Dreamveil (32 page)

It touched her that he was so concerned about his other half. “We’ll be okay. Just let me do the talking.”

“In that, I have no choice.” He tried to lift himself away from her, and when she held on he frowned. “I will change in a few moments. I cannot be with you when he emerges. It is too dangerous for you.”

“I’m tougher than you think, Jean-Marc.” She palmed him, enclosing him in her fingers and guiding him to where she was already wet and pulsing with the ache of emptiness. “This is the best way to tell him, you know. And when you wake up tomorrow night, we’ll pick up where we left off. I promise.” She lifted a little to seat him between her folds, and then tightened her muscles to draw him in. “And if Sean doesn’t cooperate, I’ll just handcuff him to the bed and ravish him until he changes.”

Dansant swore softly and shook as he sank into her another inch. “Do you understand what happens? I will change while I’m inside you.”

She smiled. “I don’t think it’ll hurt. And this way, I get to have both of you inside me.”

He stroked into her, groaning as she clasped him with her body. As the sky outside turned dark gray, he began fucking her, driving himself in and out as she held on to his shoulders and cradled him with her legs. When his eyes began to darken from heavenly blue to midnight black he bent his head and kissed her, pressing in as deep as he could, and she came around him, her body arching as he pushed her over the edge of pleasure and into the darkness with him.

His body shifted in a wave that had no beginning or end but just swept out in all directions, like water swelling and spilling from a winter thaw. It was beautiful to see and feel.

Dansant’s long, sinewy muscles broadened over stretching bones, and his weight went from delicious to maddening as he twisted against her, his cock jetting inside her with frantic jerks. His long black hair receded to a pale blond stubble, his jaw lengthened, and his brows shifted from a sweep of wings to a menacing arch. As his hair lightened, the luscious scent of jacqueminot from his skin darkened, changing into something deeper and spicier. His expression went from taut delight to dazed confusion, and then he was Sean, his big hands pinning her down as he shoved himself deep.

“Hi, there.” She gasped as he tangled a hand in her hair and brought her mouth to his. The kiss took what was left of her breath away, and when he lifted his head to look into her eyes, she curled an arm around his neck. “In case you were wondering, King is dead, the kid is in the hospital but okay, and we’re fine.”

“Yeah.” He looked down at their bodies. “I can see that. But how did I . . .” His expression darkened, and he lifted up. “Shit. Sorry I interrupted.”

“Oh, no.” She put the other arm around his neck. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“If you want to fuck him, Cupcake,” he said through gritted teeth, “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait another sixteen hours.”

“I was waiting for you.”

Sean cupped her face with his hand. “You think I want to share you with him? Is that what this is all about?”

“You already share a body with him,” she pointed out calmly. “What’s one more?”

He turned his head, his jaw working. “You’re not just a body to me.”

“Neither are you. Neither is he.” She sighed. “Of course, if we can’t work this out, I can call it a draw and walk away. There are plenty of one-dimensional guys out there. I’m sure you’ll meet someone else someday who will understand that you turn into a were-chef every night.”

Now he looked at her. “I was the chef. He was a bunch of fucking test tubes.” He looked at her mouth. “What does he say about this?”

“He’s worried about you,” she said, kissing his chin. “Like me.”

He made a disgusted sound. “Sure he is. He was so worried he changed while he was fucking you.”

“I asked him to do it, so you’d know.” She ran a hand over his short hair. “He also said he’d step aside if you want.” When he stared she nodded. “He knows it’s your body, Sean. You’ve got the final word here.”

“Yeah.” His expression thawed a little, and he rolled over onto his back, bringing her along to straddle him. “Between the two of us, you’re not going to get a whole lot of sleep, Cupcake.”

“I like where I am.” She worked herself down on him until their body hair tangled. “And who the hell needs sleep?”

“She’s sixteen years old,” Genaro said. “Too young to be Kyndred. Once she recovers from her injuries, she’ll be shipped off to prep school and spend her summers with her uncle in Martha’s Vineyard. I doubt she even knows how to spell transgenic.”

“I don’t like it.” The geneticist looked at Delaporte. “You should have brought in Hoff the night our team disappeared in New York.”

The security chief shrugged. “Mr. Genaro wanted her taken here, in the building. I can only do what I’m told, Doctor.”

The doctor’s face darkened. “Yet somehow you still manage to screw it up.”

“Would you excuse us, please, Chief?” Genaro waited until Delaporte left the conference room before he continued. “Don Delaporte has been in charge of GenHance security for the last twenty-two years, Elliot. His loyalty to the company—to me—is unquestionable.”

“He was the last person to see Nella Hoff alive,” Kirchner said. “He permitted Bradford Lawson free access to the building, which resulted in Lawson’s theft of the transerum and the progenote. He also failed to detect or capture Andrew Riordan when he was spying on us. He’s completely incompetent.”

“I disagree.”

“That is your prerogative,” Kirchner said. “But how many more mistakes does Delaporte have to make before you see that he’s a liability?”

“I think you’re becoming paranoid, Elliot.” Genaro rose from the conference table. “Why don’t you take the rest of the week off, and spend some time with your family? Maybe that will put things in perspective for you.”

Delaporte was waiting for Genaro in the analysis lab. “Dr. Kirchner seemed upset.”

“He is. He cannot reconstruct Nella Hoff’s experiments. Apparently she removed some of her notes, or destroyed them.” The chairman watched the simulation looping on the terminal screen. “He’s decided that you are to blame for his lack of progress.”

Delaporte nodded, unperturbed. “The doctor doesn’t accept failure well.”

“Neither do I, Don.” Genaro regarded him. “We’ve been together a long time. I would consider it a personal as well as a professional loss if I had to terminate you.”

“Then I’ll make it my business never to give you a reason to, sir,” Delaporte said.

“I was followed up into the mountains, my lord,” he told his master. “I was able to elude them briefly, but I will be unable to report on a regular basis until the surveillance stops.” He listened to the instructions he was given, and memorized an address and phone number. After that he made his only request. “May I speak with her?”

“Hello, Don,” Nella said a short time later. “How are things in the States?”

“Lonely,” he said simply.

“I’ve been writing letters to you. I can’t send them, so I’m boxing them.” There was a hitch in her voice as she said, “I expect the next time we meet, I’ll have quite a stack.”

“Every night I think of you,” he told his lover. “I remember how you smell. The sounds you make.”

“How long will it be before I see you again?”

He saw a familiar car pull into the rest area parking lot. “Maybe years. Don’t wait, baby. Enjoy yourself. And stay safe.”

“You, too, love. Bye.”

Delaporte switched off the phone, removed the battery and the sim card, and wiped it down before dropping it inside a hollow tree. The battery he dropped on his walk out of the woods. The sim card he mangled slowly inside his pocket; he wouldn’t discard it until he reached home and could drop it in a container of acid he kept in his garage.

The men following him made a pretense of using the vending machines as they watched him make his way back to his car. He dumped his trash and stowed his cooler in his trunk before getting back onto the road.

He eyed in his rearview mirror the men hurrying back to their car to follow him, and allowed himself to feel a small amount of satisfaction. “Amateur cocksuckers.”

“This is Neville Morehouse,” he said. “Neville, James Findley.” He waited until the two men shook hands. “Morehouse will be taking over as house manager, as Mrs. Wallace and Mr. Rodriguez have decided to relocate to Miami.”

Findley didn’t comment on the sudden departures of the housekeeper and gardener. “If I may be of assistance during the transition, Mr. Morehouse, or at any time, please let me know.”

“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Findley.” Morehouse’s smile was faint but genuine. “Perhaps you could assist me this afternoon in picking up my belongings from the club.”

“An excellent idea,” Taske said. “Well, gentlemen, I have several dozen calls to return. Morehouse, I will see you tomorrow morning at six a.m. Findley.” He nodded and limped back toward the big house.

Once Taske was back in his home office, he checked over the documents he had brought back from New York before placing them in his safe. Along with favors called in from many of his associates in New York, Taske had once more employed his newest vendor in the forgery business, who had successfully seen to every document he had required to take over Gerald King’s estate and assume guardianship of young Taire.

Rowan had insisted on remaining behind in New York to look after the girl during her recovery and make arrangements to reside in the city permanently.

“I know you don’t think it’s safe for me to stay,” she had argued, “but this is going to work. If it doesn’t, I will personally pack up everyone and relocate them myself.”

Taske was more troubled about her involvement with the shifter who had stolen her heart—twice. He was not convinced that a relationship between three people, two of whom shared the same body, could last. He’d even been tempted to try to see how the three timelines converged. But in the end he had to admit that both of her lovers were decent men who cared deeply for her, and would provide her with the additional bonus of round-the-clock protection. So he had capitulated to her wishes, obtaining in return a promise to call on him if she was ever in trouble.

He placed his first call to Drew, who had decided to stay in Halagan until spring, after which he would head north. Until then he was going to research the circumstances surrounding Sean Meriden’s accident, and trace the ownership of the van that had been carrying the biological specimens. Taske had a feeling that it would not belong to GenHance.

“I need to learn French,” Drew complained. “Most of the records aren’t in English, and the online translators just turn it into babble.”

“Be careful to cover your tracks, my friend,” Taske warned. “Whoever tried to take Nathan Frame did not hesitate to murder his entire family. They won’t take kindly to being identified.”

“So far all I have is a registration to some Italian doctor who disappeared in Nice on the same day the accident happened,” Drew admitted. “But I’ll be cautious. Whoever these guys are, evidently they’ll cross any line to get what they want. So where are you off to now?”

“I think I might spend the holidays in France,” Taske said, looking at his gloves.