Miranda's Mate (12 page)

“You’re not being fair.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Garen. Life isn’t fair, but we pick our path and make our choices. You cannot protect me from the bad guys. You’ll hate what I turn into if you shove me behind your shadow and tell me to take cover.”

His face got a closed-off look she recognized. She dropped her gaze and concentrated on what was left of her dinner despite not being hungry anymore.
Damn it. I knew better. Why, oh why did I let my body have the upper hand?
An image of them making love played in her mind. He was the best, the most perfect man imaginable. Not only was his body a work of art, he knew instinctively how to touch her in all her special places. Even better, he was a shifter, so she wouldn’t have to worry about keeping that part of herself hidden from him.

“Penny for your thoughts, Miss Miller.”

She started, ripped from her musings. “Uh, nothing special. Why?”

He shrugged. “You’ve been scraping your fork back and forth over an empty plate, and you had a faraway look in your eyes. If you’re still hungry, I can ask them to bring more.”

He sounded so kind it nearly undid her. “No. I’m fine. Maybe some dessert, and then I need to get back to my room.” She pressed her lips together.

“What?”

“I want to go home. It’s been two weeks. If ISL were going to send another assault force after me, they’d have done it by now.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Damn it! You just want to keep me under lock and key. I’m not in the Witness Protection Program. Even if I were, I’d have more freedom than I do right now. Remember what I said about choices?” He nodded. “Well, I made mine when I chose a career in espionage. I accepted risk, danger, and maybe even death. Don’t try to make me into something I’m not. Please.”

To her horror, a tear tracked down one cheek. She ignored it. Maybe he wouldn’t notice.

“Holy shit. Are you crying?” He scooted his chair closer to hers and closed his arms awkwardly around her side.

“No. I’m fine. Please don’t touch me anymore. I can’t be me when you’re that close. I can’t think. I can’t—” Her voice broke, and she wrenched her body out of his grasp. Getting to her feet, she moved her chair to the opposite side of the table. “I’m going to find the ladies’ room. I changed my mind about dessert. Once I get back, I want to leave.”

Miranda pushed blindly through the door to their private dining room. She looked up and down the hallway and located a bathroom. Once inside, she locked herself in a stall and sank onto the commode seat. Tears sat hot and bitter just behind her lids. She forced them to stay there.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I’m a maudlin mess. If this is what sex turns me into, I don’t need it.

It’s not just sex
, a wiser, older inner voice said.
I’m falling in love. I was mostly there before he ever laid a hand on me.

The outer door opened. Miranda girded herself. If Garen had followed her, she didn’t quite know what she’d do. She peeked beneath the stall door and was incredibly grateful to see a dark blue pair of high heels. Since she was in the only stall, she took a few deep breaths, flushed to make her being in the stall a bit more realistic, and let herself into the small bathroom.

A tall, leggy redhead with green eyes glanced at her, looked away, and then said, “It’s none of my business, honey, but you’re looking like you just lost your best friend. Man problems?”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Miranda ginned up half a smile and rinsed her hands at the sink.

“You won’t take my advice, but I’m gonna give it to you anyway,” the redhead went on. “Never let ’em know they got under your skin. It’s better that way. Lets you keep the upper hand. You know?”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Sorry.” The woman ducked into the stall. “I’d love to stand here and chat, but I’ve gotta go. My eyes are floating.”

Miranda left the bathroom. Garen stood outside the door to their dining room, obviously waiting for her. “You’ve overseen one too many clandestine operations,” she whispered when she got close. “I only went to the john.”

“Can’t be too careful. Here.” He handed her purse and jacket over. “You said you wanted to leave.”

She took her things and walked toward the exit, grateful that for once he’d taken her request seriously. “Thanks.”

“I thought about some of the things you said—” He held the outer door of the restaurant open for her.

“And?” She turned to face him once they were outside.

“If you really want to go home, you can go tomorrow.”

She tried to read his face, but it was closed to her. “Why not tonight?”

“I want to spend what’s left of it doing everything I can through my computer networks to make certain I didn’t just make a bad call.”

The valet brought their car around. Garen held the door for her and went around to the driver’s side. They rode in silence for a few minutes. When he spoke again, the words sounded tortured. “I value you as an employee, Miranda. I’m not going to do anything else that might jeopardize that. Someday you’ll make some man very happy. I wish it were me, but you’re correct, we can’t be lovers and work together. I’m not going to fire you, so I promise to keep my feelings under better control.”

Feelings? What feelings?
Did he have feelings beyond pure lust for her? She opened her mouth to ask and shut it. Safer not to go there. It was a lose-lose proposition. If he said no, she’d be hurt since she was falling in love with him. If he said yes, she’d be devastated by the might-have-beens.

“One more thing, Miss Miller.” His voice was raspy, broken, as if he’d just lost something precious. Her heart ached—for both of them.

She nodded, and then realized he was watching the road. “What?”

“We’re having a final strategy session at fifteen hundred tomorrow for San Ysidro. You’re welcome to come and pitch your case. The final decision is up to the team.”

“Thank you, sir.” It was so much more than she’d expected that a confusing welter of feelings pummeled her. “Why’d you change your mind?”

“I don’t want to make you hide in my shadow, or however you put it earlier. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d just as soon end this conversation.”

Garen paced up and down his opulent office at The Company’s headquarters. Carved wainscoting ran up the walls, depicting scenes of bacchanalian revelry. Thick, imported Oriental rugs cushioned his steps. Usually the combination of rich wood, Eastern art, and huge windows that looked out on Seattle’s waterfront quieted his nerves, but not today.

The San Ysidro team had been distressingly enthusiastic about Miranda’s plan to go undercover as a call girl. She was certain she could entice ISL’s operatives to scoop her into the cadre of women they sold on the open market. Between her short hair and colored contacts to turn her eyes brown, she’d exuded confidence no one would recognize her.

“Shit,” he muttered. “She’s probably right. It’s unlikely anyone who saw her in Amsterdam would be in San Ysidro.” Regardless, he couldn’t send her off without fully vetting her as a Company agent. Not now when she’d become the center of his universe.

Tenured status would give her the right to know which of them were shifters. She’d have the best equipment and be bound to The Company by her blood, which would give Garen—and the other tenured operatives—access to her mind. The blood bond would also allow her to communicate with the rest of the team telepathically—a critical element if he were wrong and someone in San Ysidro recognized her.

He shook his head. He didn’t particularly want to see inside her mind. He loved her. Forcing himself to stand by the words he’d spoken driving back from the restaurant two nights before was tearing his heart into bitter, pointed shards.

He glanced at a grandfather clock. In just a few minutes, he’d escort Miranda to her final test. They’d conferred privately after the San Ysidro team meeting, and he’d made noises about dispensing with the last hurdle standing between her and full standing as an agent at The Company. She’d been horrified by the prospect of him bending even so much as one rule on her behalf. He’d been proud of her.

The Company vetted its operatives through a number of increasingly difficult assignments. Only about half the recruits made it through. Most firms that provided murder-for-hire personnel engaged criminals or sociopaths. Garen couldn’t stand to be around them. Their energy made his skin crawl with disgust. He preferred his method: find people with aptitude, train them right, and hope for the best. Assassination was an art. Just like any trade, it could be taught, and The Company had an excellent track record.

His teeth gritted against one another. Garen made an effort to relax his jaws. He wanted to shift. His wolf form always calmed him, but there wasn’t time. He felt his claws close to the surface. They pressed against the ends of his fingertips and toes. One emerged from a finger, black and gleaming. He stared at it in disbelief. Could his control be getting away from him?

Surely I’m not that upset.
He stomped to a corner of the room where a gouge in the wood wouldn’t be as noticeable and growled before running his claw down the groove between the walls so hard it practically left sparks. Because he couldn’t help himself, he did it again. A fine mist of wood chips fell to the carpet. He shoved them deep into the corner with the tip of one impeccably polished loafer.

“Damn it.” The claw retracted, and he slammed a fist into the wood. He’d broken one of his own cardinal rules. Never get emotionally involved with the help. What if things went badly today and Miranda were killed? What then?

What if things turn to shit in San Ysidro? No matter how things end up, I’ve fucked myself. I’ll never be able to send her out on an assignment again and not either follow her or worry myself sick the entire time she’s gone.

He bashed the wall again with his fist. Pain had a steadying effect. For the briefest of moments, he thought about calling the whole thing off. He’d just tell Miranda she had tenure regardless of her feelings about being treated like any other agent and fulfilling each and every requirement. He wasn’t certain what he’d do about the other agent, Ted Adamson. He was waiting in the field for Miranda. Garen slammed his forehead against the palm of one hand.

He wasn’t certain about Ted. The man claimed to be a shifter—and he’d passed all his tests—but Garen had his doubts. Ted always came up with one excuse or another when it was time to shift. Even with the blood bond, Garen had trouble truly seeing behind the man’s carefully constructed defenses. No, if Garen called off Miranda’s test, he’d have to do something drastic or the other agent would tell everyone Miranda didn’t deserve to be part of The Company, that the boss had pulled the plug on her final assignment.

“What the fuck?” He reproached himself. “Am I really going to put the whole company at risk just because she has the hottest little ass I’ve seen in a couple hundred years and I’d kill to fuck her again?”

Call a spade a spade
, his inner voice answered.
I’m focusing on sex because acknowledging how much I care about her rips me to shreds.

His cock swelled. So hard it was almost painful, it pressed against the front panel of his suit trousers. He rubbed it, and it jerked against his hand. His gaze strayed to the clock. Reality intruded. He needed to leave now. No time to bring himself off while he fantasized about Miranda’s blonde-streaked hair, saucy blue eyes, and acres of curves. Never mind her long, shapely legs and six-foot frame.

“Think about something else, goddammit,” he muttered. “I can’t go out there with the front of my pants belled out like a balloon.”

He sucked a deep breath, followed it with another, and forced his thoughts to The Company. He cared about it like the children he’d never had.
Maybe if I followed my heart, I could have some real children.

Oh, shut up.

He rolled his eyes, shrugged into his suit coat, and did the best he could to hide his erection. Miranda would be waiting. No matter how ambivalent he was, he had to let this gambit play itself out. His wolf side howled in protest. He wanted Miranda up front and personal, running by his side in a wooded glade. Usually his wolf was right on, but he’d made the mistake of screwing a vampire once, egged on by his randy wolf, who’d fallen hard for her lush red curls. That was the closest he’d ever come to dying. Well, not dying exactly, but he had no desire to join the ranks of the undead with their taste for human blood.

“Back off,”
he told the wolf.
“I want her too, but the time’s not right. She has to decide to come to us.”

And I have to decide just how much of my dual life I’m willing to disclose.

*

Miranda flicked a spot of lint off the hem of her black suit and fidgeted in a straight-backed chair. Her eyes darted longingly at the more comfortable chairs scattered about the plush office, but they weren’t a match for her mood. Exactly where she’d placed herself had a better shot at neutralizing
edgy
and
tense
than an overstuffed chair would have.

A corner of her mouth twitched into a frown; today would decide…everything. She was about to find out what would happen next in her life. For the briefest of moments, her mouth half-opened, panting in nervous anticipation. Then she pulled her tongue back in and got a grip on the lycan side of her nature. Outside of Garen, no one at The Company knew her secret, and she aimed to keep it that way.

A shudder coursed through her. Depending on today’s outcome, either she’d be elevated to the inner circle running The Company—and be allowed to carry out her San Ysidro plan, or…Or what? What happened to the ones who failed? Were they…disposed of in some neat but nameless way? The way she’d dispatched others on company orders.

Garen never told her exactly how to carry out her assignments, only that someone had become extraneous. That was the word he used. Extraneous. Would some agent she’d never seen before lie in wait to do her in if she botched today’s assignment? A thin string of saliva materialized out of nowhere. Her hands balled into fists. Her wolf was so close to the surface it was disturbing. She hastily wiped her chin, taking care not to smear her lipstick.