In the Crossfire (Bloodhaven) Read online

  Glinting in the late afternoon sun were faint, silvery scars that lined her toned arms, barely noticeable without the right light. Shifters healed fast—and she was most definitely a shifter—but neither multiple shiftings nor modern-medicine Med-bands had succeeded in erasing the subtle marks she bore.

  She never made any attempt to hide those marks, Liam would later discover in the months that followed. They were just part and parcel of her, of Isobel Saba, and her utter lack of self-consciousness only increased her innate grace.

  Liam only wished he bore his own scars with similar aplomb.

  Clear, cool eyes had seared past the leaves and trees and shade that day, even past Liam’s defenses, it seemed. His skin had instantly prickled with awareness. A slow hiss of breath had escaped his lips.

  “Come out and state your business,” she’d said flatly, not bothering to raise her voice. A blade peeked out from beneath the hem of her top.

  Liam could’ve kept going. He could’ve turned his back and taken another route to get to the mountains. But it was no longer the shack that had claimed his attention. He could’ve no more kept himself from emerging out of the shadows and approaching the woman than he could’ve forced the trees to bleed.

  He’d expected her eyes to widen, for her to flinch or step back on sight of him. It was what most people did, especially the women. He’d long learned to brace himself for such reactions, to shut down that part of him that was tempted to take it personally.

  But Isobel Saba, he soon discovered, was not like most people. Aside from a perfunctory gaze that mentally cataloged his every notch and scar, she hadn’t batted an eye.

  Those eyes, he’d found on closer inspection, flickered within that mysterious space between green and gold and brown. They’d stared at him in cool, skeptical disbelief as he explained his interest in the shack.

  Naturally, she’d regarded him with suspicion. Apparently she’d planned to tear the structure down once she’d gotten around to it. She even told him, quite bluntly, that the shack was an unlivable hovel and that she wouldn’t subject a dog to it.

  “That’s okay,” Liam had replied without irony, “wolves are hardier.”

  He answered her questions haltingly, forcing himself to formulate cohesive sentences. He hadn’t spoken much during the two years he’d spent wandering the country. There simply hadn’t been the need, what with people usually keeping their distance from him. Even when he’d worked odd jobs, those he tended to work alongside with had been taciturn in nature as well, so an occasional grunt or two typically sufficed as conversation for a whole week.

  The words came haltingly, feeling rusty and foreign on his tongue. He found himself constantly tripping over them and starting again, while Isobel listened without the slightest hint of expression betraying her thoughts. It would’ve been almost unnerving, that poker face, if Liam hadn’t been familiar with such himself. He, too, knew the need to keep everything close to the chest.

  During her questions, he happened to mention some of his previous odd jobs. He saw her ears perk up then. He took another quick look at the property and saw his opportunity.

  He casually murmured that he could help tame those fifteen acres of land if she was willing. Judging from the state of it—the wild, overgrown brush was already threatening to take over the property and reclaim it for the forest—Isobel’s schedule was one that left her little time to tend to the place at all.

  He hadn’t pressed his case, though. Just let the thought sit there to percolate. He knew a thing or two about strategy.

  Isobel had eyed him carefully on learning he typically paid cash for room and board. Then she’d taken out her phone and scanned his prints, and it was then that Liam realized she was a Council agent.

  He’d realized as well that she was bound to run numerous background checks on him. His previous landlords had been content to leave him alone as long as they received a wad of cash on a week-by-week basis, but he doubted Isobel would be so easily satisfied. She had various Council resources at her fingertips. He didn’t know how much of his history she’d unearth, but he thought about the things he’d done in the war, and what had happened after, and his head began to hurt.

  Finally she’d slipped her phone back in her pocket. “I’ll get back to you about your request. In the meantime, stay off my land.”

  He should’ve left then. Should’ve just kept going. He’d never felt the urge to stay in any one place for a long period of time before.

  Instead, for the next few nights that followed, he’d camped out in the woods awaiting her answer.

  He’d laid there in the forest, eyes barely making out the stars through the heavy cover of trees above. Physically, he’d been impervious to the temperature. He’d slept through worse. Instead, the chill he’d felt was the kind that numbed a man from the inside out. For the past few years it had hooked itself deep within his bones, and now grew progressively colder as he imagined the information she’d dig up on him.

  He had no criminal record, but there were other things to a man’s past that he regarded as his own private affair, that was nobody’s business but his own.

  He’d given Isobel the contact information of his previous landlords—five in the past year alone. Considering he’d only stayed for a few months at most, and they were the sort to not ask questions, he doubted they’d matter much as references. The only positive he could think of was that she might view him as carrying on doing much the same over here, and that she’d be more inclined to let him stay if she thought he was only going to hang around for a few months.

  He’d made no mention of his old pack to Isobel, and could only hope they didn’t turn up in any of her background checks. The last thing he wanted was for her to call his packmates and clue them in on where they could find him.

  Besides, it was more likely that she wouldn’t be aware of the Whelan clan in the first place. The pack lived too far up north to be of any significance to anyone here in Bloodhaven.

  Liam had pictured the what-ifs as he laid there in the shadows, fighting off his multitude of demons.

  A few days later Isobel showed up, decked head to toe in leather, and the chill that had been steadily accumulating in Liam’s bones instantly dissolved like shaved ice beneath the summer sun. In its place grew the slow burn of anticipation and need.

  He’d risen to his feet to greet her, the sharp tug in his gut so unexpected after years of celibacy. He should’ve taken it as a sign to run. Instead, she’d told him he could stay.

  To this day, some part of Liam still remained surprised that Isobel had even considered his request in the first place, let alone said yes. He hadn’t had much to recommend himself. Just the clothes on his back and a duffel bag in one scarred, clenched fist. Still, he hadn’t been about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’d moved in that very day.

  The shack had been no prize, but he’d never needed much. Besides, he’d had the necessary skills to make it more livable. Isobel had even lent him some tools to work with, though they’d been so shiny and unmarked that he knew they must’ve been brand new. In the months that followed, he made sufficient repairs and additions to the shack that it could now be charitably called a cozy cabin.

  Very charitably.

  Liam didn’t need extravagance, though. His needs were simple ones. Shelter, silence, and something to do with his hands to drown out the voices in his head.

  The rent was negligible. Liam had seen Isobel’s fortress of a home, with its high stone gates and state-of-the-art security. He’d seen her bike, jeep, and armored SUV, though the latter technically belonged to the Council. He knew she hadn’t needed his money.

  Someone to tend to her fifteen acres of land, however, that was another matter. Her flinty, hazel eyes had gleamed with self-deprecating humor when she’d included groundskeeping duties as part of the inconsequential rent.

  Those eyes. They always got to him.

  Even now, Liam could picture those eyes studying him coolly, as
if mentally calculating the different ways she could take him down. He could picture those eyes flaring with heat as she laid him flat on his back and pushed up his shirt.

  He could picture that soft, full mouth pursing in thought, not so much begging as demanding to be kissed. He could picture the soft sway of her hips in those tight leathers she loved so much. He could picture those hips undulating beneath his hands, rolling and twisting in his grip, her ass bucking fiercely in rhythm to his thrusts.

  Hell, a man could dream.

  Liam had briefly entertained the idea of getting Isobel into his bed. It didn’t even have to be a bed; any available surface would suffice to work off this ferocious craving that had sizzled into existence the moment he’d set eyes on her.

  It didn’t take him long to disabuse himself of the notion, however. For one thing, Isobel’s schedule was such that he only saw her for a handful of minutes each week, when she’d stop by for the occasional update regarding the property. During that time, she never displayed any indication of being aware of him as a man. He’d never scented any desire on her part.

  For another thing, Liam was painfully aware that he knew very little about seduction. His interpersonal skills had suffered greatly since his time in the war—not that he’d had much of any even before that, shy kid that he’d been.

  Hell, it was all he could do most days just to keep the voices in his head from splitting him wide open.

  Sometimes fantasy best remained in fantasy, Liam decided. It was enough for now to feel that little stutter in his heart whenever Isobel was near, to know it was a sign he was still alive and actually capable of such basic physiological reactions.

  He’d keep a brutally tight rein on his lust. It didn’t matter a damn bit if Isobel packed enough curves to make a man dizzy. It didn’t matter if her cool eyes dared him to light them afire. It didn’t matter if his fascination with her mocked him every night, incessant temptation dancing just beyond reach.

  For now, she made him aware of feeling things other than desperation and despair, and that was enough. He’d take that reprieve while he still could, because he knew it was only a matter of time before his skin began to crawl, and the dreams got too much, and he’d have to take off running again.

  And there was only so far a man could run before his own mind caved in on itself.

  Liam slowed his run amid the trees. A chorus of howls crescendoed in the distance. He crouched down on his haunches, burying himself out of sight in the bushes. Silver-furred ears quivered at the melancholy sound.

  The notes weren’t familiar, telling him these particular wolves weren’t of his pack. They kept their distance, sensing Isobel’s claimed territory, but there was an almost inquisitive quality to their howls. They must’ve scented Liam in the breeze.

  From the sounds of it, they appeared to be juvenile wolves, out on the shifter equivalent of a night on the town. Many shifters made special trips to open areas outside of Bloodhaven. They wanted to be able to run wild in their animal forms, something difficult to pull off within the confines of the city without alarming skittish humans.

  Liam remained silent as the clamor rose up to the blackened sky.

  He wouldn’t howl with them. Wolves howled to call out to their pack, to make a connection, to find their way home. To prove that they weren’t alone.

  In the end, Liam thought, everyone stands alone.

  He knew where his pack was. He knew the direction of home. He’d just chosen to leave both.

  He’d tried. The devil knew he’d tried. But nothing was ever the same again after he’d returned from the war, battered and broken. They hadn’t understood, and he hadn’t explained. Couldn’t explain.

  So he’d left. Just up and left before the voices consumed him whole.

  His packmates had initially tried to find him. Liam had sensed their attempts. But he’d been the best tracker in his unit, and that meant, in turn, he knew exactly how to cover up his tracks so that no one else could follow.

  There was no reason to think they’d still be looking for him after all this time. Maybe they’d given him up as a lost cause. He certainly had.

  It was just ghosts lingering in his mind. Ghosts were always the hard part.

  The howls continued full and strong. The haunting melody went on for far too long, the juveniles waiting for an answer. Liam turned his head away, refusing to look up at the moon. He waited until the last of the howls drew to its final mournful end.

  Then a faint yip followed, along with an enthusiastic bark, and Liam sensed the pack moving on.

  He clenched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. Finally, blessed silence.

  So much blessed silence he could fucking choke on it.

  Liam rose to his furred feet and ran.

  *

  Mornings were the one respite in Isobel’s day. For the twenty minutes or so spent alone with her coffee, sitting out on the deck, watching the sun pierce its way across the ragged mountains, that moment of peace and quiet was hers and hers alone.

  Today, that moment was destined to elude her.

  “You just left her?” she demanded with barely leashed fury.

  Kaya made a dismissive sound on the other end of the line. “It was a last-minute assignment. I only got the call yesterday from my editor, two hours before the plane was supposed to take off. What else was I supposed to do?”

  “So you just packed your bags and left your own daughter?”

  “For God’s sake, Isobel, it’s not as if I didn’t tell Naley where I was going.”

  “You texted her from the plane!”

  “You’d prefer I pull her out of school to share the news? Plus she had that soccer match afterward—didn’t want to distract her from that, now did I?”

  Isobel ground her teeth. She didn’t believe for a moment that her sister cared about sparing Naley such “distractions.” If she had, she wouldn’t have hopped onto a plane without notice in the first place.

  No, if she’d cared, she wouldn’t have left Naley in the lurch with nothing but a callous text message breezily informing the girl that she’d be away for a couple of weeks—maybe more—and to use the money on the dining table for groceries.

  Isobel had left another message for her sister late last night, but Kaya was only just now deigning to return her calls. And, conveniently, she was on the other side of the globe where Isobel couldn’t sink her claws into her.

  “Look, Naley’s old enough to take care of herself,” Kaya continued. “We did fine on our own when we were her age.”

  “When we were her age, we had security escorts shadowing our every move!”

  “Yeah, and wasn’t that a pain,” Kaya muttered. “But Mom and Dad mostly left us to our own devices while they did their own thing. You know what I mean.”

  “No, Kaya, I don’t. I really don’t.” Isobel pinched her nosebridge, squeezing her eyes shut. “Did you really think it was no big deal to disappear on your own daughter? Did you?”

  “What are you fussing about? So Naley went over to your place. Not the first time she’s stayed over. If you’re embarking on a big mission right now, you can always send her off to Mom and Dad’s.”

  “You mean just stick her on a plane to Paris and wave goodbye? Fuck you, Kaya. Fuck you.”

  “Settle down and think for a minute, Isobel—”

  Isobel hung up.

  She stared down at her coffee, now gone cold in the crisp morning air, and waited for the tense fury to drain away from her clenched jaw and fists.

  For all that they shared the same flesh and blood, Isobel couldn’t understand her sister at all.

  Finally, flexing her fingers, she palmed her phone back into her pocket. Behind her, she heard a clatter from inside the house. She stood up and flung the cold contents of her mug over the edge of the deck. The brown liquid splattered over the patch of dirt below.

  Isobel slid open the bulletproof glass doors and stepped inside. Naley was in the kitchen with all the makings of an om
elet in front of her. Isobel always kept her pantry stocked for Naley in the event of last-minute sleepovers, and Naley was familiar with where everything was. Onions and mushrooms were sautéing on the stove.

  Naley cracked eggs one by one into a bowl. “Mornin’, Aunt Iz. You’re outta eggs.”

  Isobel looked pointedly at the half-dozen still in the carton next to the bowl. “No, I’m not.”

  “You will be.”

  The rest of the eggs steadily disappeared into the bowl. Naley chucked in a handful of shredded cheese, gave a haphazard whisk with a fork, then poured the contents into the pan.

  Her movements were quick and economical. Naley’s culinary creations were occasionally adventurous, not always refined, but there was no denying she knew her way around a kitchen.

  However, looking at her niece now, all Isobel could see was how long and how often Naley had had to fend for herself. She’d seen to her own meals, her own care, during her mother’s frequent absences. Isobel had tried to step in as often as she could whenever Kaya’s flighty nature took over, but clearly, not often enough.

  Isobel felt guilt darken her thoughts once more, and quickly wiped her face clean of expression before Naley could turn her way. She tucked her empty mug inside the dishwasher and took a seat at the kitchen island.

  “I don’t think consuming that much ova is healthy,” she mused.

  “Coach said we need lots of protein if we want to beat the East High Cougars next week.”

  “I don’t think he meant eating eight eggs all at once.” Even with a growing juvenile shifter’s metabolism, that would be overkill. “Maybe I should have a word with your coach.”

  Naley sighed. “Please don’t, Aunt Iz. He’s afraid of you as it is.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Naley seasoned with salt and pepper before giving a test poke with a spatula. “When I stayed with you last spring. You picked me up after practice.”

  Isobel tried and failed to recall any point in time in which she might’ve threatened Coach Raleigh. He’d seemed a competent enough fellow. Large, bulky, eye on the prize. She could respect that. Besides, she generally reserved the tough talk for suspects. Off-duty, she kept her presence laid-back and low-key, especially when it came to dealing with anyone in Naley’s social circle. It was hard enough being a teenager without having to deal with the tribulations involved in having a Council agent aunt.