. “This is your fault. It doesn’t end. The contractors haven’t stopped coming and going all day. Then a landscaper. Now a roofer is coming.” The Gypsy grinned but looked a bit frazzled. “No wonder my people choose to live in wagons. It’s a lot less stressful.”

Raven watched the men carry the furniture inside, amazed at the buzz of activity and by how much had already been accomplished—most of it because of Trevelyn. She hung back from the group, wanting to share the moment with him. When she got the chance, she reached up and stroked his cheek. “You’ve done a wonderful thing, Trevelyn. I know he’s fussing, but it’s because he’s scared.”

He seemed uncomfortable with her praise. Taking her hand, he pulled her away from the front of the studio. “Come look at the house. They’ve finished painting the walls. Tomorrow they’ll put up storm doors and windows, see the house is snug and secure.”

Raven followed him into the empty cottage, which seemed larger inside than it did from out. It’d make a lovely home for Brishen’s family. The walls were now soft beige, and the woodwork an off-white. One corner of the front room showcased a charming Victorian fireplace. “Trevelyn, these colors brighten the place up! I cannot wait for Katrina and Magda to see it.”

“The backyard is huge and butts up against the woods. I thought they could park their wagon back there, sort of ease Magda into the move,” her beloved suggested.

“Magda wants what is best for Brishen. She understands how important this is for him. But it’s still thoughtful of you to consider that.”

Trev opened the first door at the head of a short hallway. “This is small, but it’d serve as a lovely nursery, and then Katrina could have the bigger room next to it for her bedroom. A door adjoins the two rooms, so it struck me as perfect for her and the baby.”

Raven tried not to be affected. Her pain was a waste. She had to get over her sensitivity where babies were concerned. Still, she knew her reaction showed on her face by the sympathy flooding Trevelyn’s eyes.

She walked into the room and turned in a circle. “Yes, I believe you’re right. The night Katrina returned to camp, I talked to her about moving into a house because of Emile. While she respects the ways of her people, she wants something more for her son. It’s pulling at her—keeping faith with the past or reaching out and taking a chance at a different life. I could say a ‘better’ life, but perhaps in some ways I’m not sure it is.”

Trev nodded. “I understand. Really I do. What happened to the father?”

“Killed in Iraq. John was much too young to die. He was only twenty-five.”

“Did she get survivor’s benefits?”

“Not a shilling piece, as they say. Though he wasn’t Roma, they were married by Gypsy ways. The British Government are not recognizing the marriage as legal, hence she’s not entitled to any support for her or the child. Cian has been fighting the ruling through legal channels, but I don’t hold much hope. My guess? Because she’s a Gypsy, no one cares.”

“I hate to bring this up, but she’ll need stuff for the baby. A bed…” He shrugged, clearly out of his depth. “Well, she’ll need all those baby things, and I haven’t a clue what they are. To spare you I’d go order stuff, but I—”

“You’re very sweet for worrying, but there’s no need to
order anything. I have everything already. It’s packed away at Colford. I’ll have the twins fetch the stuff around for Katrina right away.”

He reached out, catching her arm and pulling her to face him. “The things for your child?”

She couldn’t find the words, so she gave a small nod.

“Are you all right?”

She sucked in a slow breath and nodded. “One of those problems in life you deal with and then move on. You cannot allow the past to control the present. I’ve done that, lived in the shadows for too long. Now I walk in the sun. The present is all we have. It’s precious. We must try to be the happiest we can with what we have.”

Trev’s face was ashen. “I suppose that’s true. But sometimes the past won’t let you go.”

Raven had a feeling he was speaking about himself rather than her. She wanted to question him further, but she’d noticed at odd moments like this that Trevelyn held himself back. This troubled her, but she hoped as they grew to know each other better he’d be more comfortable letting down his guard.

A horn honked, shattering the solemn moment and drawing her to the window. A dark gray Mercedes pulled off the road at the side of the property and two men got out. “Buckle up, baby, it’s about to get bumpy,” she muttered.

“What’s wrong?”

“Cian just arrived. And Mac is with him.”

Trev smiled. “Ah, meet-the-father time. Do you fear he won’t approve of the Big Bad Wolf hanging around his Riding Hood?”

“Big and bad, my arse. Come on, Fairy Godfather, and do the pretty before my daddy.” Raven took his hand and pulled him from the house.

Cian was the first to greet them. He winked at Raven and then held out his hand to Trevelyn. “Good to see you again, Sinclair.” He inclined his head toward the man
standing next to him. “I would like you to meet my father. Father, may I present Trevelyn Sinclair.”

“Ah, yes, I do believe I’ve heard the name a few times at the dinner table. You’ve made quite an impression on several of my children.” Mac Montgomerie held out his hand. His incisive eyes moved over Trevelyn, taking his measure as they shook.

“Nice to meet you, sir.” Trevelyn sounded properly respectful, yet in the same instant conveyed he wasn’t intimidated.

“Raven, you’ve been remiss. You should bring Trevelyn to supper soon—say, dinner tomorrow?” Mac suggested, but Raven knew it was more than an invitation. It was a command. Mac Montgomerie was soft-spoken; however, only a fool would fail to recognize the steel in his words.

Turning back to Trevelyn, her father said, “Cian mentioned you’ve just opened a consulting firm in town. May I ask what sort, and why here? We’re rather backwater by many standards.”

“I sought a quieter lifestyle. Big cities have lost their charm.” Trevelyn smiled easily. “As to my firm, I put deals together, make things happen. Connect businesses struggling with other businesses or individuals looking to invest. Broker mergers, takeovers—”

“Hostile takeovers?” Mac’s brows lifted slightly, implying a faint disdain.

Raven almost smiled when Trev met her hard-as-nails father’s eyes without blinking. Mac was unused to that. Men tended to quail before him, and her father enjoyed that.

Unruffled, Trev went on, “If the case calls for it, yes. I do the research on prospective businesses for clients, which allows them to make informed choices on how to invest their capital. Or, if a business is looking to go on the market, I work up a presentation to make them appear interesting enough to draw buyers.”

“Have we met?” Mac asked. “Your face seems familiar.”

“Enough with the Spanish Inquisition, Father. Come look at the soon-to-be studio we’re working on for Brishen. None of this would be happening without Trevelyn pulling strings with the bank.” She gave her father’s arm a squeeze to let him know she loved him, even if she wasn’t fond of his meddling ways. “Stop tweaking Trevelyn’s nose.”

Mac gave her a buss on the cheek. “Raven, you’re ruining all the fun of being a father. Tormenting suitors is one of the privileges that come with the territory. When I courted your mother, I went to the door and met her father before I was allowed to take her on a date. Nowadays…” Mac shook his head and teased, “Well, nowadays, you females are out of control. Ever since women started wearing trousers in public, the world has gone to hell in a handbasket.”

Trev’s brows lifted in surprise. “Britches are the root of all evil?”

“You’re forgetting Mum led the wave on that, too.” Raven laughed. “I recall the story she used to tell about you taking her to a restaurant back in the nineteen seventies. It’s hard to believe, but there actually were places that refused to seat women if they were wearing slacks. Father and she went to supper at this one place. Mum was wearing a long tunic—”

“Ah, it’s
my
story.” Mac took over the retelling. “Raven’s mother was dressed in a lovely silver mesh tunic that reached just above her knees…over black trousers. We’re in line, waiting to be seated at our table. As we reach the reservations desk, the owner informs us he cannot allow us seating, and gestures to a big sign at the top of the entrance that said they reserved the right to refuse service to women in slacks. Your bold and brassy mother gave him one of her steely-eyed stares, and right on the spot dropped her trousers, then very deftly picked them up and handed them to the shocked man.”

Trevelyn laughed. “And did they seat you?”

“Damn straight they did! The next time we dined there,
the sign was gone and women wearing slacks were permitted entrance. I remain firmly convinced we men lost control of the world the night Raven’s mother dropped her trousers in the foyer of that restaurant.” Mac reached out and patted Trevelyn’s upper arm. “Come show what you’ve been doing for our fearless vampire hunter.”

Raven caught the sleeve of Cian’s jacket and tugged, a signal to stay behind. When Trev looked back at her in question, she said, “Run along with my father. I promise he won’t bite. I’ll be there in a minute. I wanted a word with my brother.”

Cian waited until the others were out of earshot before asking, “So what’s up, little sister?”

“It has to do with Melissa. Or, rather, might have to do with her.” When her brother frowned, she snapped, “Don’t give me that look. I couldn’t care less that you keep that ice bitch as your secretary. You can even boff her—though I would prefer to think my brother has better taste.”

“Who I do or don’t see in my private life is none of your business. So butt out, you little meddling Montgomerie.” Cian tapped her nose with his index finger to soften his words.

“Put a sock in it, Cian. I’m trying to tell you I think I saw her with Alec a couple days ago.”

Cian’s brows lifted. “‘Think’?”

“I didn’t see the woman’s face. Just the back of her head. I went to the restaurant down the street to get lunch for everyone. While I was waiting, I met Annalee—”

Her brother nodded. “She called. I gave her an appointment for an interview next week. She sounds good. I have a receptionist going out for maternity leave soon. From what Annalee said, she could step into the job without too much training. If she works out there, I’ll find her a permanent position.”