Gray Bishop (8 page)

Jillian trailed her back to the house, observing the few faces they passed for signs of animosity toward their resident Magus. Brynn only got one, directed at her back, by one of the Smythes. Jillian didn’t know all of their names yet, but the girl was about Brynn’s age. Jillian’s return glare got the girl scurrying off in another direction, and that was that.

At the house, Brynn went in search of Knight and Shay. Jillian went up to her third-floor guest room to pack an overnight bag. Mason appeared in her doorway a few minutes into the task, his face grim.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Bishop and I have an assignment from Alpha McQueen. We’re leaving in a little while.”

“Just the two of you?” He didn’t even try to tone down his disgust.

She glanced at him, but saw no jealousy. Only worry. “It’s a bit of a decoy assignment. We’re relying on the hope that the triplets follow us, rather than attack us.”

“You’re taking weapons?”

“Of course.” She understood the overprotective thing, she really did. Mason had been left here to be her right hand, but she had allowed that kiss and things had changed for him. “Listen, Mason, about the kiss last night.”

He took a step closer, his posture relaxing. “Yes?”

“It can’t happen again.”

He stiffened. “It can’t?”

“No, and it shouldn’t have happened at all. I don’t want to mislead you about my feelings. They haven’t changed.”

“I see.” He moved back again, his disappointment easy to spot. She was grateful there was no anger. She needed his support.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have kissed you, and I apologize.”

“No need. You are a dear friend and a valuable warrior. I value your friendship, Mason.”

“I understand. Be safe on your assignment.”

And then he was gone. Jillian stared at the empty doorway, upset at herself, but thankful to have gotten that cleared up. Now she had to figure out how to be alone with Bishop for twenty-four hours without wanting to strip him naked.

“I do not like this plan,” Father said once Jillian and Brynn had left the office.

The blunt statement fueled Bishop’s growing anxiety over his impending road trip with Jillian. Not only because they’d be alone together for a full day, but because of all the dangers involved. They’d have no real chance if all three triplets attacked them while they were in skin, not even if they had guns.

“I take it Alpha Reynolds disagreed, as well?” Bishop asked.

“You’re correct, as did Alpha Weatherly from Tennessee.”

The next closest sanctuary town, other than Springwell. “Let me guess? They think we’re too close to the danger and cannot see the plan objectively?”

Father grunted. “In a nutshell.”

“It’s dangerous, yes,” Rook said, “but if it works . . .”

“There are a lot of ifs attached to this plan,” Bishop said. “If they’re listening. If they follow us. If they take the bait.”

“And if not, we’ll have only wasted some time and money,” Father said. “It is an action, though, and we’ve yet to take any actions against these monsters attacking us.”

Father’s frustration with their static position was leaking through, and Bishop sympathized. Loup garou defended what was theirs, and the triplets made it impossible because they were so good at hiding.

“We’ll be extra cautious,” Bishop said.

“I know. Let me know when you’re ready to leave.”

“I will.”

He and Rook headed back to the house, stuck in their own silent thoughts. At their street, they met up with Jonas, who did not look especially happy.

“How are the Joneses doing?” Bishop asked.

“They’re grieving,” Jonas replied. “Mrs. Troost just brought them over some food and more clothing. Dell and Porter are asking a lot of questions.”

“About why they were attacked?”

“Yes. They’re Black Wolves, they’ve never lived in a sanctuary town before, and they aren’t reacting well to behind handled. They want answers and they want revenge. I’m heading over to update the Alpha and see how he wants me to proceed.”

“Good luck.” He meant it, too. Jonas had a difficult task ahead in keeping their most recent arrivals in the dark about what the triplets really wanted.

“Yeah.” Jonas glanced between them. “You two look like you’re up to something.”

“Jillian and I are heading out of town to look for a safe house.” It was never too soon to get people chatting about it. Maybe the word would somehow reach the triplets’ collective ears.

Jonas’s eyebrows shot up. “For Knight?”

“Yes. It’s a course we may have to take, and we want to be prepared for it in the meantime.”

“Understandable. Good luck with that, then.”

Bishop nodded. Jonas resumed his steady gait toward the auction house. Bishop followed Rook home with no enthusiasm for the trip ahead. The run Alphas rarely made a decision like this, so Bishop was inclined to be a cooperative future Alpha and do what he was told. Even if he had to do it with temptation in the seat next to him.

“I thought you and Jillian got along?” Rook said while they were still on the sidewalk.

“We get along. Why?”

“For a second, you looked kind of pissed that she was going with you.”

“I was surprised.”

“It was anger, pal. What’s going on?”

“Nothing that will affect our assignment.”

“Are you sure?”

He glared at Rook, frustrated at his little brother second-guessing his statements. He knew Rook had good intentions, but those good intentions were grating on his nerves. Rook threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender that looked a little silly on him.

Without another word, Bishop stalked down the stone path to the house. He had a bag to pack.

***

Jillian nearly tripped over her own feet when Bishop came down the stairs wearing a snazzy navy blue suit over a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. No tie. Hair slicked back. He looked like a businessman on his way to a meeting. Even his overnight bag was a leather satchel, rather than a nylon gym bag.

He paused on the last step and cocked an eyebrow at her. “What?”

“A suit?”

“I’m playing the part of some sort of supersmart, supersecretive businessman. I figured I should dress appropriately.” He wasn’t subtle about checking her out. “I’ve never seen you in a dress.”

She glanced down at the simple green sundress she’d had to borrow from Shay’s meager collection of clothes—they were more closely matched in size than she and Brynn—and the tan sandals from her own suitcase. “It’s not mine. I haven’t worn a dress since I was p—” She stopped, nearly blurting out the word “pregnant.” “Since I was married.”

He nodded, his face going serious. “You have everything you need?”

“I’ve been living out of my suitcase for almost three weeks. I can handle packing for one night.” She lifted the small tote bag that held a change of clothes and toiletries. “Part of our assignment is shopping, so it’s not like I can’t get something if I forgot it.”

Like condoms.

Stop it, you are not sleeping with him again.

“How about weapons?” she asked.

“Rook is bringing the Explorer over. He said he’d load up the compartment.”

She loved how super-prepared Thomas McQueen was. Some of his security measures might seem over the top to others, but in this time of war, they were perfect. Two of the town SUVs, including the blue Explorer, had compartments inside of the rear seats that held an assortment of weapons and medical supplies. Naturally that hadn’t been the vehicle that Brynn and O’Bannen drove two weeks ago—the night they wandered around searching for a kidnapped Rook and missing Knight. Those guns would have been useful to them, and maybe O’Bannen wouldn’t have died. Jillian hadn’t known the man for more than five minutes, but she’d interacted with his widow and son. He was missed.

“Have you seen Knight? Brynn said she was going to tell him about the vision.”

Bishop shook his head. He took her bag from her, then opened the front door. “No, but I told Winston and Devlin to keep an eye on him while we’re away.”

She trotted down the steps toward the stone path. If he wanted to be all chivalrous and carry her bag, she’d let him. “I know you hate leaving him right now.”

“If this works, it’ll be worth it.”

The blue Explorer was idling in the street. Rook and Alpha McQueen stood next to it, their expressions serious, if not flat-out grim. No one liked this plan, not even the participants. Bishop stowed their stuff in the backseat.

“I want you both to use extra caution at all times,” McQueen said. “And I want text updates every thirty minutes until you are safely locked up inside of a house tonight. Every moment you’re walking around, you’re targets.”

“We’ll be careful, Father,” Bishop said. “And we’ll watch each other’s back.”

“I expect nothing less from either of you.”

Bishop shook his father’s hand, then did one of those manly half-assed, backslap hugs with Rook. Jillian glanced at the house and spotted Mason on the porch, watching. At least someone here cared she was going off on a dangerous adventure in order to tempt three crazy half-breeds into showing themselves.

Her life never used to be so dramatic. She missed the chaotic peace of the market. The ins and outs of running a plant nursery, without worrying if she’d wake up to more news of babies being murdered.

Jillian watched the road and the surrounding forest while Bishop drove them out of town, and then toward the main road that would lead them to the state turnpike. So far, no vehicles. No signs of being watched. Bishop drove slowly, too, without being obvious about it. They wanted to be noticed, not made.

The tension in the car was stifling, thicker than the early fall heat outside, baking the asphalt beneath their tires. It was hard to believe that they’d had sex less than six hours ago. It felt like days. Thinking about it stirred up wonderful feelings that Jillian could not allow herself to entertain. Not with Bishop three feet away, looking like a model in that suit, and smelling so wonderful.

No.

“Just so we’re clear on this,” Jillian said, because one of them needed to say it, “We are not having sex tonight.”

Bishop’s hand jerked the wheel a bit. “Um, all right.”

“We’ll be alone, in a house, with a bed, and no one else around, and it’s tempting, but it won’t happen. Right?” The words sounded stupid and desperate, because of how much she did want him again. Her beast stirred simply by his proximity.

Then he pinned her with a smile so innocent that she didn’t believe it for a second. “Right.”

“Bishop—”

“I said right. No sex tonight.” His jaw twitched. “After midnight, which becomes tomorrow, I make no promises.”

She rolled her eyes, then focused on watching their surroundings.

Once they reached the turnpike, she relaxed. They weren’t likely to be attacked on a busy road like this, and she’d seen no indication of a tail. She fiddled with the radio, locating a station that played oldies from the fifties and sixties. The ease of music from those eras soothed her. They were simple, not the electronically filtered mess that most pop music was today. Guitars and pianos and saxes and voices.

She found herself humming along to Pat Boone’s “Love Letters in the Sand.” The song itself was melancholy, about a promise of love broken. Washed away by the tide of time, like letters written in the sand. Had her life with Derek been like that? A love poem, written in sand, waiting for the tide to wash it away?

“What are we listening to?” Bishop asked. “This station is depressing.”

“What music do you prefer?”

He hit the buttons. Something harder, heavier, blared over the speakers. The bass thrummed in her chest, and the yelled lyrics were difficult to understand. “Not the best example, but more like this. Modern. Metal. Rock.”

Jillian’s lips curled. “Who is this?”

“I won’t swear to it, but it sounds like Breaking Benjamin.”

“And you like this?”

“Sometimes. You don’t?”

“Not really.” She switched back to her station. The Temptations were easing into the chorus of “My Girl.” Her heart gave a sad little twist. Derek used to sing this to her, often late at night after they’d made love. He hadn’t had a great voice, but he’d tried and she’d adored him for it.

She switched the station back to Bishop’s awful rock music.

“Didn’t like that one?” he asked.

“Bad memories.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“We all have them, right?”

He didn’t reply. Jillian wasn’t irked. The question had been rhetorical. Jillian used some of their drive time to research realtors in Reading, searching for those who handled high-end properties and special requests. By the time they saw signs for Reading exits, she’d narrowed their choices down to two. She made her final decision based on the name alone.

“Take a left here,” she told Bishop. “We’re looking for the home of Wolfe Realty. With an ‘e.’”

Bishop rolled his eyes at her. “Are you serious?”

“As cancer. Go about three miles straight.”

She followed the GPS on her phone and got them into the parking lot of Wolfe Realty with little fuss. The office shared building space with a dentist, a law firm, and some sort of health spa. They were in a decent part of town, which meant the realtor made enough to afford good rent.

“Let me do the talking,” Jillian said as they walked up a clean brick path to the office door.

Bishop quirked an eyebrow at her, then nodded. He didn’t seem like the best kind of liar, and Jillian was very good at thinking on the fly. They probably should have spent the hour-long drive rehearsing their story, instead of trying to ignore each other.

The exterior office had a plain wood desk, a slim laptop, and very few other furnishings beyond a pair of upholstered chairs. A doorbell dinged, which brought a slim, blond woman out from behind a set of folding floor screens. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“Yes, my name is Jillian Reynolds,” Jillian replied, shoulders straight and voice as strong as her inner Black Wolf could make it. A voice that demanded people listen. “I don’t have an appointment, but I do have a rather urgent request, and I was hoping to speak with a realtor here about a last-minute lease.”

The woman paused. “How last minute?”

“We require a property that is available tonight.”

“I’m not sure Mr. Wolfe can fulfill—”

“It’s all right, Veronica,” a gruff male voice said. In contrast to his deep voice, the slim man who stepped around the screen was barely five feet tall with closely shorn white hair. Silver glasses. Sharp eyes sized up herself and Bishop. “I have a little free time right now. I’m intrigued, Ms. . . .”

“Ms. Reynolds,” Jillian said. “This is my client, Jason Bishop.”

Wolfe shook her hand, then Bishop’s. He led them behind the screens, into an open space decorated with framed photos of different homes and properties. Artful shots, some black and white. Trophies of big sales, perhaps. Wolfe’s large oak desk took up a portion of the space, and he waved them into a pair of leather chairs opposite it.

“Well, Ms. Reynolds,” Wolfe said as he sat, “you mentioned Mr. Bishop is your client. May I ask what business you’re in?”

Jillian put on a secretive smile. “The kind of business that requires complete discretion for my clients. And before you ask, Mr. Bishop’s work is entirely legal and also quite profitable. I wish I could say more than that.”

Wolfe considered her, his gaze wandering briefly to Bishop, who stared back with a flat, grim expression. Jillian wanted to tell him to ease up a bit, but perhaps the stone-cold exterior would work in their favor and keep Wolfe from getting too nosy.

“I see.” Wolfe steepled his fingers, elbows on his desk.” And what sort of property do you require at such short notice?”

“Security is of highest importance. Not only an installed security system, but some sort of exterior fence would be ideal. The fewer neighbors around the better.”

“Any bedroom requirements?”

“At least three, although two bedrooms and an office would work, as well. Bathrooms don’t matter, but a fully functioning kitchen is also needed.”

“Of course. And your budget?”