The Road to Redemption (13 page)

He’d avoided
those jobs as much as possible, preferring to focus on his own
personal vendetta. The Purists, the anti-Fae, those had been his
favoured targets; scum that didn’t deserve to breathe the same air
as the innocents of the world.

Deirdre hadn’t
appreciated how selective he’d been in the jobs he’d taken on.
Pissing her off hadn’t bothered him though; their encounters
usually had ended with her infuriated by him. Maybe it was one of
her remaining men who was watching him tonight, either with orders
to kill him, or bring him back so she could do the job herself.
Good luck with that, he thought to himself.

A change in
Sam’s pace drew his attention, though he gave no outward sign.
She’d been walking beside him most of the night but had suddenly
dropped back for some reason. He gave a mental shrug. This was her
territory, her patrol. He was just along for the ride.

The feeling of
being watched faded; the sense of danger lessening. Had the
‘watcher’ grown bored? Or maybe he was getting paranoid. Things
were too quiet and he was jumping at shadows. Yeah, right. And Sam
wasn’t giving him a once over right now either.

Sam slowed her
pace as they walked down the street, letting Damien take the lead.
There was no strategic reason for her decision beyond pure
aesthetics; the man was gorgeous and she wanted to ogle him. There
was something about the way he moved that oozed confidence and
strength. It wasn’t a swagger—that would have been a complete turn
off—no, just an innate… She struggled to find the right word.

Sexiness?

Yeah, that
worked.

Damien was sex
on legs and she could spend hours watching him move; fluid,
graceful, effortless. Muscle, bone and flesh perfectly formed and
finely tuned, working in unison. Just looking at him made her aware
she was a female.

Good thing
their patrol was almost over for the night or she might’ve had to
shove him into a dark alley and jump him. She chuckled at the idea,
and then picked up her pace so she drew even with him again. Enough
with the eye candy, she told herself. Get back into Alpha mode.

It had been an
uneventful patrol which was the way she liked it. A few years back,
she’d have found such a night boring, even a disappointment. In
those early days, she’d been over vigilant, picking fights with
young thugs, covering extensive miles each night while
criss-crossing the city. Now she knew better. Her patrols were
methodical, aimed at maintaining a sense of her presence rather
than shoving it down everyone’s throat. She no longer viewed all
other shifters as a threat if they happened to pass through the
area; she simply made sure they knew she was there and expected
them to behave. There was no point in looking for trouble, it found
you all too easily. Expending energy on pointless confrontations
was…well…pointless. And human problems like car theft and graffiti
weren’t her concern, either. She had enough to do; as long as her
family members were safe and there were no threats to her
territory, she could let the small things go.

Damien,
however, she wasn’t sure about. She slid a glance his way, noting
how his nostrils were flaring, his gaze darting about as if he
expected an attack at any moment. Alert? Or looking for trouble? No
doubt his life as a rogue was filled with more adventure than a
simple evening patrol provided. Too bad. No matter how hot he
looked, she couldn’t afford to have him causing an unwarranted
disturbance, not when Lycan Link might have her under
observation.

“Something
wrong?”

He gave a
start, then scowled. “Nope.”

Huh. A stellar
conversationalist. Well, if he wasn’t going to talk, then she
would. The bio he’d sent her said he’d worked as a mercenary and
specialized in information acquisition, whatever the hell that
might mean. “So what did you do as a mercenary?”

“You don’t
want to know.” A shuttered look came over him again, but she didn’t
let that stop her.

“Really?” She
feigned a look of surprise. “You can read my mind and know that my
mouth is moving without permission from my brain? That I asked a
question just to fill the dead air space?”

The corner of
his mouth curled briefly at her sarcasm before returning to a flat,
uncompromising line. “I’ll rephrase my answer. You might want to
know, but I have no plans of telling you.”

“Why?”

He didn’t
answer immediately, instead giving her an icy look. When she didn’t
back down, a muscle began to work in his jaw giving her the
distinct impression he was waging some internal battle. Maybe
debating what was greater; his desire to tell her to piss off or
his need for the job. The job must have won for he sighed loudly
and finally answered her question.

“When I finish
an…assignment…that part of my life is gone and I don’t bring it up
again.” He paused and then added, “It helps keep the guilt at bay.”
There was bitterness in his voice that caused Sam to bite back the
cutting comment she’d been about to make.

“Okay, let’s
try this. You seem edgy. Have you done much patrolling before or
was last night the first time?”

“Some.”

Sam rolled her
eyes. She stopped, grabbed his arm and spun him to face her.
“Listen, Damien. I don’t want to play damned twenty questions. I
want to learn something about the newest member of my pack, my
fucking
Beta,
for heaven’s sake! How the hell am I supposed
to know what skills you possess, if I can depend on you in a
crisis, if I don’t know anything about you?”

Damien’s face
clouded, his eyes narrowing to mere slits. She expected him to lash
out, even readied herself for a verbal attack at the very least.
Instead, he visibly reined in his temper. Curious. Did he need this
job that badly? Sam tucked that tidbit of information away.

“I’ve done
patrols both in urban centres and the wilderness. I’m good at
picking up anomalies in the atmosphere; scents or sounds that
shouldn’t be there. I don’t react rashly and I don’t use more force
than necessary. If there’s a crisis, you can count on me.”

“Thanks,
that’s all I wanted to know.” Sam gave a nod and, without another
word, continued on her way. She could sense Damien watching her,
and managed to take a good dozen steps before he began to follow
her.

With his
longer legs, it took him no time to catch up. “What about you? Can
I count on you?”

She smiled,
appreciating how he came back swinging rather than being cowed by a
simple tongue lashing. It wasn’t often anyone stood up to her.
“Yeah, you can count on me. I’ve got your back if need be.”

He nodded.
“It’s been a while since I’ve had a partner I could count on.”

“By choice or
because of circumstances?”

“A bit of
both.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and his shoulders
hunched ever so slightly, enough to let her know she was probing a
sensitive subject. Fine. She’d let it go…for now.

Sam turned the
corner and Damien followed. They were in a quieter area now. No
night life happened on this stretch of street. Not far now; they’d
be home in twenty minutes tops. She began to envision her bed. God,
she was tired. Bypassing the full moon run the other night had been
necessary, but she missed the opportunity to relax and let her
inner wolf take control for a while. Being in charge day in and day
out wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. How humans did it, not
having the tension releasing rush of shifting, she couldn’t begin
to imagine. Of course, they didn’t have another creature living
symbiotically inside—

Damien nudged
her with his elbow and she instantly went on alert. She glanced at
him, then followed the direction of his gaze.

The street was
devoid of traffic, the storefronts in darkness, their windows
staring blankly out at the empty sidewalks. There was no sign of
life…except for the flicker of light coming from the back of the
store they stood near. It was Mr. Marcello’s and everyone knew he
didn’t work late. For as far back as she could recall, the man had
closed his shop at six and retreated to his upstairs apartment for
the evening.

“Is it our
concern?” Damien spoke in hushed tones.

She flicked a
surprised look his way—apparently he knew when to fight and when to
put differences aside for the sake of a job—and then looked back at
Mr. Marcello’s. Normally, she’d not get involved; human crimes were
for human cops. But…

“Mr. Marcello
is a long standing friend of my grandfather’s.”

“He knows?” It
wasn’t an idle question. Mr. Marcello’s knowledge—or lack
thereof—as to their true identity would influence how they’d
proceed.

She shrugged.
“He suspects, but has never asked; it’s like the elephant in the
room. Work under the assumption that he doesn’t. I don’t want a
damned DC showing up on my doorstep.” A Damage Control agent having
to clean up after her would give Sinclair another weapon to use
against the pack.

Damien didn’t
reply, only jerking his head to indicate she should take the alley
to the back of the building. At first she bristled that he would
assume control of the situation, but since it was exactly what
she’d have done, decided to let it go. He could watch from the
front, she’d handle the action at the rear.

As soon as Sam
disappeared from sight, Damien double-checked that no one was
watching and then began studying the shop’s door and windows. The
wire for the alarm system was easy to locate and…he visually
followed it up and around the window…it was a dummy. Not connected
at all, just there to give the impression of security to anyone who
casually glanced at the entrance. Shaking his head, he used his
pocketknife to lift the latch then tested the door. The handle
turned soundlessly, but a wind chime was hanging near the top,
designed to warn of anyone entering. Cautiously easing his arm in
and around, he placed his hand over the chimes so they wouldn’t
jingle and slipped inside.

For a moment,
he didn’t move, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He
could hear low voices coming from the back; no sounds of violence,
though at least one voice was agitated. Moving carefully, he began
to make his way to the rear of the store, searching the shadows for
signs of movement, carefully manoeuvring through the maze of
antiques and collectables.

Testing the
air, he picked up the scent of furniture polish, wood, humans… And
lilacs? Dante or was an actual potpourri being used in the
store?

Adrenaline
rushed through his system and he forced himself to stay controlled.
Low, even breathing, silent measured steps. If Dante was back
there, this was his chance to grab the bastard and rid the world of
the man’s sorry hide.

Damien inched
even closer to the back room. It was separated from the main area
by a half-drawn curtain. Through the gap, he caught glimpses of two
men in profile. One—an older gentleman—was in a chair by a table,
while the other was balancing his weight with his hand on the
table, leaning forward in a menacing fashion. Yeah, it was Dante.
He’d recognize the man’s methods anywhere. Snooping, stealing,
intimidating; all part of Dante’s arsenal.

“You know more
than you’re telling me, old man.” Dante hissed. “I know you were
there. You saw it all happen. You wrote about it in this.” An old
leather-bound book came into view as Dante waved it about.

“Where did you
get that?” The older man half stood to grab the book, but Dante
moved it out of reach.

“You need to
keep your windows locked, Marcello.” Dante flipped the book open
and scanned the pages. “This made for interesting reading.”

“You have no
right!” The man—Marcello—protested. “My personal journals are not
for public consumption.”

“Maybe yes. Or
maybe no.” Dante held the book open wide and shoved it in the man’s
face. “I found this. You ripped a page out. I can see the raw
edges.”

The old man’s
face visibly blanched. “Some cognac was spilled…”

“Right, and
there’s gold at the end of a rainbow.” Dante snorted. “Never mind.
I’ve pieced the whole story together and soon Harper will know of
it, too.”

“No!” The old
man began to stand once more, but Dante shoved him back into his
seat.

“Shut up and
listen. If you want to keep this under wraps, then you’ll have to
pay for the privilege.”

“Blackmail?”
Marcello’s face started to flush.

“Smart man.”
Satisfaction oozed from Dante’s voice. “I’ll take the first
instalment now.” There was a rustling sound, then the creak of
metal followed by an angry snort. “Your cash on hand is
suspiciously low. Do you have another safe hidden somewhere?”

Damien could
hear items being shoved aside as Dante started searching, loud
thuds as objects hit the ground; all background sounds for
Marcello’s protests.

“No. I’ve
nothing else. I swear. I...I had to make a large payout yesterday
and—” The man’s voice was suddenly cut off and Damien could see
Dante grabbing the fellow by the throat.

Time to make
his move. Damien stepped forward just as someone—likely Sam—pounded
on the backdoor.

“Mr. Marcello?
Are you all right? It’s Samantha. Let me in!”

Dante swore,
shoved Marcello aside and turned to exit the room only to skid to a
stop when he realized Damien was blocking the way.

Damien curled
his lip and barely held back a low growl. Both he and his wolf were
anticipating making Dante pay for his sins. Dante, however, wasn’t
nearly as eager for a confrontation. He spun around and grabbed a
wooden chair, then rushed towards the door.

Mr. Marcello
moved to stop Dante at the same time Damien leapt forward. The two
collided and in the few seconds it took for Damien to right the
older man, Dante had made it to the door. As Sam burst into the
room, Dante brought the chair crashing down on her head. Sam gave a
startled cry, staggered and Dante pushed past her, disappearing
into the alley.